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
In Memorial
Muse and Flow
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 …”
For The Daily Post
Share this:
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.”
For The Daily Post
Share this:
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
Share this:
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
Share this:
Surprising Twist
Photo: Atara Katz
She did not quite expect
A catcall from a
Pinniped.
Share this:
Guilty Faced
Photo: Amitai Asif
The tail wagged a welcome and the tongue lolled excitement, but the head swiveled back to the mess.
Guilty faced.
A chewed up slipper lay dead by the remnants of the morning’s newspaper.
The throw from the couch draped itself over spilled dog food, one corner deep at drink from the water bowl.
Wet soil from the tipped over planter paw-printed itself on the floor, the forbidden-to-jump-on cream-colored loveseat, the rug.
The pooch looked around as if to find another culprit.
He yipped hopefully. Maybe you didn’t see …?
When subterfuge failed, the penitent tucked tail and proceeded to ‘hide’ behind the sheer curtain.
A moment passed.
A nose peeked out, a rueful paw over one eye.
“Are you maybe not mad anymore, person of mine?”
For The Daily Post
Share this:
Wrongly Assumed
Photo: Ofir Asif
He assumed he was right.
He assumed you were wrong.
He believed bullish bluster equated with
Strong.
He refused to consider
Prejudice
Lies
Pretense.
He demanded complete admiration
Instead.
He assumed he would lead.
He assumed you will follow.
He may well find himself quite lonely
Tomorrow.
For The Daily Post
Share this:
Historical Twist
Photo: Amitai Asif
History turned
Onto itself.
An ossified
Coil
Of time.
Share this:
Suspension
Photo: Philip Coons
Upon the oily river
It glides
In abeyance.
A coiled power,
Its motion suspended.
Energy
Liquified.
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.