( )

.....the writers
pens lay silent..
.....empty glasses of
ink...
.....in (d)angling hand..
as they milled around
.......their block party..
waiting for it to
.......end


.

Night Vision

He prepared for his annual journey with dread..
His journey to the mortal earth of the living and dead
He seeks out his long suffering nation..one by one
In the dark of the night..
His spiritual flight
To every nook and cranny under the sun...

As the years fly by...
into an unending simmer
The eyes get dimmer and dimmer
As the distance..stretches...
Deepening etches...
On faces..worried..
A nation...chased and hurried..
To Bavel..Persia..and Spain..
So much..evident pain...
Sighs..and pleas..
At open doors..
Of homes and barracks..
Pleeeease
Let this be the year....
Let this be the year...

The glimmering façade..he neared..
Reflecting...shimmering light on his white beard
He’d never been to Cancun before...
His eyes were amazed at what they saw..
The comfort and excess...
The sweet smell of success..

A small boy at the entrance..
In designer opulance..
From head to shiny shoe...
His eyes looked right through..
But something was wrong...
It was as if.....
Behind the shiny happy eyes..
Another pair..of darker eyes..
Made contact with his own..
And like a hostage....
Plead silently..
Rescue me..
Rescue me...
.....please...



.

cold turkey

Cold turkey..

........A dish..
well deserved
Must be served..
hard and cold..
Must be preserved
..so I’m told..
For if not..
It surely will rot..
The only problem
.......with that you see
is..
....when sorely needed...

it can simply be...
..............re-heated...


.

and now a message....

The villagers gathered around....wide eyed..
Around the wizened elder..his hands open wide
Waiting for a prophecy....a message for the seer..
Body convulsing..a sign, the vision was near..
He furrowed his eyes and frowned...in frustration...
and waited for the 20 second advertisement to be done..



.

...wake up

It was so silent..
Even the wind was whispering..
The maestro..magnificent in black..
Slowly waving his baton
Circular motion..figure eights..
Azure dusk sky...sillhouette...
Music notes sliP ping off the tip..
Of the hypnotic motion..
Each note...finding its familiar path...
Throught the woods..over hilltops
To dormant earth...and frozen streams...
Wake up...wake up...they whisper...
My eyes flutter
open...keen senses..
..in my bed...the window rises..
The drapes...billow..to the music...
Sound waves...rush through the
Swaying thicket..
Frogs begin to sing..crickets...
Yellow daffodils...sing hello
homage in sunny yellow
A lone, day old moth in white...
struggles against the screen for light..
Baton waves faster...and passion..
Fills all things...
Fluttering wings..
Of birds...finding their tune..
saturating the warm afternoon
Echoing..
..echoing
Wake up...
Wake up...beautiful..world
Spring is here..
.......at last..




.

Notes on a scandal (or 2......or 3)

Did you hear..?
But..
But..
.....tell me...
I don’t know..it might be lashon hara...
But..but its on
....Yeshiva World..
That great bastion of sensationilism..
..didya know..?
I was placed on suicide watch...
After reading too many..comments...
Oy oy..mi ke’amcha yisroelBoruch hashemboruchDayanEme
sIknewHimHeWasMameshATzaddikA RoshaGomurWasNichshalMachshil
RabboiseiWeHaveToDavenThrowHimOutOfTownDAASTORAH
IHaveMyOwnDaasTorah~deletedByAdministrator~
Deeeep breath...
Ok
Get over yourself..
We need to collectively get over ourself..
We are a culture...
loosely based on this religion
called Judaism..
you cant force anyone to believe
or to practice...
A community..
Mi K’Amacha Yisroel..
Does not mean..the culture...
We call..orthodox..heimish(gag)
Move on..
...and find God
Within
YOU




.