Birgit's Website (Constantly updated)


We kiss –
And marrying that mouth
It seems all too often
That our minds
In self-same words
Keep holding different tongues.

© Birgit Talmon 



From Christmas' glitter
To Passover's unleavened bread
She wandered
To her man
- A gigantic
Leap in the dark
That left her
Midway suspended.

© Birgit Talmon


My Friend

Time and again
I catch myself

Reaching for the phone
To ask you about
Those delicious
Pickled cucumbers
- How much garlic
Did you say?

And that cheese cake
- How did you manage
Not to have it flop
As flat as a pancake?

Time and again
I catch myself

-Then recollect
That your line
To the future
Got cut off.

©Birgit Talmon


Letter to Greenland

Not another home for the disabled

"…and not to mention
The kitchen cabinets:
All smooth Formica"
The lady said.

Their glaring red
Startled me.

"Don't mind the wood
That's what paint is for, dear,"
The lady twittered on
Insisting the while
That the flat was
Tailor-made for me
Before I knew it myself.

- Some chatterbox!

When she finally finished her spiel
I put her off with a lot of talk
I'd practiced in advance
In the sanctuary of my armchair
At the old place.

Her face closed up
Then it said that
Lots of people would
Accept such an offer
With open arms.

I wasn't too happy about
This 'open arms' business
But my attention was drawn
To a certain contraption and
The chatterbox estate agent
Won the to-ing and fro-ing

My new territory now spans
From rotting railings
To glaring Formica
But has a room for you, my love,
With that ramp
We looked for high and low
For your wheels.
All is quiet now – too quiet.
So, won't you come back to me?

© Birgit Talmon, Spring 2008



Am I,
In the womb of time,
To inherit your half
Of our mattress
I shall no doubt
Wander about
That vast void

My consolation, though,
Could be canceling newspapers
And miscellaneous subscriptions
Ensuring their not obscuring
The view to a future
In which I shall be me.

© Birgit Talmon
Feb. 2005

In This P R C* Era

Engulfed in the future tense
Presently bellowing low cost labels
Across from
East to West
The old man's eyes
Scan the alleyway
On the alert for the precious
Pre-MADE IN PRC- pin
That'll hold up his pants in safety
And not bend over in
Modern days'
Quasi metal fatigue.

© Birgit Talmon
Summer 2008

* PRC = People's Republic of China


Late-summer Joy…

From my ear drums’
Vibrating with
The first feeble
Mention of the word
Tampering with
Timely beginning
Of a new school year.

The very word
Coming over the air
At this time of year

Strikes me with
Late-summer joy

For soon now
No more salty pearls

Shall trickle out
On my forehead.

© Birgit Talmon
Late August 2004


From your womb

From your womb
I slipped into daylight,
Fed from your breasts
Drank them flat
Till drowsily contented.
Did I imbibe the toxin
With your sweet milk
Or had it already mixed
With the life-giving nectar
Flowing to me
Through the cord.

Was it perhaps,
Only upon maturing
That seeping malice
About a chosen people
Muddled my mind
For a while?

© Birgit Talmon

The Match

On the screen in front of us
The colours of my two homelands
Danish red/white
Israeli blue/white

Rush about on the slippery grass
Bumping into one another
Embracing - Pushing
Driven by a touch of sportsmanship’s
Love/hate undertow
The bold whirling from net to net

With whom do you side?

I still owe us the answer
But in actual fact
I am perfectly content
In the company of a
Well matured ‘Danish Blue’

© Birgit Talmon


Taking in
The News
Is my household's tribute
To Rain Forests.

Despite that,
After this Friday's
Ferocious cloudburst,
My not as of yet
Fully adjusted
To 'go green'
Heads straight for
The used-to-be-there
Pile of newspapers,
Good old remedy for
Soaked footwear
To be put back
Into shape.

So now,
How do I cram a
Computer deep into
The toes of my shoes?

©Birgit Talmon


(Tel Aviv cityscape)

From huge canvases
Brightening up
Scaffolding 'round town
You're a sight for sore eyes
Sporting smashing
Break-a-leg shoes
Outfitted with
Polka dots, glitter
And towering heels.

Your PR-smile,
Frozen on those sweet cherry lips,
Keeps on tempting the ignorant,
While the newly bought footwear,
Lured into my cupboard by your charm,
Suffers from premature aging
Assuring bread-and-butter
For my shoemaker.

©Birgit Talmon



As they lazed
In the haystack
That autumn day
She decided
Where exactly
She wanted
A rose,
Her lover's name,
To be tattooed
On her skin.

Bright red it was
At first
The stem
A fresh green


Their haystack era
Long in the past,
Faded petals
And a stem
Grown longer
With the drooping
Of her breast
Is all there's left
Of her Rose.

©Birgit Talmon



The image
Of you
Barely taking up
The space
Of the flagstone
On which you stood
Your tiny hand,
The left it was,
Timidly raised
In a soundless

That image
Was etched
On my retina
As I had to leave
And you still
Linger there.

©Birgit Talmon



Feeling up to it
I set out to conquer
A whiff of updating looks
Only to be reminded
That there is no place
Where self-deception
Collapses so rapidly
As in a fitting room
While wrestling
To extradite
Your home-bred size
From the one
So aspired to.

©Birgit Talmon



My man holds
That a tidy desk
Is a dead desk
And that yellow piles
Of unopened envelopes
And the like
Are equivalent
To thriving activity
Good for the brain.

Alive indeed
Became the desk
With itchy activity
Of alien bugs.

Their Grim Reaper
Was sent for,
Treated them
To their end.

Thus was the rescue
Of a drowning desk:
Bugs and piles gone
At long last
A surface
Not seen in years.


Have come to love
The clean hiss
Of ripping paper.

©Birgit Talmon



I walk you to the station
Wishing for each flagstone
To be a mile long
Well knowing
The expanse between
Our native soils
Is far too vast
For us to meet again
On this side of the veil
I take small steps
To lengthen the walk
With no desire to watch
The shuttle pull in
I do not look up
While concentrating on
Your presence at my side
I search for words
Not coming
In time
I'll utter them
In black on white.

©Birgit Talmon



You left me speechless
Mouth wide open
Crammed with
That moment
You curbed
The torrent of my words
Just as I gathered courage
To burst out
With all the things
You need to know.

©Birgit Talmon



You were cobalt blue
When I was green
Both lesser now.

The window
I stare
At you
On the curb.

Load you,
Almost still
My couch,
Their truck
While somewhat
I struggle
To conjugate
The hitherto
Simple form
Of the verb
Past participle.

©Birgit Talmon



They are on
Everyone's lips
Thrive within us
Surround us
The bad ones
Feeding off us
Feared, tackled
The good ones
High in fashion
A must of the day
In capsules
Over the counter
I carry with me
My private collection
Of both
Wherever I go
And yet
Pottering about
In my everyday life
Never been
Eye to eye
Neither with
Home bred
Alien bacteria.

- And you?

©Birgit Talmon



"Like other western countries, we here in Israel…"

Though quasi appendix
To the Westerly World,

On its easternmost edge,
New concepts seem,
At times,

To be met and mixed with
Our own versions of democracy.

©Birgit Talmon



While you chew
My eyes glue
To a greenish bit
As it travels
Your face.

From the chin
It's on to the nail
Of your pinkie,
As you gesticulate
It hops further
To the knife handle.

I forget to eat.

You smile and wipe
Your mouth and
It's back on your chin;
Lettuce, broccoli -?
Could have been
A perfect outing
For my taste buds.

©Birgit Talmon



Four-footed you barely
Stand three times
Ten centimeters tall.

Not ever taking
One single step by yourself
You move about the rooms,
Brought in where needed
To lend us your height
Where ours
Falls short of reaching up
To whatever, wherever.

Though you sport a slight limp
From decades of service
We still schlepp you,
Our precious little stool,
Around the household
Where you are king;

May you never break a leg!

©Birgit Talmon




At first I pondered
What it was that caused me to skip
Your last performance.

The pondering led me to
My recurrent aversion to attend
Events of divine nature.

I never mean to let you down;
It's that core in me
Claiming breathing space.

I needed
To repose in my solitary realm
Sanctum of secular self.

©Birgit Talmon




Though teasing with its
'Surprise of the day',
Ms. Lemon
Strides past
The sole
Hot Shop
In their village.

In lieu
She sets out
To shop for
A perfectly
Kosher pleasure
At the hairdresser's.

She loves the sensation
Down her spine
As hands rub in the shampoo
And water trickles the length
Of her hair.

A new
Wellness Center
Offers 'Facials' -
Might come close
To caring caresses
Absent from her cheek.

Then again, the visits
To the warmth of
Her healer's hands
Seem best for now
At toning down her
Masqueraded yearnings.

©Birgit Talmon

New Year/2013