Poems
Hour of the Silhouettes
Hour of the Silhouettes Caught in your undertow the force of three atomic bombs obliterated my entrails releasing a sorrow to dwarf all sorrows I could no longer deny your name branded in my heart For that is where it happened the seared flesh the cataclysmic knowing the fracturing rock Read more…
Poems
Kiste
Towards the sea or mountains, almost blest we carried everything we could but did not dare to name and with our hands, conveyed the mysteries the stark reflections of a place we could not comprehend we thought objects could push us to transcend our images, an ear of corn if Read more…
Poems
Last Days of Havoc
Broken clocks of weightéd Time Make Hist’ry wait, both hands on hold Severed from the once-divine Piled mem’ries decompose and mould A two-faced, heart-dead dog of Hell Embarks with envy’s enmity To spread its double-devil smell Of NAZI and the C.C.P. It gurgitates the Holocaust To wish G-d’s children, Jews, Read more…
Poems
Mercy
Mercy רַחֲמִים That’s you walking with your head forward bowed, with sunken chest to the back stuck, like a street dog carrying blows. Ever so often to the left glancing, As if there was something threatening. Alas, no, your eyes are empty of content, the present without a breeze is Read more…
Poems
My Father’s Long Crawl to Freedom
My Father’s Long Crawl to Freedom My Father’s Long Crawl to Freedom The plate hit the floor. The shit hit the fan. The blood hit the brain. The mind hit the wall. My father hit his end. My mother hit the phone. The doctors hit the meds. Dad hit the Read more…
Poems
My mother tells her friends…..
My mother tells her friends My mother is telling the story Around the dining table a glass of sherry in her hand. The guests are fascinated that she is able To speak so coolly. They don’t understand. Katalin listens time and time again never really hearing what is being said. Read more…
Poems
My Parents’ Wedding
My Parents’ Wedding My parents in the concentration camp met for the first time My father disguised himself as a woman and sneaked into the barracks of the young bride And there, secretly, their wedding was held When they lay on her bunk Suddenly the warning was heard that the Read more…
Poems
Off Haverstock Hill
Off Haverstock Hill Short, plump, elderly German Jewish woman Wandering into the shared kitchen, Sniffing at my cooking Saying “how can you eat such food Herr Schaufeld? Come, have some of my good chicken.” Mrs Brietman, marching into our small rented room Changing the light bulb to a lower wattage Read more…