The Equalizer

In a small hut on the hill
Lived a poor man named Bill
He could not spell it made life hell
At times there was no wood in the shed
The family went many times hungry to bed
But when he sat under the old Linden Tree
He had this feeling of being free
His gaze would wander over mountains and dales
Feeling tired but forgot what ails
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…

There comes a time when all is fair
But the lord of the manor was stroking his hair
His hand cradled a delicate crystal glass
A dozen red roses stood in a vase

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poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Voices in the Wind

Once honor ruled while necessity and obedience made it a common courtesy
Slowly like sand in an hourglass time flowed while life was lived
Death celebrated and memories stored
Tepid breezes emboldened by a perfect sun caressed the planet
Then like a thief in the night tempest dredged from the bowels of hell
Beseeched the planet and the voice in the wind was silenced
Turmoil ruled the planet and war became the glorified hero assessing his power over all living tribes
Under the yoke of dread the people labored the strong grew wicked and disagreeable
Not only life but nature turned her back upon such disrespect
Brazen disregard and poor judgment had altered the gift of the onetime perfect plan
Foul air and water, the oceans emptied of its bountiful creatures
Warfare became a daily pitch, greed, terror, bombs and death
Answered was only the trumpet's call for destruction
Heed the voice in the Wind for time is short to heal the wounds
In the end nothing will matter
When nourishment flows from your breast mother instill love, not hate, compassion not neglect
Neither Jew nor Arab, black or white, rich or poor has preference in the terrestrial realm
Most wonderful is the beauty of a morning meadow in the sunrise compared to barren rubble strewn over the land
It has been said before, how many years counted by the hundreds have to pass like sand through the hourglass
Before we all realize that all is nothing and nothing is all.

poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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The Art of a Woman

In the valley of despair life starts at early dawn
Silver rivulets from last night's dew cover the grass
A red sunrise promises a day that will be warming
Slowly the women rise from under the covers on the ground
Which remain warm from their body's heat and vivid dreams
A longing for a day that promises a reward for living
Leaves them all breathing a heavy sigh
Bent backs, sad brows, hair streaked with gray
Performing routine tasks with expert timing
Slowly like sand in an hourglass time churns on
Month turn into years, and years into eternities
Only when the Master calls the receipt is paid in full
Left behind the empty shell of a onetime being
Who has fulfilled her task in the timeless annals of history

poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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A Life Encounter in Shekomeko

Many a rides I have taken
Through villages barely awakened
Green grass and blooming flowers
Whispering willows at morning hours
My joy is never ending
Too many wondrous sights are blending
Into meadows and sleepy lanes
Sheep and cattle gleaming white fences
Leave bedazzled my senses
But there is no pretense
Driving through the village
I have never seen a Mensch
But what a surprise on that beautiful day
I will never forget that moment in May
Strutting the left side of the lane
Was Peacock proud and vain
He walked with a majestic stride
Gleaming feathers what a sight
Straight ahead was his gaze
After all Shekomeko was his place

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poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Soul Searching

Summertime and my heart is happy
Every bloom exudes a sweet perfume
Delicate creatures on feathered wings
Warble songs that fill the air
Butterflies without a care
Rays of sunlight filters through
The paths I take the one I knew
Let me walk in peace
Enjoy the simple things in life
And never strife to hold
What is not mine to keep
Then, when I go to the place I know
It will not count who I was or what I had
Only, was I bad?

poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Mama's Girl

A child I got my mother said
A blue eyed girl with just one curl
Upon that tiny head but still I bet
Someday braids will crown that face so red

The years flew by the body grew
And Mama said it still is you
Hard times have formed the mind
Important is be always kind

And so I grew to womanhood
A happy gal she knew I would
With children to the count of five
It made my life a busy beehive

I always remember my dear Mama
And teach my children her dogma
Hard time may not have formed their mind
But still I say, please always be kind.

poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Morning Reflections

One early morning
I looked into the mirror
And remember the day
My reflection told me
Now don't run away!
Those wrinkles resemble
Years spend in the sun
And if you remember
Admit they were fun
The lines on the forehead
So long and so deep
You got from getting to little sleep
The smile is still the same
A little more weight is not a shame
The feet get quickly tired
But walking on the road still gets me wired
The long hair that once blew in the breeze
Has been shortened and ceased
Life still trills me and happiness fills me
To wake and hear a robin sing

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poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Is It Christmas Again

No matter how hard I try thoughts of
Christmas leave me with a sad sigh
Why on that one day people promise
Peace and joy to the world and
On the very next day those feeling run cold
That wonderful spirit felt on that night
Is diminished and not shining bright
How can it be gone from one day to the next
That is why I feel always perplexed
When bells are ringing and choruses are singing
Gifts under the tree are supposed to bring joy
I remember a time when there was not even a toy
No cookies or candies no tree graced the room
Only for a few hours the bombing did not resume
In a dark room we huddled glad to be alive
It made me realize life can be strife
For me to have Christmas Spirit I need to know
Those feelings of love and peace can be stowed
Not only on Christmas but day after day
Hatred and killings cannot have their way

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poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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The Immigrant

Twos early morn when I boarded the ship
And Mama gave me one last kiss
I walked up on the plank
Scared with a shaking hand
A wave good bye from down below
Mom's face fading I loved her so
For days on end the bow pushed foamy water
The homeland shrank close came the US border
On a cold morning in December
It was Lady Liberty I always remember
Tall and proud she greeted the crowd
All were standing along the rail
She welcomed the young and the frail
How many years have passed
Since that eventful day
How many springtime's in May
Life engulfed me took me into the fold
In the meantime I have grown old
I traveled near and traveled far
All the beautiful places I saw

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poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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