White nun dress girl with nursing hands,
Sympathetic believing eyes, religious fervor.
Public Puritan , respected, responsible,
Saving bodies, perhaps even souls.
Goodwill zealot, firmly perched
On pedestals of virtue, laurels bestowed.
In angelic light no vices encroach,
A beatific Beauty beyond reproach.
Collar caressing, leash attached,
Slut bitch crawling a decadent dance.
Behind the shades, private confessions,
Of passionate desires deeply entrenched.
To kneel, to grovel, to completely submit,
To beg to be beaten with a black leather whip.
Tumultuous cravings to fly ever higher
A mystical Beauty with a Queen's dark fire.
On earth,
in his beloved Jerusalem,
he could often be found in that tiny café
on King George,
sipping black coffee.
Everyone knew who he was,
but they all left him alone.
Later, he would shop in the shuk
like everyone else,
take a seat in the back of the bus,
put down his bags of fruits and vegetables,
and dream a little
till the bus reached his stop.
Everyone else was asleep
when he rose at four in the morning
to jot down the poems hidden in the corners
of his city.
This was his secret life.
On his seventieth birthday he whispered,
I’m tired of giving birth,
and it seemed to be true.
His face was tired,
even his eyes,
and yet something continued to burn.
I’ve learned the secret
of fertilizing myself, he told me.
I supply both egg and seed.
But I’m tired of giving birth
At seventy-six
he took leave of this world
quietly,
as one would expect of such a modest man.
Presidents and prime ministers spoke at his funeral;
thousands gathered to pay their respects.
When he reached heaven,
he was greeted by his heroes,
King David and Shmuel ha-Nagid,
along with hundreds of his poems,
their flying letters swirling around him.
The angels, delighted to welcome him,
offered him a pair of wings,
but he declined, saying,
It’s enough if my words have wings.
Tell me, where are the cafés
Other souls
wander the streets of Paradise like tourists,
staring at the heavenly temple
or taking a seat at the back of Rashi’s class.
Not Yehuda.
He’s still longing for the ruins
of the earthly temple,
for the ancient stones of his earthly city,
for all the sheets hung out to dry,
flapping like sails in the wind.
Thoughts of her constantly fill my days,
Dreams of her torment my nights;
Every time I close my eyes I can't breathe,
My insides, wound up so tight
And my heart stuck in my throat.
Wife asks, "What are you thinking about?"
"You, honey," I reply. A blatant lie.
Meanwhile, my lover snickers from the shadows
Of my mind, her soft hand trailing up my thigh.
Restless, I toss and turn; sleep eludes me
As I relive my delicious sin once again.
Her eyes were filled with passion, wild and free
Just once, I told myself, and my life as is would remain.
But it wasn't the case; now I long for more,
The weight and feel of her body on mine to explore,
To lose myself in his embrace and be found once more...
I want her as I've never wanted anyone before.
So many ways to say "I love you,"
And more ways to show you I care
And what I wouldn't give to see
Your beautiful smile as you stand there
In front of me.
How many nights have I dreamt of you?
How many nights have I ached for your touch?
How many nights must I lie in my empty bed
Waiting for you, wanting you so much?
You always fill my days with joy, my nights with love
I know that you were sent to me from high above
The clouds, that I shall see one day
As I make my way to you, I pray
That I can make my home with you and stay...
Until then, I will let you know how special you are
To me, how much clearer I can see the stars
Through your eyes, how much I love you
I will adore you until the end of time...
And I thank God every day that you are mine
Nobody can resist Greek honey,
Especially drizzled on an erect Arbor Vitae.
Glistening gold in the candlelight,
Come here, baby. I wanna lick it off.
Sticky and sweet, made from bees
Making love to flowers, from across the sea
To land in your lap, your erection
Eager for my waiting tongue.
I want to taste you, your essence
Mingling with the thick sweetness
Of Greek honey, the nectar that
Few can ignore, no one can refuse...
I know I can't.
My love, I sow the seeds for your return,
Tending to the garden of my despair.
Watering the plants with my endless tears,
My grief is their food; they flourish under my care.
The moon, red as blood, rises in the sky.
I say the words to bring you back, my heart aches
For you to fill it with life once more.
Come to me, my darling. My bitter harvest awaits.
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.
A fusion between Vietnamese and French?
Ca Phe Hanoi
Open Hours:
Sun – Thurs 12:30-16:30, 18:00- 00:00
Sat: 19:30 – 00:00
Address: Malchei Israel 3, Tel Aviv
Phone: 03-6771184
Ca Phe Hanoi is a French-Vietnamese fusion restaurant located in the heart of Tel Aviv. I had heard many reviews about this restaurant and was intrigued, so when a friend of mine mentioned that she was interested in trying it, I jumped at the chance.
As it is right by City Hall, finding parking was easy, which is no mean feat during Tel Aviv peak hour traffic. We had arranged to meet at 18:00 at the restaurant, so it was still relatively quiet there, affording us the opportunity to look around the restaurant.
As we walked through the doorway, we were immediately struck by the décor –modernist exposed concrete and simple-lined, geometric chairs and tables, combined with the rich colors of south-east Asia: deep red curtains, colorful murals, hanging lanterns, and a towering centrepiece of bamboo skeleton shelves laden with artfully arranged glasses, crockery and Asian grocery products.
The restaurant is housed in an old bank, and its bathrooms are housed in the basement vaults. The bathrooms are a unique experience in themselves – visiting them is a must! Entry is through a reinforced steel doorway, with the heavy metal door and vault locks still standing to one side. Sliding grid doors lead you into the men’s and women’s toilets – whose stalls are made of one-way glass, so that you can look out while other visitors cannot see in- a disconcerting experience indeed.
The friendly waiters were very attentive, seating us immediately and bringing us water, as well as advising us what food to pick when we couldn’t make up our minds. Over the course of the meal, they continually checked up on us to make sure that we were satisfied, and they even patiently taught my eating companion how to use chopsticks (but rest assured, there is western style cutlery available).
The waiters had told us that all the dishes were for sharing, but I will tell you in advance that the portion sizes aren’t large, and there were no utensils given for sharing the food. The deserts, however, are another story, definitely made for sharing, but I will get to them later.
Another important thing to note, is that some of the meat dishes come with sauces that contain fish sauce. The sauce is put on the side of the dish, so that the customer can choose if they want to combine it with their food. In response to our queries on the halachic issue of combining fish and meat, the waiters told us that according to Rabbinical authorities it is ok, due to the minimal amount of fish present in the sauce – however, the final decision is is left to every customer’s discretion.
Because diners are encouraged to share, the savory dishes are usually brought out all together, as a pose to splitting them into appetizers and mains. We had chosen to keep the fish dishes and meat dishes separate, so the waiters suggested that we begin with the fish dishes and continue onto the meat dishes later.
We began our meal with drinks. I had a pineapple, mango and coconut smoothie, which was served in a chilled glass jar and piled with toasted coconut shavings on top. The drink was silky-smooth going down and the flavors were perfectly balanced, without them overpowering one another. I did feel a slight tingling on my tongue but it was nice.
My companion ordered the lychee mojito, a cocktail of white rum, lychees, fresh lime and mint, which came artfully garnished with fresh mint leaves, orchid flowers and lychees. The drink was refreshing and had a strong lychee taste with spiky undertones. The mint leaves provided a good balance to the flavor. The lychees on top were from a can and not fresh, which was disappointing for a chef restaurant, considering that they were in season.
steamed fish in banana leaf
The food came out pretty quickly. Our first dish was the Steamed fish in banana leaf (68nis), with drum fish, black rice, herbs, light soy-sauce and garlic. The fish came beautifully wrapped in a neat banana leaf parcel tied with string, inside a bamboo steamer. I had never eaten anything steamed in a banana leaf before, and I had been very excited to try this dish. The fish itself was firm but didn’t contain a lot of flavor. The black rice on the other hand, was full of flavor from the sautéed garlic and onions, with a slight smoky under taste. The herb that stood out was the dill (was this the French fusion?). There was meant to be some soy sauce but I couldn’t taste it All in all, this dish was tasty, but a bit of an anti-climax.
yellow tail fish
The next dish was one of their specials- Yellow tail fish served with steamed white cabbage, carrots and beans. This dish had more flavor than the first dish. The fish was tender and had a slight sweetness to it. It also had a spicy flair, created by the black pepper. The flavorful sauce of chili, garlic, ginger and coriander really tied the dish together. It was amazing that all of the vegetables were perfectly done, and not overcooked. I found that there was too much pepper on everything, but my companion was fine with it, so it could just be a matter of personal taste. I could taste the bamboo that the food was steamed in, which was unusual. Bamboo steamers are usually lined with grease-proof paper so that the food doesn’t absorb other flavors – unless that was the intention.
vietnamese beef tartane
Then it was time for the meat dishes. The first of our meat dishes was Vietnamese Beef Tartare (48nis), with beans, cucumber, grapefruit, lemongrass, coconut, chili and an egg yolk on top. The beef was cut into just the right size pieces and was soft with a bit of a kick to it. The cucumber took down the spiciness and added crunch, while the lemon grass added additional freshness and depth. I was unsure as to why grapefruit was added to the dish, as the flavor was completely lost among the other flavors. Overall I did enjoy this dish.
xinjiang skewers
Our last main course dish was Xinjiang Skewers (64nis) – two chicken pullet skewers flavoured with lamb fat and spices, and rolled up in a Vietnamese rice pancake. The pancake was made with rice flour and had spring onions folded into the mixture. The chicken was moist and spicy with flavors from India. The taste of lamb was added by the lamb fat. The skewers came served with whole roasted green onion – which was technically difficult to eat due to its fibrousness- and a pleasant bean shoot salad. My one reservation with the dish was that there was nothing to cool down its overall heat.
The desserts were another story- they were fantastic!
caramel chocolate
At the waiter’s recommendation, we had the Cremo Chocolate (41nis), a chocolate brulee with pralines, salty-sweet chocolate crumble and spiced Indian halva threads. The chocolate brulee was creamy yet very light in texture, and the salty chocolate crumble toned down the sweetness, and we loved the flossed indian halva that complemented the desert so well.
lemon grass pannacota
We also had the Lemongrass panacotta (38nis), served with tropical fruits, lemongrass syrup, mint and longan. The panacotta was delicate in flavor and wonderfully refreshing. The kiwi fruit and mango brought out the flavor and the rosewater was subtle and not overpowering.
Our third desert was the Banana Loti (40nis), an amazing concoction consisting of bananas in rum, coconut caramel and almond milk cream, sandwiched between two layers of crispy puff pastry. We truly couldn’t believe that it was non-dairy because it was so creamy.
banana lotti
The flavors just sung together and the textures in the dish were great. The pastry added some crunch, the caramelized banana was just sweet enough and the almond cream was smooth and delicious.
Overall, what I liked the most about this restaurant was the ambience and the desserts, which alone are worth the trip. You could even do a progressive meal, where you could have a main course in a meat restaurant elsewhere and then come here for dessert.
website: http://caphehanoitlv.com/ – The English menu doesn’t list the drinks or desserts, but the Hebrew version does.
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
Against my will
I was brought here.
Kidnapped from my
home;
my freedom,
my autonomy is no longer
my own,
but now it belongs to another.
To me he has become all things:
master,
commander,
dictator,
lover.
To his will I must adhere
for disobedience will result
in a smack to my rear.
He likes to hold me down,
the strength of his wrists
keep me good and bound.
One look into my eyes and
I know what he means,
there isn't any need for so
much as a sound.
His kiss leads me to a state
of bliss,
his touch leaves me wanting
more,
all that he gives me is never
enough.
He can be simultaneously
gentle and rough,
sweet and gruff.
He is both yin and yang,
wild and tame.
He takes me to levels where
I feel as though I can fly,
the way he makes me feel I
could never, ever deny.
What started out as my
capture has now become my
pure, unadulterated rapture.
Summer should not
be ripe for sadness not
when trees toss their hair
like casual schoolgirls
but stand otherwise still,
cool in blind assurance
like feckless flowers
or fruit waiting to fall
from the vine.
The world overflows
with secrets but crows
jeer no matter the season.
I hear them laughing
in the mornings knowing
they will be fat
as plums on the snow
when our ground is frozen,
our branches whip thin.
I toss my hair and flutter
my fingers but otherwise
am still at the window.
I can't pretend sovereignty
over trees or plums but here
stories in squirrels, pines,
dragonflies, nothing
like people but animate
them to feel something,
to glimpse an uncle
in the forsythia brush,
a grandfather shadow
in slanting afternoon.
I've been meaning to tell you
that the sky is closer
to the earth here. It's brighter,
the clouds have more
dimension. I've been meaning
to tell you but I don't
know who you are,
just that you are fleeting
as a butterfly wing
or dandelion fluff.
When the moon rises
I quicken the stars, beg
them to whisper my name,
gather tears in the palm
of my hand and pretend
they are mother's, sister's.
I fly into the night to comfort
the moon and tell it we are
some kind of family.
As the two of us undress in
front of smoky, gray skies I
feel such a warm anticipation
tingling between my thighs.
She takes a hold of my hand
and leads me into the lush,
green wood,
then she pulls me so close
to him just like I knew she would.
She gazes deeply into
my eyes as she caresses the side
of my face so gently.
I can see her love for
me reflected in her eyes
so clearly.
The rain begins to fall
down in a soft mist.
She places her lips on
mine and we start to
kiss.
I feel her fingertips trailing
down my bare skin,
the sensation lights my fires
of passion deep within.
The rain begins to fall down
more heavily,
drops slither down our
bodies more steadily.
Her fingers tangle in
my et hair.
Oh, is this fantasy
or is this real?
She takes me down;
to the ground.
As our bodies intermesh
I feel soft, moist blades
of grass caress my bare flesh.
Our lips meet in a
passionate, luscious kiss,
in this present moment
I feel such exhilarating bliss.
The Wisdom of the Heart
sits to my left not right,
perhaps inappropriately,
but Henry Miller is sinistral
here though not unwise.
My wisdom is sitting nowhere
uncentered, snowflake swirled
or ground fallen.
Perhaps it will peek
up again crocus-like
when spring breaks
somewhat later in this town,
April being not a cruel month;
just days knitting my unravelled petals
back together,
looking for a green bench,
momentarily empty,
but with enough slanted sunlight
to bloom.
The day broke over your eyes, fluttered near
thick lashed, the iris leaf circled in bark.
I smiled upon your mouth full laughing, dear,
kissing the blood of lips against the spark
of dawn. This is how we wake, and thus begin
anew the path leading away from then
and how it was and what will be to win
nothing from her or him but start again,
believe that something pure can be exchanged
within the breath of hope awakened now
in battered souls that here are rearranged
from what once was, reshaped by questions. How
love do we know which way to go or be?
It matters not; our world is rich. Wait. See.
Freshly showered
raindrops tears
wax wane unfading
my inner landscape
merging cloudy two-seater miles
to a man in a hat and smiles
walking through aisles
automatic seatbelts click
encircled in goodbye snap
hello stairs Pad Thai
kisses
Now two regrets
rain small voices
wax wane unfading
the distant landscape
lifting clarity northeast
while my heart's two lobes
tangle in this dichotomy
of loss
of love
Summer should not
be ripe for sadness not
when trees toss their hair
like casual schoolgirls
but stand otherwise still,
cool in blind assurance
like feckless flowers
or fruit waiting to fall
from the vine.
The world overflows
with secrets but crows
jeer no matter the season.
I hear them laughing
in the mornings knowing
they will be fat
as plums on the snow
when our ground is frozen,
our branches whip thin.
I toss my hair and flutter
my fingers but otherwise
am still at the window.
I can't pretend sovereignty
over trees or plums but here
stories in squirrels, pines,
dragonflies, nothing
like people but animate
them to feel something,
to glimpse an uncle
in the forsythia brush,
a grandfather shadow
in slanting afternoon.
I've been meaning to tell you
that the sky is closer
to the earth here. It's brighter,
the clouds have more
dimension. I've been meaning
to tell you but I don't
know who you are,
just that you are fleeting
as a butterfly wing
or dandelion fluff.
When the moon rises
I quicken the stars, beg
them to whisper my name,
gather tears in the palm
of my hand and pretend
they are mother's, sister's.
I fly into the night to comfort
the moon and tell it we are
some kind of family.
A woman closes a door.
You can’t see
what’s behind it, maybe
a room or an ocean
of chaos, pages, leaves
torn from books thrown.
A woman
closes
a door and opens
a window. The Sun shines,
leaves have collided green
whispers the afternoon
has passed
a woman
closes a book, distant
traffic nearly
tells the time she hears
and looks down to the ticking
leaves the room,
a woman closes a door.
Let not
Our errant cries,
Vain moments in this night,
Erase tomorrow’s clarity
(Regret).
There's an old house.
If you turn right from Jaffa Road,
528 is smaller than memory.
Bricks belong to strangers now
and the dogwood a spindly shiver,
bare brittle as my secrets buried
beneath concrete, my foundation
where 528 sets gray in brown.
If you dig deep you might find
the Indian penny I hid once
upon a shiny day.
Change greens with age.
My initials are eroded in a web
of cracked patio. Somewhere
in winter wind you'll hear whispers.
Grind of roller skates, flap of sheets,
a careless singsong of girls disappearing through a screen door.
