Brother
by Betty Finocchiaro"We have no right to ask why this came to us
unless we ask the same when we receive joy."
Rabbi in New Jersey after
Chilean accident (3/6/2009)
Fate has plans we must embrace
Dreams visited
Destiny our ally
Death denied
Do not leave me dear one
for I shall miss you always
I will listen for you in the silent
sounding trumpets of dawn,
hear your voice in church bells
resounding in every valley
in the melodic sound of every sonata
then again,
amid the rustling of falling leaves
I shall look for you in dew drops
on each blade of green grass
around every corner hidden by
gray shadows
Smiling, tears glistening,
joyous sadness
we embrace
You hold my hand so tight
it hurts
Foolishly I want the pain,
so sweet a gift
to take away with me
on the remainder of this journey
that I will now travel
without you
For you, for us, I would make
time stop, but fate summons
Worlds whispered
mine to encourage
yours to promise
eternal remembrance
Garden of Growth
by Connie Shepard
Strangers alone, scattered seeds
wait, watch
Old friends together -- tight petals on a stem
talking, laughing
Tended shoots, strain to
break through the crust of indifference.
Budding plans, seek to
blossom in the sun of friendship.
Children grow in a sandbox garden.
Youth buds out in colorful patches
across a campus meadow.
Tentative feelers reach out
seeking connections.
Shared experience, like shared soil
makes alliances that crumble walls of isolation.
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Like Fishy Paper Dolls
by George Asdel
Seven Sunfish swim
like odd fishy paper dolls
cut from thin paper
by a master of the art
sing loudly as they pass by
Pain / Pain
by Elizabeth Buckner
With angst and insomnia
that accompany abandonment
and a broken heart
especially when abroad
night after night
I stand at the 4th story window
of a 400 year old Parisian apartment
my temporary residence
I gaze up at the man in the moon
then down at the man in the doorway
of a kitchen across the courtyard
framed by red flames from the open oven
and the dark autumnal night
He wears white clothes and flour from head to toe
smokes a cigarette-both smoke and steam
rise from his body-mingle with the cold night air
as he watches and waits for his pain to bake
As I observe the boulanger at work in his cuisine
I feel a little less alone so far away from home
My late-night-life-line is this “staff of life” tableaux
Each morning I go to that boulangerie
buy the breakfast baguette and my day begins again |
