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Month: May 2018
Soar
Photo: Atara Katz
Eyes drawn up
To the height
To wingtips
In mid flight.
Lids squint at
The unseen:
What gift will
This stork
Bring?
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge
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More Than Afterthought
Photo: Ofir Asif
As good things end
And dear friends
Bid farewell,
Sweet and sorrow mix
Into the heart
And air
For things that will no longer be
And all to be remembered,
And for the many wonders
That will continue life
Just as the soul
Intended.
Dedicated with gratitude to all at the Daily Post, on their last day of The Daily Prompts, and the last week of the Weekly Photo Challenge, which along with the Community Pool and First Friday, are closing shop after 7.5 years. I wish them all much success in their future blog-ventures!
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Broken Whole
Photo: Atara Katz
As the cracked places show
Marks of toil
Disavowed
And the grooves of grain passed
Whisper tales of
Repast
Broken pieces reflect
Wholeness more than
Regret.
For The Daily Post
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Juxtaposition
Photo: Inbar Asif
The warming effect
Of company
Atop icy ground,
Lend the mountain
A hat
Topped with pompom
And cloud.
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In Memorial
Photo: Bugler.com
As salutes recoil
And bugles call
May hearts recall
The arms emptied
And the lives ended
For freedoms defended
As sorrows entwine
With honor defined.
For The Daily Post
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Kind of Famous
Photo: Dvora Freedman
“I’ll be famous,” she said, twirling and eyeing her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a particularly twirl-worthy skirt and a shiny pair of sandals.
“Yep, famous,” she repeated with finality. She spun a few more times then stopped mid-turn to face me. “Do you know what famous means?”
I raised an eyebrow in half-query, half-invitation. Children’s explanations are immensely more informing than anything I might attempt to guess at.
“It means everybody knows you and everybody likes you a lot.”
“It does?” I lent a slight undulation to my voice in what I hoped was just a smidge of challenge for the second part.
She’s a perceptive little one. She caught it. Paused. Frowned. Pursed her lips and pursed them again in front of the mirror to inspect the effect. “Well, everybody knows famous people,” she countered and puckered her lips a few more times to make a point. “But … maybe not everybody likes them?”
I smiled and raised my eyebrow again.
She straightened and crossed the room to lean into me. “Because some famous people can be bad?”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Some. Sometimes people get famous but not for very good things.”
She nodded into my side. “Like Hitler and … you know?”
“Yes. Hitler … and some other people … are known for doing very very bad things.”
“I don’t want to be that kind of famous.”
I gave her a squeeze. “I understand. I wouldn’t worry … You are nothing like that … You have a beautiful, loving, caring heart. It’s not a bad thing to want to be famous. Most famous people aren’t bad. Most people in general aren’t bad. Famous and not famous ones.”
She leaned into me a moment longer. She knows hardship. Young as she is, the pain of cruel actions isn’t abstract to her.
I took a deep breath to remind her she was safe. She followed. Took another. Shook the pensive worry off and looked down into her magnificently twirl-worthy skirt.
“Well,” she stood and made a quick half-turn, watching the edges of the fabric lift and roil and dance and fly. “I’ll be the good kind of famous.” She walked back to the full-length mirror to reinspect her reflection. “The beautiful heart kind …”
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Lookalike
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
“How to tell them apart?”
Asked some who’d seen them together
In all kinds of weather.
“Why try?”
Those who knew them replied.
“They are two of a kind,
One older in body
The other in mind.
One father, one son,
Always two, never one.
One sighted, one blind,
They live life, intertwined.”
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Ring A Bell
Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev
In the City of Gold
Strings attach
New to old.
Alcove bells pulled to sing
So walls can
Echo their ring.
For The Tuesday Photo Challenge-Ring
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Antiquated
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Now in the antiquated, hollowed space,
Prayers no longer have to brace
Against an aged, leaded grace.
Even as wall and ceiling hold
Cold memories of gilded old
And toil of many, still untold,
Awed orison can freely rise
Released from threat of long demise,
Through open air into the skies.
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
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