[Jinxii]

Thank you all so much for your kind words and sympathy. Ellis the Holland poem is just beautiful and made me cry all over again. You have made me feel so welcome here and this has been a great support to me. Again, thank you all, I really do appreciate it.
Love Jinx

[ellis]

Jinx, we're so very glad to have you here.
hugs for you, and prayers for your friend...

On a lighter note, if I may...

A Dog After Love

After you left me
I let a dog smell at
My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose
And set out to find you.

I hope it will tear the
Testicles of your lover and bite off his penis
Or at least
Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.

Yehuda Amichai

[Wanttolosealot]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, That is the funniest poem I have ever read Ellis. I love it!
Virginia

[ellis]

Excuse me... I'm in a "poetry phase", and I just have to share the best of them with you... (well, best for ME! )


If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem

If I forget thee, Jerusalem,
Then let my right be forgotten.
Let my right be forgotten, and my left remember.
Let my left remember, and your right close
And your mouth open near the gate.

I shall remember Jerusalem
And forget the forest -- my love will remember,
Will open her hair, will close my window,
will forget my right,
Will forget my left.

If the west wind does not come
I'll never forgive the walls,
Or the sea, or myself.
Should my right forget
My left shall forgive,
I shall forget all water,
I shall forget my mother.

If I forget thee, Jerusalem,
Let my blood be forgotten.
I shall touch your forehead,
Forget my own,
My voice change
For the second and last time
To the most terrible of voices --
Or silence.

Yehuda Amichai

[soozie]

Thanks Ellis. Soozie

[Jinxii]

Thanks for your words Ellis. The dog poem made me chuckle
There is some beautiful poetry on this thread. Thanks for sharing everyone.
Jinx

[mauvaisroux]

That dog poem was hilarious!
Thanks for the good laugh Ellis!

[barefootgrrrl]

Ellis - keep 'em coming!

they're greeatttt


Terri

[ellis]

Tourists

Visits of condolence is all we get from them.
They squat at the Holocaust Memorial,
They put on grave faces at the Wailing Wall
And they laugh behind heavy curtains
In their hotels.
They have their pictures taken
Together with our famous dead
At Rachel's Tomb and Herzl's Tomb
And on Ammunition Hill.
They weep over our sweet boys
And lust after our tough girls
And hang up their underwear
To dry quickly
In cool, blue bathrooms.

Once I sat on the steps by agate at David's Tower, I placed my two heavy baskets at my side. A group of tourists was standing around their guide and I became their target marker. "You see that man with the baskets? Just right of his head there's an arch from the Roman period. Just right of his head." "But he's moving, he's moving!" I said to myself: redemption will come only if their guide tells them, "You see that arch from the Roman period? It's not important: but next to it, left and down a bit, there sits a man who's bought fruit and vegetables for his family."

Yehuda Amichai

[barefootgrrrl]

The Birth of the Water Baby by Erica Mann Jong


Little egg,
little nub,
full complement of
fingers, toes,
little rose blooming
in a red universe,
which once wanted you less
than emptiness,
but now holds you
fast,
containing your rapid heart
beat under its
slower one
as the earth
contains the sea.

O avocado pit
almost ready to sprout,
tiny fruit tree
within sight
of the sea,
little swimming fish,
little land lover,
hold on!
hold on!

Here, under my heart
you'll keep
till it's time
for us to meet,
& we come apart
that we may come
together,
& you are born
remembering
the wavesound
of my blood,
the thunder of my heart,
& like your mother
always dreaming
of the sea.

[Ruthxxx]

Thanks. I'd forgotten that Erica Jong wrote poetry first!

[ellis]

that's beautiful, Terrigrrrl.... thank you.

[Ruthxxx]

This has been going through my alleged brain since this morning's lovely walk...

Indian Summer

Along the line of smoky hills
The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
Throughout the autumn lands.

Now by the brook the maple leans,
With all his glory spread;
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.

Now, by great marshes wrapt in midst,
Or past some river's mouth,
Throughout the long still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south.

-- William Wilfred Campbell (1860-1919)
Born at Kitchener, Campbell was known as
the poet of the Great Lakes.

A bit dated but the imagery gives me the shivers.

[ellis]

Beautiful, Ruth.
You're such an egghead.

[squeaker]

Egghead is a good thing right?