Author: Wendy W. Blumberg

For Now

Wendy W. Blumberg

I cannot put my words

Together

It is as if they are trapped

Inside my brain

Words I need

To express my distress

Feelings of disbelief

And if I am truthful

Horror

At what is being allowed

In the unraveling of my country’s

Beingness

I cannot get the words out

Write them down

Will have to let other voices

Be heard

Other voices exclaim

The anger     bewilderment

Outrage

Like silt building up

In the pristine waters

Of a mountain stream

I will listen

Follow where they lead

Trusting it be

Into the light of reason

Again

 

For now

My hibiscus blooms large scarlet discs

Under my window

 

For now

I watch crazy flights

Of a Phoebe bird

As it snaps up insects

On the wing

Am mesmerized

By these different sized evergreens

On a hill

Above the Camino Real

Swaying as one

In the wind

 

For now

Music     laughter

Kind voices from anyone

Anywhere

Human and animal

Voices of my children

My True Love

Sounds from my own world

The only real word now

For me

Stench

Wendy W. Blumberg

It usually happened in summertime

Hot humid winds

Out of the west

Blew east

Over the city of Chicago

To the shores of Lake Michigan

Bringing with them

A stench

From the Chicago stockyards

The slaughter houses

There

 

Stench

A word from my childhood

Spoken by the adults

Around me

The words     stockyard

Slaughter house

I understood surrounded cows

Waiting to be killed

For meat

Now rationed by World War II

It had no impact on me     then

Until

A photograph in a magazine

A holding pen

With cattle crammed together

Waiting for slaughter

Made me sorrowfully aware

Of what the west winds

Signified

 

The Chicago stockyards

The slaughter houses

Long gone

But not holding pens

Slaughter houses

In other places

Cattle crammed so tightly

Together

None hardly move

 

I have stopped eating meat

 

There’s a stench

Here

An awful stench

Here

Words from a TV commentator

A congresswoman from the House of

Representatives

They face a large enclosure

Like a cage     a true

Cage

Inside     a hundred or

More

Immigrant men

Standing shoulder to shoulder

No room to sit     to lie down

To sleep

A few fortunate ones on the

Floor

They stand looking out

The TV camera

Records     their faces

Some raise their arms

Silent

Helpless

 

Seeing these immigrant

Men

Crammed together in that

Cage

I think back on my

Childhood

To the west winds

Blowing to the east

Over Chicago

On hot humid summer

Days

And remember the stench

I remember the stench

And what that stench

Means

 

I remember

Clouds …

Wendy W. Blumberg

… My ever moving art gallery

My daily weather report

It matters not where I am

In the comfort of home

A car on the freeway

Among other drivers

The slow     the speeders     motorcycles

That startle as they roar

Past

My attention is out the

Window

My eyes on the sky

 

Clouds are like people

Like everything in the natural

World

Different shapes

Colors

Different purposes of existence

Exuding an aura of diversity

Like everything alive on earth

Diversity is life

 

As a child

I imagined myself lying down

On big white puffy comforter

Clouds

But never on those forecasting

Storms

Darkly ominous blankets of solid gray

Over my head

Then rushing across the sky

Pushed by erratic winds

Still drawing my eyes upwards

Always upwards

 

Nothing has changed

Clouds     my ever moving art gallery

My daily weather report

Awake each morning

I open the shutters

Look through branches

Of the Sycamore     Crepe Myrtle tress

To find the clouds

Only to discover     now and then

The sun has risen on this day

Into a cloudless blue sky

 

The Visit

Wendy W. Blumberg
Joan “Tall Rabbit” Katz

He and I

Come to knock

On your door

Our monthly visit

To you

To laugh to talk

To enjoy our special

Companionship

But your daughter Elly

Opens the door

Comes out in the hall

Tears on her face

Says the words

Heart attack

You suffered a heart attack

Are not expected to live

Much longer much longer






Her words slam through me





An electrical bolt jolts





My entire body





Renders me glued to the seat





Of my scooter





I cannot move     cannot catch





My breath










Honestly     I thought you’d live





Forever





Even tho you told me





Told everyone who’d listen





You are ready to go





Ready to go





It is not that I didn’t





Believe you





I know the authentic Joan





Speaks only her truth





But my truth is this





I don’t want to let you





Go     let you go





But a soul’s choice





Is not for me to deny





And so     I tell you again





I love you Joan





I love you










Goodbye






			

	
	



			
				


	

		
Spring


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		















Today





The
first day of spring





Already
Sycamore births her





Small
green leaves





That
will evolve into larger leaves





Adorning
her branches





Until
far into fall





Then
drop     one by one





Slowly to the ground



















I cannot remember the song





From
the very first robin





Singing
its arrival





Early
in an Illinois spring





Its
song brought me joy





After
a long cold snowy 





Winter
























California
springs brought





Mockingbirds





Their
songs ringing out





Through
the Myoporum





Over
the canyons





Then
eerily at midnight





Into
the early hours





Of
the new day





I’d hear their trills
























I
miss that first robin





I
miss the mockingbirds





Heralding
spring for me





The
air around me feels silent





Save
the lone mourning dove





Who
calls     calls     calls





No one answers












Then





Mating
season for crows





Arrives





Their
squawking voices





A
different harbinger





That
spring is here





I
tell myself





They
too





Are
of the natural world





For I am given





Love
everyone everything





Yes





Even
noisy crows

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
The Eclipse                         Super Blood Moon


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		






 On the driveway 
 Of our home
 We stand together
 Heads back    looking up
 Into the black of the 
 Sky
 As the full moon
 Allows earth's shadow
 To cover the brilliance
 Of her light
 Slowly   but not truly
 Slow
 Her white light
 Disappears
 As tho a blanket
 Were being pulled
 Over her naked 
 Face
 
 You hold my hand
 You keep my feet
 Steady
 On the cement
 They stand upon
 It is a closeness
 An intimacy I feel
 Together
 Under the sky
 This gift from the natural
 World
 The Universe Itself
 Oh   thank you
 Thank you
 Thank you
 

 





 
 
 
 
 
 

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
Homeless


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		






It is the dark of night
I lie under my quilt     warm
Comfortable     secure
Listening as wind
Pushes the rain
Against my window

In the cold wet
Of this night
Where do they go

In the dim light
Of next morning
Out the kitchen window
The asphalt street
Glistens like polished silver
Tops of distant palm trees
Sway side to side
In the wind

In the cold wind
Of this wet day
Where do they go

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
Three Poems – Plus One


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		











The
Sycamore’s dried leaves 





Of
burnished gold





Hang
expectantly 





From
their branches





Ready
to fall





Onto
the waiting 





Ground





***





January
cold





Wraps
itself around





Southern
California





From
my window





Three
plants





Bitten
by frost





In
the night





Their
leaves shriveled





Browned





On
emaciated stalks





In
shocking contrast





Green
leaves on the hibiscus





Live     untouched





***





You
live in my heart





Little
girl     little boy





Never
forgotten





Children





Walking
to freedom





From
Guatemala





Die
in Mexico





At
the border





Denied
America     forever





***





Like
a flock of songbirds





All
colors     all sizes





My
children     my grandchildren





Gather
around me





A
few precious





Hours





We
eat     we sing     we laugh





Until
they fly away





Again





And
I am left





To
sing their songs





Alone






			

	
	



			
				


	

		
When Leaves Fall From the Trees


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		


The Crepe Myrtle’s leaves


Turn golden


As they let go their branches


Fall to the ground


Lie close to each other


A carpet of gold


Then scatter in the night


When rains finally


Come


 


Sycamore begins dropping her


Leaves


Before Halloween


Such a large tree


Has more to drop


Then the Crepe Myrtle


And any of their neighbor’s


Sycamore leaves


Lie on the ground


Different shapes


Different sizes


I see them


As miniature sculptures


No two alike


 


I want to let go


Of bewilderment


Of despair I feel


From the chaos


Invading the life


Blood


In the government


Of my country


Stress I hear


In voices around me


Everywhere I go


I want to drop my worries


My heart’s concerns


Like leaves


Falling from the trees


To the welcoming


Ground


Not to resist


What is


And know with


Trust


This too must


Pass

			

	
	



			
				


	

		
A Different Light


				

			Wendy W. Blumberg		

			


		

		


Light from this day


Recedes


Into approaching dusk


I watch it clinging


Still


To green leaves of the


Crepe Myrtle


To scarlet blossoms


On the hibiscus


The far off hills


And as it darkens


Out my window


 


Inside my room


The bedside lamp is


Lit


Creating a different


Light


Mellow warmth


Caresses the walls


And a feeling of being


Cocooned    shielded


From political storms


Settles in me


As I greet the coming


Night


In grateful    Peace