A woman pray
God, make me this thing that is rare and uncommon
That all my love's friends envy; be silent and attend
This wonderful reasonable ever beguiled and desired woman
As my love likes me: gorgeous witty yet obsequiously flattering friend
Please God bestow your ancient wisdom upon me
So I can understand and worship my man
Please enhance my soul with enduring love up to be insane
So that I have the wide heart and generosity to repeatedly forgive him
Oh God, wrapped me with passion for him, to be awed by rumor
Not grave through vain pride, nor too gay through world folly
Mingle inside me this equal mixture of none challenging good-humor
And soft sensible none engaging to absorb his bitter melancholy
Enslaved me God to love, to be totally helpless and abandoned
Leave me merely to tend upon the hours and times of my love's desire
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Love by The River Bank
Once there was a maid that caused me pangs of a lover
When day and night I had sighed all in vain
Ah, what a pleasure it was to gaze at her and discover
In her eyes rare beauty that caused me ecstasy and pain
Once early morning when the sun rose in the East
She took herself to the margin of a river and set by the bank
I followed her foot print on the white ivory sand
I became delirious by what my eyes had to feast
Never did I know was it from heaven or from hell
That I at once was transferred to ferocious giant whale
Into the cold river with hat and cloths on I jumped
Struggling through waves of that magnificent swamp
Moving through elongated kelp and tall erected reeds
I went through the water gashing deep
And I reached the silhouette of her fine legs below
I bit her lovely maiden toe
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The man who loves a coquette
Why lost man
Your heart is sour with complain
Over this pretty damsel’s distain
Why thus let your despair
Yields hellish chest tare
For months you may fret
But this will not get you your coquette
Ah! How can you teach her to love
Frustration compel you to ask
As time runs out to spin and to rove
It is not easy and simple task
At first they all frown like a house pet
But leave her alone for a while
She shortly will show you her smile
And you may sit or stroll by your coquette
For such are the fickle airs
Of love and flirt mingling in fanciful fairs
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Endless love
You have stormed upon me and I have played thee without pardon
In vain I hinder you by highest walls and deepest moats; and oak thick gates
My heart and my passion spell under your flowers garden
As my body shakes surrounded, dizzy and lost in the presence of your light gait
Through ancient time and sage books you are the sinner and the judge
Oh, ever capricious soul, as my eyes enthralled to your control
At sunset summer street as gored dusk claims its reign and role
You will gather my shreds and pieces as piles of wheat with a farmer touch
Never beg or appease those who from your vicinity withdraw and shun
I alone will walk through your secret gardens abundant with various hues
As my pray is solely and unpretentious yearning for none
My pray is one only and unique praying but for you
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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An Enemy Within
With stern haughty and piercing glance upon the surrounding
He started each day with an inner contempt, despise to all rounding
As if he said to himself: 'The wanderings of this most intrigue Universe
Teach me the nothingness of all things, the insignificance of any adverse'
As if creation could not have happened or creep or be
Beyond his existence; the horizon where his eye can see
He spoke of beauty and humanity, yet dull was his soul
To see any divinity in growing lush grass
Or life in solid dead stones; spirit in the air
He adored his look and he loved looking at the glass
When he smoothed his chin and sleek his waning hair
And said the world should have been created at different goal
with his students his crystal Narcissism soared
As he spoke of virtue and math, never of Gods and kind
He carried his speech, but to vain proclaims of spirit dull and soured
As in his ideas and philosophy he stood aloof from other minds
Devolving his rebuke in a cold drawl
with dissidents often he exchanged barbs and drawing brawl
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The Grave Digger
I am a quite, humble, honest and very generous man
who likes to aid people around as much as I can
And I should not be utterly despised for my vocation
Just because I am a grave digger by profession
Indeed, I do not desire or wish the dead
People should live long and loved side by side
Pure life with no baseness, shame or sin to hide
But if no one dies how shall I pay my debts I dread
I pray and mourn any human that rests below
And as the grasses in the cemetery wave
I passionately take care of every stone grave
In passing the dirt and dust I blow
I never wrong a grave with fears and tears untrue
Nor can I be blamed for carrying on my job with no faith
There must be wisdom and sense in death
Life cannot continue forever, once all must be thru
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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To a woman like you
To a woman like you experience might have told me
That all must love you once they catch a glimpse of you
For there is no measure to one’s pleasure invoked from your view
Yet such treasure as you does not come without a plea
And surely experience of my age might have taught
That your firmest assurances are naught
But being placed all your charms and vulnerability before me
Age failed me, all I forgot except adoring thee
For sure the numbers of replacements are vast
All eager to fulfill your urgent as trivial tasks
I have never been an advocator of quantity
When it comes to friends, in the contrary, of quality
But why shall I be stern to the haughty
By all means and good intends let me bless them all
The dwarf, the round and the tall
Guarding you from your friends never has been my duty
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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An Evening Of Roses
An evening of roses scent comes to the world
As the wind beats the far mountains; it blows
More softly around the open grassy wold
Where the shy timid tulip hides as it grows
The evening is descending calm like a nun
When at the far sky the first star glows against lowering sun
This is when through waving silky hair in your exquisite ear
I shall whisper a song of love and cheer
And me this knowledge of evening so rare, bolder made
Or else I had not dared to fantasize and to flow
In these lines towards you, and invade
With this verse your peace or your holy woe
Listen to the holy music of the creatures night
The sounds of evening choirs so distilled and clear
As the moon climbs so slowly to its high orbit bright
You she constantly follows and persistent at you to peer
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The dancing whirling leaves
I will befall into my tomb
As a waning river falls to the sea
I embrace death the existence of ‘not to be’
As a child welcomes his calm night dream
I walked in the shadows of darkness and sorrow
Unfriendly and cold and alone
As dismally gurgle besides me
The bleak river desolate moan
The rise of the volleying thunder
The mountain’s lone echoes repeat
The roar whirl wind around me
The galling autumn leaves at my feet
I stooped in shadows of darkness and sorrow
Uncheered by the moon’s spangled ray
Not a friend that I love but is dead
Not a hope I have but have faded away
Oh Shall I rest in the tomb
Wrapped about with the chill winding white sheet
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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A walk in Manhattan
Faces that float in rivers of people I meet; I see and pass
Throngs thrust through bustling city, buzzing noise and broken roar
Faces that come and go; faces I see and lose in windows glass
All portraits new I will never see again; I have never seen before
Strangers of all ages and all human specimans encounter my pace
The comers and the goers, marches of face to face
Parades of face after face in string of dazzling colors ware
An endless human streams too busy world to stop and stare
An ant hill city of maddening crowd’s ignoble strife
With sober ambitions without boundaries into all four winds to stray
Along cool sequestered decorum of life
All morals bent with insentient apathy out of way
People in rows, crowds in queues, clans in knots
The famous the anonymous, the have and the have not
Diamonds and ashes in street ashrays
while corners vendors and nooks players reciting their pray
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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