the mouse and camel in subtle worship
under nuclear colored skies
dead mountains protruding
following a candle lit
one would lead the other
chest full of laughter
where the other would not
watching the crow fly
talons crushing/gripping the frog’s eye
so much for friendship and string
no open windows here
are carried by rivers
across the wooden bridge
and through the gate.
Young and old
Bones blindly seeking bones.
Row after row
in the frozen hail,
ignore commands to return.
March through snow fields,
fall into fox traps,
merciful ice that yields
under their feet,
in mammoth remains.
Snow continues cruel and soft.
Hanoch Guy spent his childhood and youth in Israel surrounded by citrus orchards ,water melon fields and invading sand dunes. He is a bilingual poet in Hebrew and English,.
Hanoch is emeritus professor of Jewish and Hebrew literature in Temple University
He has taught mentoring and poetry classes in the Musehouse center in Philly.
Hanoch has published poetry extensively the US,Israel and the UK in Genre,Poetry Newsletter, Tracks , the International Journal of Genocide studies Poetry Motel,Visions International,Voices Israel and several times in Poetica where he won an award
He has also won an award in the Mad Poets Society.
The tiny half grown birdling flew away in the wind
She crashed in and out of nests strewn with litter
And then onto the next nest;
trying to become at least
half of what mother bird had made herself to be
Finally flat on the ground bound by bruises
tied up in hand made nooses
Tiny; sought strong straight trees for answers
Trees; with stepping stone bark
Trees; with branches that bent willowy to reach her
Trees which beseeched her to stop trying to heal all of the other broken winged birds
To heal herself;
To deal with all the self-inflicted wounds
To become in tune with what she wanted, needed, or was fleeing from
Tiny, rested, nested, and became aware of the view
Ooh, you are much more pretty close up,
even in these half shadows,
and you were fucking stunning to begin with.
You smell absolutely gorgeous,
like sneezing whilst ram-raiding
an exploding florist in the Summertime.
But, he’s only 4ft or so away
and probably going to wake up any second.
Someone’s going to get knifed.
There’ll be complete fucking hell up.
We’ll never live this down, like ever.
Stop grinding a second, let me adjust myself,
I was half-drunk and almost asleep.
Stop panicking, it’s only me,
I’m just reaching ‘round to feel your arsehole
this is all brand new ground… mMm.
You swallow? Really, cool, no, don’t stop,
I’m just logging it in my wank-bank for later.
OK, this is getting dangerous now…
we’re just finishing off, yeah?
I think I’m going to be first… quickly, yes,
Oh My God, you just feel so fucking good.
Tango tunes, music to dance
the night away, flushed by sweet
wine, a taste of liqueur, her face
a lover’s incantation, a siren singing
the irresistible, breathless words of
love all those moonlit nights outside
her second story bedroom window,
surreptitious as a burglar dressed
all in black, the love of her the worst
kind of drug, stronger than compulsion,
primal, it pulls you beyond reason,
beyond the dream image of her
silhouette behind the drawn shade,
a profile of a movie screen lover
embracing the tangoman, stung by
the kiss of spider women, that last
embrace an acceptance of the venom,
so sweet, so pure, so everlasting.
No doubt the man was
convinced I was having
something with his wife:
for whatever reason he
never asked me direct
but dropped little word-
bombs of his suspicion
which were without
his wife and I had
experienced a great deal
together but fucking
wasn’t one of them,
everything else but
I didn’t tell the asshole
this, I let him keep on
guessing and he died
never knowing if I’d
fucked his wife or not
and all he had to do was
ask me and I would have
told him ‘She loves you
man, we’re friends, sex
has nothing to do with our
love, it’s beyond that’
but I think maybe he’d
not understand this
being the outdated macho
silent brooding bullshitter
that he was.