The Village
In the village where I usually stroll along and live
An ominous plot against me is put into high contrive
These villagers do not like whoever is not rich as their glamour
They hold deep rancor to whoever does not march and sing their hummer
I would not let you for long guess or think
What would happen if into their hand a silk noose will sink
Upon my fragile neck they will happily let it fall
As they push and tight me against an ancient stone wall
Once when my leg by the river was broken
No one stopped by to offer any help or even a token
Beneath an old oak by the village side
I sat in long weeping, in the whole village wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept
And so for hours under summer heat I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Dry and cold as my immense fears
The other time when walking down village streets
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Two beneath a shady tree
They were two beneath a shady tree cover
An old oak tree with blistered trunk and bark failing over
Like the hand of an old man with frail eyes
Yet leaves and fresh sprouts from its boughs shot to the skies
An old sturdy oak tree under summer sun
In mid of golden wheat clustered by the wind run
The waves of the wheat heads combed by gale and breeze
As the two set and made themselves at calm ease
They set and watched the golden field swaying in dance
The broken roar and the dim din of a remote city at horizon glance
She was beautiful and shy like a violet by a mossy wall stone
She set by him hidden and through his eyes she was only his own
They set beneath the tree, their life yet untrodden path
They spoke the first verses of love with joy and laugh
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Temptation lurks
There is a pleasure in unploughed fields and in pathless woods
There is rapture and boyish excitement on lonely pebbled shore
There is freedom where none intrudes
The deep moving sea and the music in its roar
I love not my lover the less, but whole humanity more
Especially the feminine walking creatures; the look I steal
From all the beauties in crowded streets and fashion stores
They are like blossom of fresh flowers in throngs
Of dull existence; weeds of insipid wild thorns
To be with them all; among them whole and feel
what I can never express, yet cannot from within conceal
And yet, the expense of dignity is in the waste of shame
When lust is in action, how long does action last
Is it not perjured, murderous, bloody, irreversible damage full of defame
Indeed it is savage, extreme, rude a habit not to trust
All this is well known, yet none knows well
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Late summer evening
Late summer evening, the sun went down in gore and stream
At orange dusk hue, the hot and feverish night succeeded
There was a windless calm, a dismal pause the succumb world greeted
The moon showed, the splendor of clearance, and deadlier gleam
Sitting on a porch under the night dark stark pall
Life weaken like the flame in a waning torch, a gripping stall
The moon climbed in sloth through the dilated orbit
Her ridged face scared, her surface uneven and morbid
My spirit grew fragile, weak and withdrawn; the ever mortality
Of all creatures of this amazing world, and adversity
Weighed heavily on me like unwilling, unwelcome sleep
Hovering like an ominous shadow; breathless feeling engraved inside me so deep
And each imagined spiritual pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship and religion tell me I must perish and die
Like a sick wounded sinking eagle plunging from the sky.
Yet this is a gentle luxury in me to sadden and to weep,
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The winds
From the meadows her walks have left a balm so sweet
That whenever summer wind wilts and sighs
It sets the jewel print of her lovely feet
In violet blue hue as her slaying eyes
To the woody hollows in which we hide and meet
And the heavenly valleys of daunting Paradise
A slender bird in foliage high, his wings would not shake
One long white bloom of a tall sturdy tree
The white bloom reed fell bending into the fresh lake
As the pimpernels dozed in the summer sun on the lea
But the rose was all night advocating her sake
Knowing my love promise to me
With the lilies they were all night awake
wondering what my love acts and takes will prove to be
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Ah, past middle age woman upon whom I gaze
Ah, past middle age woman upon whom I gaze
The measures you take to hide your waning beauty leave me amaze
You are all wrapped in colorful deceit and counterfeit labors
That so immodesty displays nature’s gone favors
With its fallacious arguments of colors and elaborate cloth
Is to the senses cunning counterfeit and cynic loath
This which your self pity practices to delete
The cruel years accumulated horrors
Constraining time to mitigate its rigors
And this oblivion and age defeat
Oh old sunken brittle woman in vain you carry such vanity
Your mask of musk is playing havoc and delirium with your own sanity
Your efforts of concealing what time jaws is peeling and revealing
Is like to play with the devil a hypocritical dealing
As any mortal being you in the path to be a cadaver, ashes, shadows ghosts
The time of your prime irreversibly forever forgotten and lost
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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If I Had
If I had this solid perfect frame of a gorgeous man then my love sighs
Would be echoed swiftly like drugs through this ivory rare shell
Your lovely ear, and tangled earlobe, to find and to stir your heart so well
That my passion arm me for my grand enterprise.
And if you continue to regard me as the knight whose foe falls and dies
You find none; my attire is simple no glistens on my bosom swell
If you trace me to find me as a shepherd in the mountainous slopes before a dell
My lips cannot sing to the lambs nor with shaken limbs I tremble at dusk skies
And yet rapt with the rage of ravished thought,
And through divine contemplation of your goodly sights
Your thousand glorious images in heaven wrought
Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet breeze delights
And stuns me in kindling love in high conceited uprights
That my heart throbs and dances scanting all over delights
I wish to tell the things I feel, the views I behold
But my wits fail, and my tongue frizzes to a halt like a paper in fold
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The haunting of a hunter
Once upon a time in the early hours of dawn
A man got up and sallied from his cottage door
Athwart his shoulders a bow and arrows he carried
And towards the forest his steps he hurried.
All day he searched a target for his arrow
Finding none, his anguish grew sharp and narrow.
Hunger and thirst tortured him all day till dusk
And fatigue and pain settled in his limbs to last
Toward the evening as the sun sunk
He by the lake watched a pair of dove white swans
Tall and amorous they looked
As they court their image in a shady nook.
At once an arrow he lanced at one.
A stream of blood red gashed out of the swan.
Late at night his heavy limbs upon a pallet he laid.
Seeking comfort from an adventure long and languid
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Yesterday I saw a girl walking down the streets
Yesterday I saw a girl walking down the streets of a bustling city
She walked in a glorious beauty
Proud, tall and centered pretty
Her hair twisted in abundance of locks so silky, so wavy and fair
Dancing around and over her radiant face
They taunted and denied the morning breezes from caressing their share
Her long legs cast in black shoes with bouncing lace
How pure how dear their dwelling place
The morning sun herald her high in the skies
As she passed me by I had an instance to meet her aspect and her eyes
And on her cheek and over that magnificent brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent
Her smile at once set my heart into throbbing glow
It told of youth in goodness and virtue spent
It concealed a mind at peace and calm with all below
A heart whose love is innocent
Oh gracious hell!
Where did she get this hailing tail?
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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To Be Alone
When I weep or when I mourn it does not mean
That I have a misfortune of any kind or that my heart is torn
Something undecidedly, unfitting in my mind to plague and to groan
When I sob or when I fret I have not encountered anything bad or mean
Yet to be alone is not in the land of fun
From my shadow I cannot hide, from myself I cannot run
It does not let, it does not fade
This awful, painful, empty, sinking, suffocating, solitary shade
O Sweet Solitude! if I must with you dwell,
Please comfort me among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; and stairs to climb on the molding steep
With toiled and jaded throng, people stretched to utmost swell
Long awaited darkness in my heart sinks and falls
Casting shadows, scudding past images on my walls
In this twilight hour in my little room I am alone
And the macabre memories into my vision are drown
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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