Samuel Menashe Poems

A pot poured out
Fulfills its spout
...

Stone worn
Overgrown
Pristine thorns
Sheep shorn
...

Boughs berserk
Spin one hill
Into space
Standing still
...

Now and again
I am here now
And now is when
I’m here again
...

For what I did
And did not do
And do without
In my old age
...

Eyes that spurn yet invite
Like spikes in the sunlight
Of Manhattan’s high-rise—
Babylon’s ladies outshine
...

Ghost I house
In this old flat—
Your outpost—
My aftermath
...

I am the man
Whose name is mud
But what’s in a name
To shame one who knows
...

Taut with longing
You must become
The god you sought—
The only one
...

I walk outside the stone wall
Looking into the park at night
As armed trees frisk a windfall
Down paths that lampposts light
...