The Commentator's Poetry Section Spring 2018
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 spring semester.
By Irwin Leventer
I choose, precisely:
That I design.
Not thou, Sisyphus,
Hater of fate,
Wallowing deep in
Stars of mine.
Starting anew is
Tread though with care,
The world’s harmonic
"Edel - White"
By Gabriella Englander
Sunlight filters in through dusty blinds,
Dances on a China-blue vase, brimming with edelweiss,
Overshadowing my Bill of Rights homework, abandoned
On the dark-veined table.
My grandmother shuffles in, her gaze
Traces cotton-coated petals. Her eyes,
Envelop me, same gray-blue as mine,
And I fold in -
To a Carpathian valley of sweet gale and rolling pine,
Whistling to the barred warbler’s tale, gray-blue eyes
Of a man, plucking clusters of edelweiss
For his wife to fluff in a China-blue vase -
Beside my homework, on the dark-veined table,
My grandmother rests a yahrzeit candle
For those who had no Bill of Rights,
Her lips pressed white, edel-white.
"The Sky Says Snow"
By Elazar Krausz
The sky says snow,
White turning to gray as what remains of the sun tucks itself away,
Stripped by the clouds of its grand adieu.
The naked trees shiver with hesitation,
Unsure if they're ready for the burden.
And then the flakes come,
Weaving themselves into an oscillating tapestry outside my window.
My radiator rattles angrily,
Anticipating its job will be harder tomorrow.
The radiator is tired. The trees are tired. The sun is tired.
But the sky says snow.
By Batsheva Lasky
The first tooth I lost
fell to the kitchen floor.
I lay my cheek on the cold tile
Peering under mahogany cabinets
and cushioned chairs until I found it,
nestled between a long lost cheerio and the table leg.
I picked it up as a jeweler would a diamond,
held it up for all to see.
When night fell,
and the tooth fairy was set to come,
I hid the tooth not under my heart shaped pillow
guarded by my army of fuzzy friends,
but in my secret hiding place
where not even a fairy could find it.
No one could take it away from me.
Even for a quarter.
By Shai Yastrab
Any bad creation
Deserves examination for good
Inevitably, joining kept leftovers
Makes new, odd, premises.
Queer results start to unfold