The Silver Gift of Life

                                             Dedicated to N.V.

The conversation behind the anonymous sacrifice

                                               He                             

                       For five and twenty years of wedded grace,

                       Your gentle soul has been my guiding light;

                       But now with deepest wonder on my face,

                       I look at you, my shine in darkest night.

                       A sacred part of life you gave away,

                       To save a stranger from a shadow’s hand;

                       In humble tears I look at you today,

                       The noblest heart in all this mortal land.

                                                She

                                My loving husband, do not praise my deed,

                             My spirit only answered to the call;

                             Compassion binds us to a brother's need,

                             To lift the faint and give the very all.

                             The spark within us whispers from above:

                             We walk this earth to heal the world with love.

                                                 He

                         Baruch Hashem, who kept you safe and whole,

                       And crowned our silver years with light divine;

                       He placed the holy mitzvah in your soul,

                       And linked the stranger's fleeting breath to thine.

                       Now resting home, the shadow's peril past,

                       Your selfless sacrifice has made me blind

                       To lesser things; His mercy holds us fast,

                       And gave me this, the jewel of humankind.

                                                 She

                            We praise his name, who guided all my choice  

                            And kept me safe beneath His shielding wing;

                            In this blessed hour, together we rejoice,

                            To feel the peace that healing days can bring.

                            Our blended lives reflect His Holy will: 

                            To love our fellow and His law fulfill.

Baruch Hashem - Thank God in Hebrew,

mitzvah - in Hebrew is showing compassion, or helping someone in need out of a sense of moral or spiritual duty 

                                                                      

                      

 

Valley Stream 

Elegy for a Golden Valley

The golden grasses bow beneath the gray,

As winter steps where autumn used to tread;

The freezing water winds its peaceful way,

Past fallen branches and the leaves they shed.

The distant mountains, towering and high,

Wear heavy shrouds of winter's early white;

While amber hues reflect the fading sky,

A quiet valley washed by gentle light.

But in the chill, a silver stream still flows,

A reminder that the frozen earth will wake;

Though silent now beneath the coming snows,

The earth remembers every path it takes.

Garden by the Azure Sea

The flowers rise in brightness to the day,

Their vivid forms made clearer by the sun.

Its rays fall gently in a warming sway

And give each open shape a shining run.

The water steady with a softened gleam,

A quiet mirror holding shifting light;

The distant isles lie still as part of dream,

A calm alignment to the dazzling sight.

The sky reveals a subtle shift of tone,

Warm glow arising in the higher space,

A muted coolness gathering below,

Each casting its own temper on the place.

So warm and cool together meet in grace,

And let that mingled light fall on the flowers’ space.

Raining in Downtown

Rain lent each stone a softer name;

The towers climbed into a veil of light.

Below, the lamps wove threads of golden flame.

While blossoms kept a little spring in sight.

The city spoke not loudly in rain—

And every puddle kept the last refrain.

 

Titans Under Amber Haze

                                              Elegy Beneath the Amber Sky

Morning awoke in garments not its own;
The faithful blue had yielded to the flame.
A golden veil lay softly over stone,
And every tower seemed to speak its name.

The ash had climbed these streets of steel and glass,
And had descended on the thriving trees;
Yet from the pine-clad North, as it passed,
Unhealthy matter came with the summer breeze.

How strange that woods no city eye had known,
Whose ancient roots drank other rains than ours,
Should stain the light that crowned our fields of stone,
And dim the proud ascent of glass and towers.

The sun still shone, but gentled by the air,
Its ardent face subdued to quiet gold;
It seemed less ruler of the heavens there
Than witness to a grief too vast to hold.

What unseen thread binds forest, wind, and town,
That one far wound can alter all the sky?
Whose hand can say where mourning settles down,
Or measure the miles through which the tears fly?

Yet wind remembers neither crown nor wall;
It keeps no map of kingdom, field, or sea.
Whatever grief befalls, befalls us all,
For earth is larger than we choose to see.

The amber day will pass. The blue return.
The towers will reclaim the light they knew.
But hearts once taught how distant forests burn
Will never wholly lose that altered view.

 

Hot Summer # 6

Meadow by the Pond 

The meadow leans toward water in the sun,

its colors rising lightly through the day;

the pond lies still, its quiet surface one

soft mirror where the drifting shadows play.

The trees stand close, not pressing into line,

but shaping space the summer passes through;

their shadows fall with edges soft and slow,

a muted green that keeps its steady hue.

The flowers brighten where the breezes run,

each movement small, yet shaping how they stand;

their colors shift in patterns never done,

a field composed by wind and open land.

And all of it stays steady as the light

rests on the pond and holds the meadow bright.

 

Hot Summer

Light Over Water

A quiet brightness settles on the pond—

not a beam,

just a gentle widening of day.

Flowers lean in

as if listening

to something small

and calm

moving beneath the surface.

The moment stays, steady.

 

Hymn of the Warming Day

Lyric Triptych

I. Blossoms — Heart / Presence

The blossoms rose in radiant sway,

their colors trembling toward the light;

they leaned into the warming day,

soft petals singing red and bright.

II. Water — Release / Movement

A silver thread through quiet stone.

The stream unspooled its whispered air;

It carried what the heart had known,

and laid it down with gentle care.

III. Distance — Memory / Illumination

The distant trees drifted into blue,

the sky dissolved to molten gold;

and all the world, made warm and true,

felt like a hymn the dusk had told.

 

Big Flowers Valley

Ghazal — “Where the Flowers Grow Beyond Their

 Names”

The valley wakes in peach‑soft light, its mist unspooling slow while a stream whispers through stones in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Fuchsia petals rise enormous, warm as breath on skin, their crimson edges glowing bright in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Leaves shine with emerald veins, each one a quiet river, carrying morning’s tender weight in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Trees stand like patient witnesses, steady in the warming air, their bark rough with quiet years in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

Small blossoms scatter at their feet, humble sparks of color, content to bloom beneath giants in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

And I, wandering through this dream of warm green breath, feel the real and imagined lean together in the place where flowers grow beyond their names.

 

First Kiss Ideogram

The flower rises as if remembering warmth, 

its petals drifting open in soft, slow breaths. 

Light gathers along each curve like a secret 

testing the air before it’s spoken aloud. 

At the center, a quiet ember brightens— 

not urgency, but the first shimmer of wanting. 

The leaves lean close, steady as a held breath, 

and the whole bloom feels suspended 

between innocence and invitation.

 

The First Kiss 

A single flower fills the frame, luminous against a deep, dark background that makes its softness feel almost breath‑born. The petals open in layered waves of pink — pale at the edges, deepening toward the center — like warmth rising slowly through flushed cheeks. Each fold is smooth, tender, and delicately curved, giving the flower the quiet vulnerability of a moment just before lips meet.

At the heart of the bloom, bright yellow‑orange filaments gather like a small ember, a concentrated spark of warmth that suggests the first stirring of desire. The surrounding leaves, rich green with visible veins, cradle the blossom the way hands might cradle a face: protective, intimate, gently framing the moment.

The overall impression is one of suspended tenderness — a first kiss held in color, texture, and light.

Haibun — The First Kiss

The flower rises from darkness as if remembering itself. Its petals open in slow, deliberate breaths, each layer a quiet admission of warmth. Nothing rushes. The moment holds its own gravity, a soft pull toward becoming. At the center, a small ember gathers light—tender, unhurried, certain. The leaves lean close, steady as a hand resting near but not touching. In this stillness, the world feels newly possible.

first warmth in the dark— a blush learning how to bloom, dawn inside a kiss

Tender Glow

1. Two Moods

(a flowing, story‑like poem that holds both moods in one arc)

I walk into the field because the orchids call me first—
orange and pink, creamy white, purple‑brown,
their colors rising like a soft chorus.
Each petal, regular or not, feels deliberate,
a small architecture of peace.
I lean closer, tracing the gradients,
the pale yellow throats, the deep green stems
that lift into the lighter grass behind them.
For a moment, I am nowhere else.
The world loosens its hold.

But the mountains hold a different truth.
Above them, the sky thickens—
clouds moving in heavy strokes,
closing the sun with a painter’s hand.
The light dims, the air tightens,
and something in me tightens with it.
The calm I found in the orchids
begins to tremble at the edges.

I stand between these two moods—
the field offering release,
the sky gathering its warning.
The flowers ask me to stay;
the clouds insist I return.
And I feel myself pulled
by both the peace I want
and the world that waits.

2.Two Moods

(a Rondeau style poem)

The orchids open into quiet light,
their colors softening the edge of sight,
orange, pink, and creamy white unfold,
deep green stems rising from the cold
earth, easing thought into quiet light.

But mountains darken, shifting day to night;
clouds gather thick, impasto‑tight,
closing the sun with a heavy gesture—bold.
The orchids open into quiet light.

Two moods divide the frame: one warm, one cool.
The field invites me to stay in its delight,
while the sky insists its warning must be told,
its shadow pushing hard and uncontrolled.
I stand between them, held in their fight—
the orchids open into quiet light.

 

Orchid Japanese Ukiyo-e style field with ideograms and seals

Ukiyo-e Style Poems

Here  are three short poems inspired by Ukiyo-e imagery and tailored to the image: orchids, a field that opens, light settling, and the heart learning to be. Each poem includes Japanese, romaji, and an English rendering.

Haiku

花の上に 光やすらぎて 野は間を開く

Romaji
Hana no ue ni
Hikari yasuragite
No wa ma o hiraku

English
On a petal’s back,
light settles into stillness —
the field opens room.

Tanka

蘭の影 風が縁をなぞる 光は落ち 心はまた学ぶ ただ在るという技

Romaji
Ran no kage
Kaze ga fuchi o nazoru
Hikari wa ochi
Kokoro wa mata manabu
Tada aru to iu waza

English
Orchid shadow,
wind tracing the print’s edge,
light falls and stays.
The heart relearns again
the simple art of being.

Short Lyrical Piece

漆の橋の下、光は紙の舟に乗り 蘭の杯にそっと降りる 野は間を開き、息をひそめる 心は問いをやめて、ただ受ける 小さな場所に宿る光

Romaji
Urushi no hashi no shita, hikari wa kami no fune ni nori
Ran no sakazuki ni sotto oriru
No wa ma o hiraki, iki o hisomeru
Kokoro wa toi o yamete, tada ukeru
Chiisana basho ni yadoru hikari

English
Beneath a lacquered bridge, light boards a paper boat,
and gently descends into an orchid’s cup.
The field opens room and holds its breath.
The heart stops asking and simply receives.

The red seals beside the pictured ideograms is a kanji ideogram that distills the essence of each poem into a symbolic name — like a poetic monogram or a painter’s signature. Here’s what they mean:

 Top seal: 光間 

光  = light  間  = space, interval, opening

Meaning: “Light’s small space” or “the interval where light rests”

 This seal captures the haiku’s image of light settling gently on a petal, with the field opening below.

 Middle seal: 蘭心

 蘭  = orchid 心  = heart, spirit

Meaning: “Orchid heart”

This seal expresses the tanka’s emotional core — the heart relearning presence, touched by wind and light.

 Bottom seal: 受光

 受  = to receive

光  = light

Meaning: “Receiving light”

This seal names the lyrical poem’s central action — the world making room, the heart receiving, and light descending.

 Poet’s signature seal — the red mark at the bottom reading

蘭光 — Rankō

Orchid-Light

蘭  = orchid 

光  = light

This name feels deeply aligned with author emotional and symbolic connection to orchids — their quiet dignity, their luminous grace, and the way they seem to carry light inside. It’s a name that speaks of reverence, clarity, and gentle radiance.

Where Light Rest 

Orchid Field in Japanese Ukiyo-e style

The day begins in quiet clarity,

and color gathers softly in the field.

The orchids keep their brightness close,

the way a thought holds warmth

before it shapes itself to words.

Nothing here tries to become

anything but itself.

The field opens in patient pace

delicate, steady and still,

the light reveals the hue and line

of its forms and colors in silence.

Light drifts across the distance,
not searching, not selecting,
only settling where the field
has opened room to receive it,
and rests, content, on the petals.

And in this quiet stillness,
the heart relearns how to be,
the art of simply being,
how to rest without reaching,
how to open without asking.

Orchid Field in Chinese style

Orchid Field — Lüshi in English

The orchid field lies quiet at first light,
The morning hills lie pale in drifting air.

Ink‑shaded blooms rise slender, pure, and slight,
Soft‑folding mists rise faint, withdrawn, and fair.

The grasses bow in long, accorded lines,
The breezes move in slow, repeated arcs.

The blooms hold fast through weather, dust, and time,
Resilience lives where gentleness exists.

The poem in modern literary Chinese

《兰野》——英译中文

拂晓初临，兰野静无声，
晨山淡白，浮气轻相生。

墨影花姿纤细又清净，
柔雾微卷，隐退更娉婷。

长草低垂，行行皆和顺，
微风缓动，弧弧复来行。

经风经尘，经岁仍坚定，
温柔所在，韧性亦长存。

 

In the Beginning

At first was darkness, silent, vast, and deep,
A boundless void where time had yet to start.
The heavens lay in unawakened sleep,
No breath of life, no pulse, no beating heart.

Then spoke the Word, and light broke forth in flame,
A golden dawn that pierced the endless night.
The cosmos stirred, obedient to its name,
And chaos bent before the birth of sight.

The waters trembled, waiting to divide,
As Spirit moved upon their shadowed face.
From void to form, the elements complied,
And order rose to claim its rightful place.

Thus from the dark, creation’s song was sung,
And earth was born, forever fresh and young.

 

Song of Creation's Dawn

 The waters parted, the land was shown,

The hills arose, the fields were grown.

Creation’s voice unveiled the day,

Its song arose along the way.

The soil was fresh, the seed took root,

The meadow sang, the tree bore fruit.

The valleys spread, the rivers ran,

Creation’s voice revealed earth to man.

 

Crown of Daylight

Daylight descends as a diadem, a living crown laid upon the earth.

The clouds part like veils, unveiling the sovereign fire that rules the day.

Hills bow in silence, valleys lift their faces, and meadows shimmer in the golden breath.

Time itself is braided into radiance, each moment a jewel in the crown.

The forest hums beneath the streaming blaze, shadows retreat into gentleness,

and the world, newly adorned, wears its luminous dominion with grace.

Nocturne of Gentle Luminary

Gentle luminary,

your path across the still waves

marks the quiet hours.

Stars attend with patient light,

time unfolds in silent grace. 

 

Breath of the Fifth Day

Storm-wrought sky,
veined with the blue fire of becoming,
where the wind’s mouth opens—
and out of the tumult, wings unfurl:
a phoenix, blazing,
rises from the heart of cloud,
its feathers a hymn of flame,
each beat scattering embers
into the churning dark.

Dragons coil in the thunder’s throat,
their scales catching the lightning’s edge,
serpentine, radiant,
they spiral through the storm’s hall,
breath of fire and vapor,
their eyes bright with the memory of stars.
Seagulls wheel and cry,
white as the foam of vanished seas,
daring the gale,
their laughter a thread
between tempest and dawn.

Below, the world’s first waters
glow with a secret sun—
currents swirling in green and gold,
where shadows bloom and vanish.
Sea serpents, long as rivers,
twine through the kelp’s forest,
their bodies a dance of muscle and myth,
each scale a story
written in the language of tides.

Fish, jeweled and swarming,
flicker in shoals—
sapphires, rubies, coins of living light—
their fins whispering the first songs
of hunger and delight.
Moon-jellies drift,
phantoms in the luminous dark,
while a beast vast as wonder
stirs in the abyss,
its breath a slow thunder
that rocks the bones of the world.

Above and below,
the breath moves—
not wind, not water,
but the pulse that calls
from storm to sea,
from fire to fin,
from the silence before to the riot of now.
Let the waters bring forth,
let the sky be broken open—
let every creature rise,
winged or finned,
in the wild abundance
of the fifth day.

Here, in the clash of elements,
in the meeting of flame and flood,
life leaps from the mouth of chaos—
not tamed, not named, 
but glorious,
each form a question,
each movement a praise.

O, breath of the fifth day—
carry us,
as you carried the first wings and scales,
through storm and glow,
through terror and beauty,
into the world’s fifth morning.