The Jewish Poetry Society - MacMate

The Jewish Poetry Society

NEWSLETTER

ISSUE 6 SUMMER 2010

Future Events Hi All

All meetings held on first We’ve battled through the snow and ash and now
Thursday of the month at hoping to enjoy a well-deserved summer. There’s a
Glebe Hall, Glebe Road, slight difference in this newsletter as we’ve fewer
Stanmore, HA7 4EL (Glebe photos and crammed in more poetry.
Road is near Sainsbury’s) at
3pm. Free parking behind We’ve recently congratulated Vicky Blake and
hall or in Sainsbury’s. Monty on their Diamond Anniversary and Marie
3rd June: Our challenge: Driffill and David celebrated their - wait for it! -
Transport 70th Wedding Anniversary, although Marie can’t
1st July: Our Challenge: Sleep rest on her laurels as David continues to assure her
5th August: Our Challenge: “It’ll never last”.
Grandma
2nd September: Our Challenge: Sadly, our darling Sally Fiber has suffered the
Water bereavement of Arthur and we all wish her a Long
7th October: Our Challenge: Life and send her lots of love. On the news side,
Love Sally has had her story entitled Smiling Through
published on the BBC Website.

Our Focus this month is on Marion, who is well-
known to members who are able to come to our
monthly gatherings.

We’re getting lots of entries for our regular monthly
Harrow Observer competition, even from as far as
America, and own Elizabeth Shaine and David
Segal have been recent worthy winners.

Our Thursday afternoon meetings continue to
attract lots of members who enjoy the social side as
well as the poetry. All are welcome.

Love

Judy Karbritz and Pattie Greenberg

Contact Details: email: [email protected]
website: www.jewishpoetrysociety.com
Phone: 020 8958 6499 or 020 8866 9084

Focus on Marion Franses

I am a semi retired teacher and I have been writing poems since my late teens. They have
been collecting in a drawer over the intervening years and I am thrilled to have found the JPS

which has given me some motivation to revisit them, edit and type them out and at last to share
them with others who appreciate this need. Perhaps one day I may even do something more with

them! For now though I am happy just to read them to the group. Whenever my emotions have been
caught up by events, a poem seems to emerge and insists on being written down !

Apart from teaching Art – which I did for 3 years in a Secondary school in Hillingdon
before I had my family and 17 years in a special school in Hatch End since my first marriage ended
– I have taught a variety of subjects in other venues, mainly pottery and textiles. I run a pottery
club for adults and have worked with the elderly, in the day hospital of a psychiatric unit, with
autistic adults, dyslexic students and tutoring children at home. I am now married to Martin
Davidson who has a passion for music like I have a passion for words. A truly rich mix ….

I have two daughters from my previous marriage and 4 young grandchildren – 3 boys and a
girl. My younger daughter is also involved in education and enjoyed writing her own pieces from an

early age – her daughter and elder son seem to be following in her footsteps – my elder daughter is
an Artist so my creative urges have been well expressed ….

I also now have a stepson who is very involved with his computer. I like to sing and enjoy working
with a choir. I sometimes feel my poems are not clever enough (I disagree - Editor) but I still

feel compelled to write them as they often express strange moods. I love listening to all the other
really good ones at the meetings.

Journey - 2 A NEW DAWN

I’m trying to get to school again, Don’t ever underestimate that black wall of
It’s getting very late despair

The traffic lights have just turned red Listen to me ! I have been there.
They are telling me to wait. It is dark without end
And life with no friend,
I think I should turn right here
and take another road It is a moment, yet an eternity
A wall with no boundary
Oh dear ! that didn’t work,
ahead’s a heavy load. It is a blackness which will go
I hang on to this, for I know
Slowly, slowly, getting nearer I have to wait, for the switch in my brain,
Petrol’s burning and getting dearer To choose the road to life again.

Oh there‘s the news ! what ?
The road I need is closed ?
There’s been another accident,
I’ll have to find another way
To reach the kids at school today

Marion Franses

The poem below reflects my fears of our mutating world and was fed by my long
obsession with trees and sparked by the diseases now found in the wonderful horse

chestnut trees…..

Autumn Elements
As the fall of the day followed our footsteps

The path meandered into the setting sun.
Around me, I anxiously surveyed the Iconic trees

I pondered at the shrivelled leaves
Not dead, that they would rustle on the ground

But dried – mummified in their prime
Still sprouting from sparse twigs
Dead echoes of their former glory.
And what of the ions of conkers,

Part of our childhood that lurks hidden in boxes –
Are these pipers to pass to eternity as the Elms ?
Will they stand as soldiers battered in the field ?

Treasures left to wither in their roots,
Symbols of neglect to protect our earth’s bounty.
Will they still stand, when our grandchildren look in awe

And wander in the Autumn woods.
When they look and see the russet glowing against the sky –

When they crunch through the rustling carpet of time …
Will the conkers still be there to collect and conquer

Will the skirts of girls hold a hoard of glowing emblems of their booty ?
Or will they wilt and disappear like other woods,
To wait layered and fossilised –
Turning to coal for future fires –
Embers of a forgotten era.
Marion

HOPE ELECTION 2010
BY DAVID SEGAL BY ELAINE SEG  AL

Never mind the Ides of Doom, Despair! Despair! Despair is in the air.
The End is not yet Nigh. Sincerest lies are smiling in their eyes.
Man will change Apocalyptic expectations The talk and debate by each candidate
in good time. Covers the other parties with hate.
I call this  
Resurrection. They grovel and bend
That is Hope. Right up to the end.
  The voter can’t choose –
Man will He’s too darned confused.
drive out Despair  
And bring in cheerfulness. The country’s been fought.
There is so much yet They’ve lost our support.
To look forward to. Fair play has fled
That is Hope. There’s brute force instead.
 
It is already happening. It’s class against class.
Man sees past mistakes. The whole thing’s a farce!
Little by little, plans are being forged for There’s no real selection
the future. In this year’s election.
Corrections are in the Pipeline,
I hope.  

August 2009 THE SAME
BY TINA J COHEN

In this world of ours
Many languages are spoken
But the sound of laughter
Is always the same happy token
And the same with the sound of crying
When sorrow appears
Every human weeps
The same salty tears

COLOUR SPRING COLOURS
BY ANGELA LANSBURY BY ELIZABETH SHAINE

Descending like helicopters As I woke up early, from my bed,
One bee zooms to perfect landing I saw the sky turned fiery red.
One beeʼs found its harbour, feasting And looking out beyond the window
In a red and yellow meeting. I saw the daffodils, golden yellow.

Iʼm singing, happy bumble bee As I walked down the avenue,
Summer gives me the biggest buzz The grass was green, the sky was blue,
Red tulips are giants to me The blossom in the trees was pink,
Glowing, heavenly red valley And beneath an auburn fox did slink.

Each flower fills my world with scent As I reached home the tulips pale,
So wafting, happy hours are spent Were misted in the snow-white hail.
My free aroma therapy The heavens were azure, gray and black,
No drunk is happier than bees When later on I hit the sack.

So, when I leave, I note the way As life emerges without a sound,
So other bees can follow me The colours of Spring are all around.
I bring good news to our new nest The birds carouse around the dawn,
My dance shows new bees which wayʼs best And in the forest a new-born fawn.

Each day I celebrate Big Bee COLOURS
Who sent me coloured, scented flowers BY JOY BROOKS
Iʼm proud the world depends on me
Pollinating pure plants, fine flowers Our colours developed with nurture and care,
Shades mingled together when hearts were
Iʼm sure humans love flowers, too laid bare,
Though to your eyes each petalʼs small Your hues are vibrant, striking and bold,
To me, a bee, the redʼs a wall Rich reds and violets and antique old gold,
Whose scented silk makes my soul tall Mine are more timid, pastels and tints,
Pale blue and lilacs, candy floss hints,
Red is my favourite, bright red We marvelled when times were bright
Our worldʼs joys fill my eyes, my head   sunshine yellow,
Whose cup of nectar could be fuller Marched on when life poured grey torrents of
mellow,
Years built us a rainbow of colours so rare,
When climbed we conquered the world as a
pair,
Now we have reached our own pot of
treasure,
In our colours of love we will dwell on forever.

I SHALL WEAR CHARCOAL CHERRY TIME
BY DAVE WHIPPMAN BY VICKY BLAKE

When I am old and wrinkled Come Spring the cherry tree
There'll be no change of heart. offers miniature bouquets
 You won't catch me in purple, of gleaming white
 I'll be a drab old fart. or delicate pink blossom
 My clothes will be conventional, to delight our eyes
 In charcoal grey or brown Promising round red, luscious fruits to
 To emphasise my sombre mood delight
 And bring your spirits down. Our taste buds on Summer days.
 I'll never be exciting, Late Autumn brings
 I'll be a tedious bore. swirling, enveloping mists
 In other words, I'll carry on  leaving crystal tears on branch
Exactly as before. and twig, which fall like rain
 I'll whinge if no one visits me in a sporadic breeze.
 And I'm alone all day, Come Winters cold, unfriendly
 But if they call, I'll tell them all blasts and bitter freeze,
To keep the hell away. So sleeps the cherry tree
I'll moan about loose morals, awaiting budding time,
Naked women on TV - Bouquet time
And I should know, cos no one's  Cherry time.
Gonna watch 'em more than me.
If anybody needs my help OWN GOAL
I’ll churlishly refuse. BY HILL SLAVID
I’ll say that kids are ignorant
And then I'll push in  queues. I took a lover to my bed
There'll be no change of attitude, Wish I’d had a book instead
 There'll be no change of scene: While I lay pulsating prime
 I'll be the selfish loathsome little git He said to me, Hey what’s the time
 I've always been! The football’s on at half past nine
He turned the TV on to stare
I might as well have not been there
Empathy is hard to find
Staring at a bare behind
He swore hard at the referee
Increasing my vocabulary
Whatever happens, I’ll make sure
Tonight he’ll have no chance to score!

POPPY SEED MEMORIES The poppy seed bread of my mother’s youth
BY PATRICIA J TAUSZ
I can hear you shouting uncouth

Words about me

My brothers, sisters, family

I feel I might just be a seed inside that bread

When I am sure you wish I were dead

But like a seed I’ve taken roots

And though your hard hobnailed boots

Might have stamped on many of my kin

SNOWSTORM But I will not let you enter in
BY HELEN ROSEN To my heart – I will sow many seeds

“La Tempete est grave” Even though we recall your evil deeds
The man stayed in bed We will flourish once more
As he covered himself up And become yet more numerous than before.
Right over his head

“Oh get up now” said his wife with a scream
As she threw back the covers and looked at the scene
Of snow covered rooftops and trees that were still
In their gowns of pure white, it gave her a thrill

“Go away” said the man, as he tried to stay covered
“No” said his wife, not at all bothered
“We must get up now, they’re coming to tea
It’s the first day of the year, or don’t you see

“With Xmas behind us and hangovers cured
The children are all coming, so they can be lured
Away from the tele and too many toys”
“So we have to suffer” the man groaned “with their excessive noise.

“Oh don’t be so doleful” his wife stripped the bed
“They’re your grandchildren too and there’s a lot to be said
For the laughter of youngsters throwing snowballs outside
And making a snowman in air that is rarefied

“So get up now, and know how to behave
Like a grandpa” He looked out of the window as if trying to stave
Off the forthcoming day.
“La tempete est grave” was all he could say

David Shamash

Communicate with the Non Jewish World:
 

In January I went to two things to do with the Holocaust Violins of Hope
at Finchley United Synagogue and at North West Reform Synagogue .

At North West Reform Synagogue we discussed how to keep the memory of
the Holocaust alive.  They are going to do a book for the community.
I explained that it is important to let the Non Jewish World know about the
Holocaust and what it is like being Jewish now in the UK.
It is good that Children are taught about the Holocaust in Schools and there are
plenty of books about the Holocaust in most public Libraries.

Not everyone knows about the violent attacks on Jewish people
in London recently although some of the attacks are published in the London
Jewish News.
I have written quite a lot about being Jewish on the Autism London Web Site
including Jewish Perspective on Asperger Syndrome.

If the other readers of the Jewish  Poetry News Letter have a Non
Jewish place to write to I hope they will write some Jewish articles to it.
As I write I have a page about Elaine Segal in front of me and a poem  of hers
which is dedicated to the Victims of Genocide. Before the Holocaust. (Autumn
2009 News Letter) I hope that poem is published in Non Jewish places and I wish
her every success as an author.

ENDS AND ENDINGS BY RENEE MYERS

I GAZED AT THE HAIRDRESSER. FELT SUCH FRIGHT
'THE ENDS OF YOUR HAIR ARE A TERRIBLE SIGHT
THEY ARE SPLIT, THEY ARE WEAK, THE WORST I HAVE SEEN'.
AND NOW HE EXAMINED THE ROOTS. AND BETWEEN.

 
'BUT WAIT'', HE OPINED, 'YOU HAVE COME JUST IN TIME

I THINK I CAN SAVE IT. I'LL TREAT IT WITH LIME
I'LL SINGE ENDS AND WRAP THEM IN OIL FOR AN HOUR
DON'T WORRY, YOU'RE GOING TO SMELL LIKE A FLOWER

 
YOUR HAIR WILL SURVIVE!'  THIS, TRIUMPHANTLY.
'I'LL MASSAGE WITH HONEY THAT'S STRAIGHT FROM A BEE'.
QUITE FAINTLY I ASKED, 'AND WHAT ABOUT PRICE'
STERNLY HE STARED.'TWAS A LOOK TINGED WITH  ICE

 
'A HUNDRED OR TWO BUT DON'T THINK OF THAT
JUST THINK OF NO HAIR, ALWAYS WEARING A HAT'.
I JUMPED FROM THE CHAIR, SHOOK MY CURLY LOCKS FREE
I AM OFF ROUND TO MUM, SHE WILL DO IT FOR FREE.

CHARITY BY MARIE DRIFFILL THE MIRROR
BY AVRIL CANDLER
To give, or not to give, THAT IS THE QUESTION
Whether ‘tis nobler to support all that ask Shall I be kind
Or be selective, and let them take me to task. When her face peers
Longingly into me
Those pleading letters that come every day Begging not to see
Confuse our minds, Question which we should pay Reality
Charity is supposed to begin at home Crinkled cruelly
How is that accepted as wherever we roam Where once unlined
Sweet serenity smiled
We hear about children in need or in pain  
Read about Old folks sleeping out in the rain Here she comes
But let us remember how good we do feel Her eyes hopeful
When charitably we give the hungry a meal That today
Years have fallen away
Life teaches us how important indeed And I regret
To be charitable to all and take care of their need I cannot reflect
Think kindly of those who have less than us A truth denied
And let’s give all we can, without too much fuss. By life

SELF-IMPROVEMENT
BY JUDY KARBRITZ

Last week when I went shopping
My trolley laden high
Books were piled up near checkout
The store hoped I would buy

I stopped and had a rummage The nautical style t-shirts
In the self-improvement section That graced my shopping cart
I thought perhaps I’d get some tips Were put back on their hangers
In my quest to seek perfection As I firmly made a start

The paperback I first picked up The book I lastly browsed through
Taught to modify your diet Gave all the finest tips
Cakes and chocolates should be banned And I thought I’d start immediately
I thought that I would try it And really get to grips

So I put back all the sweet foods In big bold words the author
From all around the store Proclaimed I must economise
And hurried to the book shelves Do not give in to temptation
When I read a little more And reject all impulse buys

The fashion guru told me Although against my nature
To be conscious of my shape Her advice I gamely took
Don’t wear horizontal stripes And to show that I was serious
If you’re bigger than size 8 I didn’t buy the book!

MY HERO BY SALLY FIBER

If your poem isn’t featured We hope you’ve enjoyed this
Then please don’t moan or fret Newsletter - if you’d like
The chances are the editor your poems to be included
Has not received it yet in the next issue, please
submit them before
So next time please submit it November 2010
Be it blank verse or in rhyme
And it may well be published
If it’s sent to us in time!