MEDUSA Poem & Art
SISTER OF THE MIDDLE EAST Poem
MY HANDS Poem & Art "HAMSA"
MY SAD PAINTBRUSH Poem
GREEN Poem
FIRE
Flames lick
MEDUSA
Once beauty
SISTER OF THE MIDDLE EAST
Under the veil,
MY HANDS
My middle finger
MY SAD PAINTBRUSH
They were all there…
GREEN
For Grandma "Gigi"
MIA's poem, "GREEN" has recently been published in the
PATERSON LITERARY REVIEW, Issue 30.
You can order Volume 30 (click above) which not only includes Mia's "Green" poem,
Click below to read a another poem written by MIA... "AURORA BOREALIS"
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©
the sculpted
curves
of your brow
cheek
and jaw line
dancing zestfully
on your tongue
your breath
forces the scent
of sweet cinnamon
a crown of fire
rests confidently
your shoulders
ablaze with hot light
bursting through
your long
sun-rayed locks
like lightning bolts
crackling
across a crimson sky
© 2000, Mia Barkan Clarke
now cursed
her snake-scaled hair
slithers
over hard cheek bones
no eyes
to turn you to stone
have pity
on this lonely
and horrid
creature
gaze at her hideousness
offer sympathy
and compassion
© 2000, Mia Barkan Clarke
my breath is heavy
still
stagnant.
There is nothing I can do
but pray and be as obedient
and pious as a half-woman can be.
I prepare hummus
milawah
kibeh
and cous cous
for you.
I gather dates
almonds
olives
and spice
for you.
I sever
my femininity
a traditional
celebration
for you.
What do I do
for me?
Who am I?
Do I not bear
your sons?
Do your sons not suckle
at my lone breast?
I spin
and weave
your prayer rugs
while your tea with nana
waits …
Is it not sweet
on your lips?
I sit
silent
as my dreams fade
and my mind succumbs
to your will
to your perception
to your control
to your limitation
to your belief
to your honor.
And all I can do
is pray
and be as obedient
and pious as a half-woman can be …
until someone out there hears my cry.
© 2000, Mia Barkan Clarke
is my head.
My pointer and ring
are my arms.
My thumb and pinkie
are my legs.
I am my hand.
My hand is me.
My life
is a gift
from G-D.
Yod
Hay
Vav
Hay
Yehovah,
Hashem.
Thank you
for my hands.
© 2000, Mia Barkan Clarke
rust, periwinkle, egg-yolk,
sage, burgundy and lavender
my colors
sitting in the left-ground
of my eye
at my desk
with calculator in hand
balancing chemical equations
my colors
were all there…
tempting me
trying to lure me back
I fought it
I thought
I had them beat
until I saw
my paintbrush
looking so sad
asking me why
have I abandoned her
for the stone solid world
of overpowering polyatomic ions
and Mendeleev's periodic table
she still sits there now
staring at me
begging me
please come back
thank you Sir Dalton
for your atomic theory
but now I realize
as I write
it's time
to paint
again.
© 2003, Mia Barkan-Clarke
I didn't know your color
was really called chartreuse.
I always thought
it was just called
"Grandma 'Gigi' Green."
You were nicknamed "Gigi,"
short for Gertrude,
changed from "Gitle,"
your Yiddish name.
Ever since I can remember,
all shades of sunny
and saturated greens
were your favorite colors,
as long as they were
bright, happy, and cheerful
as you were--
strong and light-hearted,
vibrant and full of life,
like pungent key-limes,
and sweet and dewy as morning grass,
tangy as mint iced tea
that you always made for me
In springtime.
Like delicate, gentle vines
on rolling meadows
flourishing,
ever-growing,
evergreen.
You were happy to be green
here in America
where there are
No czars
No pogroms
No shtetls
No dreary grays and muddied browns
or cold, bloody-reds.
No uniformed men with bayonets
stabbing through small beds
searching
for yidishe kinderlach
hiding
barely missing your golden blond halo
by only a few inches.
Yes, here in America,
in the land of red, white, & blue
maybe another color
would have been of preference to you.
No matter where you were,
you were always
one shade of green or another
bursting with life and laughter,
always thankful
always grateful
for being alive,
as I am thankful
for the life
that you gave to my mother
who then gave life to me,
the life I will give to my children.
It's no wonder
that one of my favorite colors
is also green--
peridot, my birthstone.
You now live in me.
My blood is not red,
it is green.
My veins--
like your delicate, gentle vines--
sprawling over rolling meadows
flourishing,
ever-growing,
evergreen.
© 2000, Mia Barkan Clarke
but also the poetry of many other talented poets as well as incredible art!
and see the painting which was MIA's inspiration
called "GODDESS OF THE AURORA BOREALIS" by Janet Morgan
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