Poem of the week: From Generation to Generation

by Jill Maura Rabin, M.D.
Long Island, New York Branch

 

From Generation to Generation: ‘L’Dor v’ Dor’
(‘Give me the keys, please’)

 

From generation to generation,
L’Dor v’Dor – a song, a wish, a prayer
pouring from my lips each Sabbath,
Responsibility light years from today.

 

L’Dor v’Dor – a weight, my eyes strain
and discern elders’ traces, admonitions,
‘Do not forget’, soundless warnings,
Knowledge shared in haste over time.

 

L’Dor v’Dor – twilight fills a father’s senses, dawn just yesterday,

Struggle and accomplishment, a life defined by service,

Care, control and days slip through gnarled fingers,

‘Give me the keys, please.’

 

L’Dor v’Dor – How to find you in the darkness?’

I am dizzy from earth’s ever faster spin,

Time, invisible, yet palpable, moves me up life’s ladder,

The next ones’ breath is on my neck asking for more.

 

L’Dor v’Dor – precious, ancient words, fiery letters blaze,

Past and future coalesce, generations of truth shared

in an instant, all is given, lost and gained, my son

is next – ‘give me the keys, please.’

 

L’Dor v’Dor – a song, a wish, a prayer

poured from my lips, each Sabbath,

Responsibility fulfilled, we rise together,

from generation to generation, L’Dor v’Dor.

 

Poem of the Week: Spirit Song

by Brenda Layman
Central Ohio Branch

 

Nature does not sigh for loss

In littered leaves and soil

She keeps her own ones

Birthed in Spring’s warm blood

Fed on Summer’s bounty

Curled in fur, huddled in holes

Each day light lengthens, shadows bend

And rush before the wind

That breathes tomorrow’s promise

Underneath her quilt of gray and brown

Blanketed with snow

Seeds are sleeping

Soon to wake, as their parents once awoke

Softly green unfurl

Into her world of sun and rain

And everlasting life

 

Poem of the Week: The Shawangunk Mountains And Mohonk Preserve

By Cornelia DeDona, Member at Large
Kingston, New York

 

The Shawangunk Mountains And Mohonk Preserve

are my church

a photographer’s dream

an obsession.

 

I return

to scramble

Giant’s Path

Rock Rift

Bonticue Crag.

 

I return

to capture black snakes slithering

through the foothills

to meditate on the serenity at Duck Pond,

snacking on wild blueberries.

 

I rejoice in making a photo

of two Turkey Vultures perched on a ledge

then follow them with my telephoto lens

as they take flight

and then circle back to

inspect their new home.

 

I witness

fellow hikers’ reflections

in pools

beneath waterfalls

the cool mist

sweaty rock panorama.

 

I return with raw

close-ups of Spring’s

trillium erectum

wild ginger, and bloodroot;

all stalwart parishioners.

 

I return

to pan

Summer’s rhododendron bridge,

and zoom into a cloud

of pink and white mountain laurel.

 

I return

to shoot Autumn’s

red oak and mountain ash,

to snap the sugar maple’s

red, orange, and yellow leaves,

ablaze in my continuous shutter release.

 

I return

to marvel at the hypnotic revelation

that is the Gunks.

 

I return

in Winter

to photograph the glacial majesty,

the mirror images in footprints left behind

to find the divine in a frosty pine.

 

I return

to capture

the golden light

the blue hour and the twilights

in slow water and ice.

 

My focus

devout

day in and day out.

 

I return.

I return.

I return.

 

http://www.corneliadedona.com

http://cornelia-dedona.pixels.com/

 

Poem of the Week: The Facts of Aging

by Mimi Gould
Atlanta, Georgia Branch

So much to do before I pass
and here I sit upon my ass,
my energy is gone there’s none to spare
I lay on the bed, still in my underwear.

 

I wasn’t warned about getting old
I tried to do what I was told
but none advised me about fatigue,
and laziness and the lack of speed.

 

I munch on ice cream and candy bars
and wonder how my waist got large.
I truly want an exercise routine
but end up with People magazine.

 

It’s disgusting to me, this aging event,
I can’t even remember how my days are spent.
The golden years are simply phony
with time to spare, it’s pure baloney!

 

I’ll wake up tomorrow and hear myself say,
hooray, I’m vertical for another day.
And suddenly the day goes by,
hours seem like seconds, the time just flies.

 

The months and years are gone like a breeze.
I need more days, dear GOD, if you please.
A new year is here, I must take control
of mind and body and this lazy soul.

 

I’ll rid the cupboards of cookies and sweets
and try my darndest to get off my seat.
The stationery bike awaits my butt,
and perhaps a dance class to strut my stuff.

 

I’ve letters to write and a canvas to paint on
and a memoir to write before I’m gone.
I used to run just like a bunny,
batteries charged, yes, that was me.

 

Now I’m down to a turtle pace,
the only speed are wrinkles on my face.
Dear GOD, please hear my prayer,
bless me with vigor and enough to share.

 

Poem of the Week: Winters

by Virginia Nygard
NLAPW Vero Beach Branch

 

Across the barren, snow-steeped ridge

skeleton trees appear dry and bare,

yet seem to wake as I near the bridge,

and my heart skips with childish fear.

 

They point my way and begin to wail

as one, in chill and windy voice,

You, too, will pass like this one day.          

You have no other choice.

 

 

Poem of the Week: Poetic Mystery

by Natica Angilly
Diablo/Alameda Branch, CA

   

Spirit dreams

the dance of the poem.

Consciousness flows.

Moving atoms take the space.

Poetry dances.

Mysteries unfold.

 

Poem of the Week: Earthsong

Dawn Huntley Spitz
Cape Cod Branch

 

A Sonnet

We love you, our Mother Earth, who gave us birth

We bless the land so fair you gladly share

We thank you for all you give that we may live

Your majesty we praise through all our days.

And yet we in our greed take much more than we need,

Plundering without remorse our very source,

Destroying by degrees our wildlife and our trees

We waste without concern, we slash and burn.

O creatures of the earth, you respect its worth,

This precious home on which you live and roam

Before mankind arrived, you flourished and you thrived.

But humans lack the key to harmony

And if we do not learn, before the point of no return,

To make amends… our story ends.

 

Poem of the Week: Magic Butterfly

Anne Ring
La Jolla Branch

 

Resting on a petal of the crimson oleander
Lemon-coloured fragile wings
Folded to the night,
Black antennae poised alert to warn of hidden danger
Yellow wings fan out once more
In the fading light.

Once a prisoner entombed you began your transformation
From the mud upon the earth
You rose to the sky;
Gliding through the universe resplendent in your beauty
Gossamer the wings so bright
Bearing you on high.

Gentler than the snowfall on some far-off hidden mountain
Ancient symbol of the soul
Are you here by chance?
Do you simply flutter through the days in careless rapture
Hovering above the flowers
Eager for the dance.

Or is there some deeper meaning to your sojourn here on earth
Herald to me as you fly
As you whisper by
Tell me all the secrets that lie hidden in your glory
Once, just once before I die
Magic Butterfly.

Poem of the Week: When Night Falls

by Barbara Menghini Whitmarsh
Bayou II, Texas Branch

painting for poem, When Night Falls

Leo J. Menghini, artist

 

When Night Falls

When night falls at the foot of the mountains

Red men from Pueblos

Climb ladders

To mingle in galaxies

Challenge Sagittarius in archery

Feed pieces of the Ram to the Dog Star

Then chase him from camp

His tail a cowering comet

They declaw Ursa Major

To make necklaces for their chiefs

Rub the dust of stars

On the bites of Scorpio

Topple the Northern Cross

Pray again to old gods

Then descend in moonlight

And rise again with the dawn

 


Note from Barb: The painting is by my father who painted it years before I wrote the poem at 16. I was all into astronomy back then. When my father died in 1994 my brother Joe got the painting. I got a few of his other pieces. His hobby was painting but he ran the corporate graphic art department at McGraw Hill for 40 years. My husband surprised me by combining the two. I never even thought of it.

Obviously, dad wasn’t in NLAPW, but when I became a member he was very proud. His name was Leo J. Menghini, a proud and dutiful man.

Barb W.

 

Poem of the Week: Trust

Elizabeth Sharon
Bayou City Branch 2

 

it’s a relationship with a greenish hue

old copper rust through time

a penny awash in the sea of hands

ole miss Liberty in the sun

 

when it was new, shiny, freshly minted

there was trust in what was seen

in what lay beneath the gleam

but sorely still the glimmer fades

 

each broken trust and confidence

an oxidized splotch, a leaking flue

and in the process, sore through life

trust lost a part and fell to rust