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Medieval woodcut; detail from Horae, published in Paris in 1506
that Jill has Written
Index
Right By Your Side
Time For Letting Go
Identities
The Healing Sound Of Water
Thoughts Of Independence
Down The Days
Come Again, Love
Racheli
The King’s Well
A Piece of My Heart
No Puedo Durmir
Little Miracles
Rainbow Warriors
How Was I To Know?
The Sunset
Open House
Summer Lightning
Still Life
© All rights reserved
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RIGHT BY YOUR SIDE © 1987
for Tal and Lisa
Sleep, my child: rest your weary head.
Let the night fold around your bed;
Stars above will take you where dreams begin;
When you wake, the morning will come again.
Sleep, little one, sleep;
Dream happy dreams till the morning and then,
When you awake,
I will be here right by your side.
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TIME FOR LETTING GO © 1996
When I look at our children
See a bit of us inside
It’s the way they bloom, become themselves,
That fills me up with pride.
They keep me company and on my toes
As day to day they grow;
And I hope that, when the time comes,
I’ll be able to let go.
I left my home and family
And places that I knew;
Flew half-way across the world
To start my life anew.
Most years have fled too swiftly,
Though some have crawled too slow,
And I’ve come to the conclusion:
It’s time for letting go.
Some memories you don’t forget
Though you learn how to forgive.
They can shape the way you see the world,
No matter how you live.
But somehow time works miracles:
You wake one day and know
That you can get up and continue --
You’ve managed to let go.
I close my eyes and try to see
The face of an old friend
But the features blur and only photos
Bring them back again.
I can’t go back the way I came
On the river’s endless flow
I won’t forget the good times
But it’s time now to let go.
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IDENTITIES © 1997
Best friend’s got a new kitchen
Best friend’s got new shoes
And keeping up with the Jones’ is
About all that she can do
She don’t know what she wants, now
She don’t know where she’s from
She don’t know where she’s going
Or why everything goes wrong
But if she could just have those new things, now
(Make everything feel all right)
She thinks that she would have an identity to keep her warm at night.
Young boy just reaching manhood
Has to prove he belongs
They’ve taught him only to hate, now
He can’t distinguish right from wrong.
He knows what it is that he wants, now
He sure knows where he is from
And he thinks he knows where he’s going
And that nothing can go wrong.
So if he could just kill somebody
(Make everything feel all right)
He thinks that he would have an identity to keep him warm at night.
Some people know what they want, now
Some people feel they belong
The lucky few know where they’re going
And get there if they’re strong.
Try to keep your head above water
Try to ignore all the lies
And in choosing yourself the right label
Try ‘human being’ for size.
If you can’t solve all the world’s problems
You can put the little things right;
Then you will have an identity to keep you warm at night.
No, we can’t solve all the world’s problems
But we can try to put the little things right;
Then we will have an identity to keep us warm at night.
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THE HEALING SOUND OF WATER © 1996-1997
I walk along the streets I used to know well as a child
With the spring flowers in profusion and the bush all growing wild;
And in the trees, each hidden bird sings out its lone, wild part
And the healing sound of water fills my heart.
I can’t stay -- the time is going fast;
I can’t stay suspended in my past.
My future lies 10,000 miles away.
I can’t stay.
Now I live high in the mountains, far above the desert sands
Where the winds of winter chill me and I’m soaked by heavy rains;
And summer nights are redolent of flowers and wild herbs,
But the healing sound of water can't be heard.
There were lakes and streams and rivers all around when I was young,
And every day, the harbour wind laid salt upon my tongue;
I’ve learned to live without them in this parched and arid land,
But in my dreams, the healing sound of water runs again.
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THOUGHTS OF INDEPENDENCE © 2001
Where are the parents who say to their children,
“Let me tell you what’s crucial in life:
Forget about the sweet hereafter
While we live in this world full of hatred and strife.
Why should we care where we go when our life’s done?
Don’t fog your conscience with ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’.
We’re put here on earth to look out for each other
And make our lives better while here we dwell.”
Where are the parents who warn their children,
“Take a deep breath before you go and fight;
The media tell you that everything’s simple,
That it’s all divided between black and white.
But let me tell you that life’s seldom like that:
It’s made up of dozens of shades of gray.
So take time to ask questions -- then question the answers;
You find out the truth in this circular way.”
Where are the parents who say to their children,
“It’s great to know you have thoughts of your own.
I hear what you’re saying and it makes sense to me,
And it makes me proud of the way that you’ve grown.
Some people are leaders, while some like to follow:
It’s okay to be somewhere between the two.
You’re not trying to be a hero, but you’re no weakling:
I’m happy to say I can look up to you.”
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DOWN THE DAYS © 2001
Jack and Jamie playing in the dust --
Halcyon years in which nothing seems to matter much
An endless stream of summer days
That scintillate in golden haze,
The water fights,
Cicada nights...
Who would think it could ever end
When you’re tumbling down the days with your best friend?
Jack and Jamie wading through the mud --
Empty years in which reality hits with a thud:
An endless treadmill going round,
Though once they thought they’re gaining ground,
The drunken fights,
The wasted nights...
Who wouldn’t want it all to end
When you’re just stumbling through the days with your old friend?
There must be something I can say,
Some echo of experience to help to them find a way;
Is there something I should do?
You know, I think I saw it coming;
You see, I’ve been floundering too...
When the blind lead the blind, what can you expect?
After all this time, has someone got it right yet?
Tim and Davy playing in the dust --
Halcyon years in which nothing seems to matter much:
An endless stream of golden days
That scintillate in summer haze,
The water fights,
Cicada nights...
Who would think it could ever end
When you’re tumbling down the days with your best friend?
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COME AGAIN, LOVE © 2001
for M. A. M.
Early every morning,
When the sky’s still black,
Johnnie hauls his boots on,
Jumper on his back,
Grabs his lamp and tucker,
Running down toward the sea.
Come again, love,
Come again,
Skim the foam safe home to me.
So again at daybreak,
The laddie rowed away
With Danny, his old partner,
Straining past the bay,
Nets spread wide for fishes,
And braced against the spray.
I put the house in order,
Leave the bread to rise,
Take a break for coffee:
Sleep still rings my eyes;
And as I wake the children,
I monitor the skies...
Evening’s fast approaching,
Day is winding down;
Time for all to gather
Homeward, safe and sound;
The lads should be returning
At any moment now...
But here I am still standing,
Alone now, on the shore.
The other boats are beachèd:
There’s only one craft more;
And swift the sky is darkening,
It turns its face from me...
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RACHELI © 2002
Racheli walks to the store on a Friday afternoon:
Just another little chore and Shabbat will be here soon.
She likes to help out when she can --
Today she’s time on her hands;
And she thinks she’ll buy some flowers to brighten up the room.
When she goes down to the square, sometimes her brother tags along,
They link hands and swing their arms and sing a marching song;
Though they’re ten years apart,
They laugh and sing with the same heart;
But today she’s going alone -- one quick dash, then straight back home.
Racheli walks to the store a few minutes down the street;
The centre’s full of passersby; the spring air tastes so sweet;
She’s feeling stronger every day --
Her friends have helped her find a way --
And she’s looking t’ward the future and the challenges she’ll meet.
She doesn’t see the other girl with a package ’round her waist,
Or the women selling herbs who leave the place in haste:
She’s thinking “sugar, eggs, flowers” and “Shabbat, in a few hours”.
She nears the entrance of the store...
She doesn’t live here any more.
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THE KING’S WELL © 2002
Chorus:
And don’t we need the King’s Well
to tell our story to?
Oh the deep, dark waters
to whisper secrets to?
When we can’t hold it in
and there’s pressure all around
let the ripples soothe your tension
and the stones absorb the sound.
I could shout it from the hilltops
if I wanted you to hear;
write a letter to the papers
to demonstrate I care.
But some things just can’t be voiced yet -
feelings I had not foreseen -
and I need to take it slowly
till I’ve worked out what they mean.
They say that in the old days
there was a fine way out
for the leader who had troubles
and a heart possessed by doubt;
and the king who couldn’t trust a man
could whisper down a well:
he could cry his secrets freely
and the waters wouldn’t tell.
So forgive me if I’m silent
and my thoughts seem far away:
I’m adjusting to the routine
of just getting through each day.
Yes, my mind is whirling elsewhere,
untangling this thread
that could knot again so easily,
or fray and break instead.
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A PIECE OF MY HEART © 2002
There’s a child in the West Isles of Scotland
with eyes like the hue of the sea,
eyelashes reaching to Heaven,
and a soft voice that whispers to me;
and he walks with me still by the seashore,
his trusting hand resting in mine,
and he sits on my knee in the firelight
to sing me his fanciful rhymes.
Chorus:
And a piece of my heart is missing --
I wonder if you understand
that, when we parted with hugging and kissing,
I placed it right in the palm of your hand.
It seems no matter where I go to,
no matter how long the track,
there’s somebody beckoning onward
and someone else urging me back.
My sweet husband, who worries about me;
our daughters, who don’t always speak their heart;
my parents, 10,000 miles further...
my whole family, scattered so far apart.
Musicians who live the world over;
writers and artists who seem to know just how I feel;
so many others who’ve danced in my orbit --
they’re all treasured friendships to me.
And I wonder if life will allow it,
to let our paths cross once again;
or will photographs, letters and memories
be all that is left to us then?
And a piece of my heart is missing --
I wonder if you understand
that, when we parted with hugging and kissing,
it fell right in the palm of your hand.
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NO PUEDO DURMIR © 2002
No puedo durmir,
Yo bushko tus ojos,
Yo bushko tu boz,
Yo kero t’oyir.
No puedo durmir,
Yo bushko tus manos,
Yo bushko tus lavios,
Te kero abrasar.
No topo repozo,
Ni noche ni día,
Se inche mi alma
De tu melodía.
Estás tú leshano,
En tierras ajenas,
I bives, respiras.
No pensas tú a mi?
M’abolto, m’abolto,
A ti solo penso.
Partiendo, mi alma
Tomates kon ti.
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LITTLE MIRACLES © 2004
There’s a time for holding back the tears and smiling through the day,
Telling yourself, or someone else, it’s easier this way;
But all too soon there comes a time when reticence won’t do;
When you’ve got to thank those in your life for sharing theirs with you.
I don’t believe in heaven, no I can’t find comfort there;
And I must admit not being sure there’s someone hears my prayers;
I’m not certain it’s important when I’m thinking of a friend:
It’s the memories of times we’ve shared that matter in the end.
And I pray for little miracles to help us through the day;
For life’s gentle, pulsing rhythm to guide us on the way;
For the wisdom and serenity to face the Great Unknown
With head held high and shoulders back, should other hope be flown.
Our vision gets distorted when life’s twisted paths we tread;
The chance slips by unnoticed and the words remain unsaid.
Don’t wait to tell that special friend their smile warms up your heart;
The time to call is now, before one of you must depart.
So what can I hope for as the days go rolling on?
As we pull along together, trying to keep each other strong?
A quiet conversation, a shared glass of wine or two,
And the strength to simply speak my heart before our time is through.
Though I might feel a bit foolish when my clumsy words recall,
I know that I’d regret far more not saying them at all.
And I pray for little miracles to help them through the day;
For life’s gentle, pulsing rhythm to guide them on the way;
For the wisdom and serenity to face the Great Unknown
With head held high and shoulders back, should other hope be flown.
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RAINBOW WARRIORS © 2005
“The Earth’s not brown: it really should be green!
“And I know this for a fact. This is not some silly act:
“It’s time for human beings to come clean;
“We’ve got to knuckle down and stop this monster Progress
“Before it burns away the world we know;
“Get our priorities straight, stem the tide, cooperate,
“And keep this Global Warming really low.”
And got it into everybody’s head
That despite our jealous hearts
Or the shakiest of starts,
Green stands for the environment instead.
While in France, the same shade represented shame;
And we all know that red can stand for Communist -- or dead --
Or an overpowering feeling few can tame;
Somehow jazz has got us thinking that our sorrows
Are mixed up with another lovely hue;
So the Danube, the Ridge Mountains,
And those fancy Baroque fountains
Outside Paris, must we name them all anew?
And got it into everybody’s head
That, instead of winter fashion,
Red’s the best symbol for passion
And that blue is an illusion in my head.
Is one I started liking just last year;
Forget its fruity clone or the mobile telephone:
We’re talking about ideals we hold dear;
For now it’s representing deeper troubles
And I am sorry that we’ve come to such a pass;
I cannot help but feeling that we’ve reached another ceiling,
And the best that we can hope for is a farce.
And get it into everybody’s head
That we have to find a path
That won’t lead to a bloodbath,
But to a kinder, gentler nationhood instead.
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HOW WAS I TO KNOW? © 2005
I set out in the summer for an unfamiliar land,
Not sure what to expect there at my journey’s end.
I knew I’d see new places, maybe find a few new friends;
But for once I had no inkling what was waiting ’round the bend.
I was standing in a doorway, watching people come and go:
The old and young and in-between, no faces I would know;
When I saw you clear across the room, no bell rang out a warning
That within this sleeping heart a new love would fast be forming.
Chorus 1:
How was I to know the difference you’d make in
my life?
How was I to know I’d go from being a good wife
To a woman with a secret bound and gagged behind the door?
I try to keep on going, but I don’t sleep well any more.
There are times when I can’t stop myself from murmuring your name;
And there are times I know it’s hopeless that your feelings are the same;
Now I don’t remember clearly how life was before we met,
But when it comes to loving you, I’m not finished yet.
Chorus 2:
How was I to know the way you’d turn my heart around?
It’s hard to go on walking when your feet can’t find the ground.
I miss you more than anyone I’ve ever missed before
And I try to keep on going, but I don’t sleep well any more.
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THE SUNSET
for Ray Scudero © 2005
You’re on your way at last, my friend,
On a path unknown and long;
And your spirit’s sped afar
From the hearth where you belong;
And my voice calls out “fare well”
On this slender thread of song.
Now the feathered clouds in the flaming sky
Are the wings of your freedom.
For you’ve journeyed long and far
On this earth you’ve known so well;
On a boat steered by the stars,
Down roads that few can tell;
With your ear sharply attuned
to the call of life’s clear bell.
And the feathered clouds in the flaming sky
Are the wings of your freedom.
May your smile live in my mem’ry
While your soul soars above pain;
May the friendship we have forged together
In my heart remain;
May I sing your songs with gladness
Till our pathways cross again.
Now the feathered clouds in the flaming sky
Are the wings of your freedom.
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OPEN HOUSE © 2006
As spring turns into summer,
She finds herself once more
In a house that’s filled with flurry
At each opening of the door;
As family and friends arrive
For leisure and for fun,
She finds a place for just one more:
There’s room for all who come.
Chorus: And she looks around the table
At the faces and the smiles;
Hears the laughter and the chatter
Making inches of the miles.
What more could someone ask for?
This is how it’s meant to be,
In a house that’s made for sharing
With gentle company.
When the summer’s burned its flame out
And the autumn fills its place,
And she feels a breeze of comfort
Sighing softly on her face,
The visitors keep coming
And the Holy Days are here;
But nobody can quite believe
They’ve spent another year.
Now the autumn’s for retiring
And the winter takes its turn,
And yet in the hours of darkness
Still her instinct can discern
A promise of renewal
And the pastel green of spring;
For rain can’t depress her spirit
When her heart begins to sing.
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SUMMER LIGHTNING © 2007
Excitement on the landing;
Grandchildren at the door,
Clamouring in high voices:
It’s Christmas-time once more.
They tumble in together,
See her smiling at each one…
Hand clutches side,
The face contorts;
Then, incredibly, she’s gone.
Gone like summer lightning --
There’s no defence against the pain –-
Leaving a gap that can’t be filled.
And we’ll not see her like again.
The sultry weather beckons,
Honeysuckle, rose and thorn:
A perfect opportunity
For croquet on the lawn.
The mallet’s swinging nicely,
The hoops lined up as one…
Hand clutches side,
He drops the ball;
Then, inexorably, he’s gone.
Gone like summer lightning --
There’s no defence against the pain -–
Leaving a gap that can’t be filled.
And we’ll not see his like again.
No time for mending fences,
Or hidden thoughts to tell,
Or honouring of wishes;
No chance to say farewell.
Gone like summer lightning --
There’s no defence against the pain –-
Leaving a gap that can’t be filled.
And we’ll not see their like again.
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Chirrup, song and trill;
Steady lap and wave-ride;
Zephyr-breath… then still;
Mountains rise behind me;
Cicadas in the trees;
Smoke curling in the distance,
Dispersed on silent breeze;
A fisherman is waiting,
Line ready, on a stone
As a boat moves out of bayside
And seabird glides alone;
A catcher skims the water,
Alights on pebble shore;
There, ranks of driftwood soldiers
At attention evermore;
Sun glints, then is extinguished
As foam runs smoothly in;
Ripples pattern landward
Like lace billowing in;
A raucous seagull calling;
Gum trees gaze out to sea,
As clouds fill the horizon
And peace descends on me.
And I must leave this haven,
Turn my back on all this calm,
Where the silence, filled with beauty,
Warms my spirit like a balm;
But I’ll take this still life with me
Wheresoever I may roam,
When my feet tread distant highways
But my heart just longs for home.
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