May 22, '13     

                                 Standing at the Mountain

        I'm standing in my stroller seven months old
        On the boardwalk of Atlantic City -
        Small and timeless I am, as I hold the handlebars
        And look at the world with an infant's pure simplicity.
        I think we stood at Sinai in such a stance -
        (Newborn nation - nation of newborns) -
        G-d restored us to our primal innocence,
        And with fatherly love called us His firstborn.
        Nothing has ever changed that fact -
        Though twice exiled from our land,
        Our core-essence remains intact:
        The nation who said: We will do and then understand.
        We're told full restoration of our souls is in reach -
        So I keep hold - deep within, waiting to be redeemed,
                                                is the baby on the beach.

                    

   May 8, ,13



                                   Fear Only One

        Nothing in school scared me more than math -
        Multiplication was a monster I could tame -
        I knew its tables and charts by name -
        Fractions were the numerical nightmare in my path.
        Then came problems - (if Frank has three and John nine) -
        On my terrifying list ranked a close second -
        The very sight of them froze my ability to reckon -
        My arrested skill never unfroze with time.
        So great was my fear of a failing grade -
        Once, when teacher went out for a quick meeting,
        I left my seat and asked a friend for aid -
        The closest I ever came to cheating.
        Oh little scholar who dreaded math -
        Subtract all your fears and leave only one:
                           the fear of divine wrath.

                      May 1, '13

                               L'ag B'Omer - Beauty Within Beauty

            
                 I always thought a single rose,
                 White or red - in a fluted vase
                 Was the height of beauty.  One never knows -
                 It turns out two or more colors is what stays.
                 Viewed in a homiletic way,
                 Qualities that are compounds and blends
                 Relate one to another - interplay.
                 Admixture of color towards harmony tends.
                 Even in the actual flower that grows -
                 I have to stand as one corrected -
                 I saw how loveliness was perfected
                 In the slight-pink petals of the all-white rose.
                 Beauty - unlike the single red flower - is not exclusive,
                 But like the heavenly spheres distinct but inter-inclusive.

             

          April 17, '13                      

                                    Independence Day - 5773

I watched the Jewish boy walk the line of traffic
Selling blue and white flags - he walked against the wind
Putting them in his bag like arrows in their quivers.
He did his job as if it was easy - not a hard endeavor.
And today I saw the air show over Jerusalem's market -
Four planes like metal copies of the paper ones boys sail
Soared in close 'V' formations -
Scoring the sky with loud sonic racket.
'Proud moments,' some say, 'but there's a snag -
From a peace that's lasting we're still really far.'
'Not so - when you reach out your hand to buy a flag -
This very day you could hear the great shofar.'
And stock reply though it be, may 5773
Usher in Israel's ultimate victory.

      

                      March 31, '13


                 On Being Assigned to Write About Preparing              



        I find myself unprepared to write about 'preparing' -
        It's too much the commonplace norm.
        Poetry's disdain is unsparing -
        What have chores to do with the sonnet form!
        No sooner gets uttered so flat a denial -
        A fact appears like an illumination:
        It took nearly a thousand years of thought preparation
        For G-d to make the world a place that is viable!
        Now there's a paradigm without parallel,
        Whereby all mundane acts of preparing
        Become both necessary and invaluable.
        Woe to my mistake so glaring!
        The point is to take life's dull metal proper,
        And small-hammer it into brightest copper.

Spring Spring

                                                   

                                                     Spring

   I never liked spring -

   Not that I enjoy holding exotic views,

   Or am a malcontent like the fabled Scrooge -

   My reserve is not a negative thing.

   The blossoming pear and yellow buttercup

   Are dear to me as all who love the season -

   I like the impressionist way the trees green up -

   If not for this, sorry would be my reason.

   The fact is on this beleagured globe -

   March - once here - summer looms ahead.

   Spring's become a passing flash on the road

   And summer a thing to dread.-

   Return the spring that begins in March and through May runs wild -

   Restore those bright June days and summers mild!                         

Joys of the sonnet

       Feb. 13, '13


                                             Peering Into the Future

                                   Whenever  I think of the thin line
                                    Of infinite light drawn into the void
                                    Before Creation, I have to smile -
                                    It's so visually disposed - so sadly flawed.
                                    The same holds true for the worlds
                                    Depending from the line at their inception -
                                    Verily my mind is a cave that's sealed -
                                    Only material images enter my conception.
                                    Peering through a crevice, however -
                                    I make out a light barely perceivable.
                                    It comes and goes - at times irretrievable,
                                    Destined to shine, I'm told, forever.
                                    Imagine seeing the energy sustaining a table!
                                    I've tried but, of course, am unable.

   
Feb. 21, '13
                              
                 
                         
                                                         A Great Deliverance    

                                     All the streets I have ever tread
                                     Converge at this shore where I am standing -
                                     The waters will part at instant commanding -
                                     A radically new place lies straight ahead.
                                     Who could know I would have to contend
                                     With such rising waves relentlessy tossing?
                                      Fortunate was I to solely depend
                                      On the One who achieved my miniature crossing.
                                      Almost - almost the passage is made -
                                      But where are the words of my song at the sea?
                                      Must I hold myself back and patiently wait
                                      Till the exact moment prepared for me?
                                      Wait! wait! - no song of salvation was ever sung
                                      Before a great deliverance had actually begun.


Feb. 28, '13


                                                         Joys of the Sonnet


                                       The sonnet is a form most satisfying -
                                       It is to the soul artistic
                                       What a molecule is to the scientific -
                                       Design, in art or nature, is highly gratifying.
                                       Note its prescribed parameter:
                                       The rhyme scheme traditionally Shakespearean,
                                       The rhythm iambic pentameter,
                                       Study there its pattern Petrarchean.
                                       Easy to see how words in formal measure -
                                       And rigidly formal at that -
                                       Are essential to poetic pleasure -
                                       The ear is the only true judge of this fact.
                                       So long live the sonnet! - but let it be noted -
                                       Greatest joy belongs to the one who wrote it.
                                   

The President Goes to Paterson

The governor and local officials gratefully await
The arrival of the President.
He will greet the area's hard-hit residents
After flooding left them devastated in its wake.
Though he visits only Paterson, with a brief stop in Wayne,
People all along the Jersey shore
Are comforted and reassured
The President is coming himself to see their pain.
"Floodwaters have inundated our soul",
And we too await the arrival of our King.
We yearn for the comfort only He can bring,
The aid and assistance needed to make our lives whole.
It's been a long time coming round -
But we're waiting on the tarmac for His plane to touch down.

The Olive Tree

I'd like to think the olive tree braves the storm,
But that's fond self-projection -
With winter's blows the olive goes along -
Its innate strength the best protection.
Wild winds dash its branches to and fro -
Like silver tresses unloosed by a gale -
You'd think the unleashed forces were its foe -
The small tree emerges hearty and hale.
Take its gnarled diminutive trunk,
Holding firm like mightier trees -
A fictive pen would say it had spunk -
It survives only by Divine decree.
True it is the tree's fruition
Comes with the oil it was created for -
Still I grant the claim of intuition
It was also made to be a metaphor.
So praise the brave olive tree down to its roots -
The embattled olive - yielding its fruits.

Poems on the Seven Species

I never saw a field of wheat -
"Yet know I how it looks" -
Nor had I known a single sheaf -
Except I found it in a book.

Wheat - it said - before it's made
The staff of life -
Must first be broken, crushed and ground -
Like the soul - I thought -
Processed in the mill of life -
Becomes whole and choice and sound.




The barley seed breaks apart
In the dark earth - emerging re-born -
Not unlike the wheat stalk -
Though drab of mien and forlorn.

How can so poor a grain
Count among the seven kinds?
One may well ask the reason why -
But aside from what our wisdom finds,
There may be more to barley than meets the eye.




Gather your clustered grapes
From the autumn vine -
If one falls - but no more than two -
Retrieve them not -
And in the seventh year,
Harvest not your store.

Thus says the Lawgiver in His law Divine -
Praise His compassion for Rich and Poor.




Rejoice in the spreading fig tree -
Its wide leaves fan the sky
And shade the earth below -
Its purple fruit ripens slow.

Anticipate its first-ripe fig -
The one in days gone by
Bound with reed-grass and brought -
With song and flute and drum -
Up to the altar in Jerusalum.




Precious pomegranate -
Red and rotund -
Your seeds run life-giving liquid -
Their numbered hundreds reason defies.

You grow a small apple in size
To that of a globe -
Of all the fruits, you alone
Adorn the hem of the High Priest's robe.




The small olive tree
Holds its own in winter.
Winds toss leafy branches -
Like unloosed tresses to and fro -
Its upturned leaves show silver.

Trees blossom -
The dove sings -
Olives go to presses -
And then the oil comes
That once anointed the heads of kings.




The leaves of the palm tree wave -
Like glistening banners in the sky -
Its fruit grows in a perch windy and sunny.

Praise the beautiful palm
And its sweet fruit on high -
Praise the land of milk and honey.

Winter-deprived - 5771

It was the wind
Like the crack of a whip -
The kind that goes right through -
It was the old sunlight I knew,
Angled low on stone -
It was the long bright vista
Streets had become.

My soul's writ large
In wintry things -
I love the wind - its howl and roar -
The lash and toss of trees
As if they would uproot themselves
And fly from languid fixity -
The upsurge of every planted entity,
The whirl and flight of leaf and twig -
The light beyond the sandstorm.


That stormday in Teveth
I came alive. I marveled
How long it was that I had been
Winter-deprived.

"Girl on Bus - Jerusalem"

A girl got on the bus today
Who reminded me of
My friend Elaine in our youth -
The same sharp Modigliani nose,
The heavy hair piled high,
The serious eyes.
If I mention her worn grey coat,
Her purple scarf, her brown boots -
It's only because I found myself
Taking in everything about her.
I tried to be discreet
But she had a shy awareness
Of being looked at, so I feigned
Interest in the rain-soaked sky,
The familiar bus route going by.
She was tall and could have been
Imposing - but she looked vulnerable -
Her dark eyes wandering from this to that
Having nothing but a black umbrella
In her lap.

When she got up to leave
I suddenly wanted to tell her
She was beautiful, but my words
Couldn't find their moment,
So I sent them flying out the bus,
Not wanting the streets to swallow her -
Not wanting to let her go
Without some kind of blessing.

-Down and Out in Phila.

"Ain't no way
I'm gonna love what is
When what is adds up
To what ain't.
I got my rent to pay
And on top of that
They're tearing down
The project in a month -
So I could be without a roof.
I ain't even got a decent suit
For the job search -
And I'm twenty-six, man! -
Give me a break -
Sure I believe - I believe
But some folks got dealt
A hard hand - a hard hand.

I'm not complaining -
Just laying my cards on the table.
You say the world's gonna be
A beautiful place - no more hunger -
No more war - count me in, man,
Count me in - but I ain't seen it yet.
It's like saying I shouldn't sing the blues
If the Phillies lose the world series
Because good things are on the way -
If they lose, I got a cold sky, a cold sky
Over my head for weeks -
But count me in, man -
I ain't complaining - just
Telling it like it is."

Reach Up a Glad Heart.

Shabbos Day - Kiryat Yovel

The poem was published on Chabad.org:

http://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/763890/jewish/Shabbat-Day.htm

The Long-Expected Gift

When you were young
And the ocean was young
You called out my name
In Atlantic City -
And I came running to you
Over the sand -
"Coming , Mommy, coming..."
The little girl you always wanted
With the name you always dreamed of.

High school in West Phila. -
Friends, piano lessons -
Those fun-filled years -
Forever, Mommy, you are smiling
That "million dollar smile"
From your yearbook - with your dream
Tucked away in your heart.

You were happy at work
In the family business -
Good-natured secretaries,
Trips to the post-office-
Talk, talk of who will marry who -
Until the moment you met
The one who famously said:
"See that girl, Har? - I'm gonna
Marry her one day."

Then expectation, joy -
And a question: What if it's a boy?
No matter - as long as he's healthy -

Mazel tov, mazel tov!
It's a girl! Eight pounds
Twelve and a half ounces -
She has no hair, a tiny nose,
Adorable... she looks like...
And you held in your arms
Your long-held dream -
Your Diane.

My father's English birthday

No sky is big enough
No sky wide enough
No sky high enough
None is blue enough -

To contain the faithfulness
Of my beloved Tatie -

I tip my whole being to you,
My Tatie, on this day -
Your English birthday -

February 1, 2010

Long Distance Runner - 5770

The poems that follow were inspired by assignments given in a creative writing workshop.


Winter - summer
Makes no difference -
She takes to the streets
A deer in the city -
She's a natural on her feet.
Lopes the paved hills
In measured strides -
Lets the world and its traffic
Pass her by - Nothing, not a thing
Daunts her. She's self-driven.
She stops at the light and runs in place -
Keeps her eyes on the road ahead -
From her head to her feet
She knows where she's going.

As for me, I'm out to sail over record lines,
Each day a little further -
I'm out to be a long distance runner
Of my own this year.

October Days

Gone at last! - stale summer's end -
Stepped in - at a turn of the sun -
Those brisk October days.
Bright the air and clear -
Can see for miles - can breathe.
Brown the leaves and brittle -
Could take to the woods -
Could walk for leagues.
Look back early morning
At a street arched with trees:
Sunlight streams in a rising haze -
Fall is here! - harbinger
Of only golden days.

I Know a Little Succah

I know a little succah
Not very far from here -
It's in Yerushalayim -
I see it every year.

It's a sweet little succah
Just big enough for two -
And if you come and see it -
You will love it too!

Awaiting the Fall

It happens summer's end -
Plodding homeward almost felled by heat,
I look up - and there it is -
The light of fall.
(Once unshackled from the heat of the sun,
I will sing about it - how I see it in the stones,
In the trees' lengthening shadows)
Those who inwardly yearn for fall -
Where can I find them?
They would understand.
That first sighting of its light
Is the checkpoint of our year.
Behind us - only weeks to go -
The stifling country we had to flee -
All before us - that high cloud vista -
That wind and rain sown land.

Walking in Elul

It may be the month of soul-accounting
But I'm walking in Elul
Barely touching the ground -
I'm treading the path called 'Return'
With outspread wings and a song.
When I search my mind and heart this month,
I could, if inclined to, cry -
Not only do I sing, my song is about
My failing - my failing and moving on.

How grand is my King -
So wide the gulf between His command
And this lowly commanded thing,
You could say failure is built in.

I'm only walking on air in Elul,
But let Him send His lasting light
This year - and watch how high
This faltering dove can fly.

Summer's End

Summer ended weeks ago -
I could tell by the way
The sun one morning fell -
Like a slant of light
On a day in fall.

But heat sits heavy in September still -
Like a stubborn squatter
Refusing to move.

So I wait - for the clear high prospect
And the clean slate, for possibilities
Skipping like leaves down windy streets,
For the brisk step and earth's subtle shift
Towards a new light.


Winter is months away
And even fall is not yet here,
But the low road and the long view
Of the year are coming,
And I hold on and wait.

A Shabbos World

Across the setting sun
The cawing sound of a solitary bird,
Over a Shabbos, over a Shabbos world.
Hills and houses
Trees and sky -
Come from the west,
O Shabbos bride.

Listen to her footsteps
When day departs-
She envelops time - she fills all space -
She bends her head
Wearing a diadem of stars.

Listen - not far off
Or long away in the night -
The sound of voices,
The sound of songs,
The sound of the Levites' songs.

Across the setting sun
The flight of a solitary bird,
Over a Shabbos, over a Shabbos world.

The King's in the Field - Rosh Chodesh Elul

The King's
In the field today!
What good news!
I'll wear my best dress,
And put on my new white shoes.
I'll rush out to greet Him -
Try to be the first -
I've got something
Important to tell Him -
I'm so happy I could burst!
I'll tell Him
Not to go back to the Palace
Like He used to do -
I'll tell Him He has to stay with us,
'Cause He's our One and Only King,
And we're His one and only retinue!

The Mayflower Pilgrims - Modern-style

My ocean to cross -
My wilderness to face -
My plot of earth unyielding -
The enemy wields his weapon and waits,
The heavy toll my long cold winter takes.

But I struck down roots
In the measureless snow -
I survived the foe and the famine -
A fortress of faith was my inner defense -
I held up my soul to probe and examine.
How else defy the odds against
Unless I clung to my Rock in 'Plymouth'
And put my trust in Providence!

Self-Conquest

Another day of Battle, it's been -
Fierce and unrelieved -
I seek in sleep my rest to win -
From Struggle - a reprieve.

I wake while dark to night renewed -
Behold! the arc of sky within my view is mine!
By dint of conquest - my possession -
And the stars - the stars that glint
From their high stations - I've won them!
My prize for conquering nations.

Perfecting the Past

Bring up the best part
Of all your days -
The hour before dawn
When the sky's a deep blue field
And a handful of stars
Remains over from night -
When cloud-winds cool
The doorway stone,
And the slow turning
From pale to grey
Signals the first shy bird
To call up the light.

These are new days
You're sending me -
Wide-moving clouds pull up
The whole sky after them,
Opening memories llike desert flowers
Surprised by the rain.
(How did I get to be in Vermont again
Early morning in the country?)
How else know how happy I was then
If time and what You wrought,
Like strong winds sweeping the sky,
Had not cleared the past
And brought only the best part back to me.

Ragtag Soldier

A soldier of the Rebbe experiencing flagging spirits, draws an analogy from a renowned event in the American Revolution.

Ragtag soldier
Seeped of strength,
Trudging the last length
Of bitter cold defeats -
The march by night -
Impossible - long and slow.
Heaven's Historian records
Your bloodied footsteps in the snow.
Those that mock and those that doubt -
What matter their marshalled might -
One small action can turn the tide.
Leave off despair -
Ceaseless your sovereign leader
Rallies the Cause,
And in the thick of night - watch!
You will yet cross your Delaware.

When Our Yorktown

The Battle of Yorktown in Virginia was the decisive

end of America's long war of independence.


O Yorktown!
O decisive victory!

When the equivalent
In our incomparable history?
Where converge
The destined forces
On what momentous day,
Surround the beaten enemy
In victory's long delay?

And when appear
Under what bright sky
The unfailing beloved leader
Who led his troops
The long war's fray -
When that day?
O when that triumphant day!