Four Letter Words

For every deed I am known for,
I keep a secret one,
With every prideful feat,
I hide a shameful sin,
Per each triumphal goal,
I hide a glorious failed one,
For every happy laugh,
I muffle a crying wail.

For each close friend I have,
I keep a hateful foe,
For every time I loved,
A bloody fight is stored,
In every flower I pick,
A thorny thistle is hidden,
For all the days I lived,
An equal sum deducted.

Live, love, smile, laugh,
Frown, hate, cry, die,
Hug, push, kiss, slap,
Try, let, run, lie,
The more I try, the more I gain,
The more I do, the more I learn,
Love, hate, live, dead,
Are all four letter words.


March 8, 2017

Emergency Survival List

Gun, nine millimeters, clean and oiled,
With five loaded magazines,
Tucked in holster.

Baseball bat, regulation size,
Aluminum alloy,
In room corner, behind the door.

Large hunting knife, carbon steel,
Black-coated, fixed blade,
With mean serrated edges,
For best results.

Wooden stake, twelve inches long,
Lacquer coated, small chain,
In breast pocket, ready for action.

Running shoes, waterproofed,
Dark color, with no reflective strips,
Set to be laced.

Vampire sunscreen, SPF 9000,
Toothbrush with extra-long bristles,
Arm & Hammer toothpaste,
In a heavy-duty Ziploc bag.

Family portrait, names written on back,
With a love note, if possible,
Sealed in hard plastic,
And a note to self.


December 8, 2016

משלי חיים

,צַעַד צָעַד
,עָקַב בְּצַד אֲגֻודַּל
,פּוֹרְסוֹת הַמִּלִּים דֶּרֶךְ
.אֶל הָאוֹר

,נָתִיב חוֹרֵץ נָתִיב
,בָּאֲדָמָה הָרְווּיָה
,סִפּוּרִים וּמְשָׁלִים
.חוֹבְקֵי עוֹלָם

,טְווּיִים כְּרֶשֶׁת
,דּוֹרוֹת אֵין סְפוֹר פָּסְעוּ בָּם
,לֵידוֹת, שִׁמְּחָה וּמָוֶת
.מַפַּת חַיִּים

,מִי לוֹ וְיַבִּיט בָּהּ
,חָכְמַת חַיִּים טְמוּנָה
,מוֹרָה הִיא אֶת הַדֶּרֶךְ
.אֶל הַמָּחָר


The Literary Path

Step by step,
In slow pace,
The words lay a path,
Onto the light.

A path crisscrosses another,
In the saturated soil,
Stories and tales,
Around the world.

Woven as net,
Countless generations have walked down them,
Births, joy, and death,
A map of Life.

Who shall look at it,
Embedded wisdom lies,
Teaches the way,
Onto tomorrow.


December 1, 2016


,הַמְּשׁוֹרְרִים, דִּינָם לִנְדֹּד
,רוֹצְעִים אֶת הַתֵּבֵל בְּמַסְעוֹתֵיהֶם
,תָּרִים אַחַר מִלִּים
.אוֹתִיּוֹת וְאוֹתוֹת

,אִישׁ לְכִוּוּנוֹ הוֹלְכִים
,יֵשׁ מְהֵם בְּצַעַד קַל
,אָצִים הֵם וּמְחַפְּשִׂים
.אַחַר הַמּוּזָה הַנִּשְׂגֶּבֶת

,קוֹל הֶהָמוֹן בְּגַבָּם
,פְּנֵיהֶם אֶל הָאֹבֶךְ הַסָמִיךְ
,וּמִתּוֹכוֹ מְגָרֶה אוֹתָם וּמַזְמִין
.סוֹד עוֹלָמָם


The Road

Poets, their sentence is to wander,
Streaking the universe in their travels,
Searching for words,
Letters and ciphers.

Each person walks to his direction,
Some use a light step,
Rushing and looking,
For the elusive muse.

The crowd’s noise in their back,
Their faces in the thick haze,
From within it draws them and invites,
Their world secret.


November 15, 2016

כחול האהבה

,קָמָה הַצִּפּוֹר
,מִשְּׁנָתָהּ עֵדֶן
,פָּרְשָׂה כְּנָפֶיהָ
,יִשְּׁרָה קְפָלֵיה
,נִקְּרָה קַלּוֹת בְּנוֹצוֹת חָזַה
,וְנִתְּרָה אֶל הַמָּרוֹם
,כְּחֹל הִרָקִיעַ
,הֶעָשׂוּי כֻּלּוֹ מִנְּשִׁימוֹת קְטַנּוֹת
,מִשְׁאָלוֹת חָבוּיוֹת
.שֶׁל אַהֲבָה


Love Blue

The bird rose,
From ever sleep,
Spread its wings,
Uncurled its folds,
Picked lightly at its breast feathers,
And leaped into the heights,
The skies blue,
Made wholly of tiny breaths,
Hidden wishes,
Of love.


April 7, 2016


,בְּסּוֹף הַיּוֹם
,שָׁקְעָה הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ
,וְנוֹתָר אוֹר
,צְלָלִים עַל קִיר
,בּוֹהֵק בַּמַּיִם
,וְנִצְנוּץ שֶׁאֵינוֹ כָּבָה



At day’s end,
The sun settled,
And light remained,
Shadows on wall,
Bright in water,
And twinkle that does not dim,


January 27, 2016

בסוף היום

,לְעֵת לָיִל
,כְּלֵי עֲבוֹדָתִי שׁוֹבְתִים
.וְתָם עָמַל הַיּוֹם
,אֲרוּחַת הָעֶרֶב נִסְעָדַה
,וְהַבַּיִת דּוֹמֵם
,אֲנִי שׁוֹכֵב בְּמִטָּתִי
,וְלְאוֹר מְנוֹרַת הַלַּיְלָה
,דַּפִּים כְּתוּבִים בְּמַּקֵּל שֶׁל כּוּרְכּוּם
,סִפּוּרִים בְּהִירִים שֶׁל אַהֲבָה וְרֹךְ
,מִמָּקוֹם רָחוֹק
,וּזְמַן אַחֵר
,שֶׁהוּא כָּאן


At Day’s End

At nightfall,
My work tools have settled,
The day’s labor has ended.
Dinner was eaten,
And the house is still,
I lay in my bed,
And to the bedside light,
Pages written with a stick of turmeric,
Bright stories of love and tenderness,
From a faraway place,
And another time,
That is here,


February 14, 2017


The tiny car twirled once,
Then crumpled against the concrete barrier,
Inside it, light died down,

Invisible raindrops,
Given instant recognition by passing headlights,
Washed the smoking wreckage,
Off its final sin.

Futures, plans,
And a world full of hopes,
Vanished in an instant,
For all of tomorrows.

Slumped in his seat,
Sat the life student,
An elusive lover,
A free bird.

The saturated earth accepted into her,
The body of a son,
His talents, imagination, and promises,
And the life that was.

The world spun on,
Weaving cobwebs of pain and loss,
And a love cut short,
Yearning a lifetime for completion.


November 30, 2016


,הַלַּיְלָה, בְּאַרְבַּע וַרֶבַע לִפְנוֹת בֹּקֶר
,הָלַכְתִּי לְטַיֵּל עִם אַבָּא שֶׁלִּי
,הֶחְנֵיתִי אֶת הָאוֹטוֹ
,בְּצַּד הַכְּבִישׁ, לְיַד הַפַּארְק
.וְנָעַלְתִּי אוֹתוֹ

,אַבָּא כְּבָר חִכָּה שָׁם
.לְיַד הַנַּחַל
,הִתְחַלְנוּ לָלֶכֶת
,דִּבַּרְנוּ עַל דְּבָרִים
.שֶׁעוֹמְדִים לִקְרוֹת
,אֲנִי לֹא זוֹכֵר עַל מָה בְּדִיּוּק
,אֶלָּא רַק שֶׁהֵם הָיוּ דְּבָרִים מוּזָרִים

,אַבָּא לָבַשׁ אֶת הַחֲלִיפָה הַחוּמָה הַמַּצְחִיקָה שֶׁלּוֹ
.אֲנִי לֹא זוֹכֵר לְאָן

.אַבָּא כְּבָר אֵינוֹ פֹּה
,אֵין מַמָּשׁ פַּארְק כָּזֶה
,וְכָל הַדְּבָרִים הַלְּלוּ
,לֹא יִקְרוּ עוֹד
.אַף פַּעַם



Last night, at four-fifteen in the morning,
I went for a walk with my dad.
I parked the car,
By the side of the road, near the park,
And locked it.

Dad already waited there,
By the brook.
We started walking,
And conversing.

We talked about things,
That are about to happen.
I do not remember exactly what about,
Only that they were odd stuff,
And we walked.

Dad wore his funny brown suite,
And we rambled,
I don’t remember where to.

Dad is no longer here.
There isn’t really such a park,
And all these things,
Will not happen,


January 12, 2016

Still Life

Aelbert Jansz. van der Schoor, Vanitas Still Life with Skulls on a Table, 1660

Aelbert Jansz. van der Schoor, Vanitas Still Life (Skulls on a Table), 1660

A silent scream,
From distant time,
Suspended in a darkened room.

An open mouth,
No eyes to see,
Set teeth exposed,
With hollow skulls.

A group of friends,
Or foes till death?
No one to tell,
Of end demise.

Day come, day go,
The scene a freeze,
Old dust specks rest,
In canvas weaves.


January 27, 2016