Category Archives: Blessing

Jan12

Backfired

Posted on January 12, 2014 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

Oh, no, you have not been a blessing

to man or woman kind,

to my kind

the Jew

you want to annihilate

with your policies, deeds,

words that wish

to exterminate

the truth

of the everlasting, eternal Lord-driven people.

It’s been twelve years, four months, and one day

I remember

the smoke and screams

coming out of my television,

over and over and over

again.

My ex-husband’s ex-wife called

when I was still married

to tell me urgently

turn it on, to see

the death and destruction

of such shocking proportions

it had to be…

the abyss, the void

I hear their hearts beating in fear

I hear the beating flame of their hearts,

I hear the flames beating against their hearts,

I hear their hearts exploding into flames.

Living next-door to

the Simon Wiesenthal Museum

we thought we could be,

we thought we were next.

And though, here we are

some twelve years, four months, and one day

later,

the world forgets.

I was admitted to Cedars-Sinai

a day later

for dehydration

(who could get enough water

when too many stars

rained down from the sky?)

The hospital halls

were stretched with stretchers

filled with vast wells of

pregnant women in Los Angeles

too thirsty to give birth,

mourning, mourning for New York.

Oh, how I long for Marjorie

and her, my innocence.

And so I see you build

your lies, carefully placed,

penned, stroked,

as bearded commentary

in certain circles

or blatantly shouted

from the noxious, mad

lines in your mind

and they all fall in line

to snap their fingers

as in days of old

before I was born, anyway.

Take your Jew hating, Israel hating, lying lines

Take your art, your poems, your songs, your dance

Take your mayoral aspirations and misappropriation

of both busboys

and poets

Take your pseudo-liberal, new, cool, fake

Take your readings cum auto-de-fe’s

Take your self-proclaimed, self-named blessing,

Take your age-old misogyny and hate

(Oh, are we not supposed to talk about that when you’re the man?)

and, well,

shove it into the ground.

You abandoned your children.

You abandoned your soul

and all those who read you

should ask themselves

how much hatred of self

are they willing to put up with?

I am a Jewish woman,

I love Israel,

I love my people,

we are the definition

of good people

we are the

people of the book,

we are the writers of poems alive throughout time,

read today across the world,

as we pray for peace,

we are the hope.

And today, my daughter lives, writes, sings.

Written upon the demise of a poet…

Sep25

Ready to Fall

Posted on September 25, 2013 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

One morning, I walk out my door

find the air cooler

than it was the day before,

a light, minty leaf dances

toward me, immediately

the promise of pumpkins,

creamy butternut squash and sturdy gourds,

line up on the farmer’s table,

ready to be taken home,

hoping to be picked.

There was a time

I would follow this adventure,

but now I pause imperceptibly,

go about my day.

Gather the harvest

bushels of apples

Delicious, Golden, Granny Smith,

sweet, sour, sliced, bitten

check for bugs or worms,

polish to a fine shine,

until we’re tucked in again

for the night

the epic cover

protecting us from a baking sun,

that was once summer.

Soon we will hear

the crunch under our feet

a sky decorated and punctuated

with a lover’s hand

amber, maple-shaped, fiery red,

speckled light brown on pale, faded yellow,

cheerful, everlasting smile,

green becomes sage,

seemingly, suddenly,

bright orange turns to rust.

Get ready to cook,

your grandmother’s recipe,

or one from a book you read long ago,

but no one knows your secret.

It could be coriander seed, or cumin,

or just more thyme, and the realization

that an entrée can be served without anything hidden.

Begin again.

It seems, when asked,

why did a woman veer off her path?

(when the whole world knows

we know the directions)

The answer is loneliness.

Now that is the real curse,

is it not?

Busyness can play the charmer,

contentment and even occasional happiness

can snake its way through our lives,

productivity and grocery shopping

can purchase complacency

for a time,

until stock has its turn

at being taken,

rather than stirred briskly.

I am the esrog,

I am the Lulav, too.

Complex, complicated and mystical,

shaken and held

for very short bursts.

You bring me forth

maybe give me a kiss,

inhale my deep, provocative,

exotic scent,

caress with your eyes,

select a firm grip,

as if to never let me go,

as if I am so close to your heart

that a whisper is all that is needed

to beckon me nearer,

and I am there, inside you,

or did I have that turned around?

For now, seemingly suddenly,

I am being sent

to all ends

of the earth.

In my travels,

I have seen your suffering,

felt your joy,

absorbed your pain,

known your love,

I am sitting in this hut

alone, ‘til finally

even the walls

around me are torn down.

I might survive

as a house plant

(for a time)

I might even find myself

pricked with cinnamon sticks

and retrieved from behind

the glass case,

or the drawer where you’ve stored me

to add a certain sweetness

as the candlelight holds back the

darkness,

and a family embarks on their poignant week.

Where to begin,

as I bring my offering,

I seek to understand

and I experience an existential rejection

with every wrong occurrence,

a broken canister, wasted food,

my child’s tears, missed opportunities

to pray, with domestic chaos

swirling around me,

a storm of anti-Semitism

raging in the streets,

I still see the colors

raining down.

I am lying on a bed

of drying up leaves,

caked somewhat in mud,

You’ve got me right where

You want me

readying myself

to stand up

and get clean.

And as I begin

the washing up

that inevitably follows every

holiday or excursion,

I take soap to dish,

scrub in a circular motion,

rinsing and inspecting,

feeling the calm sense

of satisfaction return

as lemony scents

fill the air above

the kitchen sink,

and while my hands are moving,

moving, ever restless,

my mind soars

with possibilities, decisions, new ideas.

Esrog by Michoel Muchnik

Mar29

Starfish and Stars

Posted on March 29, 2012 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

My child has been ill

and like the restless harbor

that oscillates

and osculates

there is a deep mystery

that awaits

to be revealed

while we gaze

out to sea

count starfish

and hours

from Chanukah nights

to Purim treats

to Passover days

of sustenance

not fully formed,

wondering why

this difference

where are we going

how will we get there

when will we get there

like children

needing to know.

We sea the stars

keep the moon

in our view

from sliver to whole

and again.

So much cleaning to do

before we ascend,

before we grow,

I ask, is He asking

for her to be well?

Is She praying

for her to have health

and joy and light

and the sweet, slow-made candy

of life?

Feb14

Pearl Seed

Posted on February 14, 2012 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

I believe

God needs me

I believe

I am the smoothest pearl

the sweetest juice

the tastiest morsel

on the most Glorious tongue.

I believe

God needs me

I believe

I could be

the lightest petal

in the daisy chain

tied up and wished upon,

garland crown scrunched on,

spritely and meadow-free,

a dandelion cradled, held

in the smoothest palm

of the most resonant hand,

puff, poof, I’m gone.

Merely a flimsy whimsy thrown

by the pebbles, to the ground,

skipped over and stepped upon

precious trinket unseen

glimmering in the sun,

I shimmy and shimmer

to find my treasure,

like so many ships

slipped out of their slip,

circling, lost at sea,

journeys bequeathed,

for one girl or woman,

just like me,

I believe

God needs.

As an ivory cameo rests,

her features forever in repose,

perpetually calm,

we carry on.

So, about my song

should I even get started?

on the sound I make

when I give charity

the fluidity of melody

my coins are heralding

in the Heavens

oh, but would if I could

hear the trumpets, the drumbeat,

the insidious rhythm so natural

to the heart of me

would if I could hear

that I believe

God needs me

all that is around me

here in me

and I dance

ever moving, shaking

shaking, shaking

the maracas in my head

can you hear it, too?

Such bliss, the waves,

the beads, the most

perfect pearl,

prayers rising aglow

freshly dusted like snow

angels’ wings

we make, grow, sing

breathe upon the air

balloons flying off

to nowhere, colors now everywhere,

I believe

there is no telling

where you might find it

in the noise, in the quiet

your essence matters

with form or without it,

your poem-song-need,

the quintessential seed,

Those Loving arms

are yours, hold on now,

you know you’ve got it.

Feb2

Unspoken

Posted on February 2, 2012 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

In our time

of rejoicing

I sit alone

waiting in the sukkah

as light touches darkness

I have no guests

they have not come

for I have no husband to entertain them.

At this feast

I partake in luxury

every spice lingering

on my tongue

not wishing to be left

alone,

alas,

the taste is wasted, waiting

to amass

the wine and grain

fallen on the wayside,

for I have no husband to tend to,

ask,

“how does this taste to you?”

I sit alone

as still as possible

strive to sense

an embrace

as distant as the stars

glimmering above the

willows of the brook,

I rest in this sukkah,

hoping you took,

the long but short way,

that you are flying even now

in a carriage of peasant descent

through the enceinte woods

led by fearless one-toed horses

the Baal Shem Tov

whispered, their quivering ears alert

gracefully persuaded to traverse

all space and time,

you arrive at last,

satchels of endless stories in tow.

So who will come

while I sojourn,

who dares to visit

the bleak, solitary hut?

The angels are floating on myrtle,

murmuring inpenetrable names,

like husks of corn,

growing side by side,

the men, they have abandoned me,

as maise to a maze

by death or wish

they pass me by,

no glass raised

or broken.

Sarah, Miriam, Devorah,

Chana, Huldah, Avigail,

and Queen Esther,

will you be my ushpizot?

Will you divine the dream for me?

I will serve as your retinue,

awaiting to begin anew.

We are bound together

like the scent of lemons

to a sweet verbena tree,

yearning to be rooted,

to withstand the coming wind,

I lift my hands to draw

circles of blessings

in to my body

feel no heat,

nor coolness of air,

barely hear

the night’s symphony song,

for I have no husband to sing to.

Jan1

After the Snow

Posted on January 1, 2012 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

We are dazzled

gazing up

we see You

in the light falling

if we look hard

we see Your gentle

wonder, bursts of Glory,

we are angels

for a time

and when it melts

all the pain and sorrow

with a burning star

we will find

the jewels

waiting to be shown

off.

We trudge, we push,

we lead the sled down

and up again

but You,

You bring the hill

before us,

You cover us

with light

so that it permeates

the center

of our being

so that our breast

is no longer weary

so that our skin glows

with mother’s milk

and honey, Your gift to us.

After the snow,

we remember

if we’re clever,

the manna

melting stars on our tongue

snow like breast milk in song

copper mirrors dancing

drifts of undulating deserts

shtetl mothers milking

praise waiting

to be uttered.

~ written with Ronit’s recovery in mind.