Poem: Dinah

Dinah

(Genesis 34)

Some say I was raped - that’s what they called it when

The one man who is not my dozen brothers

Took me, unasked, between my father’s tents and

The city of my lover’s kin - he took me and I, afraid, cried out

I knew then that I was lost; ashamed, a burden to my father

A man who wrestled God, and did not give up

Until the morning light revealed his crippled soul

Oh, Shechem, beloved prince, who forced me down

Then swooped me up in loving arms, I knew

His tortured soul, lost in the depths of his anguished eyes,

I forgave him the indiscretion.

I had found my husband in the sand, shifting in the desert winds

Would that I could have warned him, known my brothers’ lies

And saved the city from its bloody circumcision, all males

Wracked with pain and torn away like the raw flesh of manhood

Ripped to shreds by my oh-so-loving brothers, left to rot in the desert sun

While my brothers ravaged my husband’s mothers, daughters and sisters

Not one left untouched, not one left innocent, not one left, not one

I - who am I but worn and weary widow, now, begging for a crumb?

And they, the sons of vengeance, dare

To blame it all

On me

©10 September 2009

Suzanne Jacobson

Poem: Broken

Broken

My heart has broken,

                Reformed,

                          And

            Broken again

                          A

Million times in

            This very moment,

Knowing that

In your eyes

            I have seen Eternity

And felt, in

Your gentle touch,

            The Divine

©Suzanne B. Jacobson Cherry

Poem: Love, Requited

I haven't written much in the way of poetry lately - a haiku here, a senryu there.  But I have a lot of poetry that hasn't been out in awhile...so, I thought I'd share some of it here.

Love, Requited

I’ve loved and lost

And loved again

I wonder, sometimes

If I’ve ever truly

Been loved in return?

No matter:  my heart

Has been true, my touch

Tender, my yearning

Body a reflection of the

Beauty of my soul

I love again:  at distance,

I dream of a day when

I may meet my love,

Reach out to place

My loving hand, tender

Upon his cheek; kiss

Closed eyes, brush

Fingertips along his neck

From nape to chest

To belly….

His words are aphrodisiac

To me, even those that

Reek of pain and loss and

The broken heart he

Bears for another, I see

His name, and my

Heart thrills – I close

My eyes, envision my

Approach to him, seated

I straddle his lap, sit

Solid, jean upon jean

His hands strong upon

My back, spread fingers

Pulling me forward

Almost one, and I

Lean forward into a kiss

Tongue within tongue

Entwined, like our words

The pain we have shared

So much in common

We yearn, we seek love

We trust and are left

Broken – oh, that we might

Pick each other up, dust

Off our hearts, repair our

Shattered souls and together

Write the love poem

We were born to write…

Together

© 2 June 2010 by Suzy Jacobson

Poem: A Whole Heart

A Whole Heart

I have a whole heart
it’s been broken before

and for a time, was fixed
temporarily with tie-dyed
duct tape, staples and a little
bit of that paste made from flour
and water, glommed together
I kept it protected, wrapped
in cellophane or tin-foil, pretending
it was whole and refusing to hand
it to others for fear that they
might break it
one more time

One day in a dark moment
I unwrapped it, held it in my
Hands beneath a star-studded
Ponderosa scented sky and
Watched as it cracked open
Duct tape worn out, frazzled edges
Staples bent and paste dried to
Granules of dust, I held it
In pieces and cried because
I just knew it was never going
To be whole again –

I know this is the moment when
My heart began its reparation;
Pieces fused together like the
Lost limb of a starfish
For a time it was a green-ware
Sculpture of a whole heart
At risk of shattering, though
I kept it safe, away from the grasping
Hands of others until I brought
It into the desert kiln and let in bake
Baked until the moment I could
Feel the warmth of forgiveness
Illuminating it through the skylight

No longer broken, my heart
Shellacked and buffed
Within the safety of my chest
Practiced loving only those who
Loved me back, for sure –
My children, my parents, my siblings
God, and there’s the One whose
Love was the forge; where
My heart, given back into the hands
Of its Maker was re-forged; made
Strong and reinforced with the
Tears of my experiences
Turned to diamonds

Now, I know I have a whole heart
Whole enough to give to another
Not in part nor in pieces
Not just enough to keep them in
My pocket waiting for change,
But whole enough to give to those
Who already have it – my children,
My parents, my siblings, God and
The one for whom it waits
A whole heart is big enough
To be given over and over
And over again, without risk
Of growing too thin

And though, in the giving, it might
Be dropped, scuffed, tossed aside
Or even stomped into the ground
A whole heart strengthened by
The fire of its own forge and
Shellacked by the tears of false love
May crack, but will never, ever
Really break again

Delusional, I may think it has been
Shattered; but as soon as I look
Straight on until morning
I will see that my heart is still whole

And it waits, wholeheartedly, for love.

© 11 June 2010 by Suzy Jacobson

NOTE:  And a year later, almost to the day, I unexpectedly handed my heart over to my old friend Bill; and on 17 September 2011, we were married!

Poem: English Literature

English Literature
It ALL means something
to the writer...
................to the reader
.............................to the student forced
to dissect it into tiny pieces

and the writer who reads
another's words seeking inspiration
My English 101 professor
had a hard-on for Freud,
declared that all creative writing
is about sex
That succubus Ligeia haunted
Poe, and he came all
over the page in frightening prose
Hawthorne's Beatricce, the
victim of fatherly love, as
phallic as seven gables thrusting
skyward, or a pointed red letter
better fit for a philandering
pastor than the poor love-stricken
girl forced to wear it
emblazoned over her
broken heart

It's all about sex...

Me - I'm more of a
Jungian,
I think it's all about
the myth and
the archetype
and the loss of gods
in a hurried, wanton world
I believe in angels
and demons and
the odd and playful
trickster, poking
sticks at wond'rous things
...............just
............................to
....................................see
what. might. happen.

Give me Gaiman and Pratchett
and Bradley over
Lawrence and Jong
any day.
Don't get me wrong
Of course, sex
is good...
it's not the mechanics
that matter, but
the connection to all
that is and was
and has ever been
Give me the mystery
The darkness
of the human heart
the illumination
of the human mind
and the visitation
of angels....
.................................unaware
(c) 11 May 2011
by Suzy Phoenix

Poem: Practical Magic

Practical Magic

I feel like Sally Owens…
The spell cast once, long ago
And forgotten
A poem to describe
The perfect man…
The impossible dream…
Though she wrote hers
To keep love at bay
And I wrote mine
Believing it an unattainable
Hope; the end is the same
There must be magic
In the Arizona desert;
Real men, forged by the heat
And the experiences of youth
Wrought into the perfect answer
To the perfect prayer
Whispered from the heart
Of an honest woman,
Dreaming

© July 9, 2011 by Suzy Phoenix