Month: May 2014

Magicians Of The Body

kikirosner

To L.S.H, K.M, D.L, A.S, A.F

 

Those who walk us through the motions

of coming alive again,

Teach us to breathe

in ways and places we never dreamt of,

open horizons, develop muscle,

tissue, blood, carrying more oxygen

we had until then carried

 

with constant heedful reminders

they bring us back to here, now

the body as it is and feels

have us contact the immediacy of our life

the beauty of one’s Vessel

carrier of the Soul,

 

Soul they were text messaging

the whole time, with their fingers

deft, like Morse, where less

is more.

Art Work Yaron Rosner

Art Work Yaron Rosner

OLD STONE

kikirosner

old stone

To my father,      Memorial Day 2014

 

Resonant memory stored,

such centuries of utterances

cooling and warming

each flagstone,

the scent of mold

 

We ascended the large steps

you felt as I did, moved

by the voices you’d heard

echoing time immemorial

but from which you have kept

yourself for so long,

the wave of feeling swept

through to your brow

and as it transpired

you could no longer

hold yourself,

Too many whispers at once

too many greetings, entreaties,

too many

 

So we will sit here for awhile,

gather ourselves for awhile,

and I will wait

till you are ready

to go home.

the dust of my beginning II

kikirosner

The dust of my beginning

Is the Breathing of my mother’s sighs

As she heaves the hills and deserts of my Belonging

The dust of my Becoming

Is what rises from my footfalls

As I search my mother’s contours

Question her substance

Look beneath the dirt of her surface

I sweat under the sun’s eye

chill in the night’s shadow

Until I find her

Gurgling between moss and stone

revealing the secret of her Determination

Through the sweetness of this liquid sound.

I embrace the Dust of my life

As I steep in the clarity of this water

My home for a Moment,

I know the dust to be my condition

The water my reward

Together they define my existence

Without them I am an Orphan

A beggar with no hands

dust of my Beg

My Vercingetorix

kikirosner

Standing in the Shadows

Of my oldest basement,

Poised at the threshold

You watch

Are you waiting

for me to take your hand

Or are you waiting

to step forward?

Hidden in the Depths

Of my earliest underworld

You Breathe

Your presence Strong

Like a Scent

Ancient battles, Ancient

Victories, until the Final

Inevitable defeat

The Odds so Uneven

You tried, You Believed

You Remain

For all of us who Fight

Invincible

the defeated warrior

Singularly Victorious

 My Fallen hero

You Stand

Painting by Yaron Rosner

Painting by Yaron Rosner

Bishara

kikirosner

To my grandfather

a Spirit you Appear

through your written elegance

A visionary you Hover

in the wounded Flesh

of your children’s hearts, who

remember you Vehemently

but in fact, hardly

Stories waft in pieces, Scents

Sounds of darbuka,

they vanish as quickly

nothing retains them, nobody

really knows the man

who died of an ancient virus

caught upon opening

the buried vaults

of Forgotten gods

By way of your Book

you visit me, Reveal

yourself , your love

for a land which raised you

was not yours, still

houses your Bones

I picture your soul

as the wind lifts the Sand

restless Circling

questioning the years

you spent on your own

Waiting to die

so far from those

who needed you most.

Yaron _2