Tag Archives: The Broken Heart

Oct15

Calling it how I feel it

Posted on October 15, 2023 by thejewishpoetess

by Dana Janine Diamond

I don’t want the Gazans
to suffer
well, perhaps not
the half million adults
who don’t like Hamas
nor the children
for the sake of
whatever childhood
they have
a strip
stripped
filled
to bursting
with human
shields
for pure
evil
such as
the world
has known
before
Before
they deliberately,
personally
murdered our babies
tore apart
their tiny bodies
with bullets and
other cruel weapons
nowhere to hide
the girls ran
but despite the music
the women were raped
Mass Rape
in
the killing fields
next to their friends’
dead bodies
taken hostage
bleeding young
women
children, babies,
dementia-addled elderly
families
boys, men
they sang
all beloved
Holocaust survivor
who didn’t survive
not in the southern border
turned Hamas slaughterhouse
not in Gaza
where Hamas’s victims
were tormented, executed
hostages
all
fodder for tik tok
and now the world waits
with breath, unbreathed
as clock
ticks down
to the consequence
of the endless
history
of hating
the Jews

and they danced
with candy
in their streets
celebrating
their terrorists
salivating
the longed, yearned
for
not peace
nor freedom
rather
the sweet
taste
of
Jewish
blood
Oh, how deliriously
happy
they were
mouths grinning
the metallic flavor
on their tongues
the acrid aroma of rage
at the outrage
that we exist.
naturally, brutality
was a cause
for celebration
who could blame them?
the Palestinians
perpetual, imperpetuity
are victims
it must be true
all the victims of the world
say it must be true
Blame the Jews

Who was Jesus
but the original self-
hating Jew
and the gospels
joined the choir
Who was Mohammed
who simultaneously killed
Jews
while befriending them
deriding them
even the little children
delighted with glee
throwing stones at Jews
true history
too many sorrows
to recount
we were burned alive
driven from every land
and
yet
and
yet
we survived
leaving everything
we loved
behind
we wandered and wandered
and wandered and wandered
too many times to count
and wondered
why the world
lacks
the utter
courage
to not blame
and hate
even secretly so
even hidden
from themselves
(because they can’t
face
themselves)
minuscule
us

Oh, cry
for the Palestinians
their humanity
is in agony
abandoned
by their brothers
and sisters
fifty Muslim countries
said no
we don’t want
you
stay put, don’t leave
don’t come
our doors are closed
your terrorists might get in
heaven forbid
let Israel take it all…
and to their disappointment
they discovered
too late
that even
the virgins in heaven
didn’t want them
all that hate
for naught

So, world,
so-called friend
and outright foe
you rally
we are singing
mourning
through the night
throughout
the morning
we grieve
unabatedly
perhaps, maybe,
conceivably
some of you
will cry
with us
open
your lips
to pray
out loud
with us
it’s possible
a Jewish woman
can dream
and nevertheless
we regather
for now,
ultimately
revive our dead

Jul4

2020

Posted on July 4, 2020 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

We were never free
it was a fallacy
we magically wished
to be true
we conjured up
an imagined history
to make all
seem real
we wrote songs,
dressed ourselves in parades
red, white and blue,
set off fireworks
to go boom
and yet, still
could not wake up
all the children
all the colors
we took a strap to
America, yearning to breathe free
longing for kindness

Sep29

Nu

Posted on September 29, 2019 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

I would wish you a sweet new year. I always have. The memories are gone, the future unknown. We have trees and stars and pink sunrises and pink sunsets, and lights sparkling over the river that is ever moving. There is a wheel turning somewhere in the sky, dispensing mazel. We stand under it, like we do with mistletoe, our palms outstretched, ready to catch it when it falls, ready to kiss the godliness within, ready to find love. We anticipate the embrace of love.

We carry with us a pink afghan. When I was younger, I knitted a beautiful afghan, all shades of green, from dark to light. And I carried it with me, everywhere I went, from room to room in my homes. We all have many homes. Some are waiting to be found.

So, here we are, searching. Our souls are slowly moving a flashlight out over the darkness. Our ancestors have been lighting candles for thousands of years. God knows the apple’s been in play since the beginning. Oh, but the honey. If only the sweetness would cover everything, would last. I remember dipping my toes into water and feeling refreshed, exhilarated, soothed.

This year will either make us or break us. It will take all of our strength just to lift the slice of apple with our fingers, drench it in a bit of honey, and slip it into our mouth. It will be tart and sweet simultaneously. As Jews, we never forget the bitterness; it’s always there. The joy can be elusive at times.

It feels like we’re living out the same story over and over again, peering out into the distance for happiness. It could be there, just over the horizon. It could be hidden within us, because we love. The journey could really be gratitude, and so we’ve arrived.

The challah is our reminder, be grateful. It’s full, like a soft cushion. Don’t be fooled by the harder, outer surface. I tell myself this. It’s our path to joy.

If I could raise my glass, I would wish you a sweet new year. Abundant and precious, filled to the brim with new hope.

Aug25

We traveled here without knowing

Posted on August 25, 2019 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

I don’t write anymore

I’ve lost myself

in the struggles

in the suffering

in the whiplash

of daily life

I don’t write anymore

of sweet, perfumed blossoms

of the feel of skin touching skin

air moving ever so slightly

above the clouds

where love lies nestled

I don’t write anymore

of longing

of hoping

of finding succor

I don’t even write

of brambles and gardens

of moonlight and wishes and soft skies

of summer squash and bright

carrots strewn across

the fields below

I don’t dream anymore

of hot balloon rides

of trying something new

of listening to the radio

with the windows down

I barely remember open spaces

they build little prisons for us

make it so

we barely notice

this is our home

the tears on the keys

until I don’t write anymore.

Sep29

Truth and Forgiveness

Posted on September 29, 2017 by thejewishpoetess

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by Dana Janine Diamond

This year
I am starting to forgive
my ex-husband
for all the harm
he did
of course, it is not for me
to forgive
his evil deeds
toward others,
against my child.
and what is real
is that the best chance
he gave me
to forgive
him was in
dying young.
he tortured us
for too many years
and I could click my heels
now that he’s gone.
the rest of you
if you’re still alive
I wouldn’t hold my breath
are we supposed to ignore
the vengeful, angry God
who lives on
in all of us
should we pretend
there is only love
or are we meant
to emulate angels
who never move
their feet
are we never meant
to fly
across the horizon
will we ever see
all that is below and above…
we’re not done yet
so forgiveness is not
on the menu
this year
but I will sing
anyway
because I am moving
we are singing
my lips are praying
I have some measure
of happiness
and that is significant.
just one word
to the…
hey, God,
don’t close your eyes
on us
we have traveled
a year
and we are not there
yet
wondering
are you

Aug9

Buffalo

Posted on August 9, 2017 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

What did I know of poetry?
White snow and dreams
empty trees below my window
sledding and screaming in the fresh, cold air
when summer came at last,
we played in the tall,
blonde weeds
next to the creek
all the houses
were built on swampland
we had lovely duck ponds
in the yard

In the years before we wanted fences
they sat out back
in their lawn chairs on the edge
of the yard, sunning themselves
my grandmother spoke only Yiddish
her grandmother understood only Greek
they talked for hours and hours
days without purpose
other than just to be

Jazz in underground clubs
and hippies from Chicago
playing folk guitar
in my polished blue living room
I waited in the wings
while Steve sang
“City of New Orleans”
my brother was alongside him
under the spotlight
I was nine
and that’s what I knew

Manicured suburbia
with movies and Niagara Falls
donuts with powder on top
and shoplifting
in shopping malls,
Buffalo,
home of the spicy Buffalo wings
we traveled in packs
venturing into basements
and haunted houses
surreptitiously playing
Spin the Bottle
with rum and coke
I don’t ever remember
liking the boys I kissed

Every summer I drove
to Fantasy Island
with my Dad
to hear Glen Campbell
sing
and see the showgirls
lift their legs
“The Sterile Honeycomb”
he wrote.
Arthur, my brother’s friend. Before
he successfully attempted suicide.
So, I knew that poets died
and that made sense to me

I read everything he wrote
and then I started writing
at fifteen, just when my brother stopped.
he moved back home from California
I thought I could not live here
because my brother left
I thought my spot was in the wings,
waiting for songwriters
to sing
I thought I could not write poetry
and survive
I knew that good poets died
and became better ones.
I write stronger now
for having died

Here, alive in the West
Or there, at that time
Snowdrifts or Western sea line
the smell and feel of summer grass
is the same
resting quietly, close to the ground
the poet is reclaimed.

Dec7

A Kriah

Posted on December 7, 2016 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

When the savage
tears away the fabric
of your life,
and you find out
under the veneer
the garments are rendered,
tattered and scorned
the story becomes fable
and the truth
is grittier, far more
cruel
than one is able
to conjure
and then comes along
the knowledge ill-gained
that some aren’t made
for the difficult
their hearts are
too shallow
not built just right
and they run, scattering
in the wind
like a clothesline
left unpinned
or they simply
never
took the time
to untwine their love
so that it would unspool
like a black ribbon floating
down the center of the road
to pool plentiful at your feet
when you tried
to gather
the delicate trim
offer it back to them
it remained elusive
so, eventually you gaze
across in every direction
and find who is left
standing beside

Oct22

Palm Fronds

Posted on October 22, 2016 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

The mystical holds
a different meaning
for us now
the lulav and esrog
and too many of
the species you concocted
are shaking us around
and the clouds of glory
are traveling, traveling
hard to tell
if they are pleased or
dismayed, gathering
I miss the illusion,
your protection
of knowing we could pick
up stakes and fly
and never fall
the winds picked up
and there’s no trace of
us, the mirage of joy
all the years we danced
were a drunken lie
I held that torah up high
in my mind
from behind
the mechitzah
those temporary walls
erected around the world
for thousands of years
I wonder what would happen
if I threw the torah down
and smashed it like a wine glass
at a wedding

this is the place I come
to for refuge
words and poems
are abiding
only here my heart sings
these are my moments
of bliss and transcendence
this is why I write
them over and over again
for 40 years

the decorations
are paper thin,
I’m no longer certain
if we are sitting in
a sukkah
or an abyss
the lemons taste inexplicably sweet
I just know
we are in interludes
of pain
I can’t transcribe
all this time we
were celebrating you
I never knew
you hated us so much
I don’t know how
I’ll ever trust
again
you are breaking us
breaking away
how do we find our way…

I think America
is secretly angry
with you
I need a new
cartographer
we wandered afield,
I don’t recognize
this forsaken landscape
we’re crawling through
tree branches thrown
to the ground,
duskily hoping
ahead we’ll find a cove
or sound
to burrow into
to listen to our breathing
lift the sky lighter
we are the Belt of Venus
hovering, taking cover
from a persistent night,
nature
is all we have left
COPYRIGHT 2016 Dana Janine Diamond ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. See Copyright Notice pertaining to thejewishpoetess.wordpress.com

Oct14

Service

Posted on October 14, 2016 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

I sat there
calmly shouting
f*** you
in my head
over and over again
until it became a litany
a meditation
a poetic lament
to replace the one meant
for the overwhelming sin
in ploughing diamonds
invisible snow falling
down on my skin
the sun is out
a simon of hope
or an affront
I’m listening for words
to comfort the broken,
broken heart
I think you want my wrath
you in your all-knowingness
know you deserve it
it’s the best I can muster
I am a mother and child
just a Jewish poetess
you abandoned
better than ignoring you
I hold you accountable
did I commit
the iniquity
of expecting too much
from you?
am I the fool
who chose hope
for the Jews
even after the Holocaust
or the girls
even after…everything
touching my breast
al chait, the rape
I’m now looking for proof
that you love
your children
all of your children
even after slavery
I advocated for you
I sit and wonder
how we get through
the leaves are coloring
us
when I was loyal to you
though you laid
my thanksgiving table
bare
even the quiecent stars
languishing in the sky
said they were sorry
still, you
are silent
I’m not ready to forgive
surely you know
you must beg me
not for my sake
I am awake
listening
wistfully waiting
thinking,
woebegone

Sep24

Tides Against the Shoreline

Posted on September 24, 2016 by thejewishpoetess

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By Dana Janine Diamond

Katie in
The Way We Were
was the first time
I saw myself on screen
my kindred spirit
in passionate
politics and yearning
for a more fair
and just world
11, about to champion
Feminism
in a big, door to door way

Now we are fighting
a war
we never knew
would be upon us
and I long for
just
one of Hawkeye’s
wry, comforting smiles
I’m crawling through
the mud, gasping
for any pebble
or lambent bead of light
any way of carrying
on

My daughter
is writing
another book, rich
with friendships and heart
struggles and triumphs
true
love
the imagination gifts us
when memories
collide
and I’m still
so still
writing poems
just as I first did when I was 14

I dreamed of bequeathing
my daughter a heroine
an explorer
a wild water tamer
in a country of poetry
I wanted to gather in
the ocean
just for her
wade through wildflowers
in the tidal marshes
untouched
bathe in incandescence
climbing
strewn on sun-warmed rocks
basking in
southernmost sunlight
sense the salt
in an air with no loneliness

once we swam
the night away
under the moonlight
now we want
to travel the world
away from the deep dolor
of nostalgia
we played Marco Polo
but you grew silent
my heart
is too heavy
with all the myths
lost at sea
where do we belong
longing for passage
home