The Forest

In a coincidental forest
on a January Friday
white daisies with yellow smiles
blink and sway
in the calm sun
almonds blossom
in pink perfection

not a breeze
stirs the firs
which watch me
as I invade their
birdchirp world

And I, infused with a forest tiredness,
seek to rest
lulled sleepy by its perfect stillness
almost a holy hush

I must have been born
in the forest
in other times
when I was another me
with the fairies and elves
and other people
little like myself

because of the kinship
the bond with it
the naturalness
like returning to
a home once lived in
or a visit to distant family

I sit now dreamy
in the after-the-rain cleanness
on newborn greenness
bees buzz invisible
a sheep bleats
pine needles
make such a fine cushion

The forest is an entrance
into innocence
into kinder times
and gentle acceptance

It is the place
Peace goes
to meditate

 Helen Bar-Lev

More Excerpts from this book:

After the War

Now that the guns are quiet
the hills awaken, don green clothing

Now that the missiles cease their roar
the birds hop out of hiding places
make short trips over still smoldering trunks

Now that the air begins to clear
patches of blue appear
damage assessors arrive, inspect, measure
jot inscriptions in notebooks, make calculations

Now that the guns are quiet
children emerge from shelters
kick balls, ride bicycles, flip skate boards

The grocery store restocks its rows
of yoghurts, cheeses, fruit and vegetables

Now that the guns are quiet
deep in the ground, fingers make tallies
count bodies, dust off prayer books
draw up lists, encrypt messages, mark maps

An army of ants crawls from hidden cracks
warriors carry shiny new weapons
wasps begin the task of hive reconstruction
black and red hieroglyphics

Now that the guns are quiet
lilting cadences cry out from turrets
calling the faithful to prayer

Now that the guns are quiet
somewhere in a cave
a skull winds a turban in coils
hiding thoughts, hiding plans

Until all that remains visible
is a sharp beard and a pair of flat eyes
unfurling from the gloom

Johnmichael Simon