Poems along the Path 
Judyth Hill

ISBN 0-9644196-0-2
paper
48 pages $10

This collection written over a twenty year period evokes a deep sense of place.

From an Oklahoma childhood to Kathmandu cafés, Rafaela writes as physician, wife, traveler and passionate Jew. "Rafaela's poetry goes to the edge, but never jumps off. Therefore, this work is light and easy to read, but thoughtful and sensual enough to never forget." Anne Marie Mackler.

Poet and creative writing teacher.


An Excerpt from the book:
 

Suddenly I'm in a Hurry
by Judith Rafaela from
Poems along the Path

Softly sitting in the sunshine,

a bit of straw in my fingers,

I'd wonder at the ants

measured, goal oriented,

carrying loads for the queen.

I'd play Nintendo games, do crossword puzzles

Throwing seconds, days, weeks into

small events and experiences.
 
 

Suddenly I'm in a hurry.

Images of Virginia: Her video dreams imposed on

wild thrashing gasps of anger against the night.

The path's length never bogged me down before.

Red dirt road climbed and fell with light breezes.

Sightseeing at will, old rock carving caves,

museums of glass and steel,

treasured books with musty smells, intuitive leaps.

But now

that need to understand all in a gestalt

lets me down

boom

I'm on my ass on the road.

Travelers pass crying "patience" and "one step at a time."

I sit in stubborn silence.

I'm in a hurry

I want all languages now

especially Spanish for my blood.

I want to roll the R's like a phallic kiss

I want to spray out my passion like raw whisky

in the rhymes and rhythms of the Spanish declination.

And Hebrew next,

Holy tongue that hides the mysteries of all

within small roots to a tree of life.
 
 

I'm in a hurry to communicate,

while fires burn in cities

crying we're too late to understand.

We must awaken from our slumber.

I sit with beer can, passive:

the news images intermixed

with messages from our material god.

Sound bites of lullaby.
 
 

I want it all and now each grain of knowledge

drops like sand in an imagined hourglass.

Dorothy in a poppy field

sleeping through the quest

and no wise good witch to bring snow.

Only a cold lump of unrisen bread sitting in my chest.

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