Poems about Expression

Some slide in skates
Others glide on jet
We're all on some journey
A soul's the ticket you get

I love you through and through
And through the pleasure to create
Cause to create is to surprise
The surprise of a new and different taste

two fingers on the wheel
others jammed in matted hair,
I'm drowning
in tangled
new-fangled half-
hatched worldviews,
no idea where I am

Two small children
Walk hand in hand
Along a stretch
Of white gritty sand.
You shall love your fellow as yourself.

I can invent myself today
To be the woman I long to become
And fill one small mold...

Living breath so near me
What once was within yet not fully known So precious after pain
and bitterness rubbed off
Our baby Living breathing “Mamma”...

Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Glancing up at the clock, The sound it makes resounds within, So many mixed messages lie therein...

In the midst of the forest, she stood.
In a dress one might have worn to a party.
Surrounded by others, hurrying, engaged in their own thoughts....

I will walk with you through many doors.
Though your pace is slower, I will take smaller steps,
For your dignity is as vital as the air we breathe...

For a few moments, Lila and the seagull looked at each other, nothing more. And then, with a great flapping of his wings, the gull took to the sky. If she expected gratitude, there was none forthcoming, but it almost seemed as if her heart took flight with him...

The passerby does not discern The difficult lessons she has had to learn...

I am learning to bless the splattered coffee stains in the sink, the wet towels on the carpet, the crumpled socks on the bathroom floor.

I handed my siddur to you,
After you passed your glasses,
To the young man who shared his water,
With the matron wrapping her sweater,
Around the tiny one.

A revival in the heart of
our People:
emitting strings
of musical notes
strokes of color
and dancing banners,

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Procrastinate.
Oh, how I hate,
when I just wait,
and do things late.

Wind
I'm airborne
down the street
just a black raincoat
It is windy, gusting
others resist

Shoulder length wavy tresses
matched her deep brown, dreamy eyes.
Dressed in the latest, elegant fashions
Lisa knew the fine art of social disguise.

A rowboat sits
In the middle of a marsh
With so many seagulls
It’s as if it’s snowing
My words feel less than insufficient.

What letters can tell
what words are worthy, to hold the story
the melody that plays the heart

Where do I belong?
With whom do I belong?
Certainly with my family
But the children are grown
and the relatives are
dispersed or gone...

I lay awake last night,
And thought about my day,
And then I wondered where I was, for what was I to say,
If someone asked me what I did

There is a place, my own I call it,
Where fiery winds blow messages -
Spirits of old -
Where graves of sages tell the tale,
History of our people…

I did not know this woman, whose life I feel so connected to now.
I never got to see her face, or look into her eyes.

You use your eyes to see me
And you use your mouth to judge.
As if our right should be
To hold a universal grudge.<

The following poem and paintings are the reflections of Sheva Chaya Shaiman, the artist for TheJewishWoman.org’s homepage. She and her family had been living in Tsfat until a few weeks ago when the katyusha bombings forced them to flee from their home...

Who am I you may well ask
I really wish I knew
If I am not myself at all
Then maybe I am you

There will allways be something anew
Something you´ll have to keep in mind
Something fundamental and oh so true
A wake-up push that you should find

Saw the Arch of Titus today.
Fought the simmering heat.
Temporary relief
of a cool ancient fountain found
triumphs to conquering Jews

I am an earthen vessel
For other-worldly fire
I carry my Torah
Under my heart
I turn my face towards the hot sun

In a moment
Between illusion and truth
Dreams are painted
By the wings of a butterfly.

Jerusalem: City of David, City of Gold.
How many nations have ruled you, have trampled your holy streets?
How many swords have pierced your aching soul?

Dear self, You are only human. You are not perfect, and really if you were, how absolutely dreadful that would be.

Although I never met you
Yet your allure calls to me
Beckons to me in my sleeping
and in my waking hours
Netanya, Jaffa, Zefat, and Haifa...

There once was a great rabbi,
Who had a dream one night.
And in the dream he got to see,
A most amazing sight.<

I wanted to tell you-
How sad I was feeling.
The struggle of searching for you
Was unreal...

When you heard all their lies, did you think it was true?
Or that that which they threatened they’d never see through?
Were you idle and mute as the cruelty grew?