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.
There’s nothing to talk about
she doesn’t read books
and I’m not handsome
plus she’s drunk
and without cocaine
her mood darkens
“You’re always wasted,” I tell her
“I’ll cut down,” she says, “just let me
do it my way.”
She brightens talking about sex
which figures since
she’s a bona fide nymphomaniac
(I thought I got lucky finding her
and I did
but so did the majority
of waiters in North Beach)
“I broke my hand this morning,”
“How’d you do that?”
“Jerking off,” she laughs
then she quiets down again
She broke her hand
and I’d say she also
broke my heart
but that would be
first you torture me
with the shouting into your cellphone
and now this
what’s next? waterboarding?
truthfully i didn’t even know that ho-hos still existed
go me for studiously avoiding certain aisles at the grocery store
but back in my younger, more formative years
i tell you i could’ve eaten a box of ho-hos
i probably did at least once or twice
i could probably do it now
i haven’t been to a doctor in six years
so lord knows i don’t have the burden of
a diabetes or high cholesterol reading weighing me down
but i realize it wouldn’t be fair to my wife to indulge this way
not with the way i complain to her about my weight
asking her if i look fat in anything that i wear
like a thirteen year old girl
it’s a symptom of my youth
hey at least i stopped punching myself in the stomach decades ago
plus just this week i had my name included in a work email
of people who need “ extra big sizes”
for the free t-shirt the boys at corporate are giving out
outed like a goddamned government informant
so a box of ho-hos isn’t really
high on my list of priorities right now
though the wife says i’m on the list because i’m broad
what in the hell does “extra big size” mean anyway?
but if you ask me deep down i have to be honest
what i really want to do right now right here
on this evening subway ride home
is grab that delicious cylinder-shaped pastry
right out of your grubby hands
reclaim the ho-ho of my youth
find a corner of this train
crouch down like a ravenous rat
hissing and batting at people
while i devour that precious of all confections
getting the chocolate and cream all over me like some holy baptism
at least until pest control
or the police show up and taze me into a peaceful oblivion
where it’s grilled chicken and salads
and rational thought
all over again.