Poem -- I NEVER EVER COMPLAIN

 I NEVER EVER COMPLAIN

I wake up in the morning, it's dark and miserable outside
Where are my glasses, last night they were this side,
I'll swear by all that's Holy it's where I left them last night.
Well said my husband I can see them, clear and bright,
They're sitting on your forehead, where they have been all night.

I can't find my hearing aid or my dental plates
What's has happened to my slippers I'm going to be late.
Please help me find my appointment book and tell me the date
I think Id better stay in bed, I'm getting in a state.

Ma, shouts my eldest son, there a man on the phone, for you.
Please take a message, I'm never going to get through.
I still have to have my shower, Ill bet the water won't be hot,
The window is wide open, the floor is soapy wet.
I'll settle for the flu, or do you guys want me dead.

I don't know why I can't find my keys, where can they be
I'm going into Town, I need my ID, Oy Vay I need my purse.
Every second I'm around here matters, seem to get worse..
Your keys are on the sideboard, they all  shout at me.
You don't have to worry, your appointment's for three.

I relax and ponder, why they all ganged up against me.
They complain they at I never put things, where they ought to be,
And they complain that they always have to look,
From morning till night the missing Newspapers, Lipsticks, or Book
The diatribe is giving me lots and lots of pain.
They don't seem to understand that I never complain.




by Hillie Feldman.   7th January 2003

Poem - The Dancing Kite

 The Dancing Kite
                              for Barry 

They made a kite 
that really flew.
Eyes fill with
Sheer delight.

In all my days 
I never knew
So wondrous 
Happy a sight

With dowel sticks , string 
And paper bright
Much chatter in between.

With balance string 
and pretty tail 
They launched this flying thing.

For many an hour 
that summers day
Way high up in the sky

That kite did dance 
a merry dance.
Weaving happily at its play.

Somewhere up there  
it's flying still 
Among the satellites.

A merry thing 
A wondrous thing 
My sonny's dancing kite.


by Hillie Feldman, undated written on Kibbutz Yizreel

Poem - EGOLI JUGGERNAUTS

EGOLI JUGGERNAUTS

Egoli buses -- Juggernauts of the tarmac
Scattering small fry far and wide
Speeding bus loads of black-
commuters - from city to country side.

Filled to the doorways, strap hanging passengers
Headed for Alex; northwards they ride
Work-weary, exhausted some of them snoozing
A frozen conglomerate thawing inside.

Smoke trails fogging following wagons
Cars and bikes rush, left and right
Grinding through traffic, snorting dragons
Louis raceways--- blazing with light.

No cowhide drums, shields or sjambock
amongst the buses weary flock,
long eschewed by these fashion sophisticates
robed in Western suits and frock.

Open the bridge into the terminus
 red-eyed dragons roar to a stop
old and young, loud, articulate
People pour like peas from a pod.

Ebony river-like blacks, stream through the station
sensing scents and firs of home
Through ill-lit streets and gathering darkness
Speeding on homeward through the gloam.

Back at the bus stop green juggernauts are loading,
Folk off to friends, shebeens or to shop
Wide awake, ready for an evenings of freedom
"All aboard, grab a strap Egoli first stop.

by Hillie Feldman  July1982 in Johannesburg

Poem - TREE TOP TOILET

TREE TOP TOILET

have you ever noticed 

that birds who twitter

amongst the litter

Do their shitting 

while sitting 

in the 

treetops 

I offer my splattered hat as proof.

by Hillie Feldman undated

Poem - Skin and bones

         Skin and bones


The temperature reached 42 degrees today
so I took off my skin and sat in my bones
the wind blew cool through my ribs
and every organ perked up
         the cooler tempertures.

The sun sank slowly toward the west
feeling too cool I dressed again
skin first and then my shorts
Descent in the eye of the law
I wend my way homeward.

by Hillie Feldman, 21st Oct 1996

Poem- What If (good thought)

What If  ?

What if you lay on you back,
And did not give a damn about,
What happened to the world,
While you burned up with frustration.

Day after day the War goes on
That's been on the go for 102 years
And looks like it's never going to end
And never enough tears can be shed.

A never ending line of young men and girls
Stretching through the pages of history
Head for killing fields and take part
In the on going game of kill or be killed.

Israel wants Peace,  we hear that they do too
Only if Israel will agree to remove them selves
To anyplace barring the Middle East,
Then they will give us eternal Peace
And take all the land in exchange.

by Hillie Feldman  20 October 2003

Poem - THE MOBILES

THE  MOBILES 

They come they go,
They flit about.
The laugh they cry,
They scream out loud
     The Mobiles

In my own quiet way
I hear them say
Were here today
But not to stay
     The Mobiles

The rushing winds,
The racing tides,
The shaking earth,
The lowering skies
     The Mobiles

The stage is set
For great events.
The stage itself
is only lent, to
     The Mobiles

They play their parts,
They make their bow,
The curtain drops.
 They've passed us now
      The Mobiles

The passing show
Is passed and gone
The caravans have rolled along
Headed for some distant throng
     The Mobiles

The passing years
Have shed their tears.
The masks of traji-comedy leer
Doddering age - full of fear
No longer mobile
No longer mobile

by Hillie Feldman  undated.

Poem - COOKS- HILL COTTAGE

 COOKS- HILL COTTAGE

At Cooks -Hill Cottage
 the wind blows warm
on any fine summers day
whispering to the mulberry leaves
in  a friendly kind of way.

Blowing through the hedges high
chasing sheep-clouds in the sky
up and down the orchard playing
finches, sparrows, ruffling, swaying.

Apples, lemons cherries cheer
now the friendly warm winds here
'cause soon behind will come the rain
to speed the fruit to grow again.

Apricot plums and locquats too
know a bumper harvest's due
so do little ones - Sol and Sue
cause they' ll be first in our fruit queue.

At Cooks -Hill Cottage
 the wind blows warm
on any fine summers day
running-laughing-chattering children
Happiness blown our way.

by Hillie Feldman, October  1980 Johannesburg

Poem The Maryland

The Maryland

Twas dawn, in the rolling sea
A gallant ship was riding free
Riding the waves like a daring steed
Away she went with wondrous speed.

Before the sun was very high
Ship sail and sea met distant sky
Then soon o'er the horizon bent
White sail in seeming steep descent.

Headed for some distant port
to fill her holds with spice
Turning once again to sport
With sun and sea and ice.

Many moons later I did see
 my gallant ship so wild and free
Returning laden safe to me
from o'er the waves of the cold cruel sea.

Once again in sweet content
in harbour she did ride
Her anchor down her cargo sent
to places far and wide.

For those of thee who'd like to see
a ship so fair and grand
When next you be , down at the sea
Look out for the Maryland.

by Hillie Feldman,  1 June 1960

Poem- Life is for the living

Life is for the living

The world is full of pain and suffering
hunger disease and fear
so many deaf and blind to cries for help
who pretend to be unaware

Life is for the living
so live it as you must
better to be highly activated
than just a pile of dust.

If you live for yourself alone
you are likely to be awfully bored
but living your life for others
you will live your life like a Lord.

For you will make a million friends
Never a dull moment in your life
cause everyone loves a caring friend
to help them through their daily strife.

You'll get back far more than you give
for life has an amazing way
of granting true happiness and peace
to those who help out the lame and stray.

Poem- My Dreams for Tomorrow

My Dreams for Tomorrow

I'll dream my dreams for Tomorrow
a fabulous new dream for  each day
Where we cast our fear and sorrow
hear laughter of our children at play.

Arab Jews and Christians together
Mixing in our modern Schools
All equally treated , all with he love needed
All free to grow as they should.

Knives and Guns will lie rusting , forgotten
With no longer a part to play
In my dreams we will all live together
Not hatred but love, will lead the way.

To my hopes for a far far better Tomorrow
In place of murder rape and war
To a time and place, all mix and mingle
Truth  Love  and  Peace  Evermore.

by Hillie Feldman   5th July 1998

Poem - POETIC PAINTING

 POETIC PAINTING

A riot of color a joy to see.

The Green of the grass, the blossomed tree.

The last of the daffodils, gold cups exposed. 

      Scarlet bougainvillea, full white rose.

A painter’s palette, sheer ecstasy.

The many colored-bushed, spreading sweet pea

Scented Brunsfelsia, mauve, lavender, and white.

      Perfuming the air, fragrant and bright.

A symphony of bird song, each September morn.

Feathered friends, cooing doves, greeting the dawn.

Gentle winds whispering to grass, bird and tree.

      Completing the picture of nature’s symmetry.

  by Hillie Feldman     September 1982,  South Africa

Poem - Bridges of Dreams

 Bridges of Dreams

Spanning all-------Spanning all

Over all the years,

Of Grief and Sorrow

And Unquenchable Tears

Bridges of Dreams

Oft' Times Nightmares

When Horror upon Horror

Brought back long forgotten Fears

Moments of Misery

When all is Murky Black

Labyrinths of Pain

A Mental Torture Wrack.  

Down the long Dark Road

An Avenue He Dreads

Burdened by His Load

The Lonely Traveller Treads.

Slowly the Picture Brightens

The Moon Beams are back

Everywhere the Landscape Lightens

Silvering he Travellers Track.

In the Broad Moonlight

Gone are Fears and Sorrow

Hope, now in sight

For a Bright New Tomorrow.

by Hillie Feldman September 1979

Poem - OSSIFIED ANTIQUES

  OSSIFIED ANTIQUES

I cannot deny that I ossify

From head to toe

As old age creeps on I find

Myself getting kind of slow.

Where hairs on my head that

Were gray have turned to snow

My beard has reached my belly

Button and continues to grow

And although I do my utmost

Not even to show. It seems

To take a lot longer when I have to

For me to get up and go.

My hearing aid helps me

To hear what you have to say.

If you talk loud and long enough

And it’s the right time of day.

My steps meander down the road

As I change from foot to foot

But I always stick to some remembered route

Although it’s difficult for me to remember

Where I have been or why.

They tell me I will be ninety in a few days’ time

Apart from my hearing aid my stick and my

Memory I am doing fine.  Often when I sit in the park

Watching the girls go by I think of times of time of

Long ago before I became ossified.

by Hillie Feldman August 1998

Poem -VALENTINE

 VALENTINE

I want you to be my Valentine.

You’re thin and scraggy ...but so divine.

I know that you're only seventy two.

But for years and years I’ve only wanted you.

I’ve thought of you lately

Both day and night and decided that

      You must be Mr. Right.

If only I could remember why I started this rhyme.

 you and I could have a wonderful time.

FROM AN ADMIRER ....84 TODAY.

 By Hillie Feldman 14th February 1984

Poem- Murmurs of War

Murmurs of  War

They spoke of Peace
they prayed for peace but
war was no longer far away
not in Bosnia or Chechen
no distant place far beyond the horizon
but now you heard every day
words of anger accusations
threats on radio on T.V.
headlines loud angry hostile.

Already the Vultures and Hyenas were gathering
The B.B.C. and other friends of Israel smelt blood
and came along to stir the pot to make sure that
no-one would be dissapointed. Of course they used the
proper language. They stated the case fairly for bothe sides
butter would not melt in their mouths yet you could feel
at the end of the dispatch that war was around the
corner and no longer in some far away place.

Tomorrow Arafat would march in an act of difiance
to test the waters and to see whether the new Government
would be able to handle this challange to their authority.

by Hillie Feldman 29 August 1996

Poem - 80 Years young.

                80 Years young.

I remember a curly haired child

Loved and protected midst a

Loving family of brothers, sisters

Dogs and cats, a wonderful

  Warm world.

When I was five years old

Locust arrived in the millions,

 Flew on my face, in my hair

I ran for cover, while they

Gobbled up every green, living thing.

I still remember, a strapping young man

Going to war as proud as a peacock,

Of his beret and tartan Kilts, Transvaal Scottish,

Aching feet and a heavy gun and months

Of parade ground, they said you’re done.

Kenya, forest green, cloying mud unceasing rains,

Lava rocks, and explosive heat, low bush, dry streams

Flying bullets, machine guns rattle.

Ethiopia another battle.

The stench of death, so sad, yet we won.

The Western desert and Saharan scenes,

The angle of death hovering nearby

No time for tears or even to cry

Your friends amongst the dead or dying

Too busy to even say goodbye.

A wall of broken tanks and twisted guns

Burning trucks under a burning sun

Jerry has broken through, our ammo gone,

Word comes through you are on your own,

A failed escape and you are in the bag.

The wind blew away, years and days,

Autumn leaves drifting to earth

The calendar riffling through many seasons,

Vivid green, multi colors, orange and gold.

          Winter snows bitterly cold.

The children grow as fast as we did,

The wife and I agree, so we move over

To make space for the next generation

It all went so fast she said you’re 80 now

And were still having lots of fun, I said.

By Hillie Feldman  28th August 1999
To my sister Bubbles with love.

Poem -PEGASUS OR FLY BY NIGHT

  Pegasus or Fly by Night

you don’t have to be serious to write poetry

you just have to have lots of fun and follow Lewis Carrol,

or Charles L. Dodgson if you so wish

"Now that you mention it I will have fish"

Even invent your own words songs or swords

Which definitely won’t get you into the house of lords

and be assured that the nautical night need not leave us at sea

BUT BETTER AQUANTED BECAUSE OF OUR DEvILRY.

WE COULD LET YOUR IMAMGINATIONS FLY

 MOUNT OUR STURDY STEEDS  

 Pegasus TO THE MOON

 FLOAT AMONG THE STARS

 LEAP OVER MARS AND NEPTUNE

 RACE WITH THE WIND AND CLOUDS

 OR GALLOP TO THE MILKY WAY

 WHERE WE COULD PLAY HIDE AND SEEK

 IN AMONGST A BILLION DIAMOND

 STREWn;  PATHS OF BRILLIANT LIGHT.

WITH THE SPEED OF LIGHT 

HEAVEN AND earth WOULD BE OURS.

MOUNTAINS LAKES RIVERS AND JUNGLES,

WOULD CROSS IN A FLASH, OCEANS

deserts AND CONTINENTS IN A MERE DASH,

AND FINALLY WEARY WITH OUR TRAVELS

THROUGHT ETERNAL SPACE, WE WOULD GENTLY

FLOAT DOWN TO OUR RESTING PLACE,

   AND LEAVE PEGASUS TO GO HIS WAY.

                         THE END

by Hillie Feldman August 1996

Poem - Memories of Africa

Memories of Africa

Amazing! I glance at a much loved object and the veil

of the years disappears like smoke wafted away

by the winds of time and that old brass bell

fashioned by craftsmen in Africa long years ago

is being sold to me by an itinerant Indian man bright eyed and

attentive. I pay I smile I say goodbye and now it is 30 years later.

On the old oak sideboard marked by the patina of time

 rests a pair of Indian brass slippers ---Mombasa floods back now

exotic fragrance, spices of Zanzibar fill my nostrils -- A romantic

moment, she turns to me, big eyes wide open tell me to buy, so I

exchange a slipper for a kiss.

Forty years ago and she still looks fabulous.

A collection, a miniature brass bucket, a tiny pair of brass

candlesticks and a miniature brass kettle grouped together,

a look of old gold caught our eye when we wandered into a tiny shop,

Simonstown where the Navy gathers in big bay at the Cape, a

Souvenir we told ourselves, anyway the sales lady was lovely, forty 
five years later we still remember her smile.

A hard wood bowl and lid--- Our tourist trip around the Eastern

 Transvaal, the Game Reserve, Long Tom Pass, Grassmere, Bridal Veil 
Falls, we saw them all. We meandered past forested mountains and

old gold diggings, where ghosts still dig for the elusive treasure and

the winter wind howl through the abandoned mines until we 
reached Pilgrims Rest where a huge shop devoted to Souvenirs 
found this Pillbox of wood, we have used these many years.

 by Hillie Feldman  July 1996

Poem - So Very Much Alone

So Very Much Alone

The trees are black
The streets so bleak
Autumn brown the grass

The bright blue skies
Give no hint
That the winters her at last

The Autumn leaves
Are sear and crisp
And fall in steady showers

Stirred up by playful winds
They spin along the silent streets
And scatter through the flowers.

When evening comes the bitter cold
Everywhere the mist enfolds
Ghostly figures hurry home
Some so very much alone
Alone alone for endless hours.

by Hillie Feldman  August 23rd 1996