The document contains erotic poems describing intimate encounters between two lovers. The poems use vivid sensory language to depict kissing, touching, and other physical acts. Over the course of the night, their passion and intimacy deepens, as described in the poems' progression. One poem also references the author's broken wrist or arm, and their frustration at being limited physically.

1. - 1 -
Erotic and Sensuous Meet
Migdal Eden

2. - 2 -
Erotic and Sensuous Meet

3. - 3 -
I promised you an intense workout –
a correct yoga practice –
and I focus on nothing else,
taking a deeper breath in-
assuming the Warrior’s pose
feet in perfect arced and coiled balance-
a tightly strung bow- drawing in breath- deeper and
deeper- drawing in the skin of the sky- and earth In Tiger
Pose- focused in complete and uncomplicated stare at its prey
my eyes lock into a study of your breathing…
which is jailed- foiled - not free.
Your posture closed- and in retreat
rather than able to radiate a deep strong stance of rooted
breathing through open chest and open heart. your eyes’
sparks… not ignited .
Breath! Breath in! I order in a calm, clear voice.
Breath in ! Expand your chest .Open!
As you focus, I mold you with quick unsentimental hands,
correcting and reordering your body and presence.
I cup and embrace your back, opening your chest with my hands
And you
straighten as proper breath enters you.
I show you how to use the belt…

4. - 4 -
as I lean into the air in the Dancer’s Posture.
using breath and a softened heart, like a
properly wielded sword…
As I breath deep, deeper, deeper and deeper-
I see you… you…You /
I see you… you…You /
the uncovered you that pulses and flickers
-“that” …
“that”… total concentration… of you..
You breathing, glowing in the charged particles between air
and vision as I perform one last stretch on you that leaves you
screaming,
then smiling up through your eyes,
mirroring a soul enlarged
… as you expand into an echoing, meaningful space.

5. - 5 -
The Effect that You Have on Me in the Dark
I topple into the warmth of your arms
like a tower of blocks fallen over in
kindergarten the heat of your body
blazing against me,
immerses me in a warm bath of chemical
reactions, releases hormones of love fierce
and hot that x-ray the birthmark on your shoulder.
The x-rayed scar on your knee ..brings back the light and heat
of the sun hot on my face,
at the beach, on my birthday.
The sun blinding / and blinded.
I turn my face to feel, burning, burning white light, as we move
closer together, two litter mates,
limbs angled here and there in a tangle- the places that
we rub together sending off sparks in the electric fur of our
intimate moves.
Closer and closer we grope toward each other,
searching for something to suck,
rooting for a nipple sending out rootlets of teeth and tongue
nudging each other’s sun warmed instinctive search,
that infrared and tactile grows bolder and bolder
in blind radar recognizance flight .

6. - 6 -
Your hand cups one breast,
mine grasps in friendly fashion your penis,
that grows hard as I grow wet and florescent,
oozing, ready, receptive to your fingers and tongue,
as we sleep, and kiss, and breathe deeply
the lavender scented sheets and skin of each other.
We breath each other breathless, loving the taste,
the smell, and feel of each other-
Sleeping
we dream of electric robots,
our clones-that continue to hum-
electric-plugged into each other
-through the night

7. - 7 -
-Five Signs of You (haiku)
Your tongue, moving-red, wet, slick, kisses me,
down, low down…
low laid down, drowned…I fall
on me your teeth close,
grip me, bite me, eat me, taste me
deep inside…I moan.
Imprinted impressions
of your teeth-seals, rings, sighs,
signs- …your brand
on bared neck

8. - 8 -
The Cock Crowed Nine Times
and did not sleep at all, while we slept
sheltered in close embrace- but stood erect and crowed
most bold, announcing by piercing to enter, all through
the night…
and in but the space of hours, eight and ten
on the nineteenth day of November-
The cock crowed nine times…
One-
the first time in the dark of clock …
with a waking meeting at midnight.
Two-
in the hour that not surprised, awoke to the pleasure of
the cock’s mount at 2 AM.
Three -in the sum of two plus two equaling four
and love’s exchange between two pairs of eyes at 4.
Four-first light peeked at cock’s
pleasure and crow at 6AM,
seeing at once the beautiful shape
of this proud shape of this proud cock.

9. - 9 -
Five-that he crowed and claimed,
as it claimed him:
Before another hour had passed -
he crowed again.
Six-
Then in a loud crow of victory
he flapped his wings, crowed,
and mounted his lady, his hen-once more.
Seven-
and before too much longer,
as the rays of the sun
and the day grew longer,
he abruptly crowed again,
feeling not like a cock
but a king.
Eight-and troubadours and swains alike began to sing the
song of this chanticleer,this cock of kings that put to play
with the strength of virility-what all men would crow,
and wish upon their wives.

10. - 10 -
Nine-
Nine-
And before the day had lengthened long-
and before the memory
of the night and dark- had quite disappeared-
the bold and handsome cock,
finished out his play and role-
by displaying strength and stamina
in love’s play once more-
establishing the legend-
emblazoned forever more
on every lover’s lance

11. - 11 -
Swollen With Pollen….
your kiss, like a sting
raises up a sweet, swollen bruise;
(of red and purple wine)
With mouth savored,
dipped in by your lust stroked brush ( tip),
run painting, panting;
laid ..
down my blank canvas..
with fell honey scent-ed strokes..
my field is mown short.

12. - 12 -
Swollen with pollen
yielding, bursting; nectar full-
your shaft stands erect.
as With salacious kiss
you lance, you pierce my valley
rowed through-by your lust.

13. - 13 -
Your kiss, like a sting
bore royal jelly, drenching;
offspring, clinging firm-
and
Hunt (the) hummingbird
hunts its tail, its long beaked needs-
paying more than fee-
with kiss, like a sting
and twist of slender long _____
passion flower sprays

14. - 14 -
Swollen with pollen
and a Greek God’s happy myth
you play pipes of Pan…
I will not say which- end…has started happy spurt
humming …with love’s gift,
your kiss drills deeper inside my well

15. - 15 -
Swollen with pollen-
stinging with love’s stinging kiss-
you, my lord are swift.
Fallow are your fields….
green are your harvested loins;
scarlet your full heart.
Swollen with pollen
your verse, and lungs and swollen
staff- fly, plunge……straight to gold.
Come breeze to relieve
the heat that your pitch arouses-
the barred gate broken..
burst open and full-
the vase of my womb filled full,
by your thrusting root.

16. - 16 -
I Would Hold You Gently
I Would Hold You Gently
and rock you gently on the waves of my regard, and kiss you
fully on the shore, that meets
the waves, and embrace you deep within me,
far as you can go, can gain…
the hidden, recessed joy a(gain)…
I would hold you gently
And hold you ecstatic, to my breast…
washed by womb’s contractions,
and kiss you fully on the shore…
that meets the waves(and waves)
the sea(see) that the two of us, tangled
surprises…in each other’s unmasked glance…
that rocks and rocks with the rhythms of salt and adoring tongue
I would hold you gently and
give to you to hold…
my softly shadowed soul…
that sees and greets…
and also meets…
the one so easy, in you to cherish
and kiss you fully on the shore…

17. - 17 -
Cast Castaway

18. - 18 -
This season’s bike season
started and ended abruptly, with three broken bones in my
wrist..……. so unlike last year’s season,
when we did the fifty two miles
of New York’s Five Borough marathon,
sweating in the sun, shivering in
a sudden drenching downpour.
(Really fifty two basically flat miles
were not so grueling- compared to our eighteen mile runs-
around the reservoir-some of the most mountainous terrain-of
the Catskills)
The worst time came when I was clipped at high speed on that
last bridge…Hearing the scream
of the guy that hit me as he went loudly down-
echoed on my nerve endings.
I dared not look back afraid that in my exhaustion, after putting
on a last burst of speed ,that if I looked back or tried to stop and
offer aid …
I would cause a giant pile up of broken bicycles and bones,
so I pedaled on furiously, not looking back…..
….This was the marathon that changed
your thinking of me, as just a good ski partner…
as . just a good bike partner …

19. - 19 -
When we stopped at a pit stop to stretch,
and drink down some liquid in great gulps,
and a group of other marathoners (guys),
hung around me, admiringly, clinging to me with their eyes like
flies, knocking you in the ribs, congratulating you on your hot
woman…
I was oblivious to their stares and admiration,
but you weren’t,
not being able to deny that I was your woman..
and in that moment-you started to want me to be your woman,
shrugging your shoulders in surprise.
Dani had come from Baltimore to New York for the day,
accompanied by his daughter, who had just flown in from Israel..
She did not yet know of my existence
I kept making frantic phone calls, trying to join him.
I hadn’t seen him in a month.
Passing the phone to you, to give him directions to join me,
you felt the first stabbing pains of unreasoning jealousy.
Of this, I was oblivious too, thinking only of how to find Dani.
When, in your distraction, you left your back pack at the coffee shop,
the site of my last phone call to Dani-
We’d already bicycled on another mile -before you missed it

20. - 20 -
I watched you turn back
to retrieve your backpack un willing
to bicycle back the extra mile-to accompany you.
I watched you turn back to re-cover that route,
willing to see you disappear –
into the unforeseeable future.
That was then. But within the week…
at the end of another bike ride…
you declared yourself...leaving me surprised,
shocked, perplexed , in a quandary… ...
but not for very long. As I thought about
how perfectly we partnered in skiing and bicycling-
I realized how perfectly we could be partnered.
This year, I pass our anniversary in a cast .After we make love, and
perhaps love again and you fall asleep I’m forced to move
into another bed where I can throw the clumsy cast around and
around all night
I’ve turned into a night vampire awake in my coffin; needing to roam
the whole night long…sleepless.
I bear it bitterly, that we are forced apart
We do everything together…

21. - 21 -
We laughed so much when you received an ad…
aimed at improving your virility…
But it is no joke that out of the last six months,
I’ve been in one cast or another…and in pain-
for four of them.
Sitting wrapped in fiberglass…I’ve been
forced to analyze and to recognize,
my competitive nature, which is fine…
except when combined in lethal Molotov cocktail mix
of sorrow and emotional pain.
The first accident occurred just after your birthday,
and my mother’s death
…occurring on the same day.
Skiing down White Face full tilt two days later…
just before the funeral…trying to catch up with you …
I knew that I was tired, hurting, from another kind of pain.
I’d been warned by my body, to quit.
My leg had given out from under me…as I exited the gondola.
Reaching for my skis, I ignored the voice
...telling me to quit.

22. - 22 -
Instead I skied Hell bent on catching you.
You were skiing full speed
and I was unwilling now…
to let you out of my sight…and that’s… when it happened…
that twisting, snapping fall…
that kept me off the slopes… or anywhere,
except in pain, no in agony,
for the next six weeks.
And again……
Two days after tax season ended…
the new Cannon dale bike arrived in the shop custom made for me.
I’d been working day and night that
last week…preparing last minute filings.
You’d gone out bicycling with Andre…
not having me available,
and he’d made it up that last horrible hill…
that has been my nemesis,
…on his first time on a bicycle in twenty years…
Then he showed up to bicycle with us
that second day……………………
I glowered inside as I prepared…
to make it up the hill as well.

23. - 23 -
I was looking down trying to figure out
…how to shift some of those twenty four gears
…when I hit the rut and was thrown off into space …
and Hell

24. - 24 -
A Cat’s Tail
A hardened cast is misfortune’s play
and it’s hard alee
or capsize, with my crew-
with bones for mates, that mutinied.
With the boat’s pointing prow staved in,
bones broken into
three compassed and needled points
of pain that dangle uselessly;
as stupidly vacant eyed
as a red fox boa
entangled with a belligerent pig eyed matron.
I’d gladly abandon ship, ignoring
the women and children of my body –
escape to my own private island
-sleep all day in the sun-
take a vacation, check out of my body
……………… until it’s whole again.

25. - 25 -
It’s useless to try rowing with
this hardened fiberglass arm.
The pretense of mastery is exposed
…any escape from the physical facts,
torpedoed and sunk…………………………….
I’m as clumsy as my cat was in adolescence
every move that I make
is accompanied by the crashes
…………… of whatever it is
……………………..that I’ve knocked over.
Ungainly as a woman
in the ninth month pregnant
with triplets, I sit and sulk, flicking my tail back and
forth.
No longer the captain of my own ship,
I hiss to myself in ferocious feline snit…

26. - 26 -
I would try to make myself
a cup of coffee, or pour myself a drink,
But this morning trying to tighten up the espresso machine,
grounds spilled everywhere in sudden disgust;
but it was I , myself darling,
that had to clean up the mess
and start over again.
Poltergeists have taken up residence
behind my back, flinging away and dropping
anything that I want to hold and use.
They grin at me when I gnash my teeth in frustration and egg
me on for more games-
“Let’s play helpless baby or octogenarian
over and over again…Beg, sweetheart beg…”
If only it really was a switching tail…eagerly waving,
running like a tornado through the shower,
causing havoc with husband, boss, and crate.
That would have some
grace,
some tempo,
some….purr…pose

27. - 27 -
Nesting Re-established
In a thick pile of blankets
laid down on the floor
we are entwined,
two blind naked Siamese twin
newly born mice
co-joined in every possible spot,
on an incessant search;
incessantly searching for the comfort of
each other’s warmth.
With room to throw the cast this way and that,
I drink from the infusion of your overshadowing physical
presence,
cast like the shadow
of the Green Lantern on the wall of
my memory through the night’s dark landing.
In my sleep; no more crossness,
and bad temper breaking out;
withdrawal symptoms from
your sweet succoring mouth and kiss.

28. - 28 -
Together we stand, one on top of the other,
a Northwestern Indian totem
welcoming you into the lodge,
straight to the hearth- straight to the heart.
The totem stands with many grinning faces,
stands guard, one Buddhist face of bliss,
stacked closely, one upon another, one on one,
smiling calmly, eyes slanted closed,
like a purring cat being rubbed under the chin in ecstasy,
indifferent to life’s storms,
immune to the rampant smallpox of stress,
that’s running and infecting all at record rate…
a global infection and no anti-virus available.
Throwing arms and legs
around and over each other; used to,
and remembering the surf boards of each other’s
shape and rise; sharp sea salt spray, taste and smell,
spraying into our nostrils and faces refreshing sail,
with a sharp slap of fresh breeze, and sunrise’s tidal surf,
that drags us in under tow,
rolling us over and over together,
Slowly, sinuously we grind our love together.

29. - 29 -
As we
open eyes to each other
in
the moonlight darkness,
as we
drink
and drink again and again
of each other’s sea lion gaze.

30. - 30 -
The Thrumming Foghorn of the Bullfrog…rises up and resounds
through the water…
rises up through multi-floored supports,
suspended bulk.. and pondered, ponderous pushing;
resounds in full bag piped faced dirge,
a dirging on, a dirging on, my love;
in full throated thrum.. a dirging on,
through the middle of lovemaking ,
granting an audience with the queen, my love,
granting an audience with the queen, my love,
granting an audience
with the night-my love… a thrum.
Then after a stillness, after a long moment;
after drawing in enough air and space
.. my love…to run the lights of an ocean liner
… for a month ,my love
The bullfrog pushes out another thrum
of so great a capacity… my love …
the bullfrog pushes out another thrum
of so great a capacity … my love
....that bounds and rebounds
off of the tightly stretched surface,

31. - 31 -
trampoline mass of the lily padded pond
…my love
a jelly like, vicious, gelling
country block of a territorial thrum
... my love
Ponderously and thoroughly,
… again and again,..
… my love
a large and swollen throated Greek chorus of . ..one…
my love..
all through the night…
All throughout the long June night…
the bullfrog will continue to thrum…… my love
with cavernous thrum… my love…
with capacious thrum … my love

32. - 32 -
Radiance Illuminates His Face and
the glow teaches me
the proportional importance of his love…
dreamless and sleeplessness should have
rendered me…unconscious and unaware at this point
But Joy unexplained is its own explanation
Happening on the spot, when entering the bed
Of my lover and mate made on the living room floor
at first light as
we enter the period of the longest lingering light…
un-watered by the coolness of the lake.
but
blanketing in downy softness,
the light blue and clear morning ,
washed onto the plastered walls.
rustling of the silvery curtains
nothing compares to the inner light
illuminating his beloved face.

33. - 33 -
AND
Out the window through the silvery curtains at dawn
the waving green wall of the trees;
leaves with bellies cheerfully displayed, undersides up;
as uninhibited as naked two year olds,
playing under a whirling hose, watering the grass
Why are we sleeping on the living room floor anyway…
Needing cool chilled images
Pressed to our foreheads like ice cubes
needing images,
sealed inside of iced, chilled, cold balloons,
places where he swims, cool,
in the unseasonable June’s baking heat..
the caustic catalytic heat of the last two weeks
altering so many things

34. - 34 -
Day now already well formed,
framed and launched into tomorrow;
the squeeze me bird already loudly calling
wagering -as he does every morning
at around four-laying down his betting tickets
at every window sill..
I had such delight in grabbing a hold of
his hair and head-
the morning shining on his face and neck;
his sleepy chest, and all of the rest of his body,
When I awake at 6:30,
listening to him, getting ready to leave the house;
his familiar rustlings,
unlike that of the curtains,
cause me to smile and attend.

35. - 35 -
I Think that I’m Aware of Your Every Thought
I think that I’m aware of your every thought
as it rustles through the rafters of my recognition,
intensely aware of your living presence.
I think that I’m aware of your every thought.
I think that when you feel pain in your left
hand and close it, clench it,
trying to close the pain out…
that wherever I am,
I will close my left hand hard,
fingers into palm, in empathetic second sight.

36. - 36 -
Usually,
I feel it instantly when anything troubles you.
But now, after four weeks of disturbed sleep and
separate rooms..
there seems to intrude a psychic separation-
Cotton wool balls
… are packed in-between our coordinated feeling.
Your mood seems to have turned smoldering and volcanic…
my empathetic understanding,
like a village already buried in the ash
of your unspoken anxiety’s eruptions..
cannot figure out how to take the first step,
back into a clear and clearer insight
Your strange and pressured anxious state
is persisting..
always having another and different reason (why?)
every other day; always a reason,
but no one of them feels right; necessary
you drifting away into a needless hole.
How can I help you?
How can I hold you?
How can I call you? …help you perch like a little bird,
safe on the shelf of my heart?

37. - 37 -
I photograph you over and over and over again,
knowing every shadow and angle of your face,
but it’s your heart that I want to know every shadow
and angle of…to softly blow on the dying embers
of your fire; to bring you back to…
glowing flame

38. - 38 -
Colored Shadings and Complexities

39. - 39 -
In dream last night, words and images danced
with dragonfly’s sifted sheen of wing
and crystal eye of focus and eddied flight
through meadows of thick thought;
drawing pretty phantom words
down onto a thick vellum of parchment- that if aroused
into consciousness
would have proven fair rather than foul,
and would have been chosen and prized
from among the group of comely virgins of September- to be
published abroad; far and wide,
between thou and I and the globe-colored continents, swaying,
seen through the midnight telescoped view from the complexities
of the full moon, face and phases forever fixed upon us .
But I do not awake.
I only dream of awakening
as I wind my sweet verse around a rod
And spindle of fine spun stuff,
like a princess trying to release her brothers
from a dream’s spell-doomed flight-

40. - 40 -
I dream , a princess spinning and spinning, trying to be
forbearing
in a rough climb up a mirrored mountain;
using needles as spikes that prick and tear
at my flesh and bones…
I move to be rejoined with you my true love…
to awake and find the spell of sleep over;
the poem written; the wedding performed…
instead of endless challenges, endless colored shadings and
complexities .

41. - 41 -
An Identifying Acrostic
A globed journey through dimensions of time
and place
was to be the measured fate of my search of self
and it was not to be easy; whether in
contemplated rush out of harm’s way or
nun’s ignorance of grand papa’s circumcising
hidden Torah treasure
deemed worthy to be kept safe at all costs-as if
it was Ben Maimon’s own
ever comforting from the secret hidden behind
sweet Rachel’s bosom
racked by torture and rapture each in turn, but
saved, safe..
invested with the knowledge handed
down from her forefather’s exiled heart
never losing sight of the eternal light
grounded and turned to Jerusalem

42. - 42 -
Jewel among all gems is my belief and my need
ever lifting my sights and goals, deeper and higher
wasted not in an ember’s glowing soul

43. - 43 -
I Come Into the Darkened Room
tracing lightly the outlines,
over and along
your foot; a snail crawling,
leaving fluorescent trails up along your legs,
as I trace a line up the inside, along your shore..
reach the curved bay and the harbor of your thigh,
go up and over the hill, where
I would have loved to stay…and picnic
to eat and lay down a whole fluorescent pool
on the summit…but went on,
tracing the outlines of your body-
making a map for myself; planning the excursion
and entrance into our bed in the dark-
careful not to fall onto your shoulder and undo
the stitching; the deep probing dissection of
your shoulder performed by the surgeon, two weeks ago.

44. - 44 -
During the month of Av

45. - 45 -
The Painted and Fired Vase on the Burea
spills a Harvest of Grapes and Persimmons..
sits in a well of light; self-painted light..
that swells and ripens, throwing down
a colored trail of full, moist pollen-ed stamens
that attract the attention and intelligence,
buzzing like a bee, to the sight of the
painted and fired vase on the bureau …
it’s turned and flaring rim. contouring all of poetry’s rhyme and
verse within.. and in its shining colors
and glazes, that tint the palette of color and prod memory-
causing me to remember the day that we sat under a tree
eating grapes and opening fine persimmons
with your silver Swiss pocket knife
which had 15 different tools and attachments
which we didn’t need –

46. - 46 -
The grapes and persimmons
glowing like fine jeweled and glazed paintings
They were ripe and smelled like
freshly gathered honey combs..
as we contemplated getting up to walk
across the field to sit on the stone veranda
under it’s fine awning of vines.
Golden was the light of the afternoon-
your head in my lap.
I’m leaning over you…feeding you grapes one by one-
A potter is shaping the vase;
mixing the slip that will form the colors of
the yellow golden light of the background-
the purples of the grapes;
the swollen orange of the full seeded persimmons
on the painted and fired vase on the bureau.

47. - 47 -
Ani Koret Leha a love poem inside of
the Shabbat cup

48. - 48 -
Ani Koret Leha
Ani koret leha sweet burning liquid neshema
sheli she menagan ben he slil im shal ha
breath of my breath, sfatiim al sfatiim
Ani nimset ben ha sliliim shal ha gvool
she neepared benainu ve shov ve shov
I call you from behind the screen
shal ha hesbon- gam nefshi ve gam caspi
and my breathing and heart beating calls you
calls you sweet liquid burning soul ( and mine )
checks and mates in the calling moves
and sending sweet hot breathing down the
back of your neck, as I call you
Ani koret otcha
Soul neshema
Sweet matook
burning mseref
soul soul
of mine neshema sheli

49. - 49 -
Erratic patterns
The Ship’s Log
Same new Entry:
Adrift on the shallows of sleepless nights……..
the Fortieth Night of an unprecedented heat wave
What do I hear hanging.. spinning in the air?.....
from the midst of the sudden
unexpected storm of
incompatibilities- those two unmatched needs that
crisscrossed and argued over the button of the fan-
randomly pushing the thing on or off all night-
Worn out and quiet after the last bout of thrashing… we both
get up to vent our continuing state of un-sleep

50. - 50 -
you to pee………I to pace and swallow another pill.
and the cat, who, always positions itself halfway in between us…
now … sits in an apprehensive overlook of pregnant
worries.
With dilated golden cat’s eyes they whimper
pawing restlessly at the collar of the sweltering heat
Why can we not achieve our Siamese
symbiotic state-now in these nights of heat wave-
when we could so effortlessly before?
Why is all order and harmony upset?

51. - 51 -
Why is all order and harmony upset?
Back in bed, the perfect clock- bought for just that spot
on the wall of the bedroom-
ticks slowly, tearing out the blood from our premeditated
sense of selflessness;
tears the heart out of ourstriving to always please theother-
ticks slowly on, second bysecond in echoing breach
of the understanding andof the response-
that is quick to come to the side and aid of the beloved…..

52. - 52 -
We are too tired to….and we are too tired to…and we are
too tired to..
…close within each other’s embrace

53. - 53 -
Wandering Through the Thickets and Thorns……
…Hidden from Each Other by the Dense Dark.
we clasp hands and bodies trying to balance out
the ship of us-
needing to cooperate - needing-to keep the boat
from capsizing into the rubbed raw ocean of
sleep deprived visions of Hell-
clambering
to drag us under with loud irritable claps of touchiness that can
play no empathy, on instruments of love……
as
each breath swells and bursts it’s throat,
trying to keep cool in the throbbing night.
There have been too many nights
of these tired repeats.
The audience is ready to rebel, to throw popcorn
and beer cans( empty and full)
at the unblinking screen.
Our tired mob, all two of us, is trigger happy,
out for blood-up for the real entertainment of the night-
unheeding now, insensitive; desensitized slowly……
but surely miserable,

54. - 54 -
we need to distract ourselves from our autistic
self rocking timed to the beat of the clock,
that has not worked to put us into sound sleep.
We’re ready to boo (with a studied look
- and only half remorseful hearts).
Pandora’s pitiful pleas, to please re-close her lids-
to help her sleep…. Do not move us.
No…Our tired devils are ready to party and hoot
with jabbing mockery at her sad pleading….
No…we would not now release her into her former easy and
pleasant
dreams
...even if we could.. ……
And
…it feels like I cannot find the anchor of your arms
comforting embrace…
anywhere…from where you’ve left me…
in the dark ..to toss on the sofa downstairs…
I’m too tired to move
and look for you
once more…
after you’ve vacated our bed .

55. - 55 -
The Braille Pattern Formed by the Lily Pads
on the Pond ( a Found Poem)
trans-scribes, trans-fers the mundane frog’s pond
into a larger message…
tran- sends in laid out trans-muted pattern
the mute song and sense of a gigantic, blind
creative force…out there…talking to us
from deep space or a black pitted hole;
that needs our cooperation.. the transmitters
of our minds-that our minds and trans-miters
long to know …
that sits there, painted on the pond
in a tran-sparring blend of trans-fig-ured and
trans-par-ent frog inhabited
greenish water and thousands of ordered lily pad notes

56. - 56 -
(There it is.) If you look out of or lean out the window
over the stair hallway, the patterns-soothing to the feel, and to the
soul-under the eye’s
sensitive, quivering, antennae-ed fingertip’s brush and stroke
…There does seem to be…
a meaning to it-
an attempt at communication-
and attempt to connect the dots and dashes
from deep within the gut
in a trans-forming search for the light sort of way-
through the angles of the sky in its
watch faced movements
The watch, it’s face, and the constellations themselves after all…
are only themselves a plastic trans.parent overlay on
a blank board. Are only other efforts to
write down, to list, to comprehend
from the perspective of a the blind man trying to describe
-an elephant.
…
There is in the Braille pattern
formed by the lily pads on the pond…to the man,
yes blind; but also
trans-ported ..available, another wisdom trans-posed.

57. - 57 -
Evolutions From the Seed
There are two more red tomatoes ripening
in the purple pot standing out in the sun,
from where we have already harvested two-
slicing them up thinly, laying them down
on top of the rare cooked steaks
that we cooked on the grill after the heat of the day
started dissipating, right as the ice cube stars
in the tall glass of the sky,
started taking orders from off of the diner menu.
The mosquitoes are out slipping into their seats
on folds of skin; covered with white tablecloths
of thin slips sweaty still with clinging beads
of profuse dripping that have been hung out on lines, hung out to
dry but everything
refuses to dry or to cool down
in the wet, sopping wet heat.

58. - 58 -
The mosquitoes filling up on Bloody Mary’s
at the bar of my arm, are noisy and loud…
the bartender moon that’s just coming on duty,
tying an apron onto the horizon …
will have to take away the keys to their cars …
or their fat red lady bug babies
will never see them again after they have collided with
and gone under the trap of the flycatchers
I’ve got lined up in the dark-
their radars turned on high and hungry.
Everything too hot-your skin like a crisp fried treat-burns
and pops; crackles next to the bug zapper…
but the tomatoes hide crisp lines of seeds inside,
like crisp heads of lettuce for salads cool and regal,
congregating like groups of Christian Scientists
getting ready for next years cruise to the Caribbean;
congregating like a group of Shakespearian players
who have yet to decide which play to play in.
After all didn’t I quite by whim,
quite by chance
spy the tomato plant
with its small green tomatoes

59. - 59 -
already developing and clinging
on an outdoor shelf of the nursery
in an area that
I just happened to be passing through
…and I bought it and put it
in the trunk of the car in spite of the drive
..because it was the only one left, and it was on sale…
Couldn’t it just as easily have
happened that to escape this great heat,
I went on vacation to
a glaciered field somewhere in Alaska,
or down to Chile, where it is high, cool,
and winter…
and that I found this same tomato plant
chilling on a balcony there
with the tomatoes still green and
developing.
none approaching ripeness.

60. - 60 -
14 Shades of Shadowed Light Falling On the Wall…

61. - 61 -
14 Shades of Shadowed Light Falling On the Wall
As the heat of the day- breaks up- the hot white light-
surrounded by a heat haze- shatters- and breaks-
into a softer resonance and pitch- that drops-
copper pennies-against the red of the barn wall-shading- with
bright foil wrapping- t
he top-of
the apple trees- in citrused shades.
And softly – the wind chimes chimed rays-
leaning on the crossbeam of the window-
aroused by the evening breeze-in bronzed rays-
stretched out the length of the wall
resting after the heat of the day.
Into the light filled tub of the wall-
the shimmering quick staccato chirping light-
the cricket- rubs itself in quick green flashes
-click, click, click.-
The swing under the apple tree-
sways in a mood and light of- remembered invitation
and past swinging-hung up and
displayed against the vertical planks-
lighting up a time from before the Game boys
took over the children-and their enthusiasms.

62. - 62 -
The supreme orange-of the day lilies-
is over shining only in the withered
pumpkin pie colored husks-
standing leaning
down there-way down there- near the ground.
The water colored stream of jeweled light-
from the hose- thrown up against the barn-
in accident or jest- while accomplishing
the merciful task- of watering the parched garden-
coming close to harvest
sunshine smiles-
in light and shadow-
playing with the hand forged door handle-
to pull open the doors-
and throw light on the floors.
and up into the mow-
where the mice are hidden in a hay bale-
that the cat hasn’t found yet.

63. - 63 -
As the sun sinks lower-
the shadows grow taller- and bolder-
in color and hue -playing leap frog
-with Venice blue and –Kansas yellow-
throwing handfuls of Calcutta green-
and streamers of Jerusalem gold-
light plays with shadows to stick
to each other’s hair-in a long flight –
kisses of evening’s peace thrown like fair prizes-
here and there-
against the scratches we left-
when the bicycle’s brakes-didn’t work….
The hammock’s sure swing of light-
adds depth- and pleasure –
as the tractor’s no- nonsense-
working light-plows on in straight lines-
and ninety degree corners-
providing a frame- around -Home, sweet, home.

64. - 64 -
Letters and notes- ok- e-mails-come flashing in-
periodically- responding to the invitation-
to the big end of the summer party-
scheduled for the twentieth.
Peter Pan-and his shadow -you-
and Tinkerbelle’s presence-shown in a tiny light-(me)-
are also here - for we have lived here together-
in Never Land now-for almost a year.
The wind chimes flash strong -and loud in shadow-
against the barn wall-

65. - 65 -
Prelude-
Heat

66. - 66 -
The heat wave boils another day,
Another swollen, prolonged headache,
another listless, smothered waking up….
within thermoses of heat . Stacked in tight tins
of naked sweat and no relief…
bodies buzz like stricken flies
stuck on sticky fly paper- not moving
in the ninety nine degree fevered heat
and ninety percent humidity coma….
No bets, no lotto today…no energy to pull the lever.
The cat lying as close and flat a shadow as possible
on the floor under the bed and won’t come out until dark..
Melting, fusing uniqueness and singularities away,
things really are “things”…heads pushed vainly
against the jarred walls of heat.
This day spent just waiting…..
waiting for dark, for night, for this day to finish…
As soon as I wake up, I stick to everything; everything sticks to me.
You stick to me. I stick to you. I avoid touching your fever hot skin-
avoid breathing in deep-
watching you
struggle to breath- through heated bricks

67. - 67 -
I avoid touching your fever hot skin-
avoid breathing in deep-just as the cat does…
lying close into the floor
until , the fixed heat will be shattered
violently,
by a brutal thunderstorm-
as it was yesterday…
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before
and the day before

68. - 68 -
Oh! the afterwards
-Oh!

69. - 69 -
The awakening blast! Awakening the dead
.from the simmering coffins of
……………. their beds!
Violent surge! Fracturing!
circuits and path-
pipes of vein and artery
rust and heat encrusted -
suddenly cleared and
drawn
to the window sill
with crazed magnetic energy
as day turns to dusk
with a sudden eclipse of
electric fury!!!
trees exploding from a
jagged surging of wind!!!
garbage blowing all over the yard,
from the bag

70. - 70 -
blown over scattering through the
sky!!
discarded boxes and Styrofoam
wrapping!
Blown across the road-
in hectic raging!!!
I run out in my bathing
suit-
almost naked,
chasing
a box as a stinging defense line of
water forms a solid, tackling wall-
comes to send me over the goal line
of the road,
crashing-thunders and lightning- rushing me
in a charging herd of hard, stinging rains
the first charging thunder,
the lightning, cracking and flashing
…….. through my head
an endless hallway of release; relief .
The tent’s blowing away?

71. - 71 -
Who needs it anyway?????????????????????????
rigging running off
like octopus arms
flying off in all directions
blown up by a bomb-
Who needs it anyway????????????????????????
. the lynchpins
holding the fields and hills up to view sheared off, …
coming….. un………….done-
Tomatoes torn off the vine-
a watering can driven to the wall
as I pull you out the
door
…yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
…yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
suddenly feeling a wild abandon,
turning wild with something to do

72. - 72 -
………..coming unstuck from the heat
I dance in the downpour……//////////
At the end of a
string
caught in a high wind
of lightning bolts,
you run like a
kite……………
afraid of being hit

73. - 73 -
The Cats-Kills
(The Flaring Claws in the Black Panther’s
Shadowed Leap)
You are not supposed to exist- and
I don’t believe you do-
and nobody does-except that fellow at the jail-
who insisted that you stalked and tracked-his dog
through the woods;
the dog flew in a panic-
nearly breaking through the screen of the door-
and wouldn’t come out from under the bed for a-day-
after being scented and trailed by you.
But- you are not supposed to exist-
and I don’t believe you do-
and nobody does-why should we?
We walk through the woods-with cell phones-
talking to our parents while 2 miles
deep within the trees-
We hear the neighbor dogs barking-
The guy’s satellite dish is-beaming in Japan-
and black panthers are extinct here- aren’t they?

74. - 74 -
My kid doesn’t want to move
from the computer-
He wants the latest Game boy-
and he doesn’t want to work for it-
and he-doesn’t want to talk or be disturbed-by
any human relationship-while he’s playing…
which is always-even though
he’s getting fat from lack of exercise-
so I’m walking my property alone-
Talking to my parents on the cell phone-
They’re getting on in age-and who knows how much
longer- I’ll have them-
and it’s outrageous-really outrageous to think
that that neighbor of mine-
thinks that there’s a black panther-
that not only exists-
but wants to eat his dog
-Some people!
I tell my parents- I just saw a porcupine-
it’s quills- all a quiver- as I’m walking along
looking at all of the-mountain laurel-
along the path-in bloom.

75. - 75 -
I tell my parents-I just saw a turtle-
slowly crossing-in front of me-
pulling-in its head-when it sees me-
Then they hear my shriek-What did you see now?-
they both say in unison-
I saw a-
I saw a-
I saw a- big black panther-
that leaped across the 12 foot wide
path—
like it was a tinker toy!!!!!!!

76. - 76 -
Quilt s And Paintings

77. - 77 -
On the railing, over ends of sofas and chairs;
spread on our bed, and the spare bedroom bed-
hung or spread-are the collection of quilts-
very much in use…..
…..The crazy quilt that both my mother
and then I worked on, as girls-
taking our time to embroider around different blocks
to make an embroidery showcase, of our ability
with needle and embroidery thread-
promised to both of us, by my grandmother-by mistake.
I didn’t get the quilt until after my mother’s death,
when my brother found it in her attic,
along with the cedar chest
…..and suddenly I had six sets of pillowcases
painstakingly embroidered by me when I was ten-
some of them made out of grain sacks
that grain used to come in years ago-
fine enough to make aprons and pillow cases out of.

78. - 78 -
I remember sitting up late in the summer,
embroidering in front of the treadle sewing machine,
that my grandmother taught me how to use
when I was four….and
I had to choose, either to work the treadle or
to steer my work…because I was too little to do both.
I worked late into the night- late at least for a
farm family.
My grandfather was in bed by 10,
listening to his radio.
He’d get up at 4AM to milk the cows,
no matter what the season ..and my grandmother
would be reading, and sleeping when she could.
She didn’t sleep at night, but stayed,
quietly reading in her bed.
Sometimes during the day, she’d fall asleep
in a chair… in the middle of a conversation.

79. - 79 -
At eleven PM I had the house to myself;
sitting in front of the treadle machine,
listening to the crickets,
daddy long legs crawling up the corners of the windows,
filling all slack space up with their webs.
The crazy quilt meant something.
It was pieces of the men’s shirts and pants
-pieces from an aunt’s best dress-
or a dead cousin’s visiting dress.
The blue back grounded quilt, smells of cedar-
fifty year’s worth-smell of the cedars of Lebanon.
When it came time to put together a quilt,
my grandmother and I would set up four kitchen chairs, and the
homemade quilting frame,
outside in front of the house, under the tree
that I loved the sound of-Quaking, shaking aspen;
rustling, talking laurel, it’s speech running like water over
small stones in the brook talking small talk, talking quilting women
talk,

80. - 80 -
as we tacked down the quilt bottom,
then a middle filler, then the top to be tied or quilted,
and took out our quilting needles,
starting one on each end;
quilting and rolling the finished work up,
moving the chairs when we had to.
The rest of the quilts are from Wal-Mart,
made in China, by girls and women,
making each quilt by hand, being paid in pennies, or at best-a
few dollars, for a full day’s work.
I wonder how many times a day
small fingers –get picked.
I hated wearing a thimble when I was young
-but sometimes leaning all of your weight
on the needle with the thimble,
was the only way to get the needle through.
(Now, paintings)

81. - 81 -
…….Lately, I’ve been buying up on EBay, paintings; paintings
… that are reproductions of paintings
by Diego Rivera.
I’ve paid pennies; $.99 once for one; at the most $40-
all the cost was in the Shipping.
$39 from Hong Kong.
I’ve had a painting shipped from Israel
When the painting was quoted as being with an art importer,
located in Canada.
He knew who I was all right (the seller)…because he wrote me a
note in Hebrew, wrapped around the painting-saying that he
likes doing business with fellow Israelis and so, and therefore,
was giving me a five dollar break.
Why was he afraid to list himself
as doing business from Israel.?
Our falafel stands and signs in Hebrew
are everywhere …especially China

82. - 82 -
…..As I got more paintings from- California,
and…Poughkeepsie, NY-
the whole thing started making sense-
the high shipping costs-
the fact that the paintings are real oil paintings,
painted by real people, with
real brushes.(and)why every seller identifies themselves as
art importers, except the seller in Hong Kong-
that identifies itself- as an art gallery
These paintings are painted in China-
where the painters are paid pennies-
to paint copies of Diego Rivera
(And )isn’t it good,
that we can get-beautiful things like these from China
-for pennies, instead of what we’d have to pay here
to do the work ourselves, or to pay for the work to be done.
(And) isn’t it horrible
to contemplate, the faces on most of us,
when we wake up, and realize,
that we’ve outsourced our jobs, our stories, our relationships, and
our whole country to the Chinese

83. - 83 -
The Grape Vine’s Twisted Tune
Like a note cast in a bottle,
then flung out to sea;
the cosseted fraying bark of the trailing vine,
trained to twist and soar like a kite;
a brown and green clad rope,
twined over and around the vineyard forecastle ;
a knotted sol quay light attracting rod
onto a deeply imbibed delight-
painted on the Mediterranean walls of my mind.
The vine is…. a terraced hillside;
a stone ram parted picnic site…
marching Romans … rimming the aging barrel,
set down beside a rough hewn twelve foot long table
covered with a checkered cloth, and cheeses,
and flat breads, and bottles, and singers, and lovers,
and grandmothers and
the lasting miracles of love and heritage.

84. - 84 -
…The vine
with wandering long fingering leaves
reaching out to stroke sweating flesh .
In the hot, very hot sun-
sweating under a cloudless sky;
The land contains and slowly leaks….
the elemental elements of stone…wood…
and water on the terrace
In the inner courtyards..
I slip off my sandals and bathe my feet
in a cool stone basin…
Presently, I will join the others
at the rough hewn table,
prepared, and preparing to feast
under the sun dappled netting
of the twisting vines…..
as they sing their wine making tune

85. - 85 -
Deeply
Moved

86. - 86 -
A Silhouetted Silent
Goodbye
Flat lined, slow, serene
a streak of pink-
in bottomed out jet stream-
runs across the line of the horizon.
With no direction a soprano takes flight
as her pink alter ego lies low-
singing in low gear.
Your pulse behind me in slow beats-
steady as-the one dimensional sun sets-
in flattened emergence and submergence.
In silhouette, in quiet requiem-
minimal soaring of slight tension
amassed- then dispersed-
Icaria’s’ wings- already melted
lie silently in the lee side of the sun-
the sun as quiet as you-
quiet behind me-
but deeply felt.