Absence of Love

Like the ebb and flow of tides on the sea,
He rocks in and out of me.
In my mind, I lie on the sandy beach
Staring blankly at the waves, trying in vain to reach...what?

I feel nothing.

I turn my head, hiding my tears of fustration from prying eyes.
she knows something's wrong, sees the pain I can't disguise
But what can she do? She feels as helpless as I.
We grind and thrust to no end, I silently cry.

I am lost.

Go ahead and come, I tell her with my gaze.
Her concern is evident even as her hips raise
Against mine.Her eyes ask: What about you?
The familiar lie: It's all right, do what you have to do.

I feel cheated.

She is free to move, pounding me towards release.
I have no choice but to hang on, waiting for her to cease
And I weep inside for all I miss,
I drown in the sorrow that begins from the first kiss...

I am numb.

When you open a book, you open my life

When you open a book,
you open a pop- up of my life
or at least my breath
which seems to be lifting
my lungs up and back
in their timeless sea rhythm,
and I must be reacting
more obviously, breathing
a little too hard. Maybe
the sound of my breath
is catching yours or maybe
it's my chest moving more
apparently,

but I can't get the feeling
under control because
your voice is shaping words
in quiet rumbles with soft
precise authority
such that each syllable
vibrates your baritone
a little, and I almost feel
the mattress shake ever
so slightly, but it could
be that I just trembled
and a tiny quiver escaped
at the way your lips move,
open then shut and how
you hold the book
in your hands.

In any case you noticed
because you laugh gently
and skim the pages on me,
flicking them over my tummy
in a shuffle, covering me
with poetry and then
with you and a smiling
question

Oh you like being read
to, do you?

It's like striking a match,
and we press the words
between us like flowers

I'd like to, a poem by the Bard of Bat Yam (#BArdOFBatYam), Poet Laureate Of Zion, Stephen Darori (#Stephendarori@stephendarori)

I'd like to
I'd swing from the heavens
Down across the boulevard
From one end to the other
And back up again

But who can swing on a star

Those lights shining on the El platform
Over the boulevard
Look handy enough
I bet I could swing on them

Oh what drama
Oh my god
Oh the gods
I'll be damned
Well fuck him anyway

Yeah
Well fuck you all anyway

A bitter winter of despair... a poem by the Bard of Bat Yam(#BardOfBatYam) , Poet Laureate Of Zion (#PoetLareateOfZion) and Stephen Darori

It's a bitter winter of despair

Dark, black clouds hug the horizon

Great, grey waves crash the battered beaches

churning up detritus;

man's trash, coughed up by nature

and spit out upon the shores

Tar-covered carcases smear the pebbles
where happy, little children used to run
naked and innocent
not knowing their presence blighted
the sand where they gathered shells
in their sweet, poisonous little hands

The sound of oil rigs thump in the distance
day and night
like the beat of a distressed heart

Pumping, pumping, pumping
earth's blood out onto the spoiled land

Far off in the desert a woman squints up
at the blazing sun in the sky

She hears the thunder of bombers
over the steady thump, thump, thump
of oil rigs on the land her ancesters
crossed slowly on desert ships;
living satisfied for thousandes of years
without the black wells of blood
for which so many will soon die

Katushka ....If you were my rose, then I'd be your sun,

Katushka ,f you were my rose, then I'd be your sun,
painting you rainbows when the rains come.
I'd change my orbit to banish the night,
as to keep you in my nurturing light.

Katushka f you were my world, then I'd be your moon,
your silent protector, a night-light in the gloom.
Our fates intertwined, two bodies in motion
through time and space, our dance of devotion.

Katushka f you were my island, then I'd be your sea,
caressing your shores, soft and gentle I'd be.
My tidal embrace would leave gifts on your sands,
but by current and storm, I'd ward your gentle lands.

Katushka f you were love's promise, then I would be time,
your constant companion till stars align.
And though we are mere mortals, true love is divine,
and my devotion eternal, to my one valentine.

Katouchka , will you sill love me when I am old ? by the Bad of Bat Yam, Poet Laureate of Zion

 I would ask of you, my Katouchka ,a question ancient,soft and low, 
That has given many  I think a great heartache,as the epoch of seasons come and go.

Down the rivulet  of life together,Katouchka, we are about to sail, side by side,
Hoping some bright day to Shomron anchor safe beyond the cascading  tide.

Today our Zion sky is cloudless,butt grey nimbus clouds may unfold;
And tempest storms  gather round us, Katouchka,will you still love me when I'm old?

Katouchka your love I know is veracious , but even the  truest love may grow cold;
It is this that I would ask you, will you still love me when I'm old?

Life's moon will in two score year start waning, and its evening bells eventually be tolled,
But Katouchka my heart shall know  no melancholy sadness,If you'll still love me when I'm old.

Kaouchka when my hair shade the white snowdrift, and mine eyes shall nebulous dimmer grow,
I would need to lean upon some loved one, through voyages of life's  as I go.

I would claim of you a promise, worth to me more than ten  Fort Knox of gold;
It is only this, my Katouchka ,that you'll still  love me when I'm old.

Elegy to a Bubble Bee by the Bard of Bat Yam, Poet Laureate of Zion

When I think of you now
I think of one of those magnified pictures of insects
Not a fly
It would have to be more beautiful than that
A glorious butterfly, with rainbow, stained glass wings
That catch the light 
In every color under the sun
And then blow it up
Bigger, bigger, a million times
Until I can see the scaly surface of your skin
Crusted with scalloped knives
And your eyes
Your beautiful blue eyes
In the cruel gaze of the lens
Have turned ugly and gray
I see myself reflected in them 
In a honeycomb of mirrors
A kaleidoscope of selves
I'm so enchanted, 
So fascinated
With the multiplication of my image,
I don't even notice that you've drawn your long, thin snout
From behind your wings
And unsheathed it
I don't feel a thing when you plunge it into my skin
And strike a vein
I don't hear the slurping sound
I'm watching myself up until the very last moment
When you withdraw
You pull the needle out slowly, 
Gorged on my blood
And now, it hurts
I would like to say that at least I was able to swat you away 
Like the tiny insect you are
But you're too clever for that
By the time I even realize what's happened
You've already moved on to the next flower

Rikkki de Riiik he sits by the Bard of Bat Yam, Poet Laureate of Zion

Rikkki de Riiik he sits, 
a stoic, 
purrs and meows
as fits his mood, 

Rikkki de Riiik my cat he sits
and does not move, 
as befits
a statue, 

on the mantle piece
table or window sill, 

then with a whirl he moves from
place to place, 
soon stretching out
and lies about, 

suddenly, starts and startles, 
remembering something
he has forgot, 
runs up and down
the steps

chasing his shadow
or something more profound, 
dances up and down
and all around, 
flops on the ground

and sighs
his secret kept

we in a quandry
wonder, 
what makes
him dream
come true 

The Poet Laureate of Zion by #BardofBatYam ; #PoetLaureateofZion #stephendarori #israelbkreview #stephendarori

The Poet Laureate of Zion sat at his desk in his displace African kraal
and watched as his ginger and white striped cat
once more came by to pay a call
upon his laptop computer he sat

The Bard of Bat Yam, studied him and his green eyes
Rikkki De Riiik , his cat, stared straight back at him
he had a very royal princely guise
from the day he wandered in with a 'snugglech me Steve' chagrin

This sweet ball of fluff amused the Zionist Muse no end
for sat upon his desk: he refused to bow or curtsey
was a subject who would to '' I have works to complete '' not bend
a paw raised gentle to his cheek in courtesy

He knew that cats and kings were one
of a very, very special kind
for when all was said and done
that's how they were destined and designed

The Bard and Laureate of Zion watched the cat and smiled again
as he majestically,on urgent state business papers settled down
a cat that ruled with cuteness and cuddliness in his domain
his best friend and the Maharajah of all in Bat Yam town