To her who writes a novel
I know that everyone in the holy land nowadays is touring
And the fields with fragments of citreous and flowers are blooming
One may be intoxicated by these heavenly holy scents
In the land of milk and honey and the patina of the saints
Lately my interest in your on going Novel rose
I wonder about the inditement, the excitement and the prose
How many characters strong or meek do you have
Are they coward, blood thirsty, evil, bold, fearless or brave
Are you done portraiting the heroes, the villains and other characters
Do you make them labor hard in their act and toil
It is a laborious excruciating work without the miracle of oil
So hard and intrigue this task is, nevertheless you would not consider contractors
Don't let them roam idly, hardly working in their secured domicile
Don't let them sleep or delay; hastily they should bestow
Lines and phrases uttering loud and clear their lust, failures or an urge to kill
Stay on their top, spur them to rise to heights away from words low
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Love oscillations
We knew the flames of fire; we heard desirer's roar
When our love’s inferno to its heights soars
Not once, nor twice we tried from each other to flee
Yet we were swept again by our love as by a vexed foaming sea
To its steep depth, to its sweet pains
Engulfed, from our love’s locks escape was in vain
This chamber where I now dwell
Still bare the sweet memories of love’s hell
Dappling grace, of more glorious days we knew
The trace of sweet storm that passed without anew
Here nothing is like it was so clear
Nor like it felt when you were here
Elusive pictures, shadows glooms, pale reflection
Of yours haunt me, mock my heart’s devastation
Yes, nothing is like it was, and what was
Follows no clues, it obeys no laws
It does not resemble what happens now, what carries on
In my life, the living of love’s deserted pawn
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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College love encounter
If you are who I think you are, your face, your name
I may be lost, not knowing, not to be who I am
Such a swift unexpected encounter to bare in my face
It brings all past passions confusions back to surface
Well at first sight I wonder how life have been with you
Are you happy? that I should thus be happy too
For still my heart regards your weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do, as always was thus its will
I am unconsciously courteous unable to suppress my brimming sighs
The piercing melting power of your eyes
A vision I always longed and dread to see
It now brings the old havoc and tremble all over me
Oh dear; let it be short, adieu I must away
While you are blest I will not repine
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
In vain you have scattered thy heavy words
Unanchored by human character, sighing, suffering or thought
They to be scudded by the winds towards
Nothing, but a pile of chaffs and morsels in midfield of naught
But once you did captivate the heart of a lad and lass
When you wrote about the splendor in the grass
Tented with the canopy of the glory of the flower
Since then your prose froze, sank never again to tower
Yet to the above well deserved praise
one small correction I am obliged to raise
This is done without any malice or bad intention
but the fact of truth should not be snaffled its mention
That these soft lines of human treasure
were buried in 'ode' beyond any measure
under the weight of ten stanzas that ware wilt any reader pleasure
Oh Wordsworth if you had just written half less
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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She
She never left the comfortableness of forty plus
Although her look is progressing to the point of collapse
Sometimes she may be seen in a dark cafe or flickering bars
Legs crossed; top buttons loose to announce the world her love scars
Some men of the past; some more than few
Knew her under better skies hue
To call themselves the noble term husband
But they all disappeared the relationships did not stand
Especially to one lover she is gone, the cruel fair;
For him she cast not back a look of pitying eye:
But left her lover to sink in desolate despair
To sigh, to languish, like a flower to wilt and to die:
Ah! how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure?
To him she was the great Goddess of love that made
A face that can all hearts control and command
That all religions and cultures can invade
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The umbrella
One morning in a city of din and roar with no pause
A maid walked along into my wandering glance
So pretty, pure, and sprouting she was
under her feet the cobble stones lulled in a dance
Such a beautiful maid jumped into the street
And in the middle of rain rushing creek
I am such a reserved, shy, modest guy
So swiftly, intuitively I extended my umbrella
Under dark ominously pouring summer sky
To that lovely, bare orphan Cinderella
Her still small voice whispered to me
'Thank You', as she joined with youthful glee
And by that she washed away all my misery
Ah was there ever a better way to be
Ah, what a face! what cheeks to my shriveled lips
When coal black blanket wraps the sinking day
When the rotten street edges tear and drip
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Love lessons
Will our love for ever
Run like a vivid mountain river
And Time’s fierce jaws
Be avoided by sublime laws
And age’s endeavor
Be tried in vain
To take a walk with you love,
A crave descends from heaven above
No other pleasure
With this could measure
And like a divine treasure
I would hug your chain
In sunshine in cold in rain
To eat with you the sweet field oat
There is so much to aught
To listen and lessons to be taught
End not my elongated sighing
In an abrupt dying
And formed for flying
Love plumes our wings
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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A woman at a café’
She is a burning beauty so beguiling bright
As she sits in a café’ of a city under the night
Her skin over her face and limbs is spread like a dream
All the lights around her turn their heads in shame dim
Her legs peep beneath a dark collied skirt
Setting all passers by into anguish alert
What mortal hand or eye
Could frame or design your thigh
In what clay, in what mould
Were her eyes of fury and beauty rolled?
In what distant depths or vaulting high skies
Burnt the fire of her eyes?
He who framed her what dare he aspire?
What hand could dare size this intense fire?
Her shoulders, what an art
What craft could twist the sinews of her heart?
And when her heart begin to beat
What dread hands what dread feet?
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Listen to my voice my lost love
Listen to my voice my lost love
Within me it pants and cries loud for you
From the depth of my soul my sighs reach above
Wherever you are; for you I endlessly rue
Listen my love in far land to my heart's throbs
Wherever you are in this wide wonder globe
Within me rages the tempest of your sweet memory
Since long you left, you abandoned me in agonizing misery
There was a time I remember when you were kind
When your voices were softly waving into my mind
And their words gently inspiring and inviting
To yield these divine thoughts so exciting
There was a time when love for us was blind
And the whole world was a dreaming song
And the song was lastly maddening
Then it all crashing went wrong
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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Fair is my love from far
Fair is my love from far, but she is far from being fair
She is fickle, her nature is false and her character full of frauds.
No beauties can compensate for such flaws!
Yet her face; her face is so divine without the touch of impurity
She is mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty
Brighter than glass, and yet as glass she is brittle
A soul softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty
A lily pale skin, with damask dye to grace her clad
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips how often she to truth and to logic she joined
Between each of her oaths of true love swearing
How many tales to please the truth she coined,
Dreading the truth, the loss of love and strength still fearing
Yet amid of all her pure protesting
Her faith in love, her oaths of the truth were all jesting.
She burned with love, as straw with fire flames
She burned herself out of true love as soon as straw out burns
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poem by Isaac Ziv
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