Tuesday, June 1, 2021







One Day

 I will create a collage

 Of all my lovers

 Whoever says good morning to me on Messenger

 Disappeared and returned two years ago

 Whoever taught me what love is

 Like in a song by David Bowie

 Wild is the spirit

 The one who launched me

 Drugs of words

 He who was a beggar and went bankrupt

 Those who had no words at all

 And only knew how to hurt

 Like in a Turkish movie

 Who was a francophile

 And speak French

 The one who got cancer and died

 And left me longing

 A man who lives in Austria with his wife

 And rides a bicycle and dreams

 On an exciting meeting that will never take place


 One Day

 I draw a collage

 Of all my lovers

 Those whose hearts were open

 And send hearts

 And became addicted to pictures

 Those who seduced me and also let me down


 Yesterday on the bench you asked me

 Who now?

 And I answered you

 This and that and this

 And I was looking at the phone

 But no message came from anyone

 Just one who asked me

 To precede a poetry evening

 And I said I'm busy



I'm Writing A Song

To Moshe


 I'm writing a poem

 To the anchor of my life

 I'm writing a poem

 To the sea where we swim

 I'm writing a poem

 To the vortices of our lives

 I'm writing you a poem

 To the spirit that you are instilling in me

 For the frenzy that still excites me

 I'm writing a poem

 To the knight of my youth

 That his desire does not end

 And wants me to be with him more and more

 You will give everything I ask for and You will add

 We are holding hands

 Waking up together to thousands of sunrises

 And love the sights of the seas

 In the midst of the storms that take place within me

 I'm always breaking into your calm seas


 I'm writing a poem

 To the anchor of my life

 To the love that has no boundaries

 On the day of your birthday, I want

 That you will continue to sail within me

 Withvthe thousands of your fish

 more and more

 Let us rest and be silent and talk

 And we will quarrel and be reconciled

 I want you to understand and not understand

 That you will always be near me




 For my brother Tuvia that died in the service at 5.8.1974


 My mother knitted a sweater for my brother

 Attached to knitting

 In examples of brown from “burda”” magazine

 My mother knitted for my beloved brother

 A wonderful sweater

 criss Cross

 To pinch his body

 With a warm cloth.


 My mother knitted a sweater for my brother

 Beautiful as my brother.

 The sweater stays in the house

 And my brother stays in the sands

 In the heat of the desert

 Without a home

 Wandering in his longings.




SHOSHANA VEGH: She born in Ashkelon, Israel at 1957. She has a master degree in Hebrew literature. She had been teaching for 28 years at high school at Netanya her home now.  She published her first book at 2000. opened in 2009 her own publishing house that introduces new poets from Israel. She been writing poetry since She was a teenager. Her first novel was published when She was 40. She writes mostly about love and also about loss. Her older brother died while serving in the army and She is writing about getting to reach the unreachable. She got few scholarships for publishing her books. She wrote 17 books and edited over than 120.



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