Thursday, July 28, 2022

Once there was pink

once there was softest pink watched from a white shore across aqualine ripples - gentle, calm, perfect serenity embracing the coming of navied fragrant frangipani night - sweet dreams and a nearly certain dawn unfurling a satin ribbon of tomorrows - now - sunsets turn crimson, blood fired forecasts of death dancing -a dismissed nightmare no longer -gentle pink perpetuity glows only in reached for memory ... and occasional faith in forever

Sunday, July 24, 2022

The Flickering

Ah these reflective black nights and radiant deceptively insouciant mornings immersed in the pool of self, I meander the watery line between movie-star idol of my own ill-cast drama and ragged peon of the world - taste ash tossed by the ghost of past, and future upon this present bundle of scattered synapses stuttering, stumbling, for the answer in the fading of the flickering stone.

Friday, May 27, 2022

Speaking of the unspeakable - on kindness

watercolor by dear artist friend Jacklyn Ritz Hennard 

Plucked from the possibility, day after day of all that could and does not happen to crush body soul and spirit - A post war child who read and heard of ravaged survivor faces with blank eyes lived long enough to see buildings fall and terror on ash whitened faces running through rubbled streets. As I, by the grace of some unseen entity positioned to wake each morning in my grandparents’ bed to watch the tree outside my window grow skyward stronger each year surviving each storm, to warm myself at a fireplace in winter as snow falls gently on mullioned windows,  to walk so far free from doctors’ visits, to phone a shopping list and receive food of choice in paper cartons, all this and so much more- an ongoing largesse, a bounty of such kindness positions me to be able to be, as meant to be, a mitzvah manifester - to perform anonymously small acts of  kindnesses when opportunity presents -dropping a crumbled five dollar bill on the ground for a tearful boy who’d lost his money for a present for his father returning from service, paying for  a family’s dinner bill celebrating the birthday of a new baby with their ninety three year old mother, holding a door open in the rain or sunshine, smiling at someone for no reason, thanking another for any service given,  leaving  a large tip on a table in a restaurant in an unfamiliar  town, buying new pillows for out placed children in the same orphanage where my husband spent some time as a toddler long long ago,  opening the door to a tiny kitten in the storm, sending donations, slipping poems into pockets of the grieving, the joy of rushing away from these deeds under the cloak of anonymity. In fact, I shudder to speak of such mitzvahs meant always to be unheralded lest they become braggadocio these acts of kindness that have always and shall always remain unclaimed - seeking to repair this broken world -these are small gifts to myself - sprinkling the sense that the world is kind - a microscopic unseen hand within the vast kindness of the Source that has so smiled upon me – offering some kindness so others might feel love of from an unseen softness smiling upon them too – Oh, I watch from spectacular safety another spring and my garden flowers blossom as children, as so many living fall murdered dead, as starvation, deprivation, hatred, chilling indifference clump as golems, among us, as oceans crest, ice floes melt on and on the tsunami of unkindness roils - I continue for now, miraculously  held in some universal toss of monumental kindness to be able to return a speck of kindness whenever and however the possibility  presents - I have no memory of any individual kindnesses  received - the vastness of my good fortune shimmers inexpressible  - my flecks join unseen legions doing the same-riding the tips of waves of wonder  in spite or perhaps somehow because of the horror of all that surrounds the flowers that bloom . This is ongoing kindness I have received. This the kindness I seek to repay. 



Sunday, May 22, 2022

True North


True North 


star dust shimmers in soul

song, sparkling, sacred -

spell, binding all to its order

in the journey whirling true

north thawing any incipient

freeze – beneath serenity, 

rising, this voice of thunder

moving from translucent to 

transparent – pure power

bending the arc always to


Friday, April 1, 2022




along the roadway
poking through the
mulch of autumn
crunch - right there
a shoot in sunlight
of the self was that
was and is coming
to be


Tuesday, March 1, 2022



Neshama - Neshama - breath of life - sacred soul ...
sit in my bed at night - in the dawn of early morning
this helpless cheer-leader - pounding sunflower
pom poms - poems and pretty pictures -illuming my
unadulterated incompetence to truly assist - with each
breath - my shame - inhaled - my safe existence exhaled
as I sit - watching, watching, the soul of freedom furl
manifested in streets - one particled part of this entire
watching world who gather and cheer - some as simple
spectators at a novel televised event -this watching world
that sends a bit of support here and there as men learn
weapons and kiss loved ones off - as mothers craft molotovs - 
babes at breast - take arms or flight away - in the cold, cold -
smiling for children, tears flicked off tired eyes- as a singular 
voice calm and measured rises above -rises in a clarion call to
all to come and join in protecting freedom sacrosanct -
calls in unwavering passion - Neshama manifested - 
in a leader in a people - as the world watches - 
and watches and watches - 
Neshama - Neshama -soul of breath - of life -
We are one - We are one breath -
I cringe in my privilege far far
away - push the button on my
coffee maker -return to
the couch along with millions
of others to watch - to watch -
Nesahama - Neshama
soul of humanity -
my breath held
witness to
Glory -
Neshama -