Saturday, December 16, 2017

Stun Run

Stun Run 

I run - through broken time,
through this slippery shock
as the chain of legacy snaps.
I run - through broken time,
blind-sided, breathless - run
through sweet grass - runner
with a shard in her shoe a lock
on backwards, onwards doors -
I run - through broken time,
pierce the screen of never - into
Yes. Now – Heart jagged sliced with
a razored tongue tone-honed into in –
Different difference - I run - through
broken time, poignantly, pathetically,
gathering the shimmering shards of
yesterday - As though they could be
restored – I run through broken time –
back to when, then, I walked through
time, heart whole, head high, smiling  
certain, that only more of the same a-
waited over a trusted, beloved horizon...
and now, in the flickering light- I let the
shards fall where they may and 
rest, letting time 
run, as it always
has - on its own. 

Sunday, December 3, 2017

"Justice will roll down..."

"Justice will roll down ...."*

What is this thing called justice ?
ached and yearned for - believed
in as a manna'ed after life, be -
moaned as ever trampled - punishment 
or promise - a song that escapes from
parched souls - slaking or taunting thirst, 
this sound of penitence and pleading, 
collapsed in weary tear streams - a blessed
thank or outraged curse - a drive of wishes 
for of all that can be in a golden chariot of light - 
a wealthy child's party, ponies and spun sugar cake -
castles in the sky - or a fallen mud hut in fly buzzed
waste - This many faced thing - justice - 
grace notes cast,  voted each moment 
in the each and every by the each and 
every - as we stand together and apart 
all exist in the torrent spill or spray as this 
thing called justice rolls down ....or as ....
inexplicably wondrous as salmons upstream 
swim, somehow reaches up to push us all 
forward ... 
what is this thing 
called and calling 
justice ...

“But justice will roll down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” Amos 5:24,” Comey wrote on Twitter; he also cross-posted on Instagram.   

Sunday, November 12, 2017



From the films of sweet GI Joes handing out Hershey bars -
slogging through tides and finally opening the gates of Hell 
Onward through swirling years of foreign names 
memorized at school desks -that swelling sense that 
the only wars fought were those good wars against
bad guys -and then sorry - so very sorry for that
mushroom cloud that lit the sky and memory when
more brothers were called in a lottery with no purchase
necessary ... and the some who marched to defend and the others who stayed to defend - and all believed in the United States of America - one nation - though shakily indivisible... and back to films and guys with vacant eyes - and strange untold stories and not enough heroes welcomes but plenty of body-bags and counts on nightly news ... and marches there and here and - assassinations and soaring oratory - and hope and despair and change and then over... for a little while .. until here we are again...after towers fell and the new "normal" has become old hat - and still the Joes, and now Janes too, march off - now with pride though too often prompted by practicality - and the films are made in Hollywood - but no one's handing out Hershey bars. Now in this beginning gloaming of it all - ....a heroes salute for those who go so others can stay and write and pray to a Universe for a peace that will need no arms of steel to embrace us all. In honor of all...
One nation, indivisible with liberty and justice for ALL.
May we never forget the freedoms and ideals that all marched and fought, and bled and died and cried for....
We are ONE.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Beyond the dearth

What possible pretense for the shock, jump- thump of heart hit – what possible pretense for the teeming, reaming, hulk of bulk, looming, zooming a re-route of sun sunk to deep shadow as you stand – Golemic-humanoid hypodermic huge in hand, my would-be-drip-drug of despair–destroying all that was – demolishing all that could come to be - casting a challenge to trust the simple certainty of a single next breath. What possible pretense for it all?
And so, in spite of all – I shut my eyes to your new-normal present, reach behind to the joy of the past, and inhale in great gulps of sweet air - the promised future-to-come. Beyond the dearth. 

Sunday, October 8, 2017



the storm has ravaged the emerald fringe 
that bracketed the road - now brown bare -
ripped red road seeks the sparkled harbor -
here, there, rise small  road- kill -lumps in 
mud frieze frozen in heat - this Pompeiian 
savage struggle - I stare in the after storm 
swirl -in the emptied eye of your  maliced
mystery - I struggle to sigh from the mud- 
once-manna-frangipani-paradise lush..lost 
the storm has ravished the emerald fringe 
that bracketed the road -my charge now to
power through and find the turquoise harbor 
still shining as North Star - in your soul as on
this sparkling surreal island holder of memory 
past - beauty that brought us to our knees - 
portent of all possibility for the future to come
then and only then in gratitude and hope can 
lift from the mud and live - 
until then I am but another 
bump of road kill flattened 
under it 
by it 

Sunday, September 3, 2017

Into The Mist

Into The Mist

Now is the moment to dive
into the mist as choppy vibes
plant specious spokes in that place
there - right under each nose
 Golem spectres marching bloody
soil soaking spill-spell - unless...
Now in this moment we dive
Into the mist of indifference
Into the mist of fear
and find the
fingers of light
shining on the
other side …
Now -
is your

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

The baby was named

The baby was named…

The baby was to be named
with enough tradition to
satisfy the hunger for legacy
The baby was to be named
for my father adored and
gone physically living in my
soul – this baby was going to
be named for him – with swirl
of a silver-threaded tallis and
a rabbi versed in modern ways
smiling in new traditions and
assembled love – the baby was
named –in his home - echoes-
 proud, persistent, prevailing - 
footsteps of those who climbed
Massada, walked to gas chambers
marched for civil rights so that this
day and this child could be born and
be named – this child born into a new
world –where too often respect lays tossed
on a trash-heap of indifference, this newborn
of caring, of love, of tradition, of reverence
for a man, for decency, for sanctity of all life
the baby was named with the name
meaning “lion” and in the twinkle of
this innocent’s infant eyes I watched
the world roar in triumphant survival

and hope

This poem written in response to Midweek Motif's theme of "respect" at Poets United. ...