Tag: Patricia Furstenberg

Two Poems by Patricia Furstenberg

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ 2 Comments

I Am Built

I am built on my ancestor’s dreams,
Of glass that was shores and wood that was trees;
I am built on my parent’s blueprints,
Of tears of joy, and white nights of dreams.

I stood on land that came all wrapped up,
Bows of rivers and a note of clouds.
I grabbed it, too eager, I opened my gift,
Forgot to say “thank you”, too greedy to live.

I lived and I loved and I used up my gift,
I forgot to look back; now I’m lost in my dream.
One last chance I am given, build my blueprint,
Gift others life, and love, and dreams.

I am sand, I am earth, I’m the seed of a tree,
I’m the foundation where others can raise their dreams.
I know for I looked back this time;
Life moves forward by recalling the past.


Like a Ladybird on a Daisy

A ladybird
dashes through my field of view,
recklessly she aims for all directions at once
like a hysterical airplane
that lost an engine.
Acute are the depths
of its diving
and the smears or red
in the still day,
like the tick line
of a teacher’s pen,
break the silence.
How do you perform CPR
on a ladybug
crossed my mind.
I’ve even drawn back
and offered her
my personal space:
the garden table,
wrought iron painted green,
my notebook
where I doodled
a daisy in black ink.
She darts still,
diving and nearly crash-landing
then performing an emergency recovery
and soaring again.
It knows geometry, I see,
it swirls and traces circles now
frisky over my notebook
where it lands.
On my doodled daisy.
I bow and thank
for such a compliment.
and look around
for an offering of sorts.
A cookie crumb,
for I can’t bring myself
to sacrifice an ant.
Wouldn’t that be execution?
The ladybird reads my mind
and saves me,
spryly dashing away.
I bow in thanks.




Patricia Furstenberg, with a medical degree behind her, has authored 18 books imbued with history, folklore, and legends. The recurrent motives in her writing are unconditional love and war. Her essays and poetry have appeared in various online literary magazines. Romanian-born, she resides with her family in South Africa.

Two Poems by Patricia Furstenberg

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ 8 Comments

The Sheep’s Spring Butter Is Medicine

Genuflected in the circular sheepfold, beside a temple,
fir-trees the shepherd’s green church,
footprints and hooves build a mosaic underfoot
the artist, a keeper of time or maybe his sheep
turned kid.
Lock-free door,
‘we guard ‘gainst bears only up ‘ere’,
wind sings or hymns resound,
tea hums, brewed over dried-dung and pine-needle fire.
Time stands still.

Bread made of dew and husks,
baked over excited kindles
sweet steam embracing,
coiled on a stick with a fiery eye that pokes eternity.
The shepherd’s shadow dips smoked bacon in spring butter,
world’s wisdom drips from his fingers
making the fire speak.
‘The sheep’s spring butter ‘s med’cine’, he sounds more to the mutt by the door
who grunts, body asleep, soul and ears ever awake.
Heavy books told me what the shepherd knew, as his forefathers,
spring herbs are potent, filled with life’s juices and earth’s zing,
herbs scoured for spells, for sweet dreams, but gifted for butter and milk.

The sheep’s spring butter is medicine, for the sheep’s from God,
like this earth,
but the goat, the goat’s from the hinder side.
Yet that’s a tale for another time.


Hunger came first

Hunger came first
as day slashed the nightfall with its fiery dagger
and spirits still chased the lost souls.
One last pang
one last hope
Hunger came first.

The goat came next,
nimble on the first rays of sun, as sharp as hell,
a strand of grass sticking out of its mouth,
silvery horns arched backwards, night trailing behind.
The goat came next,
shrouded in its beastly scent–
the promise of a full tummy.

The poet came last,
a night’s last breath into the day,
shadowed existence,
ghostly appearance,
eyes sunken on wobbly feet.
Eyes burning with poetry.
And hunger.

Hunger came first,
The goat came next,
The poet crawled from his misery
The verse of how the goat was the devil’s,
as the lamb belonged to God,
looping through his ear.

Then hunger floated away
from the shadow that had once been a poet,
a poet who chased a goat away.

The hunger and the goat went first.
The poet remained.
For eternity.




Patricia Furstenberg, with a medical degree behind her, has authored 18 books imbued with history, folklore, and legends. The recurrent motives in her writing are unconditional love and war. Her essays and poetry have appeared in various online literary magazines. Romanian-born, she resides with her family in South Africa.