Inefficiently So

row your boat OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

There is magic in finding

Some moments so slow

That life trickles along

In a lazy brook’s glow,

Like a pause in between

Busy ebb, bustling flow

A delicious respite

Into half-idle row

Caring naught though you know

If you come or you go

Inefficiently so.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Learn To Swallow

Tree Swallow Flickr Gregs always catching up

Photo: Greg’s Always Catchin’ Up, on Flickr

 

Harbingers of feast

Or famine

Inhabitants

Of all

But the Antarctic ice,

These carriers of fire

From the gods to land,

Teach city folk

And country dwellers

That one can make a home,

Find plenty,

All around.

 

 

 

For The Daily Post

Jujus

magic all around you

Photo: Samantha Mars

 

She dragged her book bag up the stairs.

Step, bang. Step, bang.

“It looks heavy,” I noted.

“Yeah,” she huffed and paused to frown in the direction of the patchwork of princesses on the backpack. I found myself wondering whether she was directing discontent at her idolized figures not using their royal powers to, at the very least, summon genie help to manage gravity.

“Want me to help carry the bag for you?” I offered.

She raised an eyebrow as if the mere thought of my definitely-not-princess hands handling her bag was beneath the Disney figures that dignified it.

The first-grader lugged the bag another step and stopped, perhaps to reconsider if there are times when commoners’ help is better than none at all. “Yeah,” she nodded.

I walked down to take the bag from her. The thing was heavy!

“What do you have in there?!” I asked. “Rocks?!”

“Aha,” she nodded sagely, skipped a few steps up ahead of me and swiveled her head to look back at me. “Come faster. I want to show you.”

I lifted the bag (and an eyebrow) in her direction and she giggled. “Sorry… Thanks.”

Once upstairs she indicated I was to clear space for whatever that was, then ceremoniously unzipped the top of her school bag and pulled out a succession of boulders. She placed each with care onto the desk. Several pounds of them.

I waited. The lot looked to me like run-of-the-mill New York stones: mostly dark gray schist dappled with a bit of quartz glint.

She leaned back in her chair and waited. Clearly a reaction was warranted.

“That’s a lot of rocks!” I managed.

“Not regular rocks,” she admonished. “These have magic.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she proclaimed. “They have real magic. And gold, too. Inside.”

I tilted my head a bit to one side and nodded my interest.

She narrowed her eyes at me, weighing the merits of talking to grown ups about matters of magic and gold. “They can even make your wishes come true …”

“But … ” she regarded me before adding, a bit haughtily and perhaps to punish me for my lack of immediate awe, “you do have to believe in them, so they’ll only do the magic for me.”

 

 

For The Daily Post

Invisibly Small

tom looking for ball

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

They can hide beneath blankets

They can scoot behind doors

They can crawl under tables.

It’s no challenge at all.

They’re a lion

A princess

A pirate,

A ball.

He has friends you can’t see.

They are there

“They’re just small.”

 

 

For The Daily Post

Alike, Not The Same

Red3 AmitaiAsif

Photo: Amitai Asif

 

We all want to be cherished,

To be known by our name.

But like flowers in meadows,

We’re alike, not the same.

It does not do to lump us

Identical, in one frame.

For like leaves of a tree,

We’re alike, not the same.

Varied hopes, many wishes,

Different dreams of acclaim.

Like the shells on a shore,

We’re alike, not the same.

Each of us has the power,

To bring hope or bring shame.

Pick just one of us too early,

And the world’s never the same.

 

 

For The Daily Post