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Rachel
| Open Poetry #4 |
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Rachel |
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H. Arlequin Member
since 1999-08-23
Posts 210 |
Rachel I First Sight The wadi walls cut deep by time rise steep and tall to greet the sky, the furnace sun its desert bakes while cooler shade invites men climb their welcome depths, a watchful eye required. Apart, one man forsakes the fellowship of tea and talk with those who follow his command. Yakov, does not let down reserve at once, but schemes the paths to walk, observes a dangerous lay of land, he has not come so far on nerve, alone. His pensive face belies the turmoil flaming native wits, "How could brief moments at a well rampage an ordered mind that tries control without effect?" She fits the dream of love for life, Rachel! II First Sister These posturers who rule the land who life and death decisions make care not a fig for woman's heart, but flaunt their power to demand, obey, or lock away, then take a sister's place to play the part of loving wife, the bridal night. No word till dawn did Leah speak that Yakov know it was not I! Purporting she by father's fright was mute, but sister was so weak with stolen husband she could lie, and know no shame! Yes, Yakov, too I blame! Though not alone since when we spoke as water slaked the thirst of flocks, how could beloved's view though dark of night, no message send by touch or smell, of plans reversed? III First Sons The dreamer's staircase to the stars, the seven years plus seven more a price for me he gladly paid, the earnest heart that nothing scars nor time erodes its fervent core, in all his timeless love displayed. All, Leah, Zilpah, Bilhah, too, gave birth, a barren womb was mine till Joseph blessed. As if his first born son, his father would accrue the fruits of his delight, consign to me the toast assuaging thirst. Forgotten now my father's hand, the years of wait, the barren state, remembered more this second son, a gift to His beloved man, the favor of a promised fate, of Yakov's seed, the Anointed one. IV First Silence The sound of Death is not a kind of raging wind, or battlefield where life in unbelief runs red. It is the silence left behind when joys of sharing at last yield their memories to hopeless dread. The midwife sounds a newborn child, the joy short lived, when death the price of life. When two are joined in heart and mind, if Fate divides, defiled the day, deprived the night, advice despairing, done its giving part. Who wrestled Life throughout the night cannot with Death. An Ephrath cave contains remains of finite love, but in my heart she will delight, commemorate the joy she gave, till Rachel greets Yakov, above. --H. Arlequin . . . . Women of the Word Poems From the Goober Tree http://nathoo.wustl.edu/goober_tree.htm [This message has been edited by H. Arlequin (edited 11-14-1999).] |
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Systematic Decay Senior Member
since 1999-09-15
Posts 1301That place with padded walls and funny people in white......... |
This was very beautiful....I love the form you wrote in...... ------------------ Thinking is just what a great many people think they are doing when they are merely rearranging their predjudices. |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Very well done, H.A. You tell a fine tale! ------------------ Denise |
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snow in summer Member
since 1999-08-28
Posts 67 |
Thanks for this beautiful telling of the story of Rachel. |
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