The Commentator
Volume 63 Issue 5

Poetry

by Yaakov Alexander

COLORS

there are colors
and forms
and movements
slow and gravity
shape sudden curl
of lip or hair
in silent grace
there are minutes
infinitely remembered
yet never recalled
always touching when there is no touch
incarcerating tears
within the mind's eye
there is a rift
which runs symmetrically
through man's soul
a testimony to a union
a symptom of rejection
between redemption
and rock
of pores
which breath and sweat
and dry and die
in reaction to emotions
and circumstances
from a far creating beauty
from up close exuding life
of colors
forms
and lazy movements

SUBWAY

never noticed lines
on back of knees
exist
unnamed and little regarded
fleeting accidental tiny touch
mixed with accent
and a tad of vanilla
glanced up over book
pencil outlined eyebrows
train sparks
and bit of overheard talk
painted faces fingers and toes
protrude from sandals
and point indiscriminately
there mother earth is imprisoned
in cliché images
of countless brooding poets
mesmerized by the ceaseless
motion and migration
in the tunnels of no time.

JAZZ

The jazz of it all
the dark room so alight
sightless colors constellation bright
there it is
the jazz of it all
silly candles flicker
in time to the unnerving rhythm
pinkie finger tapping worn wood
aloof musicians standoffish bass
secretly smile and joke
empowered this evening
with the jazz of it all
creeping into minds
alchemists at large
as brass turns to gold
there it is - the realization
born anew soon to die
this evening of jazz.

HIBERNATION

Poems are
a wake of emotion
rippling and resounding
still far from its source
those scenes which end and fade
are lost and gasping
for their former status
yearning for those moments of creation
forgotten
as to not obstruct those parts of life
which are not for the living
joy must be contained
for it threatens and intrudes
the open road
the break
is an aphrodisiac which wears off
and leaves you unrecognizable to yourself
full of mystical admiration
for a foggy memory of an endless night
and the romance of all begins to engulf
but.... the phone rings
and the mirror, alas, does not lie
as you fight the current
waves crash against you
the edges of passion
erode and drawn
the ocean of life
smothers the flame
rusts the body
and buries the soul
the eyes like a barren womb
see only tundra
the joys tremble in their hibernation
remember the past
and await their rebirth

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