Poem - My million dollar Grandson.

My million dollar Grandson.
 copied 23rd March, 2005.


                                He came to me – as blond as could be.

                                Twinkling eyes, - blue of the sea,

                                  Aged three and three bits, – every bit a boy.

                                  Ready to play with every kind of toy.  

                                         My million dollar Grandson.



                               We played with trains- he played with a car.

                                Jig saw pieces spread wide and far.

                                   Story books in wild array.

                                   My blue-eyed blond was happy at play.

                                       

                                   Leaning Towers built at speed.

                                   A dervish dance to mark the deed.

                                    He twisted, turned, and rolled around.

                                    Now jumping high, now carpet bound.

                                     

                                  The sun went down-the moon was bright.

                                  He played as if he would play all night.

                                     From where I lay I decided to peep,

                                     Gently smiling he was fast asleep.

                                           My million dollar Grandson.

                                                                                        Hillie Feldman. copyright                  

               

                 Originally written 7th December 1985.

                            Specially for Tal.

                                With love.            hillie

Poem -- The voice of the Cricket at 5a.m.

The voice of the Cricket at 5a.m.
by Hillel Feldman
copied  March 2011

I sat alone - yet a thousand voices spoke to me.
Coming back to me over all the years
Of my life, and even before
Promises, arrangements, appointments- disappointments
Love , hate laughter -all the moods.

They crowded in, one o'top the other
until the noise was deafening and
I shouted for order but no one
would listen

Speak one at a time I cried trying
to mashal them but they would not hear.

I closed my ears and suddenly
I was alone again
Alone to choose whom I would address

And now military woices shouting
Above the din of the shot and shell.
"Why did we have to die
And you walked free"

You smoked just as heavily
and emphysema killed me
Why me and not you?

A voice said you said you
Loved me.
Where are you now?

Worlds whirled around ne
Oceans threw huge waves
Onto lonely sandy shores
Cities like mirages appeared
In the desert. cars, buses
Traffic whirling by.
A tram driver wearing huge
Gloves shouted hallo and
Dissapeared into the city fog.

Back to the war and the holocaust
The walking dead- These about to die
Young, old, corpses in every form
No mind could deal with this horror
And yet more crowded in.

Suddenly ! I realized that all the
faces I was looking at - were dead.
Family and friends I knew and loved
All were gone.

In some corner a cricket
Started up again the shrill sound
Driving me crazy and I knew -
I was still alive.

Poem -- The Rose

The Rose  

 by Hillie   second corrected version  written  in a notepad dated 13/3/95


Like old folks do when relaxing
 in the sunshine
Ones mind slots back to
earlier times
And like a film being replayed
it all takes place again.

I see myself at three years old
A flight of seventy three
years back in time
As if it were only yesterday.

A beautiful garden next door
drew me to where some roses
bright red grew close to a
chicken wire fence fronting the road.

I reached throught the wire
to claim my desire
A rose more beautiful
than them all.

The chicken mess allowed
my small hand through
and stretching as far as I
could go I managed to
break the stem of the rose
I wanted, with leaves, thorns and all.

With the rose in my fist,
I was trapped like a monkey in a snare.
Where my hand empty had
easily gone through the chicken wire
now clenched it was jammed
tight in the mesh.

With all my battling I could not free my hand.
For a long time was stuck in that position.
No one came to help me
Suddenly my Dad came in to
view  on a horse drawn trap.

I screamed for help
Daddy come here
Help me please.
Louder and louder I screamed.
But my Dad did not see me nor hear me.
The sound of my cry probably lost
in the rattle of the trap
and the clip-clop of the
of the horse's hooves  on the rough stony road.

At last when I got so tired
I could no longer hold the rose.
It fell out of my hand and
lay within the bright sunshine.
Without a fist I was free at last
I ran all the way home.
Practically next door as I remember.

That Rose I never got
has haunted me all my life.