Sendings

By Shirley Segev

Shirley Segev

© Shirley Segev

Permission is given hereby to all who want to use these poems personally for their enjoyment and/or share them freely with others: verbally, in writing, online, or otherwise, by copying them without making any changes, and as long as they do not receive any payment in return.

Contact: shirley.segev@sympatico.ca

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Last month, in early March

Last month, in early
March,
these tender shoots in
frozen ground
said here, now here's a
miracle
for you,
and I, delirious and
drunk
with spring's first breaths,
blinded by barely
touching rays
of sun,
said yes to endless
happiness.

I rush by now without a
thought
of nature's virgin gift, still
here
to ponder and inhale,
a faded memory of joy
comes back
the feel of loss so pale,
already I forgot.

What if I got the queen's
jewels
next early March
I guess there's nothing to
regret,
I'd probably forget.

The Sound of the Clock

The sound of the clock
on the wall
is steady, and firm,
while the timid
beat of my heart
is hiding quietly
under
layers.
What does it measure,
and why.

At ten I thought

At ten I thought
I'll understand
everything
when I'm fifteen
and when I turned
fifteen, I thought I did:
injustice, cool and all.
At twenty I thought
I'll understand most of it
when I'm forty or so,
with all that folding and
unfolding,
I'll see the fit.
Then later as I saw the
deadlines
come and go, I thought
surely wisdom's knock on
the door
will come before
babbling and blessed
forgetfulness.
I'll smile, welcoming it in
the hall,
that's all.


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