Watching From Heaven

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.
Samuel Johnson

Dad,

you would have given me the moon

if you could,

lasso it down and hold it in

your palm to light my way.

You told me tales of horses with

broken spirits,

knowing that mine was one.

You kissed me goodnight thousands

of nights always telling me that you loved me.

You inspired me,

believed in me,

forgave me.

You delighted in my words,

encouraged my abstract thoughts.

You were a giant of a man,

you were always there. 

Dad,

I wish I could find the small Italian restaurant,

on the side street by the Thames river

in London.

The sounds of the city were left outside,

wet we took refuge

from the rain.

We feasted on pasta and roasted chicken,

as if we climbed into one of the

Botticelli paintings we saw that day.

Warm, the colors lifting our spirits.

We were delighted in the moment

and a day filled with beauty.

I want to walk into the past,

and find you there in spirit.

I want to replay our conversation,

the sights and sounds.

I want to sit down

with my dog eared notebook,

and write poetry that you would love,

poetry that you can see from heaven.

Dad,

you loved London,

she seeped into your heart

and claimed it.

You repeated a quote,

"when a man is tired of London,

he is tired of life", 

it resonated in your soul,

because she felt like home.

I want to go to her ,

and breathe her again,

and feel you walk beside me.

I want to go to her,

and find you there in spirit

and know that you are still watching me from where you are

in heaven. 

This is dedicated to my dad. On May 10th it will be five years since he passed away. Since then I have missed him every day and thought of him a hundred times a day. He died suddenly and we never got to say goodbye. So many milestones that he has missed. My brothers, my children, the entire family miss him terribly. My mom joined him a year after he passed. We hope they are sharing eternity together. We miss them both.  Please meet us here http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts. 

 

Boston Strong

Morning dawns

with a new promise.

He stretches in his sleep,

as I watch the rain

dancing on my window.

I inhale coffee from a tall cup.

I wake him with a gentle touch

and tender words.

A week ago,

the world shattered for so many.

He has watched and listened

to images of terror,

sadness seeping into his big 

brown eyes.

He felt compassion for 

the lives lost,

for the lives injured.

He felt pride that his brother

is a doctor in this wonderful city.

A week ago our world changed,

the rhythm of the city silenced, 

our flags pressed against our chest.

Our land sighed,

our land ached.

We remember the victims,

smiling from old photographs.

Children kneeling by a candlelight vigil,

mothers holding hands tighter.

We remember the injured,

runners shoes and messages 

hang by Boylston Street.

We are broken yet strong,

hurt but not defeated. 

I hold my son,

I whisper words about goodness,

dark moments that inspire light.

I hold him closer and give him wings of hope

and love,

wanting my words to shelter him from

the storm,

wanting them to warm his soul.

In An Instant-My Heart Is In Boston

I have no answers.
I can't explain the

brutal,

incomprehensible,

deliberate,

cowardly
act.

Words that attempt to capture

an instant when blue skies,

became forever grey.

An iconic race swept away,

turned into blood stained streets.
In an instant,

innocence stolen,

innocence lost.
In an instant,

a perfect day unfolding

into a nightmare.

In an instant lives changed,
families shattered,
a heartbreak

 that scars

 our souls.
 A perfect spring day turned into

bloody chaos,

Humanity at it's worst,

humanity at it's best.
This is America,
we bleed red white and blue.
This is America,
Americans doing what we do best. 

strangers reaching to lend a helping hand,
opening their hearts.

I have no answers,
but rage and raw pain,

 speechless,
I hurt,
for the city I love.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of those injured and those that passed away. Yesterday when I turned the news on my heart sank. I was horrified for everyone. I immediately thought of  my son and his girlfriend, they are both doctors living in Boston. The day before the race his girlfriend was down by the finish line and I did not know if she was there or working. I could not get a hold of my son and when his girlfriend text me back I was relieved that she was safe. An hour later I heard my son was okay.  My son was treating people at the hospital, he is an ER doctor. I never imaged that he will have to witness the horrors of terrorism. I was raised in Israel and immigrated when I was 13. In Israel this was a part of our reality but I never thought that my children would experience it as well. After 9/11 our life as Americans changed forever. I dedicate this poem to the people of Boston and their generous spirit. We thank the first responders, police officers and all the doctors and nurses saving lives.

Please meet us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where  we share our thoughts and our hearts.

Remember And Change

Dad,

I don't want to write about spring,

flowers blooming,

touching my skin,

making my spirits rejoice.

Dad,

I don't wish to write about egrets 

flying into my yard,

celebrating glorious blue skies.

Dad,

I want to write about hunger and pain,

about a dark time,

when the sun did not shine for you 

and for others.

A time when your belly was empty

and your eyes witnessed 

horrors that remained with you

till the day you died.

I don't want to be gentle or soft,

I want to awaken souls.

I want the world to remember,

humanity at it's worst.

I want them to know

 that you did not

let it define you.

You were a survivor,

a champion ,

that fought for other people's rights .

Your heart open and your mind

filled with dreams.

You wrote beautiful words,

soaring above the pain and horror.

Dad,

I want them to remember ,

the people that perished,

the people that did not

get to go home and build

a new life,

I want the world to remember. 

Holocaust Memorial  Day was this week. I wrote a poem called, "Numbers". It was dedicated for all those that perished and the survivors. I know it's not a popular subject with some but so important to remember. 

There are crimes against humanity happening at different parts of the world even though we have come a long way, or have we? I recommend this article by my friend Belinda Munoz http://thehalfwaypoint.net/2013/03/a-place-powered-by-love/ . Compassion for others and their struggles is essential . We are all connected. Please join us here, http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts. 

 

Numbers

Numbers tattooed

on my soul.

Lives snuffed out,

erased,

roots of humanity pulled out

like weeds,

so they would not grow,

or flourish,

so they would not survive.

Numbers tattooed,

like branded animals,

identities robbed,

discarded,

destroyed.

Voices silenced,
voices of philosophers,  

poets,

bakers,

doctors,

mothers,

fathers,

children.

The old woman sits with me,

she remembers and weeps.

she remembers walking into

an empty house for refuge,
  a photograph 

of a rabbi on the wall,

his blue eyes haunt her in her dreams. 

She remembers hunger,

cold,

despair.

Her grandparents murdered,

her uncle vanished,

her aunt dismembered.

She is a part of me,

a piece of my legacy.

Her eyes the same color as my 

beloved father's eyes.

 They held hands at the gates of hell

and survived.

I write down the stories

seared with pain
 of portraits of life

ripped apart,

families lost ,

unspeakable horrors.

I write stories,

I witness,

as tears fall down,

we remember. 

Today is  Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah) 2013 begins in the evening of

Sunday, April 7

and ends in the evening of

Monday, April 8.

This poem is for all the millions of lives lost and about my aunt sharing her stories with me. 

My dad and my aunt were small children during the holocaust. They witnessed things that were horrid. 

We must tell these stories and remember. 

Riding The T

I will take a chance on you,

I will take a chance on humanity.

I hear you ask for money on the T,

your voice travels like an echo.

You plead for money to get your 

state card,

so you can be placed in housing.

Your deadline 2:30.

People hide away their smirks

and ignore you,

non believers thinking they are scammed.

In the belly of the T,

I believe.

I reach for my purse,

I want to pull money out.

Then I hear you saying you have

to get your son from foster care,

doubt shadows my goodwill.

 Someone says,

that you go up and down off the 

trains, seeking the compassion of

strangers.

 I notice your fancy sneakers,

I hear the man behind

tell your story.

I'm not judging,

I just became a non believer,

as I watch you climb on another train.

I became a non believer,

and that makes me sad,

for both of us.


Meet us here http://dversepoets.com/ where we share our thoughts and our hearts.