Wendy Blumfield, IL

 

 

Free Verse   Big Brother   Big brothers can ride bikes, swim in the river, Fish down by the canal You`re too little and only a girl Keep clean, don`t fall and hurt your knees. Falling off a horse, fussed and fretted over And taken home to whine. Big brother took me fishing, Gave me the bread he took for bait, Balanced me on the cross-bar of his bike And let me float on his back in the sea. Big brother comforted me after the air raid, Trembling in the after-shock, He showed me the house was still standing. Took me to the football match, Where frozen I stood to the end, Shivering in the snow and icy wind, He wrapped his woolen scarf around my neck. Tagging along with his friends, I hid under the seat during Dracula And he bought me an ice-cream cone Little pest but fondly patted on the head. Mathematically challenged, I watched with admiration As he completed my homework, The fractions and the mysterious geometry, So easy in his head. Our mother, then our father died Orphaned, he comforted me And showed me that the world was still standing I became a wife and mother of four He met me off flights and at railway stations To ease my journey and protect me from dark nights And walks through unlit streets. Always there for me, big brother, Until the diagnosis. And even then defying death, He danced at his daughter's wedding, No separation speech for him, Defying death, plans to meet again in the summer. And then the midnight call Bringing me in flight from overseas No more defiance of death, Shivering in the snow and icy wind, I waited for him to wrap me in his woolen scarf As they laid him in the ground.     Confusion   I`m a very busy organized person And my energy level is high But I do get confused sometimes And wonder why ... I found the dustpan and brush on the shelf in the refrigerator I`m a very busy organised person And my energy level is high But I do get confused sometimes And wonder why ... The garbage bin did not open when I pressed my car key control I`m a very busy organised person And try to flow with the tide But I fear that this confusion means that Time is not on my side When... The car moved its location when parked on the street Or is it kinder to call it a memory overload Or so they say in computer code The discs are full, delete files they are asking So that`s what it is, They call it multi-tasking.     Passions   The music teacher said sing silently And not to let my voice`s passion soar to the sky A voice that held no tune. The dancing teacher said go home you are a waste of space As in passion arms reached to the sky And my plump overweight little legs marched on. My grandfather gave me a little wooden desk And I wrote my passions in ink That stained my fingers and spilt down my white school blouse. God gave me four children And I fed them with passion From those plump overweight breasts Sang them to sleep with the passion Of my voice that held no tune And danced with them with passion through the autumn leaves And the joy of the windswept beach.     The Peace Talks   This poem was written 25 years ago and nothing has changed. For Lebanon substitute Middle East peace, neglect of the hungry and poor, decline of health, education and emergency services. They still sit at polished tables.   The politicians sit at polished tables And sip coffee in the lobbies of the large hotels. My son is roasting peanuts on a fire at his guard-post, And the wind is rising, high in the hills of Lebanon. In summer the politicians take a rest And shop in London or visit the Louvre, Or bathe on the shores of the Mediterranean. My son drives his tank through the inland dust, And the wind is rising, high in the hills of Lebanon. In winter the politicians take a break For their holydays, yours and ours, And for the Sabbath days of the three religions. My son goes out and builds a snowman And the wind is rising, high in the hills of Lebanon. (From The Soldiers Mother)     The Birthday Present   He painted a picture for my birthday The artist whose pictures adorn the walls of the school And are hung in exhibitions The artist now a teenager Still marches to a different drummer Runs up the down escalator He painted the picture in Jerusalem Light radiating on the pointing of the roofs Small figures running in the shadows With his picture he gave me on my birthday He attached a small coupon with a special offer On presentation of this coupon – receive one hug     The Little Violinist   He stands so still and quiet, My jumping bean, Head slightly angled Violin tucked under his tiny chin. His nimble fingers, Not so long ago plump and dimpled Hold the bow, Long eye-lashes resting on his cheek. Then with a smile that reminds me That I owe him for four tooth fairies, He serenades my birthday.     About Wendy Blumfield, IL   Wendy Blumfield: I live in Haifa with my husband, David , a retired computer systems analyst (and Voices poet). Our four children are married. One son and his family live in New York and the others are in Israel . We have eleven grandchildren. I was born in London and we made aliyah in 1974. I have been writing poetry since I could hold a pencil before I even started school. Those were usually little rhymes for fun. But later it became my way of expressing extreme emotion. The first serious poem was when I was in my early teens and a much loved baby cousin died in an accident. I found that writing about it helped me deal with the pain. I joined Voices Israel in 1975 This is Wendy Blumfield's first appearance in Sketchbook.