(Spiritual Poem) Barrels For Bullets

(BARRELS FOR BULLETS)

 

In 632 it began with the King of deception deceiving of a man

Deceived by a Snake wrapped in the sand speaking our tongue

Hate rising, man against man, blood spilled, over and over again

God’s covenant was given to all of mankind to cherish and love

By being aloof with great ego’s we are now blinded, selfies in love

 

 

To their brothers of the sand the Royals hid the love of God’s loving Bride

For the Spirit of God was not within, being consumed in our ego and lust

Through the centuries now for how many millions have the bells tolled

For the love that was not given their brothers, not believing in His Word

To our brothers and sisters, you don’t even know whom you are sent to kill

 

 

Christians and Jews your aloofness drove them to the arms of the Deceiver

For the black gold under the sand now is covered in red flowing from men

Many leaders of this world sold their own souls just to advance a position

How many bullets, innocent lives, families destroyed does one barrel hold

That is one I’m sure the great Deceiver will give to God his final tally told

(Humanity Poem) Hearts Breaking

HEARTS BREAKING

 

Hear the pain

Ringing through the tears

Blood red, so many Roses blackened

Hearts broken for loved ones gone

Why so young are their last breaths taken

Hearts pleading, Hearts breaking, Hearts crying

Blood spilling, our youth, our hope, dying!

(Religious Poem) Can A Prince Die, Spill His Blood, Then Be Our King

CAN A PRINCE DIE, SPILL HIS BLOOD, THEN BE OUR KING

 

What gives a Prince the right to serve or to rule

Bloodline, is that all it needs to be, to rule over me

The Blood, the Will, and the Love, all were necessity

To qualify, exceptionable pure sacrifice, on that Tree

Human ignorance brought the Prince of Peace low

Gethsemane, on His knees He prayed for you and me

Bled, Died, Raised, totally sanctified, now He is The King!

The Ridiculous B.S. Jewish Families Had To Deal With Growing Up In Russia

(THIS ARTICLE IS COURTESY OF DOLLY AT ‘KOOLKOSHERKITCHEN’)

Hi, my name is Dolly. Actually, I am Devorah Yentl, but when I was born, clerks in communist Russia were not allowed to record names like that on a birth certificate. So the woman said to my mother, “Little girl, go and come back with a good Russian name.” My mother was little, that much was true, and at 4’11” she did look like a teenager. She wasn’t timid, though, and she did come back with a good Russian name, Dolly. As you can see, it starts with a D and ends with an L. To the clerk’s exasperated whisper, “But it’s still foreign!” she calmly opened a book she brought with her. Leo Tolstoy, the Russian classic, had Princess Dolly among his main characters in Anna Karenina. You couldn’t argue with Tolstoy, and thus it was duly recorded, in memory of my two great-grandmothers. Lest you think it only happened to Jews, I will refer you to a documentary about a famous Russian actress Lyudmila Gurchenko whose father wanted to name her Lucy. The clerk flatly refused to record a foreign name, suggesting “modern soviet names” Lenina, Stalina, Lelud (Lenin Loves Kids), or Dazdraperma (Long Live May 1st). They finally settled on an old Russian Lyudmila, but throughout her long and eventful life she was known as Lucy.

It wasn’t easy to keep kosher in communist Russia. You couldn’t go to a kosher store and buy anything, from soup to nuts, with a Hecksher,  the way it is in the US.  Here, chicken is already shechted for you, and cows conveniently label their own parts as “beef for stew.” As Yakov Smirnov used to say in the eponymous TV sitcom, “What a country!” For us, Cholov Israel meant my Zeide actually watching the milking process.  And when the shoichet was retired because his hands were shaking, Zeide would buy live chickens and shecht them himself. Since childhood, I was taught how to salt a chicken to drain all blood out of it, to make it kosher. When I bought my first kosher chicken in a Jewish store in America, I brought it home, cut it open, and to my horror, found a small clot of blood! I salted it and left it to drain as I had been taught. For quite a few years after that, I kept “kashering” kosher meat, just in case.

I am semi-retired, I love to cook, and I now have time on my hands to share my recipes and exchange new food ideas. My recipes are different from traditional American Jewish food. I invite you to explore, to experiment, and by all means, to get your kids involved in the magical fun of transforming this-that-and the other into something delicious to grace your table. This is truly better than I-pad, so what’s a little mess made by little hands, when there is lots of love and laughter!

This blog is dedicated to my children who have been incredibly supportive throughout an ordeal of my father’s illness and – Acharon, acharon… – to the memory of my father, a beautiful person loved by all.

(Nature/Poem) These Beautiful Appalachian Hills

These Beautiful Appalachian Hills

 

These beautiful hills of east Tennessee

The Smokey’s so beautiful, all natural

A gem of nature, for all, so pleasing to see

Can the eye see, what was, what is, what will be

 

Appalachia, scenic, pleasing to one’s senses

People so poor, yet so kind, southern hospitality

Raised with tobacco, coal, and dirt in our blood

Heads bowed on the Sabbath or the First

Like we know we all should, give the Lord thanks

 

Blue Ridge Mountains of southwest Virginia

Iron Ridge, Twin County, Carol and Grayson

Twin sisters in nature, the people are one

Our love is not money The Lord come’s first

 

Tread lightly on that which you love

Walk to heavily, you crush all that is good

Consider that what you see, given by Grace

God’s nature is that which you breathe

 

Do not let that which you love, be trashed

Treat your gifts like one that you truly love

From the Smokey’s to the Blue Ridge Mountains

A gift we are given by Grace so blessed to call home

 

 

(History/Poem): Spearfish South Dakota

Spearfish South Dakota

 

What an odd name, ye may think of me

But for a lack of luck ye all would know me

Maybe my name would be steeped in lore

In our Country’s Great Plains fabled history

 

Black Hills Dakota, land of the Great Sioux Nation, gold, and blood

Deadwood you know, Bill Hickok dying in blood with his famous hand

Crazy Horse, an outcast child because he cried when bees spilt his blood

Custer and the Seventh etched in history, paying for their genocidal sins

 

I’m in the center of timber and gold

All around me is glory and fame

The great mighty Sioux Nation

And the tears that they paid

 

Now only grade school books tell my story

Come visit the Little Big Horn Custer’s Last Stand

Rapid City now a main gate to the great northwest

Four faces carved in stone, a true monument

 

I stand true to the blood of those who bore me

 Shrouded in the famous Black Hills history

Sturgis’s freedom now rumbles right next to me

Spearfish South Dakota, Paradise of God, then and now

Spearfish South Dakota: Great Sioux Nation: The Blood And The Gold

Spearfish Dakota and Blood

What an odd name, ye think of me

But for a lack of good or even bad luck

Maybe my name would be more renowned

In the books of our country’s history books

Black Hills Dakota, land of lore, gold and blood

Deadwood you know, Hickok lying in his own

Crazy Horse, the one who cried when bees touched his blood

The Seventh went down in history, their sins paid with their own

 

My feet have always been planted in the center of timber and gold

All around me is glory and fame and the dried blood of many

The great Sioux Nation and the tears that they paid

Not even the grade school books tell the truth of our story

Come visit Custer’s Last Stand they got what they deserved

Rapid City a main gateway to the great northwest

Four faces carved in stone, a true Rushmore Monument

I stand true to the blood sweat and tears who bore me

Of my name I am very proud though white men gave it

Sturgis now rumbles right next to me loud and proud

Spearfish South Dakota, Black Hills magic then and now

Young Soldier

Young Soldier

When we were young did we not all play

Pretending to be Generals and Sergeants

In our backyards or barns filled with hay

President Mom calling a truce

To fill our bellies with hot biscuits and ham

No foul, no harm, no spills I guess

When young, is not time and the world

Our personal sandbox full of new thrills

 

17 who can now say that I am not a man

Jungles and deserts I now low crawl

With M-16 with 203 in my hand

I hold my breath and tweak my sight

With one finger the trigger I quietly squeeze

One less breath, one less enemy,one less man

As the earth inhales their blood

To me one more notch, one more trophy

As his last breath leaves with the wind

Is there blood on your conscience

For the blood on your hands

Not knowing your temple

Is the target

17 your life is over

Before it began

Big Kitty

Big Kitty

What is the great will of the tiger

What drives its will to win

Is it the growl of its own belly

Or the growls that may lay beyond the next bend

Poor man for whose blood he lies in wait

Do not anger the big kitty

For next, it may be your blood

The big kitty decides he will take

The Ridiculous B.S. Jewish Families Had To Deal With Growing Up In Russia

(THIS ARTICLE IS COURTESY OF DOLLY AT ‘KOOLKOSHERKITCHEN’

Hi, my name is Dolly. Actually, I am Devorah Yentl, but when I was born, clerks in communist Russia were not allowed to record names like that on a birth certificate. So the woman said to my mother, “Little girl, go and come back with a good Russian name.” My mother was little, that much was true, and at 4’11” she did look like a teenager. She wasn’t timid, though, and she did come back with a good Russian name, Dolly. As you can see, it starts with a D and ends with an L. To the clerk’s exasperated whisper, “But it’s still foreign!” she calmly opened a book she brought with her. Leo Tolstoy, the Russian classic, had Princess Dolly among his main characters in Anna Karenina. You couldn’t argue with Tolstoy, and thus it was duly recorded, in memory of my two great-grandmothers. Lest you think it only happened to Jews, I will refer you to a documentary about a famous Russian actress Lyudmila Gurchenko whose father wanted to name her Lucy. The clerk flatly refused to record a foreign name, suggesting “modern soviet names” Lenina, Stalina, Lelud (Lenin Loves Kids), or Dazdraperma (Long Live May 1st). They finally settled on an old Russian Lyudmila, but throughout her long and eventful life she was known as Lucy.

It wasn’t easy to keep kosher in communist Russia. You couldn’t go to a kosher store and buy anything, from soup to nuts, with a Hecksher,  the way it is in the US.  Here, chicken is already shechted for you, and cows conveniently label their own parts as “beef for stew.” As Yakov Smirnov used to say in the eponymous TV sitcom, “What a country!” For us, Cholov Israel meant my Zeide actually watching the milking process.  And when the shoichet was retired because his hands were shaking, Zeide would buy live chickens and shecht them himself. Since childhood, I was taught how to salt a chicken to drain all blood out of it, to make it kosher. When I bought my first kosher chicken in a Jewish store in America, I brought it home, cut it open, and to my horror, found a small clot of blood! I salted it and left it to drain as I had been taught. For quite a few years after that, I kept “kashering” kosher meat, just in case.

I am semi-retired, I love to cook, and I now have time on my hands to share my recipes and exchange new food ideas. My recipes are different from traditional American Jewish food. I invite you to explore, to experiment, and by all means, to get your kids involved in the magical fun of transforming this-that-and the other into something delicious to grace your table. This is truly better than I-pad, so what’s a little mess made by little hands, when there is lots of love and laughter!

This blog is dedicated to my children who have been incredibly supportive throughout an ordeal of my father’s illness and – Acharon, acharon… – to the memory of my father, a beautiful person loved by all.