ELSA WACHS
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The flow of creativity within me propels my pen and keyboard to sing phrases often accompanying my art pieces.

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.”   Leonardo da Vinci

CONTEMPLATIONS

​The Metronome’s Tangled Beat of Covid19

the tangled beat of the Covid 19
brought a pandemic quite obscene
Coronavirus  a new kind of plague
our attentions to health are certainly not vague

the metronome beats the numbers of cases
how many ventilators  in our databases
the metronome beats the numbers of deaths
how many souls with very few breaths

the pulsing beat with throbbing questions
inquiries no answers but lots more questions
tangled thoughts raveled emotions
our psyche unbalanced with trembling tensions

our lives have changed with this quarantine
a clouded unknown in this labyrinthine
in a time warp we’re muddling though
in a daze our equilibrium  askew

light and sunshine at the end of the tunnel
 this winter or the ‘21st  autumnal
we’re waiting to hug to kiss to caress
yes we will emerge from this wilderness

the metronome’s tangled beat of Covid19
coats an upside down world with a viral screen

Elsa Wachs © 2020   


Patience Lost
oh, patience
I have been tested
worried I have failed

lost equilibrium
perhaps demented

would an mri show
my veins  running cold
my pores prickly

o aptitude for math
science forget
but life’s challenges
I’m in tow
calm
a moderate temperament
situations taken in stride

wrestling with rage
my vision is blurred
slammed with incompetence
or my perception thereof
risen to a level of incompetence
or have I

 surely a character exam before the Almighty
I plead
still trying
I’m a a work in progress

​
 Elsa Wachs © 2011 

​Birds Social Distance

sadness enveloping our vast globe
Covid19 pulses like a frightening strobe
even the birds social distance
no mingling what kind of existence

tho natural for our feathered friends
its not for us humans to comprehend
blanketed choked by the Corona invasion
smothering masks muffled conversation
how many more months when will this end

yet wrens and robins fly and sing
telling us the joy the morrow will bring


Elsa Wachs © 2020 ​
Show Us
words, words, words we’re so sick of words*
we get words all day through 
first from congress, now from you 
is that all you citizens can do?

we petitioned and lobbied 
as our kin disembodied 
dems g.o.p.s - heads in the sand
 is that U.S. liberty’s new brand?

Columbine Aurora Sandy Hook Virginia Tech Vegas — calamitous
Parkland Pittsburgh El Paso Charlottesville Dayton  —blasphemous
 show us

don’t talk amendment etched in our soul
 if you’re responsible show us 
tell us no tales filled with cliches 
our children are dying 
what’s the delay?

Columbine Aurora Sandy Hook Virginia Tech Vegas — calamitous
Parkland Pittsburgh El Paso Charlottesville Dayton  —blasphemous
 show us

bullets exploding the U.S.  in rage 
we’re sick of the news on the paper’s front page
the situation’s deploring 
mental health needs exploring 
we hurt we mourn don’t alibi
 Is this America? 
why?

Columbine Aurora Sandy Hook Virginia Tech Vegas — calamitous
Parkland Pittsburgh El Paso Charlottesville Dayton  —blasphemous
 show us

priests ministers mullahs rabbis
please  where is your fervent  outcry?

 Is violence as American as apple pie? 

Elsa Wachs  
© 2013 / 2019
​Mourning our Losses  or Is America Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
who   what wall   Trump's Mexican wall
ooh Trumpty Dumpty when will you fall

the Lady continually reverberates-
”Give me your masses yearning to breathe free..”.
something important to articulate
wouldn’t you agree

Cruel Trumpty again at his golf resort
no help coming from our highest court
while those seeking refuge put out a plea
children-- CAGED--crying “mama” on bended knee

now her dim lamp flickers at our un-golden rusted door
what worth the US promise even at a discount store

along came a virus it spread far and wide
Dr. Fauci told us how many more will die
Trumpty Dumpty merely said its a hoax
he shrugged as he spoke- I don’t care if they croak

Trumpty-king’s henchmen gave him a green light:
sell Democracy, burn it up at 412 fahrenheit

we are mourning the loss of American culture
the heart-empty-Trump-team tears our flag like a vulture
they’re making old glory ungloriously tattered
can we pick up the pieces of America shattered


Elsa Wachs © 2020 ​
Bound to Be Free​

i sit here
reading 
reading the same words 
i have read for so many years
some i know
some very familiar
i am told to read silently
i am told to read aloud

the words bind me
i am bound by these words         
these are not my words

i want to say something
i say nothing
i am bound by the past
i am bound to the generations 
that came before me

i am overcome by a sense of belonging
i am bound to the words
they give me a reason for being
they bind me 
and yet , 
i feel free
free 
to pray
free to pray 
in my own way. 
  


Elsa Wachs © 1996 ​
Rite of Passage
 to my grandmothers Esther and Eva who came to the United States during the wave of immigration in the late 1880s

waters murky, dark  and deep
curling waves spray pearls of 
hope  prospect  possibility
piercing rain drops fall 
like opals clear

long, interminable days 
longer cold dank nights 
days filled with frightening  loneliness
tempered by sweet expectations
sounds of sobbing chanting davening
in deep reverie
caressing tiny precious prayer books, 
a life line

boxes  bundles  knapsacks  grips 
stuffed with bits and pieces 
mostly memories  
survival kits

young mothers uprooted
infants at their breast
ashen bewildered children 
cling to mothers’ skirts
old women young girls
leaving homes 
their roots 
for what

the dawn enchants 
luring them
from the bowels of the ship 
they come spellbound
these females in profusion 
press their way 
to see

a lady majestic 
bedecked in billowing briny robes
she lights their way
her garb encrusted
with desires fulfilled
ambitions achieved

our fore-mothers came
they came at risk
nurtured by their heritage


Elsa Wachs © 1997​

MY JEWISH VOICE

​     Perplexity of Prayer
who are these worshippers
they appear to know the why
or 
do they too seek answers

searching and wondering
what brings me to prayer
a sense of community
a sense of history
a need for remembrance
a need for thanksgiving
an answer for pain
who and what is God

I am grasping for the obscure 
the invisible, the imperceptible, intangible
can I embrace the elusive  the ethereal 
can I understand the abstract wrapped in shadows
a web of mystery surrounds me 
entangled in perplexities

following the maze I am enmeshed in a labyrinth 
of shema...shemon essrei ...amidah ...aleynu...
my spiritual equilibrium askew

words and more words
shrouded in mystery
letters
letters forming words
veiled in time hidden in space
layered sentiments of spirit and soul

I ponder, probe, and pull at God’s gossamer lace 
drifting into a sanctified spiral continuum
I am seized by a sense of wonder

with a hushed throbbing reverberating refrain 
a poetry pulses in my viens 
v’ahavtah... v’amunah... v’shamru...
a metrical composition of color in harmony
a thread of connection
a solace       
yet 
still searching


Elsa Wachs © 2006   

​I remember
I remember your face
your voice

I remember your kindness
your generosity
your humor
shared bonds like no one else

in the quiet you are there
in the din I hear you

remembering is tears
remembering is learning

remembering is consolation
mourning and memory

yit'gadal v'yit'kadash sh'mei raba
O Source of all things
thank You, for memory

memories touch my soul
make my spirit sing 
zikhrono livrakha
may your memory be for a blessing

l'eila min kol bir'khata v'shirata
beyond any blessing and song,
I remember



Elsa Wachs © 2011
Yom Kippur and the Onion
​this day of atonement is like the bulbous, elegant onion
when I pierce its fleshy fruit
the reeking acid aroma
causes smarting throbs, stinging eyes, and cringes of sharp taste synonymous to penetrating the essence of yom kippur

this holy of holy peels away layer upon layer:
a day of self denial supplications and lamentations hours of thoughtful speculation examination and inquiry
family commemoration
teshuvah, tzedakah, kaddish, and yizkor.

like russian dolls
each sensation emotion and component of the day neatly nested inside more tiers and more tears
the gourmet’s bouquet is enclosed in a small cloth sack our soup is enhanced
on yom kippur we metaphorically don sackcloth
our soul is enriched

on that day my memory unfolds
to the land of my ancestors
revealing images of onion-domed architecture
global horizons expand, introspection inverts extending myself to the outside world

like this plant  the filmy membrane of this ambiguous day wraps around to shape my being.
a source of pungent blessings
onionskin -delicate, yet strong and translucent

like the shadows that fall when neilah is upon us

shadows fall   neilah is upon us

Elsa Wachs © 2006
One Tapestry
O Source of All, Your mighty loom is dressed; an impregnable warp of indomitable generations. Eons of years. Multitudes of faces and figures; mothers, fathers, infants, individuals, each with lives to be lead. Living and dying in war, famine, and suffering, dying and living surrounded in love, care, and dreams.

The Almighty’s shuttle flies across the loom laying down each generation, constructing the building-blocks of Our Peoplehood. Rich patterns and vibrant textures emerge making tightly stitched layers of culture embroidered with yearnings, accomplishments, values and lessons learned, heroes to emulate, a heritage to pass on.

Unwavering strands of Torah penetrate the weft,  words and thoughts are jewels imbedded. All permeate each soul The people acknowledge; the human spirit heeds.

A labyrinth of blessings are secreted within the stitches. A woven community of generations make the triad: One God, One Torah, One Jewish People:
​Judaism’s ancient revered tapestry. L’dor v’dor... l’dor v’dor... l’dor...........................

Elsa Wachs © 2012
Elul
Elul my favorite month on the calendar
I relish the optimism the holy days bring

the purposeful sounds of the shofar
sacred strains  speaking to me
a wake-up call from wordless, ancient wails 
reaching into  the depths of my soul

the quintessential throbbing echo
tekiah, shevarim-teruah, tekiah.
vibrations punctuate my existence
a new beginning
​

Elsa Wachs © 2010 
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