Half a million,
Five hundred thousand,
So many ones,
In a single sum.
An unimaginable count,
Abstractive amount,
So many faces and stories,
Memorials and grief.
Only two months ago,
This number was halved,
It will grow yet tomorrow,
And the day after that.
An invisible virus,
Wreaking illness and death,
Gaining strength and commotion,
From eager spreaders of doubt.
Half a million so far,
And the aggregate grows,
Until all are inoculated,
Put on a damn mask.
Happy birthday to you, love,
No cake or a festive celebration,
Just the thoughts of you and my dull pain,
So much sadness to contain, my tears stream uncontrollably,
And that overwhelming hollow loneliness, again.
Today is dedicated to commemoration,
Thought of time that was and never will,
Your music in the speakers and your presence all around me,
You are so long gone, and yet so here.
I wish I could remember you without the crushing ache,
Think back on our good times and nothing else,
I’m tired of drowning in my own emotions,
None of it does much to bring you back.
Sharing space in me, I truly love your presence,
But I need the room for other things,
I long for a day we’d live as just good neighbors,
Meet from time to time, but otherwise, be left free.
Happy birthday, love, it’s really good to see you,
I am filled with all the pain of missing us,
Rest your soul, you are gone but not forgotten,
The day will come I’ll find my long-sought peace.
,יוֹם רִאשׁוֹן בְּכִיתָּה אָלֶף
,שְׁלוֹשִׁים זַאֲטוּטִים
,דָּנָה קָמָה דָּנָה נָמָה
.לוּחַ עֵץ וּשְׁלַל גִירִים
,יָרוֹק בָּהִיר יָרוֹק כֵּהֶה
,הַתִּלְבּוֹשֶׁת אֲחִידָה
,סֵמֶל עִיר עַל כִּיס הַבֶּגֶד
.לְהוֹרִיד לְפָנַי כְּבִיסָה*
,אֵין אוֹפְנָה, בְּחִירָה אִישִׁית כָּאן
,הַשִּׁוְויוֹן לִפְנֵי הַכּוֹל
,עִיר שֶׁל מַעֲמַד בֵּינַיִים
.סוֹצְיָאלִיזְם בְּגָדוֹל
,כָּךְ שָׁנָה רָדְפָה שְׁנָתַיִים
,מִתְבַּגְּרִים וּמִתְפַּתְּחִים
,הַמִּידּוֹת גָּדְלוּ אִיתָּנוּ
.הַצְּבָעִים נוֹתְרוּ זֵהִים
,לַתִּיכוֹן הִמְשַׁכְנוּ הָלְאָה
,וְהֶחֱלַפְנוּ לַכָּחוֹל
,עוֹד אַרְבַּע שָׁנִים וְאָז
.מָדֵּי צָבָא כָּבְשׁוּ הַכּוֹל
,כָּךְ שְׁנָתַיִים וְשָׁלוֹשׁ
(!יֵשׁ שֶׁאַף שֵׁירְתוּ יוֹתֵר)
,סוֹף, לָאֶזְרָחוּת יָצָאנוּ
.וְנִדְרַשְׁנוּ לְבָרֵר
,אֵיךְ קוֹנִים בְּגָדִים וְלָמָּה
,יֵשׁ צְבָעִים שֶׁלֹּא הוֹלְכִים
,עִם צְבָעִים שׁוֹנִים מֵאֵלָה
!אַחֶרֶת לְהַחֲלִיף, אֱלוֹהִים
,מָה לִלְבּוֹשׁ, אוֹ מָה מַמָּשׁ לֹא
,לֹא הָיָה לָנוּ מוּשָּׂג
,שְׁנוֹת יְלָדוֹת כְּלוּם לֹא לָמַדְנוּ
.רַק לִלְבּוֹשׁ מִן הַמּוּכָן
,חַם בַּחוּץ? נִלְבַּשׁ קָצָר
,צֶבַע לֹא חָשׁוּב אַף פַּעַם
,אִם קָרִיר, נִיקַּח אָז סְוֶודֶר
.גּוֹדֵל לֹא קוֹבֵעַ כָּאן
,כָּךְ פָּגַשְׁנוּ בַּגְרוּתֵנוּ
,עִם מוּשָּׂג קָלוּשׁ בְּטַעַם
,עוֹד חַיִּים שְׁלֵמִים יִקַּח
.לִלְמוֹד אֶת שֶׁהֶחְמַצְנוּ פַּעַם
AP Photo/Andrew Harnik
Good morning,
Rise to a new dawn,
Of decency and hope,
And healthier choices,
For us to realize.
Open your eyes and smile,
At a future that became brighter overnight,
Opportunities that feel closer,
And the atmosphere that cleared up,
By so much.
Stretch your arms,
Up toward the ceiling,
That became easier to breach,
Through a collective effort,
Which is still being realized.
Open your front door,
The sight, the smells, are the same, yet different,
Yesterday we rejoiced,
And today we shall have,
A good day.
The Ash tree in the front yard lost all its leaves,
To the storm last night.
The skies are now pouring through it,
Onto the dormant ground.
Ready for the winter hardship,
It stands naked, gray branches barren,
No coat or cover, only thin fingers,
Pointing defiantly at the cold wind.
Birds bathe in the shallow end of the pond,
Readying their feathers for the coming winter,
Squirrels run last-minute errands,
To store food.
The season is changing,
Sending messages of bright colors,
Chilly nights,
And a fading sun.
The election season blows angst into my head,
A year framed by confinement and fear,
Is reaching its conclusion.
In leaves-covered yards.
Faces in windows,
Peeking outside,
Seeking, and hoping,
For a greener future.
In a parallel world, I have made different choices,
I did not fall in love, I made giant mistakes.
In that twin universe, we did not meet each other,
And all that we know never ever took place.
In a parallel world, I’m a violent felon,
Get in fights, beat and rob, also spent time in jail.
In that twin universe, I have nothing to live for,
Only suffering loss, pain, regret, and despair.
In a parallel world, I have married another,
We did somewhat okay, only just for a while.
In that place over there we fought much, hate each other,
We were coupled together, but never a pair.
The weather out there in that parallel universe,
Is the same as is here, seasons, sunshine, and rain.
All the towns and the streets are too, pretty identical,
So are dreams, hopes, desires, and people who care.
It’s the choice that is different, at that one intersection,
When an option presents, you take left instead right.
That’s how chances are missed and sure futures lose merit,
To a life that heads downhill instead of to great.
In a parallel world, I took different direction,
That had changed life forever for me and for some.
In that twin universe, I did not write this poem,
Or anything else I created in time.
,הַיּוֹם אֲנִי זוֹכֵר
,יְלָדִים שֶׁהִכַּרְתִּי פַּעַם
,חַיָּלִים שֶׁפָּגַשְׁתִּי אָז
,אֲחֵרִים שֶׁלֹּא יָדַעְתִּי שְׁמָם
.מֵעוֹלָם
,שֵׁמוֹת מֻכָּרִים
,שֵׁמוֹת זָרִים
,שֵׁמוֹת יִשְׂרְאֵלִים
.שְׁמוֹת הַמֵּתִים
,רֻבָּם צְעִירִים
,מַמָּשׁ יְלָדִים
,תָּמִיד בְּמַדִּים
.חֶלְקָם מְחַיְּכִים
,תְּחִלַּת הַחַיִּים
,בְּנֵי בְּעֵרֶךְ עֶשְׂרִים
,יָפִים, אַמִּיצִים
.מֻכְשָׁרִים, מוּכָנִים
,מִבֵּין הַדַּפִּים
,עוֹלִים סִפּוּרִים
,חֲלוֹמוֹת, תִכְנוּנִים
.לְחַיִּים אֲרֻכִּים
,מַצֵּבוֹת לְבָנוֹת
,בְּשׁוּרוֹת אֲרֻכּוֹת
,חָתְמוּ הַתִּקְווֹת
.מִשְׁפָּחוֹת אֲבֵלוֹת
,בַּיּוֹם הַקָּדוֹשׁ
,שׁוּב שָׁרִים לוֹ יְהִי
,בִּשְׁתִיקָה מִתְיַחְדִים
.עִם זִכְרוֹן הַמֵּתִים
Today I remember,
Kids I once knew,
Soldiers I met back then,
Others whose name I did not know,
Ever.
Familiar names,
Foreign names,
Israeli names,
The dead’s names.
Most are young,
Children really,
Always in uniform,
Some are smiling,
Starting their lives,
About twenty years old,
Beautiful, brave,
Talented, ready.
From within the pages,
Stories rise,
Dreams, plans,
For a long life.
White headstones,
In long rows,
Sealed the hopes,
Families mourn.
On this holy day,
Singing Let it Be,
In silence communing,
With the memory of the dead.
Suppose there was cream in a jar,
That could give you the chops for musician,
Play the keyboards like Wakeman or Hancock,
Or guitars like Jim Hendrix or Page.
You would rub quick the ointment on hands,
And the music will flow from your fingers,
For great owe, inspiration and thrill,
As if this was your skill, to begin with.
Pretend that a pill was dispensed,
That allowed you to instantly paint,
Use a brush like Da Vinci, Monet,
Classic artist or modern caprice.
You would take it with water or wine,
Touch the brush to the palette, and there!
Grow breathtaking images on canvas,
For the people to gather and glare.
Assume that a capsule produced,
That would instantly give you the wisdom,
Of Plato, Aristotle, or Pascal,
Philosophers, masters of art.
Have the wits of these greats in your mind,
To think, write, teach, imagine and bright,
Be the light for the people et al,
Bring humanity forward in time.
Imagine a potion existed,
To teach mankind the meaning of love,
To care and to cherish, to know,
All that God put on Earth to belong.
To run evil far from this world,
To bring on peace, heaven here now,
End all war, despair, hatred, and pain,
For all people from younglings to worn.
Trivial, youthful the thought that puts forth,
Such good wishes of ease, less effort,
For the life that each makes for thou self,
Needs commitment, true depth, and hard work.
“,דִּירוֹת בְּתֵל אָבִיב הֵן כְּמוֹ גֶּבֶר שָׁוֶה”
,הִיא אָמְרָה וְהִבִּיטָה אֶל מוֹרָד הָרְחוֹב
,כְּשֶׁאַחַת מִתְפַּנָּה, קוֹפְצִים עָלֶיהָ מָלֵא מִתְעַנְיְינִים”
,וּכְשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְקַשֵּׁר, מִתְבָּרֵר שֶׁזֶּה כְּבַר לֹא רֶלֶוַונְטִי
“.וְנִשְׁאֲרוּ רַק הַדִּירוֹת הַדְּפוּקוֹת שֶׁאַתָּה כְּבָר מַכִּיר
,הִמְשִׁיכָה וְלָגְמָה מִכּוֹס הַקָּפֶה
,חָלָב רָזֶה, לְלֹא מַמְתִּיק
,יוֹנִים אֲדִישׁוֹת נִקְּרוּ סָבִיב
,הַצְּלָלִים שֶׁבַּכִּכָּר הָיוּ אֲרֻכִּים עֲדַיִן
.אַךְ נָעִים הָיָה לָשֶׁבֶת בַּחוּץ
,שַׁבָּת בַּבֹּקֶר בַּכִּכָּר הַמִּתְחַדֶּשֶׁת
,מִרְפָּסוֹת בָּאוּהָאוּס לְבָנוֹת מְצִיצוֹת אֶל הַמִּזְרָקָה הַשּׁוֹקֶקֶת
,מִבֵּין פִיקוּסִים זְקֵנִים
,הָעִיר שֶׁלֹּא נִרְדֶּמֶת לְעוֹלָם
.מִתְעוֹרֶרֶת לְבֹקֶר חָרְפִּי חָדָשׁ
,לַעֲבֹר דִּירָה הוּא מַעֲשֶׂה לֹא פָּשׁוּט
,זֶה שִׁנּוּי אֲוִירָה וְשִׁנּוּי הֶרְגֶלִים
,וַעֲקִירַת שֹׁרָשִׁים וְהַרְבֵּה אַרְגָּזִים
,וְזֶה גַּם קְצָת מַזְכִּיר פִּתְאוֹם
.שֶׁכֻּלָּנוּ מִזְדַּקְּנִים
,לַעֲזֹב אֶת הָעִיר
,אַחֲרֵי שְׁלוֹשִׁים שָׁנָה וּקְצָת
,הָרְחוֹבוֹת הָרָזִים מִצְטַלְּבִים כָּאן כְּמוֹ פַּעַם
,זֶה אֲנַחְנוּ שֶׁשִּׁנִּינוּ מָקוֹם
.וְהוֹסַפְנוּ מִשְׁקָל
,יְלָדִים שֶׁגָּדְלוּ וְהוֹרִים שֶׁבָּגְרוּ
,אֲהָבוֹת שֶׁפָּרְחוּ, נִשּׁוּאִים שֶׁכָּבוּ
,הַצְּלָלִים מִתְקַצְּרִים, הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ עָלְתָה
,הַשִּׂיחָה מִתְגַּלְגֶּלֶת, מַמְשִׁיכָה
.כּוֹס הַקָּפֶה הִתְרוֹקְנָה
“Apartments in Tel Aviv are like a good man,”
She said and looked down the street,
“When one becomes available, a whole lot of hopefuls jump on it,
And when you call, it turns out it’s no longer relevant,
And the only ones left are the crappy apartments you already know.”
She continued to sip from her coffee,
Skim milk, no sweetener,
Indifferent pigeons pecked around,
The shadows in the square were long still,
But it was nice sitting outside.
Shabbat morning in the renewing square,
Bauhaus balconies peek into the bustling fountain,
Between old Fichus trees,
The city that never sleeps,
Wakes up to a mew wintery morning.
Moving apartments is not an easy task,
It’s a change of atmosphere and a change of habits,
And uprooting and a lot of boxes,
And it also reminds us all,
That we are all getting old.
To leave the city,
After thirty years and some,
The narrow streets cross each other as always,
It is us who changed location,
And gained weight.
Children that grew and parents that grew old,
Loves that flourished, marriages that failed,
The shadows shortened, the sun rose,
The conversation rolls on, endures,
The coffee cup emptied.
Painting by Carol Neiger, ©C L Neiger Fine Art
Under arm a virgin sketchbook,
Pages yet to be informed,
Clutched in hand are pens and pencils,
Colors rainbow and beyond.
Sites to see and thoughts to wonder,
Fresh ideas to spill on page,
Start a line and add some tint to,
Grow with wide strokes edge to edge.
Walk the path to the horizon,
Veer off it, and stop to rest,
Pastures green there just as much here,
Feel the grass beneath your feet.