By: YU Poetry Club | Features  | 

Winter, Liberty, and the End: The Commentator's Poetry Section Fall 2017

Editor's Note: The following poems are courtesy of the Yeshiva University Poetry Club. The Commentator thanks the club and their leaders, Chana Morgenstern and Yakov Stone, for their contributions to the paper throughout the fall semester.


“The Galaxy’s Tempo”

By Gabriella Englander

 

Beneath the humming gaze of Galaxy,

Clouds shed their summer slumber

Into thunder, twined as sterling spores,

Albino powder, winged oars,

Which stir nature’s umber bed

Into a woolen terrace, white-wed.

Moonlit stardust ponders air,

And sheaths silver poplar’s bare

Skeleton in lace veil.

When gust-chimes through willows wail,

Vines spooled with ice-dripped pearls,

Graze lakes’ glazed swirls,

En-marbled with crystal fossil, fixed-foam,

Alabaster alchemy, metallic-chrome.

Frosted fields of ferns unfurl,

Snowdrops and crocuses uncurl,

Into a pale-draped tableau,

Beneath the Galaxy’s tempo.


“My Mind, For Me

By: Irwin Leventer

 

I want my mind for me, for me,

I fester for such liberty,

I fight for it so thirstily,

Ephemeral control.

On all things real we disagree,

I search for truth, he wants but glee,

He booms with volume of the sea:

Dig deep into your hole.

I can’t give in nor take a knee,

Post seven falls, the righteous, he,

Arises, up, sets himself free,

A liberated whole.


“Dead” 

By Chana Morgenstern, Co-President

 

There’s no more to be said

Though there are words aplenty

It’s done, It’s did, It’s dead

 

You never looked inside my head

I’d have given you my thoughts for a penny

But there’s no more to be said

 

We should have spent more time in bed

And made love like we were twenty

Anyhow It’s done, It’s did, It’s dead

 

I think of the vows when we wed

I wish now we had any

But there’s no more to be said

 

Am I seeing green or red

Now that you say you love jenny

Is that why It’s done, It’s did, It’s dead

 

You say seeing me fills you with dread

And of regrets I have many

But there’s no more to be said

And I know It’s done, It’s did, It’s dead.


“Endings”

By Jacob Stone, Co-President

 

It may take less than a lifetime to mend

My absence. Reading this, they’ll say

I hate it when suicidal poems end.

 

From another world, I’ll make sure to send

My regards. Don’t worry my friends, be gay!

It may take less than a lifetime to mend.

 

In the middle now, at an emotional bend,

That flux of health, though liminal, won’t last until day.

I hate it when suicidal poems end.

 

And myself? I have a message, but, without amends,

My doubts deliberately silence my way.

It may take less than a lifetime to mend.

 

A ray of hesitation slowly wends

Into my mind. The lines left unwritten while I lay!

I hate it when suicidal poems end.

 

The tragedy of this one, though, won’t portend

A worse fate for his verses. I whisper from faraway,

It may take less than a lifetime to mend,

I hate it when suicidal poems end.