Youth Poems
These are poems that I wrote mostly between the ages of 16 and 20, with a few a little later.
THE ROAD THROUGH BRAMBLES LIES MOST TRUE
The road through brambles lies most true;
Where bends the knee, the path is straight;
A flower blooms where nettles grew,
Where fleetest steps, entangled, wait.
The bridge is narrow, high, and frail,
The river rushes to its end,
There is at times no hand or rail,
Save the wishes of a friend--
A friend is hidden, closed, and far,
The forest dark, the river deep;
At night a solitary star
Alights to shake you from your sleep.
The moon is deep and silver--you
Amidst the cryings of the night;
The dawn descends upon the dew;
A flock of mallards sets to flight.
The longest path at times is swift,
The painful thorn pricks blood most sweet;
The fallen cedar spans a rift
Where leaps the deer, bewildered, fleet--
A road where only travellers go--
Above, in jets, the tourists pass--
The pilgrim's path is hard and slow;
He learns the wonder of the grass,
He learns the wonder of the plain,
The road that presses him to roam,
To bend his step, to walk with pain,
Till every grass blade whispers "Home."
IF I COULD STAY UP ALL THE NIGHT FOR YOU
If I could stay up all the night for You
I would. If You wanted me to work through
All the day, so I would only think
Of how sweet Your waters are to drink,
That would be the least for me to do.
I know, just for Your sake the sky is blue.
With my heart I draw You, and You woo
Me with that sky--we could form one link
If I could stay up all the night for You.
When You caress me all the world is true,
And when I leave I have Your work to do;
I sometimes think You cry, and sometimes think
That earth cries with You; and then You seem to wink.
And I would love divinely only You
If I could stay up all the night for You.
WHAT CHANNEL CAN REVEAL THE HEART? ART
(An Echo Poem)
What is man's life, if his longing is nameless?
Aimless.
And are men's lives and hopes astrew?
True.
What results from unfulfilled desire?
Ire.
And what is the source of man's empty pleasure?
Leisure.
But what does he think of the workers for God?
Odd.
What is a person's body worth?
Earth.
But can he live without darkness and bias?
Yes.
And under my darkness am I bright?
Right.
What shall I do if others don't believe?
Leave.
How many reasons are we on earth for?
Four.
1) What makes man's life of one piece?
Peace.
2) What is the quality which gives delight?
Light.
3) What are we commanded to enjoy?
Joy.
4) Can the fourth quality be named at all?
All.
Will it be easy, if we persevere?
Severe.
How long will our reward last, if we endeavor?
Ever.
IF EVERY BIRTHDAY
If every birthday
Was a re-birthday,
The world would be much younger.
If we forgot
As well as we remember,
There would be no more hunchbacks.
If we stopped looking
For what we have,
No one would wear eyeglasses.
If every birthday
Was a re-birthday,
We'd put down our bags and look around.
SOME STATES OF THE UNION
What loaf of bread is floating
Over Texas?
Where are the clothespins of
Alabama?
Why haven't Missouri's pajamas
Returned to their abode?
Oh, the rain on the pine forests
Of southern New Hampshire--
A toad on a mountain path
In Wisconsin told me,
"Do you think you can go anywhere?
Even the boulders of Florida
Are mossy in the cool of day--
You cannot run away--
Please--lie down in the grass in Vermont--
Please--watch the stars as thick as
Aphids on a grass stem in Washington--
Oh! Oregon she calls to me, calls me!
Across the plains of Nebraska I hear her singing!"
Then I heard her sing too--she said:
"I have not run away! My trees are quivering,
My streams are raising their waves,
My rivers their mighty currents."
I danced. I danced like a cricket in Connecticut.
STARLINGS
In Binghamton I saw five hundred starlings
Fly in a ring from one tree to the other;
Each bird a day, every circuit a year,
The entire shifting cloud of them a life.
Their quick wings weaved a pattern against the sky.
LET HIM IN
Who walks quietly to me
When I wait for Him, silent?
Who comes to me silently
As I wait, open within,
Immovable without?
Who approaches me
Along a silent corridor,
Glowing?
Who is approaching
Without words,
Who I am looking at?
I called Him
And He has come to me.
Together we are melting
My body of life,
Then He will enter completely,
My body will be my vehicle.
IF EVERY CENT
If every cent were heaven-sent
I'd get myself a dozen or two;
If every nickel got me out of a pickle
I'd never be blue.
If every dime bought me some time,
I'd have time to win you--
If dollars were wishes and wishes came true,
I'd give all of my dollars to you.
Reply to a Proselytizing Christian
Your thought is a bluejay that flies
To its high, leafy nest.
But my thought is a starling which gets no rest.
Your devotion is a wide eyed doe
On cool, forest floors.
Mine is a buck which, wounded, roars.
Your belief is a clear, quick stream
Under warm breezes.
My belief is the wind, when the water freezes.
Brick
A grain of brick
Is on my knee:
"I am lovely like charcoal
But you are lovely also."
An Apple
An apple is green like green leaves,
Red like red soil,
Yellow like the sun pouring out of itself.
A Blue Frisbee
A blue Frisbee sails through the air,
Over the lawn, scuffed brown
At that moment in flight it will never touch down;
Everyone looks like an old friend to me;
The sequences of time tear;
Momentarily, the Frisbee is motionless, free.
Fish Story
The police are looking for subversive fish;
The danger comes from the deep.
In Anthologies
I will be great, the poet of an age,
A voice, a conscience, a vision, a love,
My flashing eye will bring
College audiences to their feet
Applauding my best selling poetry that will appear
In anthologies, and my voice will be recorded
And I will meet fascinating figures
The lectures and cultural and political
Manifestations and teaching posts will show
That I am serious and there
Will be a gleam in my eye and
Even I will not be sure
What it means and what it comes from.
Racing Inevitably
Between two cars I see the night fleeing by;
The B train flees to Coney Island,
The flashing houses are speeding from us
And everyone recedes
Homeward, and only the two cars stay will with me
And frame the fleeing blocks which coast by as
Though still, and the crudeness of the orange fluorescent
Flarings and the neon shrillness show them to be effortless
And dead inside--
Yet this train, I see, its closing blue doors and busy
Conductors going back between cars, is quiet and still,
And it is only I racing inevitably forward, standing still.
The Termite Hives
The termite hives filled the field
In which I wandered, looking for
A stalk, a tree branch, that would yield
To my clear gaze, or
Appear not as itself, but more,
Seem as though light within it wheeled;
But my search grew distracted, poor--
The termite hives filled the field.
The termite hives filled the field
And now it held no more in store
Its own meaning--a meadow sealed
In which I wandered, looking for
A glimpse into a blade--a door
Through which its being was revealed-
Against this the hives seemed to war-
A stalk, a tree branch, that would yield
To my clear mind, which appealed
That the brown hives not obscure
The leaping crickets, not concealed
To my clear gaze, or
To my heart; neither this nor
Tears broke the netted shield
Of earth, which I could not endure;
To them, to them I would not yield,
The termite hives.
These Sudden Cubicles
These sudden cubicles where my mind roams
Open into sea green translucent domes.
My fingers leaf a book and my lips move,
I see apparent on each house white gnomes.
I shake my head and wake; as though to prove
The rooms were real, the houses still pass by;
But now beyond, I see the singing sky.
Haiku
A woman with a hose
In her garden--
The rain falls on her.
The radio in the park
Moves away--
Two violinists are again heard.
Melting snow
On the boardwalk--
Two heads in the ocean.
A bird,
Lighting on a white stalk,
Which bends.
Two squirrels chase each other
Through the branches
A cat below is startled.
Small cloud--
The trees are yellow,
Silver, again yellow.
East--
White clouds float
Under stars.
Among the Hasidim,
Clapping his hands,
A man in a silk, yellow shirt.
Falling snow
Walking uphill, laughing,
Yuki.
The old Tibetan monk
Who blesses Americans
Standing on line.
Past the sealed window,
The tall grass
Is blowing sideways.
Men and women
At the sea, clothes blowing
Large, white topped waves.
Snowdrifts
Across the plain the snow drifted.
It was late night and the bus
Sped past the ghostly white
Rickety fences fencing wide
White ghostly snow fields
And gaunt spastic goblin
Trees shrieking still.
Miles, silent smooth distances,
And the ground drifted by,
Colorless and deep, drifting
Into timeless regions.
The white snow on the ground
Forever stretched out
With no horizon.
When at Night the Sky is Scudded
When at night the sky is scudded,
And the moon blows through the clouds
Like a sailboat on the breakers,
And the trees whip in the breeze,
Then I stroll through empty streets,
Through blank and dark deserted streets,
And there is no sound or movement
Save the fleeing of a cat
And the blowing night cool wind,
And the moon is skimming high
Like a saucer on the water,
And behind a fence a dog
Roused and wakened, barks and clamors,
And I pass through in the stillness,
And the leaves hang low and shudder.
Bicycles Slamming
The tree like ribs like veins like lungs
Like little boys running
Like little girls
Like white clouds and silhouettes--
Somewhere behind baby carriages, voices,
Bicycles slamming between cars.
Flutter
The dogs that bark
The tin pans
The flutter
License plates
The sun in the blue in the white
Is warm and wan--
Leaning into the wind, climbing bars,
Lampposts and sounds repeated cold.
THE TRACTOR COMES
The little house in the
Country I promised you is wet with dew
And the tractor comes and
Mows all the grass, off in the distance.
Let Me Be Your Catfish
I was just a cornflake
In your bowl of milk,
I was just a pig's ear
In your purse of silk.
I was just a pencil
Doodling on your heart,
Let me be
The axle to your cart.
I was just a hairpin
When you tied your hair,
I was just the pollen
Floating in your air.
I was just the door that
Rolled down your garage,
Let me be
The tugboat to your barge.
Let me be the clothesline
Where you hang your jeans,
Let me be the subscription
To your magazines.
Let me be the catfish
Swimming in your tank,
Let me be the interest
You have in your bank.
I was just a turnip
In your garden patch,
I was just an egg tooth
When your chicken hatched.
I was just a road map
On your throughway road,
Let me be
Your tractor trailer load.
The Letters
These are the wild grapevines
Clinging to my garage.
A few blocks' walk
Will bring you to the sea.
What good is all this to me
When you have disappeared into black letters
That are sealed?
The rose wine is direct
From Israel.
Even if I drink four cups
What good will it do me
When you are silent in black letters
And I can't call?
Bellevue Psychiatric Ward
A deep span of time tunnels
Through your eyes.
From the slow, tender dimension,
You see me in color.
You float to me
From timeless stillness.
You sit--your hands
Are weights in your lap.
I skitter.
I bring the chaotic world.
You want to return
To the edgeless region.
Your eyes are layers
Of veils, pain, understanding.
You walk away
To walls and blank windows.
You are on a journey.
You wade in slow struggle.
You fill the universe;
Every step is eternity.
The oily smoke
Doesn't obscure your grace;
Your soul is bedrock,
Your love wells without thinning.
With His Weariness and Headache and All
The conductor is sleeping in his open doored booth
And his head's on his hand's on the door, sitting
Facing forward, racing and roaring on the
Express flashing by girders past stations and he
Leans forward with the train as though weariness
And headache and all, he still drives it with his force
And his knees jut up off the stool rung forward
Into the tracks ahead and his upper body leans forward
Against the door and he will drive the train
With his weariness and headache and all.
Swirling in Color Too
If I could stream like the clearest water
I'd be rapid and bob profusely
Through leaflets and pages
Swirling on shelves. I don't love you
Without a pillar of iron in my chest
But I would shoot like the most rapid water.
Someday your red socks too
Will be alive and flowing with rushing energy
And we two blurs will meet across a living space
And your pants will be dancing in color too.
Someone on the Train, Standing
Someone's still standing, maybe he wants
To face the wind
To fly like the wind, ecstatic, breathless,
And maybe he is looking sideways in time
And he doesn't see anything but his own
Reflection multiplied.
Candles
A heart that beats more strongly
Than the tides of the world,
An arm which embraces my people,
Eyes which seek God...
Without these, how can a Jew speak?
My people, you are candles
And your hearts are flaming.
The wicks are charred
But how beautiful their light.
The English Professor
I get annoyed when people talk of God,
Of justice, love, and all, capitalized.
If they would mean it allegorically,
As the Greek gods--but they believe, as if
They had no minds to think, no eyes to see,
Or ears to hear our present age. Is there
A God? I haven't asked. I like too much
The open spaces of my life; I love
My rows of books, poets who fixed the world
Within their lines, who dared to face as men
The night. I love to see them on my shelves.
Gravity
The gravity within us
Is like a bed; wings are
The giving up of ugliness.
The past roars through me;
Leaves fill my mouth;
My closed hands burst with dust.
Let go of the earth--
Then the clouds are white,
And at night you don't remember the sun.
The Great Wise
The great wise, beginning, middle and end
Preached by the great Indian, the philosopher,
Was the basis of the country talk fest
Hosted by a young couple from downtown Manhattan.
It was very nice though somewhat expensive on a
Well tended estate and a beautiful creek
Running through the back. Matter of fact
I swam in it--there was an
Old iron chair at the bottom, I
Dove down to it and left it there.
Night
A black sky,
A rain puddle, blowing branches,
Tree leaves in the orange light,
A woman with a dog.
The Octopus's Garland
The time, octopus, that you
Stood on your head,
We ran after your garland,
Briefer than a girl's,
Examined your pajamas,
Subjected you to cross examination,
Impounded your barbells
And dropped you back into the sea.
Today you have returned
In a can, packaged
In South Carolina, salted,
Your last triumphant journey.
Poetry
Poetry is a dance to lead us all to wisdom,
Poetry is a dream which frees the listener from all dreams,
Poetry is an invocation of the joyful spirit,
Poetry is a hammer of life,
Poetry is an arrow of fire,
Poetry is a whirling sword,
Poetry is a silver dagger.
Psalm
I will take the wings of morning
To the farthest parts of the sea.
If I descend to the pit
What is the profit to me?
Yet if Sheol is my home
I still am not alone.
When the snow blows white like wool
And frost is spread like ash,
Who will stand before that cold,
When ice is cast like crumbs?
And my tears were my food
When they said I stand alone.
Then I lifted up my hand
And my eye streamed down at night,
For the grass grows in the morning
But at night is cut and withers.
Weeping stayed with me at night
But joy comes in the morning.
In the night my heart instructs me
And I set my path at dawn.
The Tide
The tide rages, and it's bare and deep and cold
And green like a pale alien face,
Spraying and spitting across rocks to the shore.
The waves roll in high and wide with
Swift, inexorable majesty,
Concealing an invisible pulse that disappears
With the breaking water on the shore.
The sea has the ease of an old master,
Inhuman, vast, plunging and careening--
The deep endless acres of water stretching out
Where the sun is faint and green--and
The soul of the ocean is the tide, its invisible force,
Its deep movement, its hugeness and width.
The Artichoke
An artichoke stood by himself
And sang a song of grief.
I wandered over to his side
And kicked him in his leaf.
The Bargain
I know--if I keep my side of the bargain,
You'll keep yours. It's not so easy. First of all,
I lost the balance, forgot how much I owe
And at the strangest times you come to take
Your due. And let me, I'm always whining, take
Things comfortably, and in my ease I'll pay You
As I can--but I get lazy. I'm only
Fallible! That's no excuse. And I wouldn't
Want it to be one either. But give a chance,
Please, for me to catch my breath--and then I'll offer it
To You--and all my breath will praise you.
Let Down Your Arms
Let down your arms.
You have crouched so long,
And the wind will always be dangerous.
How I have passed through empty skies
The many times and it was my fear
That drove me like a corpse.
Admit it,
And suddenly
You are laughing without control.
Love
Love is the art that is divine,
Love is what happens when you take away everything else--
Honey colored love, wheat love,
Fire love, soil love.
Love in the daytime like the green fields,
Love at night like the crescent moon,
Love in the shadows like hidden creeks,
Love like smooth stones that spread out across my hand.
Love and H2O
I wish love poured like a waterfall through everything--
Love like a silent well.
I used to think that one day I would be smarter than everyone else
But now I know that love is a tidal wave.
If I were the snow I would melt like tears of love.
The Lulav
When I wave the lulav
I feel as if I'm at the ocean,
The waves are large and a salty wind
Blows against me--
And the esrog in my hand
Fits into my palm like a warm cove,
Like an inlet in the sun.
The lulav is tall as a sailing ship mast,
And the hadassim and arovos are the sails.
The esrog is the warm fruit
In tropical seas
That lace the water bottom.
The hadassim and arovos are seagulls cawing
Over a windblown beach,
Gliding onto the sand.
The lulav is a stretch of sand
Pushing into the ocean
At low tide,
The esrog is the ridges on the sand
Before it's again covered by the water.
When I wave the lulav,
Holding the esrog with its pittam up
Like a perch for a seagull,
I feel as though I'm at the sea
And a strong, salty October wind is blowing.
On My Feet: An Ode
Oh feet! You have no ears to hear
But are no worse for that,
You do not have too little toes,
Or too much fat.
As I was walking on the road,
A country lane with weeds,
My feet exhaled a sudden sigh,
And told their needs.
I took them to a running brook
And dropped them pell mell in,
And every spheroid ankle was
A dorsal fin.
Oh feet! that take me on my walks
On vernal, rural lanes,
You set me facing to the wind
Like weathervanes.
They took me to a mountain's foot,
The slope was bright with flowers,
They whispered with a squeak, "Your lot
Does not beat ours."
Oh feet, sweet feet, walk on, stride far,
And ramble where you please,
Amongst your toes will play the scented
Rustic breeze.
Sabbath Eve
Souls are floating away
Waving their white fedoras
Beyond Italy,
Beyond Turkey,
Swirling into Israel like white gardenias-
Moshavim like aprons spread on the Negev,
Shabbos twirling like maple seeds,
Night beginning like dark soil
Being washed by sprinklers turning
Like the seven days.
The Hawkmoth Caterpillar
A hawkmoth caterpillar was crossing the gravel
Road, looking like a pink green leaf
Dappled by the overhanging trees.
I joked to myself about my disbelief
In such a camouflaged insect, and in God,
And marveled at its ridges and its stem,
And that it came when leaves were turning pink.
I'd thought of God as a baseless theorem,
But never seen the hawkmoth caterpillar
Crawl across the road like a rolled up leaf.
If I could pick one moment, I would say
That pause that August day sparked my belief.
Postcards
Your postcards
Are as fresh as milk;
Your words are fireworks across the ocean,
They sparkle like goldfish on the sand.
The Rams of En Gedi
The rams of En Gedi,
Of the desert wadi,
Are on the hill alert.
Their horns are ridged and backward curved,
Their hooves are firm on jagged stone.
Their eyes are wide. They turn to you.
You move- the leader leaps, the
Animals scamper. Suddenly
Under a white blue sky
Only the crags are alive with
The shimmering air.
Shabbos
(The Jewish Sabbath)
There is a maiden I can call my own,
Her name is Shabbos and she is most fair;
She is the choice of heaven, and men's love,
Her aspects joy and mercy are--
Your fair limbed damsels in their fields may stray,
Or lie on couches in their city chambers,
But I care nothing for their oval cheeks,
Their pearls and buckles, jewels and ambers.
I have a love and she is simply clad,
But she has all the beauty of those maids,
Her gentle eye exceeds their painted craft,
Their wine, their jollity, and gods.
The comfort which my Shabbos brings to me
Is cool like water from Rebecca's well;
Her simple kiss which soothes my inner bones
Delights my thoughts and passions all--
A matchless love, a joy, and I believe
That she is one and none is sweet as she,
Her face reflects her father's countenance,
And all are bound on Shabbos day.
Silent Night
Who is sighing, Father?
Is it the wind sighing?
Wind does not sigh, child.
The wire is singing.
Who is digging, Father?
Is it the gravedigger?
It is a gravedigger, child.
It is the day that followed your slaughter.
Who is speaking, Father?
Is it my murderer speaking?
Your murderer died, child.
It is his bright lipped children.
Who is crying, Father?
Is it me that's crying?
It is you that's crying,
And me, and that is all.
What is that silence, Father?
What is that silent night?
That is the world, child,
Dragging itself to tomorrow.
The Sun Was Sailing Like A Peach
The sun was sailing like a peach
Above the tan and pallid beach,
And like a frog the minutes sprung,
And as a strand of seaweed hung.
I drew your portrait from the air,
Your cheeks glowed slowly, like a pear--
And like a gull above the sea,
You swung about to port and lee.
Who knows the peach! Who knows the pear!
Who knows the 'simmon's dusky lair!
Who knows the apple from the tree
That sailed last year for Italy?
And flush at noon I nab a crab
And at his lips I gently dab.
I turn to you upon the rocks,
And watch you angle out for lox.
The sun blazed like a nectarine
And on the rocks your hair turned green.
I watched the crab go on his way
And hobble to the ocean spray.
I asked you if you'd bought the cheese,
And where you'd put the downstairs key7s,
And saw the moon was sailing by,
A silver winking in the sky.
The stars shook softly in the breeze
And spread above the shore like peas,
A buoy swung slowly on the swell,
And rang its apple colored bell.
The dawn poured into tan and blue,
I saw the crab go speak with you.
I asked him what he thought to mean--
The sun rose like a tangerine.
When I Was One and Twenty
When I was one and twenty
I heard a kitten say,
"Give all your dates and olives
But not your prunes away.
Bananas come in handy
On many a chilly morn."
But I was one and twenty
And interested in corn.
When I was two and twenty
That feline spoke again:
"Put spinach in a blender,
Add turnips--count out ten.
Imbibe with cream of tartar.
It's pungent, as you'll see."
But I was two and twenty
No use to talk to me.
When I reached three and twenty
That tabby mildly mewed,
"Your cider should be drunken,
So keep your apples stewed.
If thyme is hard to manage,
Then lay your cart with rue."
I sent the creature packing,
But O! 'tis true, 'tis true.
Cut ups from the 1950s
The long toe you scratched behind
My ear with
Sand spilling from black sneaker on
torn
armchair arm
Ai! (Recalling my 1957 paper on
Sumeria
The hieroglyphics of brain waves
Springing spontaneously
THE AHH . . . VOWEL!
Busted my chops on it
15 yrs.
Till I learned from Charles
WORD SENSE BREATH
(Allen to Ed: "the invincibility is consonant"
Hitchhiking Colorado feet freezing
From mtn. cabin
Drunk all night
Penning mad inspiration
Neil throwing cans at Jack later
On the mtn. trail
the enlightened being looks .at me
:& YOU: 15 yrs. in asylum
INSANE ANGEL
of grimy nails!
in drive in movie
stoned we giggled at
Gary Cooper waiting for
The train
America hollow monster of machines
Clothesline machine of liquid eyeballs
Green mosquito machine on toothbrush hiways
Dealing greasy aces from a hydraulic suitcase
Carl sd. to me:
"the throat is the first
to squash words are
Tables sit on them
& order lobsters
The vowel in itself "in zich"
Returning home 5 AM:
The larch suddenly appears
In its treeness.
Esther Leah
Esther Leah, nine pound six
Ounces, your red cheek
Is plump, your supple lips express
Themselves as though to speak.
Your startled face is ruddy fresh,
An apple from a tree--
I think you have a secret, but
You keep it secretly.
I think you're sly, or maybe shy,
At any rate, say: cute.
A gentle murmur from your lips,
As from a gentle flute.
And others will sing back to you;
Many will be coming
To gurgle, burble, coo at you,
Or simple swing you, humming.
Little fingers grasp at air--
A small and sculpted hand
Flows and swoops as smoothly as
A gull above the sand.
Esther Leah, small and pink,
Neatly wrapped up tight--
Esther Leah, nine pound six
Ounces, shh--good night.
If I Were Intelligent As a Moth
If I were intelligent as a moth,
And could land as lightly and with such grace,
Neatly sweeping antennas under wings
Ridged in bark like browns,
Eyes tiny black points,
Mouthpiece calmly curled,
Quiet as a sleeping cat,
Motionless and tranquil,
Then I could fly up to you
And speak to you with my wings,
And teach you, Alice,
"Do not be afraid.
"Because I am a moth
I have come and I will go,
And in what I do now
I am at peace."
And you would watch me, Alice,
With your light brown eyes,
And small clown face,
Wearing your summer frock,
And laugh, and say,
"I do believe that moth
Is more intelligent than I,
For he doesn't fret
"The days with regret,
Nor fear what tomorrow
Or the Sunday New York Times
Or his parents' whims
"Might bring." Just a laugh of joy
From you would be
This moth's joyous victory,
Its fluttering wings' triumph
In its unadorned intelligence
And simpleness. Laugh, Alice,
And be strong. Be adult.
Yes, if my wings could make you laugh!
Your Heart Is Broad
Your heart is broad as the coast,
And the lighthouse, like a ghost,
Is ringing in the dark and spray,
And the ships lie fast asleep,
And the people cannot pray,
And you are like the heavy moon
Carried in the clouds that hurry by.
Don't forget your heart of iron,
Don't forget your heart of fire,
Don't forget your heart of antlers,
Don't forget your heart of hands
Open to the braided sands,
Open to the stars on the horizon
And the shiplights, twinkling white,
And the seagulls, swept in flight
Across the sky, as large as your heart.
Like a Flower in the Forest
Like a flower in the forest underneath the sea green trees,
An offering to the bees, violet and blue--
None as beautiful as you;
Like a heart that's blossomed, full,
To the vast and open sky,
Like a hand that's open wide
To catch the clouds that scatter by,
Like a flame beneath the seagreen trees.
I Ran Along the Sea
I ran along the sea
This morning--two girls, barefoot
In the water, looked at me.
On the rocks which curve into the sea,
A fisherman cast his line;
The dull green waves tossed fitfully.
The white fog, breathing on the sea,
Faded, leaving humid traces
Substanceless as memory.
A giull skimmed over the sea--
Because I pounded to it,
It flew from me.
I panted and swung my arms--the sea
Waves slid and fell away
Without prupose or hurry.
I hugged the line of the sea,
One foot, then the other
Imprinting the wave-smoothed sands lighntly.
I ran along the sea
Today--the foghorns, distant
And invisible, lowed warningly.
Lyra Will Dim
Lyra will dim;
Only her light,
In the ebony night,
Will still shine.
A sparkling, acerate,
Whtie deja vu;
That will fade too,
An intangible pearl.
The lactescent sky,
Laced with stars
On cosmic simars,
Revolves.
Galaxies turn;
Just one intent,
Immanent,
Endures.
The Leaving of the Sabbath
Shabbos was like
The wind blowing sand
Across the beach,
And at night it rained--
The Havdalah candle sputtered--
I wish one stone of the Western Wall
Was reserved for me
And I could visit it at dawn.
I wish the rebuilt Temple
Had six hundred thousand stones
And one was reserved for me.
Shabbos is leaving the portal,
Her bridegroom meets her
But this week, again,
He doesn't lead her back in--
The rain, like a bead curtain,
Obscures them as they leave,
Accompanied by a nigun
And a prayer
Arising from a cracked stone.
The Rivers Wind Through Countryside--
Birthday Song
The rivers wind through countryside
And flow to the embracing seas;
The stars revolve above the earth
Like silver studs upon a frieze;
With dawn, the blackbirds chatter, perch,
The portly pheasants heave and fly,
The poplar leaves are shiny, pale,
A black-eyed snake slides smooth and sly;
The sun is sailing in his course
Where constellations soon will shine,
The moon will, glowing, slowly droop,
A heavy fruit upon the vine.
And wolves will raise their heads and sing,
And elk will huddle by the pine
And nibble at the tender shoots
Whose shadows spill like purple wine.
In this, a world of growth, of change,
Of slowly turning sky and earth,
We celebrate the flow of time,
The anniversary of your birth,
And wish that like the river, moon,
The tree, the bird with orange breast,
You'll be renewed, restored, remade,
And like the season, young, refreshed.
Fish Like Diamonds--
Birthday Song
Fish like diamonds flit beneath the sea
And geese, necks straining, hoarsely call for home;
Quasars flicker through the galaxy,
Breaking on the edge of sky like foam.
A squirrel in the brush in Kurdistan
Pronounces orisons upon a seed,
Swaying like a yielding water fan,
His tail as bushy as a cockspur reed,
The sun has strung the blue of April day
Across the frets of clouds, like a guitar,
And chirring blackbirds swiftly strumming by
Pluck the melody of grass and star,
Their song to you on this portentous day:
A wish of joy and health and grace and play.
How Does the Title "Mother"?
Mother's Day
How does the title "Mother," orthographically studied?
Let this nomenclator extemporize:
The "M" so placed, for the multifarious forth-flowing much,
The next symbol "o," the omni-pouring out which leaves no thing off-and-apart,
Followed by "t," for transmission of the much discussed life-awaking touch,
And "h" comes after noting the having and holding forth that which is held in the heart,
"E" trips easily after, as each cornucopial element a mother will evince,
"R" closes up the graphic, with the motherly river-flowing life-ness, within which the universe is rinsed.
Man, Like if the Tintinnabultion of Bells--
Father's Day
Man, like if the tintinnabulation of bells
On this third June Sunday chime for anything,
With their tongues, you know, knocking in the metal hoods,
man, if the sun shines, spurting out its mass of flames,
you know, its corona crown a hundred thousand miles above its surface;
and man, if the radio waves that skit skat across space
And crash, you know, into some electronic cups,
If all that means anything, you know, it means Happy Father's Day.
Happy Father's Day, you see, like also from these galaxies, which, wham, explode and are suddenly just there, see, and
Also like Happy Father's Day from all sorts
Of ships, and fireworking rockets, and from chimney stacks too,
And old Cap'n Ahab's iv'ry leg, I mean on
The third June Sunday they just get up and bow to you,
You know, and they all say Happy Father's Day, and
They all mean it too, and we all do too
Everything, just about, says Happy Father's Day
Just look around: subway trains rumbling and whizzing by,
Skyscrapers (especially the Empire State Building with its
Antenna on top picking up those skitskatting radio waves:
man-to-man like, you see, right?) and man if you
Like go to a concert, you can't just sit and look at those
Trombones sliding and those saxes weaving, and those bass bows
Sawing without knowing man that at least half that
Orchestra's saying: Happy Father's Day, beat beat.
So dig, if you're down and out, waiting sometime
For that third June Sunday to reel around, perk up
Those manly ears,
And listen man, 'cause we're all always saying:
Happy Father's Day.
Yuki's Birthday
Is Yuki kooky?
No--Yuki is not kooky.
Hmmm...
Is she a tree?
No--she is not a tree.
Well then,
Can we call her tall.
No--we cannot call her tall.
Can we call her Paul?
No! We cannot call her Paul.
Maybe we can call her small?
No!! We cannot even call her small.
Well,
if Yuki is not kooky,
if she is not a tree,
if we cannot call her tall, or Paul--and cannot even call her small,
(Can we say she is a tray?
No, we can't say she's a tray)
if we can't say she's a tray
then oh then what can we say?
Oh hey!
It's her BIRTHDAY!
(Can we say it is her birthday?
YES! We can say it's her birthday!)
May the Stars Shine at Night--
Birthday Poem
May the stars shine at night,
The moon be full and round,
May the earth be white
When snow falls on the ground.
Let the sky be blue,
The sand tan-gold,
Like the quick-fading dew,
Let your thoughts never grow old.
Let night follow day
And the rain come in its season--
Let each wave go its way
And each sorrow have its reason.
May the leaves grow green
And the blossoms sprout true,
You were once nineteen--
Happy twentieth to you!
The Cherry Blossoms in the Park--
Birthday and Mother's Day Poem
The cherry blossoms in the park
Are sprinkling petals to the ground
The long tailed song birds flit their wings
And chirp a quick, liquescent sound,
The clouds that pass, the breeze that ruffles
Maple leaves still fresh, unpressed,
Give way to sun and panoplies
OF dandelions, scarlet crest
Of oriole discreet and quick
Flashes from the vine-wound tree,
The rain-soaked ground now warm and dry,
The ants exploring busily,
In this, the season of the spring,
The heart of life, the month of May,
I wish you double good (your birth-
Day and as well, your Mother's Day),
That as the tree that gives its fruit
After fragrant blossoms passed,
You share your gifts ephemeral
And after, qualities that last.
The North Wind Blows His Frigid Blast--
Uncle's Birthday
The north wind blows his frigid blast
From Arctic wastes of storm and snow,
Explodes across the sunless ice
And hurtles over sea and floe,
But in the shiver of its blast
That scums New York with jagged frost,
That rips through streets, on scarlet cheeks,
That raises waves where ships re tossed,
A whisper of a summer lull,
A sated, southwest, sun-touched breeze,
Softly strokes my frozen cheek
And whispers of antipodes.
And, Uncle, I begin to think
That there is more than sleet and cold,
That even winter bears a scent
Of herbal breezes flecked with gold--
So may your days, like pleasant herbs,
Each yield its scent of eau and cheer,
And may your eye and steps and heart
Enjoy the incense-bearing year.
Sara Malya, You're Unique--
First Birthday
Sara Malya, you're unique.
You are one. And when you speak,
Our hearts are won. And your eyes
Are clear and do not know of lies.
May your every word be true
As your eyes of sapphire blue,
May our every speech be fair
As your gold and curly hair,
May your speaking always praise
God in all His many ways.
If I Were a Cat--Or an Avocado--
Birthday Poem
If I were a cat--or an avocado--
How'd I express in emotive bravado,
Exclaim and declaim a spruce declaration,
inflecting precisely a grand proclamation?
If I were a duck or koala bear
(Who'll bear no stroke or stranger's stare)
How would I grunt, if a bear--or quack,
If I were that duck (having finished his snack)?
Oh how I would meow--oh how I would quack--
Or fall from a tree with rhetorical smack--
Or stare (if a bear) and snort (obligato
If "etiquette" be this koala bear's motto)?
If wishing to speak, to proclaim and declare
In manner so fleet and so facile, so far,
These words which I herewith say (if I may):
"I wish you a birthday most fair in each way."
Although I Like the Dawn--
Mother's Day Poem
Although I like the dawn--
If I can rise up early--
And though I like small leaves
And tendrils that are curly,
And also mountains, rills,
And skerries, creeks and berries,
Catfish, tadpoles, turtles,
Plus gorse- and huckleberries,
And figs and bursts of rain
And birds that screech and mutter,
Iridescent beetles
And powdered moths that flutter,
I set no day aside
Of single meditation
To think on all their charms
With pointed concentration;
And yet there is a day
That's set aside for Mother,
Because, reflection shows,
There simply is no other--
My natural reserve
Prevents elaboration
But simple words suffice:
You're worth a celebration!
Each Day a Day is Born Anew--
Father's Birthday
Each day a day is born anew.
No sky is what it was before,
Each ocean is a different sea,
Each atom, star (and less, and more)
Are changed from what they were before.
What was a foot is now a head
And head descends again to foot,
And angels in the nighttime tread
A ladder, walking up and down.
Each iris, kite, each thatch of hay,
Each ant and leaf, each corral reef,
Each cliff have nothing but this day.
And so each person every day
Is recreated, born anew.
In every glint of dusty sight
The motes of heaven twinkle through.
And once a year we celebrate
With "Happy Birthday, Pop, to you!"
In Sea Gate Stands a Brown-limbed Tree--
Birthday Poem
In Sea Gate stands a brown-limbed tree,
Whose birds all like to talk with me
About the weather, ants and bats
And whether antelopes wear hats.
I heard a twitter, chirp and cheep--
A bird had asked: "Are you asleep?
Tell me, is it really so--
That you simply do not know?"
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Do tell!
I wish to understand you well."
"Liora's birthday is today!
And now what do you have to say?"
I sang, I danced, and with that bird
Rejoiced. Without another word
I left a note on your front door:
"A happy birthday--and many more!"
There is a Bird Upon a Tree--
Mother's Birthday
There is a bird upon a tree
Who's heard to mutter plaintively
Each time it shakes a frozen wing,
"I can't wait for the Spring."
There is a street whose barren trees
Are waiting for the southwest breeze,
Who yearn, desire, wish and pine
For the days of sunshine.
There is a person whom I ken
Who lives in Sea Gate and who when
It snows or blows is heard to say
"I can't wait for my birthday."
It is my mother, that is so,
Whose birthday comes when goes the snow,
When grass grows thick on plain and hill,
That is to say, in April.
A happy birthday to you, then,
A happy birthday to you when
It's Passover--we sing and say,
"A very happy birthday."
There is a Person Who Feels Well--
Father's Birthday
There is a person who feels well,
Now that his age is--shall I tell?
Those who live with him on Lyme
Agree this age came right on time.
I mean, its coming coincided
With his birthday, a decided
Happy--though not rare--event.
(And which we all agree was meant
To be.) The candles are a lot,
But make a lot of light--so what
The matter what their number is?
Now, champagne makes a lot of fizz.
But we've got Perrier. And take
Rattner's who make scrumptious cake.
But we've got Allenby's, and that
Is also good. Although old hat,
I'll sum my words up in this way--
I'll clear my throat and then I'll say:
May your birthday be as bright
As all the candles here tonight.
In the Innards of the Moon--
Mother's Birthday
In the innards of the moon
Dwell the dreadful Jim-jim-jo.
I asked them how to praise my mom.
They roared at me, "We do no know!"
On the hills of Mercury
The awful Dimple-Demple dwell.
I asked them how to praise my mom.
They yelled at me, "We cannot tell!"
And so, from star to star I roamed
To meet the creatures dwelling there.
Some lived in trees, and some in ink
(The latter had peroxide hair).
Some looked like small geraniums
And some like ancient Oldsmobiles,
And one was like a yellow coup
Which rolled on copper-plated wheels.
But though I searched and asked and sought,
I no one found to answer me:
"I have the word, the phrase, the thought,
Which answers to your weary plea."
And then I came to Gumbledum,
A planet in the milky West
Ten thousand light years from the earth
And always glad to greet a guest.
I met thereon the Gumbleman,
Who's something like a pinkish peach,
Or sometimes like a setting sun
Upon the purple, dusky beach,
He's sometimes like a violet,
And sometimes glinting like the dew.
He looked at me with tiger eyes
And said, "I'll tell you what I'll do.
"Tonight I'll wear my uniform
With buckles and a crimson sash,
I'll dance a lusty Russian dance
From earth, you'll see my buttons flash!"
"My thanks," I said, "dear Gumbleman,
This all is very good and kind,
It's thoughtful and creative too,
But not the thing I had in mind."
And so I came to planet earth,
Which shone a deep, liquescent blue--
My mother's birthday swiftly came,
And still I knew not what to do.
I didn't know the words to praise
And not the phrases I should say--
But can't I wish a very happy
Birthday to her anyway?
A THANKS
God, thank You, because when I turned to You
There was no hesitation but everything began to go right,
And the debt I owe I hope I can return
Somehow in these small words.
i see a world of ten thousand realities
And know that there is only one firmness,
One base, one strength,
That You are that Strength, that Base, that Firmness.
Is it enough to say I joy, I love,
I thank, I bless?
God bless, bless God!
THE TRAIL
I need Your help. In fact, You are my all.
You are my day, my night, my work, my rest.
You are my hand and staff. And when I fall
And drop from You as far as east from west,
Then all I have to do is call to You
In any voice, with any words at all.
Any cry which leaps from the heart will do.
And when my way is stopped, the gates are tall,
When the brambles catch at my steady tread,
And when, indeed, I've fallen far and deep
Where no path leads me free, where hope is dead,
Where life is cold and comfort lies asleep,
I only have to call to You, unveil
My heart. And that already is the trail.
STAY WITH ME
Though I stray, stay with me--
When I look to You, I find You,
When I search for You, You are with me--
I was lost and turned to all sides,
I was alone, I turned
From side to side,
I was a tree without roots,
I turned to all healers,
But You are my tranquility.
I wanted power
But You are the great power.
NOT FOR OUR SAKE
(after Psalm 115)
Not for my pride, but to Your glory,
Not for my gain, but for the spreading of Your grace--
Be with me always,
That I may not think I am the one who knows,
For it is You who are the knowledge;
that I may not gain pleasure from hearing my voice alone,
For it is Your wisdom which gives it worth;
that I may not hold myself above others,
For before You all are the same;
That I may not grow great in my eyes,
For it is You who are the greatness, who has created my eyes.
not for our sake, but to You, O Lord,
Be the glory.
A CITY PAVED IN STONE
It is a city paved in stone
Whose buildings are eternal pink,
Whose arches catch the setting sun,
Whose muezzins cry, Jerusalem.
And when the huts before the wall
Were cleared away, a space was formed
Where exiled from the holy court,
The Jews could call, Jerusalem.
There is a tree whose golden boughs
And leaves glow with the golden glow
Of which which washes Friday eve
The houses of Jerusalem.
There is no prayer waiting for
The traveller on the gentle stones,
Yet make a prayer of the tears
That settled in Jerusalem.
THE CASTLE OF TORAH
I was on the shore constructing towers; around me countless others
Too made monuments and mansions, to be acclaimed the greatest,
But they were so many, this effort was in vain; t he growing tide advanced
And crumbled the towers at the shore.
I turned and saw a strong, symmetrical castle which rose behind me;
Many were adding to its beauty; some built on the castle,
Others embellished previous designs, working for its glory,
And all was of a piece.
I left my towers to work on the castle; on the shore behind me
Structures stood magnificent and shining; others were decaying
And disintegrating by the water; the great castle stood incorruptible,
Its work unending.
THE ROAD THROUGH BRAMBLES LIES MOST TRUE
The road through brambles lies most true;
Where bends the knee, the path is straight;
A flower blooms where nettles grew,
Where fleetest steps, entangled, wait.
The bridge is narrow, high, and frail,
The river rushes to its end,
There is at times no hand or rail,
Save the wishes of a friend--
A friend is hidden, closed, and far,
The forest dark, the river deep;
At night a solitary star
Alights to shake you from your sleep.
The moon is deep and silver--you
Amidst the cryings of the night;
The dawn descends upon the dew;
A flock of mallards sets to flight.
The longest path at times is swift,
The painful thorn pricks blood most sweet;
The fallen cedar spans a rift
Where leaps the deer, bewildered, fleet--
A road where only travellers go--
Above, in jets, the tourists pass--
The pilgrim's path is hard and slow;
He learns the wonder of the grass,
He learns the wonder of the plain,
The road that presses him to roam,
To bend his step, to walk with pain,
Till every grass blade whispers "Home."
IF I COULD STAY UP ALL THE NIGHT FOR YOU
If I could stay up all the night for You
I would. If You wanted me to work through
All the day, so I would only think
Of how sweet Your waters are to drink,
That would be the least for me to do.
I know, just for Your sake the sky is blue.
With my heart I draw You, and You woo
Me with that sky--we could form one link
If I could stay up all the night for You.
When You caress me all the world is true,
And when I leave I have Your work to do;
I sometimes think You cry, and sometimes think
That earth cries with You; and then You seem to wink.
And I would love divinely only You
If I could stay up all the night for You.
WHAT CHANNEL CAN REVEAL THE HEART? ART
(An Echo Poem)
What is man's life, if his longing is nameless?
Aimless.
And are men's lives and hopes astrew?
True.
What results from unfulfilled desire?
Ire.
And what is the source of man's empty pleasure?
Leisure.
But what does he think of the workers for God?
Odd.
What is a person's body worth?
Earth.
But can he live without darkness and bias?
Yes.
And under my darkness am I bright?
Right.
What shall I do if others don't believe?
Leave.
How many reasons are we on earth for?
Four.
1) What makes man's life of one piece?
Peace.
2) What is the quality which gives delight?
Light.
3) What are we commanded to enjoy?
Joy.
4) Can the fourth quality be named at all?
All.
Will it be easy, if we persevere?
Severe.
How long will our reward last, if we endeavor?
Ever.
IF EVERY BIRTHDAY
If every birthday
Was a re-birthday,
The world would be much younger.
If we forgot
As well as we remember,
There would be no more hunchbacks.
If we stopped looking
For what we have,
No one would wear eyeglasses.
If every birthday
Was a re-birthday,
We'd put down our bags and look around.
SOME STATES OF THE UNION
What loaf of bread is floating
Over Texas?
Where are the clothespins of
Alabama?
Why haven't Missouri's pajamas
Returned to their abode?
Oh, the rain on the pine forests
Of southern New Hampshire--
A toad on a mountain path
In Wisconsin told me,
"Do you think you can go anywhere?
Even the boulders of Florida
Are mossy in the cool of day--
You cannot run away--
Please--lie down in the grass in Vermont--
Please--watch the stars as thick as
Aphids on a grass stem in Washington--
Oh! Oregon she calls to me, calls me!
Across the plains of Nebraska I hear her singing!"
Then I heard her sing too--she said:
"I have not run away! My trees are quivering,
My streams are raising their waves,
My rivers their mighty currents."
I danced. I danced like a cricket in Connecticut.
STARLINGS
In Binghamton I saw five hundred starlings
Fly in a ring from one tree to the other;
Each bird a day, every circuit a year,
The entire shifting cloud of them a life.
Their quick wings weaved a pattern against the sky.
LET HIM IN
Who walks quietly to me
When I wait for Him, silent?
Who comes to me silently
As I wait, open within,
Immovable without?
Who approaches me
Along a silent corridor,
Glowing?
Who is approaching
Without words,
Who I am looking at?
I called Him
And He has come to me.
Together we are melting
My body of life,
Then He will enter completely,
My body will be my vehicle.
IF EVERY CENT
If every cent were heaven-sent
I'd get myself a dozen or two;
If every nickel got me out of a pickle
I'd never be blue.
If every dime bought me some time,
I'd have time to win you--
If dollars were wishes and wishes came true,
I'd give all of my dollars to you.
Reply to a Proselytizing Christian
Your thought is a bluejay that flies
To its high, leafy nest.
But my thought is a starling which gets no rest.
Your devotion is a wide eyed doe
On cool, forest floors.
Mine is a buck which, wounded, roars.
Your belief is a clear, quick stream
Under warm breezes.
My belief is the wind, when the water freezes.
Brick
A grain of brick
Is on my knee:
"I am lovely like charcoal
But you are lovely also."
An Apple
An apple is green like green leaves,
Red like red soil,
Yellow like the sun pouring out of itself.
A Blue Frisbee
A blue Frisbee sails through the air,
Over the lawn, scuffed brown
At that moment in flight it will never touch down;
Everyone looks like an old friend to me;
The sequences of time tear;
Momentarily, the Frisbee is motionless, free.
Fish Story
The police are looking for subversive fish;
The danger comes from the deep.
In Anthologies
I will be great, the poet of an age,
A voice, a conscience, a vision, a love,
My flashing eye will bring
College audiences to their feet
Applauding my best selling poetry that will appear
In anthologies, and my voice will be recorded
And I will meet fascinating figures
The lectures and cultural and political
Manifestations and teaching posts will show
That I am serious and there
Will be a gleam in my eye and
Even I will not be sure
What it means and what it comes from.
Racing Inevitably
Between two cars I see the night fleeing by;
The B train flees to Coney Island,
The flashing houses are speeding from us
And everyone recedes
Homeward, and only the two cars stay will with me
And frame the fleeing blocks which coast by as
Though still, and the crudeness of the orange fluorescent
Flarings and the neon shrillness show them to be effortless
And dead inside--
Yet this train, I see, its closing blue doors and busy
Conductors going back between cars, is quiet and still,
And it is only I racing inevitably forward, standing still.
The Termite Hives
The termite hives filled the field
In which I wandered, looking for
A stalk, a tree branch, that would yield
To my clear gaze, or
Appear not as itself, but more,
Seem as though light within it wheeled;
But my search grew distracted, poor--
The termite hives filled the field.
The termite hives filled the field
And now it held no more in store
Its own meaning--a meadow sealed
In which I wandered, looking for
A glimpse into a blade--a door
Through which its being was revealed-
Against this the hives seemed to war-
A stalk, a tree branch, that would yield
To my clear mind, which appealed
That the brown hives not obscure
The leaping crickets, not concealed
To my clear gaze, or
To my heart; neither this nor
Tears broke the netted shield
Of earth, which I could not endure;
To them, to them I would not yield,
The termite hives.
These Sudden Cubicles
These sudden cubicles where my mind roams
Open into sea green translucent domes.
My fingers leaf a book and my lips move,
I see apparent on each house white gnomes.
I shake my head and wake; as though to prove
The rooms were real, the houses still pass by;
But now beyond, I see the singing sky.
Haiku
A woman with a hose
In her garden--
The rain falls on her.
The radio in the park
Moves away--
Two violinists are again heard.
Melting snow
On the boardwalk--
Two heads in the ocean.
A bird,
Lighting on a white stalk,
Which bends.
Two squirrels chase each other
Through the branches
A cat below is startled.
Small cloud--
The trees are yellow,
Silver, again yellow.
East--
White clouds float
Under stars.
Among the Hasidim,
Clapping his hands,
A man in a silk, yellow shirt.
Falling snow
Walking uphill, laughing,
Yuki.
The old Tibetan monk
Who blesses Americans
Standing on line.
Past the sealed window,
The tall grass
Is blowing sideways.
Men and women
At the sea, clothes blowing
Large, white topped waves.
Snowdrifts
Across the plain the snow drifted.
It was late night and the bus
Sped past the ghostly white
Rickety fences fencing wide
White ghostly snow fields
And gaunt spastic goblin
Trees shrieking still.
Miles, silent smooth distances,
And the ground drifted by,
Colorless and deep, drifting
Into timeless regions.
The white snow on the ground
Forever stretched out
With no horizon.
When at Night the Sky is Scudded
When at night the sky is scudded,
And the moon blows through the clouds
Like a sailboat on the breakers,
And the trees whip in the breeze,
Then I stroll through empty streets,
Through blank and dark deserted streets,
And there is no sound or movement
Save the fleeing of a cat
And the blowing night cool wind,
And the moon is skimming high
Like a saucer on the water,
And behind a fence a dog
Roused and wakened, barks and clamors,
And I pass through in the stillness,
And the leaves hang low and shudder.
Bicycles Slamming
The tree like ribs like veins like lungs
Like little boys running
Like little girls
Like white clouds and silhouettes--
Somewhere behind baby carriages, voices,
Bicycles slamming between cars.
Flutter
The dogs that bark
The tin pans
The flutter
License plates
The sun in the blue in the white
Is warm and wan--
Leaning into the wind, climbing bars,
Lampposts and sounds repeated cold.
THE TRACTOR COMES
The little house in the
Country I promised you is wet with dew
And the tractor comes and
Mows all the grass, off in the distance.
Let Me Be Your Catfish
I was just a cornflake
In your bowl of milk,
I was just a pig's ear
In your purse of silk.
I was just a pencil
Doodling on your heart,
Let me be
The axle to your cart.
I was just a hairpin
When you tied your hair,
I was just the pollen
Floating in your air.
I was just the door that
Rolled down your garage,
Let me be
The tugboat to your barge.
Let me be the clothesline
Where you hang your jeans,
Let me be the subscription
To your magazines.
Let me be the catfish
Swimming in your tank,
Let me be the interest
You have in your bank.
I was just a turnip
In your garden patch,
I was just an egg tooth
When your chicken hatched.
I was just a road map
On your throughway road,
Let me be
Your tractor trailer load.
The Letters
These are the wild grapevines
Clinging to my garage.
A few blocks' walk
Will bring you to the sea.
What good is all this to me
When you have disappeared into black letters
That are sealed?
The rose wine is direct
From Israel.
Even if I drink four cups
What good will it do me
When you are silent in black letters
And I can't call?
Bellevue Psychiatric Ward
A deep span of time tunnels
Through your eyes.
From the slow, tender dimension,
You see me in color.
You float to me
From timeless stillness.
You sit--your hands
Are weights in your lap.
I skitter.
I bring the chaotic world.
You want to return
To the edgeless region.
Your eyes are layers
Of veils, pain, understanding.
You walk away
To walls and blank windows.
You are on a journey.
You wade in slow struggle.
You fill the universe;
Every step is eternity.
The oily smoke
Doesn't obscure your grace;
Your soul is bedrock,
Your love wells without thinning.
With His Weariness and Headache and All
The conductor is sleeping in his open doored booth
And his head's on his hand's on the door, sitting
Facing forward, racing and roaring on the
Express flashing by girders past stations and he
Leans forward with the train as though weariness
And headache and all, he still drives it with his force
And his knees jut up off the stool rung forward
Into the tracks ahead and his upper body leans forward
Against the door and he will drive the train
With his weariness and headache and all.
Swirling in Color Too
If I could stream like the clearest water
I'd be rapid and bob profusely
Through leaflets and pages
Swirling on shelves. I don't love you
Without a pillar of iron in my chest
But I would shoot like the most rapid water.
Someday your red socks too
Will be alive and flowing with rushing energy
And we two blurs will meet across a living space
And your pants will be dancing in color too.
Someone on the Train, Standing
Someone's still standing, maybe he wants
To face the wind
To fly like the wind, ecstatic, breathless,
And maybe he is looking sideways in time
And he doesn't see anything but his own
Reflection multiplied.
Candles
A heart that beats more strongly
Than the tides of the world,
An arm which embraces my people,
Eyes which seek God...
Without these, how can a Jew speak?
My people, you are candles
And your hearts are flaming.
The wicks are charred
But how beautiful their light.
The English Professor
I get annoyed when people talk of God,
Of justice, love, and all, capitalized.
If they would mean it allegorically,
As the Greek gods--but they believe, as if
They had no minds to think, no eyes to see,
Or ears to hear our present age. Is there
A God? I haven't asked. I like too much
The open spaces of my life; I love
My rows of books, poets who fixed the world
Within their lines, who dared to face as men
The night. I love to see them on my shelves.
Gravity
The gravity within us
Is like a bed; wings are
The giving up of ugliness.
The past roars through me;
Leaves fill my mouth;
My closed hands burst with dust.
Let go of the earth--
Then the clouds are white,
And at night you don't remember the sun.
The Great Wise
The great wise, beginning, middle and end
Preached by the great Indian, the philosopher,
Was the basis of the country talk fest
Hosted by a young couple from downtown Manhattan.
It was very nice though somewhat expensive on a
Well tended estate and a beautiful creek
Running through the back. Matter of fact
I swam in it--there was an
Old iron chair at the bottom, I
Dove down to it and left it there.
Night
A black sky,
A rain puddle, blowing branches,
Tree leaves in the orange light,
A woman with a dog.
The Octopus's Garland
The time, octopus, that you
Stood on your head,
We ran after your garland,
Briefer than a girl's,
Examined your pajamas,
Subjected you to cross examination,
Impounded your barbells
And dropped you back into the sea.
Today you have returned
In a can, packaged
In South Carolina, salted,
Your last triumphant journey.
Poetry
Poetry is a dance to lead us all to wisdom,
Poetry is a dream which frees the listener from all dreams,
Poetry is an invocation of the joyful spirit,
Poetry is a hammer of life,
Poetry is an arrow of fire,
Poetry is a whirling sword,
Poetry is a silver dagger.
Psalm
I will take the wings of morning
To the farthest parts of the sea.
If I descend to the pit
What is the profit to me?
Yet if Sheol is my home
I still am not alone.
When the snow blows white like wool
And frost is spread like ash,
Who will stand before that cold,
When ice is cast like crumbs?
And my tears were my food
When they said I stand alone.
Then I lifted up my hand
And my eye streamed down at night,
For the grass grows in the morning
But at night is cut and withers.
Weeping stayed with me at night
But joy comes in the morning.
In the night my heart instructs me
And I set my path at dawn.
The Tide
The tide rages, and it's bare and deep and cold
And green like a pale alien face,
Spraying and spitting across rocks to the shore.
The waves roll in high and wide with
Swift, inexorable majesty,
Concealing an invisible pulse that disappears
With the breaking water on the shore.
The sea has the ease of an old master,
Inhuman, vast, plunging and careening--
The deep endless acres of water stretching out
Where the sun is faint and green--and
The soul of the ocean is the tide, its invisible force,
Its deep movement, its hugeness and width.
The Artichoke
An artichoke stood by himself
And sang a song of grief.
I wandered over to his side
And kicked him in his leaf.
The Bargain
I know--if I keep my side of the bargain,
You'll keep yours. It's not so easy. First of all,
I lost the balance, forgot how much I owe
And at the strangest times you come to take
Your due. And let me, I'm always whining, take
Things comfortably, and in my ease I'll pay You
As I can--but I get lazy. I'm only
Fallible! That's no excuse. And I wouldn't
Want it to be one either. But give a chance,
Please, for me to catch my breath--and then I'll offer it
To You--and all my breath will praise you.
Let Down Your Arms
Let down your arms.
You have crouched so long,
And the wind will always be dangerous.
How I have passed through empty skies
The many times and it was my fear
That drove me like a corpse.
Admit it,
And suddenly
You are laughing without control.
Love
Love is the art that is divine,
Love is what happens when you take away everything else--
Honey colored love, wheat love,
Fire love, soil love.
Love in the daytime like the green fields,
Love at night like the crescent moon,
Love in the shadows like hidden creeks,
Love like smooth stones that spread out across my hand.
Love and H2O
I wish love poured like a waterfall through everything--
Love like a silent well.
I used to think that one day I would be smarter than everyone else
But now I know that love is a tidal wave.
If I were the snow I would melt like tears of love.
The Lulav
When I wave the lulav
I feel as if I'm at the ocean,
The waves are large and a salty wind
Blows against me--
And the esrog in my hand
Fits into my palm like a warm cove,
Like an inlet in the sun.
The lulav is tall as a sailing ship mast,
And the hadassim and arovos are the sails.
The esrog is the warm fruit
In tropical seas
That lace the water bottom.
The hadassim and arovos are seagulls cawing
Over a windblown beach,
Gliding onto the sand.
The lulav is a stretch of sand
Pushing into the ocean
At low tide,
The esrog is the ridges on the sand
Before it's again covered by the water.
When I wave the lulav,
Holding the esrog with its pittam up
Like a perch for a seagull,
I feel as though I'm at the sea
And a strong, salty October wind is blowing.
On My Feet: An Ode
Oh feet! You have no ears to hear
But are no worse for that,
You do not have too little toes,
Or too much fat.
As I was walking on the road,
A country lane with weeds,
My feet exhaled a sudden sigh,
And told their needs.
I took them to a running brook
And dropped them pell mell in,
And every spheroid ankle was
A dorsal fin.
Oh feet! that take me on my walks
On vernal, rural lanes,
You set me facing to the wind
Like weathervanes.
They took me to a mountain's foot,
The slope was bright with flowers,
They whispered with a squeak, "Your lot
Does not beat ours."
Oh feet, sweet feet, walk on, stride far,
And ramble where you please,
Amongst your toes will play the scented
Rustic breeze.
Sabbath Eve
Souls are floating away
Waving their white fedoras
Beyond Italy,
Beyond Turkey,
Swirling into Israel like white gardenias-
Moshavim like aprons spread on the Negev,
Shabbos twirling like maple seeds,
Night beginning like dark soil
Being washed by sprinklers turning
Like the seven days.
The Hawkmoth Caterpillar
A hawkmoth caterpillar was crossing the gravel
Road, looking like a pink green leaf
Dappled by the overhanging trees.
I joked to myself about my disbelief
In such a camouflaged insect, and in God,
And marveled at its ridges and its stem,
And that it came when leaves were turning pink.
I'd thought of God as a baseless theorem,
But never seen the hawkmoth caterpillar
Crawl across the road like a rolled up leaf.
If I could pick one moment, I would say
That pause that August day sparked my belief.
Postcards
Your postcards
Are as fresh as milk;
Your words are fireworks across the ocean,
They sparkle like goldfish on the sand.
The Rams of En Gedi
The rams of En Gedi,
Of the desert wadi,
Are on the hill alert.
Their horns are ridged and backward curved,
Their hooves are firm on jagged stone.
Their eyes are wide. They turn to you.
You move- the leader leaps, the
Animals scamper. Suddenly
Under a white blue sky
Only the crags are alive with
The shimmering air.
Shabbos
(The Jewish Sabbath)
There is a maiden I can call my own,
Her name is Shabbos and she is most fair;
She is the choice of heaven, and men's love,
Her aspects joy and mercy are--
Your fair limbed damsels in their fields may stray,
Or lie on couches in their city chambers,
But I care nothing for their oval cheeks,
Their pearls and buckles, jewels and ambers.
I have a love and she is simply clad,
But she has all the beauty of those maids,
Her gentle eye exceeds their painted craft,
Their wine, their jollity, and gods.
The comfort which my Shabbos brings to me
Is cool like water from Rebecca's well;
Her simple kiss which soothes my inner bones
Delights my thoughts and passions all--
A matchless love, a joy, and I believe
That she is one and none is sweet as she,
Her face reflects her father's countenance,
And all are bound on Shabbos day.
Silent Night
Who is sighing, Father?
Is it the wind sighing?
Wind does not sigh, child.
The wire is singing.
Who is digging, Father?
Is it the gravedigger?
It is a gravedigger, child.
It is the day that followed your slaughter.
Who is speaking, Father?
Is it my murderer speaking?
Your murderer died, child.
It is his bright lipped children.
Who is crying, Father?
Is it me that's crying?
It is you that's crying,
And me, and that is all.
What is that silence, Father?
What is that silent night?
That is the world, child,
Dragging itself to tomorrow.
The Sun Was Sailing Like A Peach
The sun was sailing like a peach
Above the tan and pallid beach,
And like a frog the minutes sprung,
And as a strand of seaweed hung.
I drew your portrait from the air,
Your cheeks glowed slowly, like a pear--
And like a gull above the sea,
You swung about to port and lee.
Who knows the peach! Who knows the pear!
Who knows the 'simmon's dusky lair!
Who knows the apple from the tree
That sailed last year for Italy?
And flush at noon I nab a crab
And at his lips I gently dab.
I turn to you upon the rocks,
And watch you angle out for lox.
The sun blazed like a nectarine
And on the rocks your hair turned green.
I watched the crab go on his way
And hobble to the ocean spray.
I asked you if you'd bought the cheese,
And where you'd put the downstairs key7s,
And saw the moon was sailing by,
A silver winking in the sky.
The stars shook softly in the breeze
And spread above the shore like peas,
A buoy swung slowly on the swell,
And rang its apple colored bell.
The dawn poured into tan and blue,
I saw the crab go speak with you.
I asked him what he thought to mean--
The sun rose like a tangerine.
When I Was One and Twenty
When I was one and twenty
I heard a kitten say,
"Give all your dates and olives
But not your prunes away.
Bananas come in handy
On many a chilly morn."
But I was one and twenty
And interested in corn.
When I was two and twenty
That feline spoke again:
"Put spinach in a blender,
Add turnips--count out ten.
Imbibe with cream of tartar.
It's pungent, as you'll see."
But I was two and twenty
No use to talk to me.
When I reached three and twenty
That tabby mildly mewed,
"Your cider should be drunken,
So keep your apples stewed.
If thyme is hard to manage,
Then lay your cart with rue."
I sent the creature packing,
But O! 'tis true, 'tis true.
Cut ups from the 1950s
The long toe you scratched behind
My ear with
Sand spilling from black sneaker on
torn
armchair arm
Ai! (Recalling my 1957 paper on
Sumeria
The hieroglyphics of brain waves
Springing spontaneously
THE AHH . . . VOWEL!
Busted my chops on it
15 yrs.
Till I learned from Charles
WORD SENSE BREATH
(Allen to Ed: "the invincibility is consonant"
Hitchhiking Colorado feet freezing
From mtn. cabin
Drunk all night
Penning mad inspiration
Neil throwing cans at Jack later
On the mtn. trail
the enlightened being looks .at me
:& YOU: 15 yrs. in asylum
INSANE ANGEL
of grimy nails!
in drive in movie
stoned we giggled at
Gary Cooper waiting for
The train
America hollow monster of machines
Clothesline machine of liquid eyeballs
Green mosquito machine on toothbrush hiways
Dealing greasy aces from a hydraulic suitcase
Carl sd. to me:
"the throat is the first
to squash words are
Tables sit on them
& order lobsters
The vowel in itself "in zich"
Returning home 5 AM:
The larch suddenly appears
In its treeness.
Esther Leah
Esther Leah, nine pound six
Ounces, your red cheek
Is plump, your supple lips express
Themselves as though to speak.
Your startled face is ruddy fresh,
An apple from a tree--
I think you have a secret, but
You keep it secretly.
I think you're sly, or maybe shy,
At any rate, say: cute.
A gentle murmur from your lips,
As from a gentle flute.
And others will sing back to you;
Many will be coming
To gurgle, burble, coo at you,
Or simple swing you, humming.
Little fingers grasp at air--
A small and sculpted hand
Flows and swoops as smoothly as
A gull above the sand.
Esther Leah, small and pink,
Neatly wrapped up tight--
Esther Leah, nine pound six
Ounces, shh--good night.
If I Were Intelligent As a Moth
If I were intelligent as a moth,
And could land as lightly and with such grace,
Neatly sweeping antennas under wings
Ridged in bark like browns,
Eyes tiny black points,
Mouthpiece calmly curled,
Quiet as a sleeping cat,
Motionless and tranquil,
Then I could fly up to you
And speak to you with my wings,
And teach you, Alice,
"Do not be afraid.
"Because I am a moth
I have come and I will go,
And in what I do now
I am at peace."
And you would watch me, Alice,
With your light brown eyes,
And small clown face,
Wearing your summer frock,
And laugh, and say,
"I do believe that moth
Is more intelligent than I,
For he doesn't fret
"The days with regret,
Nor fear what tomorrow
Or the Sunday New York Times
Or his parents' whims
"Might bring." Just a laugh of joy
From you would be
This moth's joyous victory,
Its fluttering wings' triumph
In its unadorned intelligence
And simpleness. Laugh, Alice,
And be strong. Be adult.
Yes, if my wings could make you laugh!
Your Heart Is Broad
Your heart is broad as the coast,
And the lighthouse, like a ghost,
Is ringing in the dark and spray,
And the ships lie fast asleep,
And the people cannot pray,
And you are like the heavy moon
Carried in the clouds that hurry by.
Don't forget your heart of iron,
Don't forget your heart of fire,
Don't forget your heart of antlers,
Don't forget your heart of hands
Open to the braided sands,
Open to the stars on the horizon
And the shiplights, twinkling white,
And the seagulls, swept in flight
Across the sky, as large as your heart.
Like a Flower in the Forest
Like a flower in the forest underneath the sea green trees,
An offering to the bees, violet and blue--
None as beautiful as you;
Like a heart that's blossomed, full,
To the vast and open sky,
Like a hand that's open wide
To catch the clouds that scatter by,
Like a flame beneath the seagreen trees.
I Ran Along the Sea
I ran along the sea
This morning--two girls, barefoot
In the water, looked at me.
On the rocks which curve into the sea,
A fisherman cast his line;
The dull green waves tossed fitfully.
The white fog, breathing on the sea,
Faded, leaving humid traces
Substanceless as memory.
A giull skimmed over the sea--
Because I pounded to it,
It flew from me.
I panted and swung my arms--the sea
Waves slid and fell away
Without prupose or hurry.
I hugged the line of the sea,
One foot, then the other
Imprinting the wave-smoothed sands lighntly.
I ran along the sea
Today--the foghorns, distant
And invisible, lowed warningly.
Lyra Will Dim
Lyra will dim;
Only her light,
In the ebony night,
Will still shine.
A sparkling, acerate,
Whtie deja vu;
That will fade too,
An intangible pearl.
The lactescent sky,
Laced with stars
On cosmic simars,
Revolves.
Galaxies turn;
Just one intent,
Immanent,
Endures.
The Leaving of the Sabbath
Shabbos was like
The wind blowing sand
Across the beach,
And at night it rained--
The Havdalah candle sputtered--
I wish one stone of the Western Wall
Was reserved for me
And I could visit it at dawn.
I wish the rebuilt Temple
Had six hundred thousand stones
And one was reserved for me.
Shabbos is leaving the portal,
Her bridegroom meets her
But this week, again,
He doesn't lead her back in--
The rain, like a bead curtain,
Obscures them as they leave,
Accompanied by a nigun
And a prayer
Arising from a cracked stone.
The Rivers Wind Through Countryside--
Birthday Song
The rivers wind through countryside
And flow to the embracing seas;
The stars revolve above the earth
Like silver studs upon a frieze;
With dawn, the blackbirds chatter, perch,
The portly pheasants heave and fly,
The poplar leaves are shiny, pale,
A black-eyed snake slides smooth and sly;
The sun is sailing in his course
Where constellations soon will shine,
The moon will, glowing, slowly droop,
A heavy fruit upon the vine.
And wolves will raise their heads and sing,
And elk will huddle by the pine
And nibble at the tender shoots
Whose shadows spill like purple wine.
In this, a world of growth, of change,
Of slowly turning sky and earth,
We celebrate the flow of time,
The anniversary of your birth,
And wish that like the river, moon,
The tree, the bird with orange breast,
You'll be renewed, restored, remade,
And like the season, young, refreshed.
Fish Like Diamonds--
Birthday Song
Fish like diamonds flit beneath the sea
And geese, necks straining, hoarsely call for home;
Quasars flicker through the galaxy,
Breaking on the edge of sky like foam.
A squirrel in the brush in Kurdistan
Pronounces orisons upon a seed,
Swaying like a yielding water fan,
His tail as bushy as a cockspur reed,
The sun has strung the blue of April day
Across the frets of clouds, like a guitar,
And chirring blackbirds swiftly strumming by
Pluck the melody of grass and star,
Their song to you on this portentous day:
A wish of joy and health and grace and play.
How Does the Title "Mother"?
Mother's Day
How does the title "Mother," orthographically studied?
Let this nomenclator extemporize:
The "M" so placed, for the multifarious forth-flowing much,
The next symbol "o," the omni-pouring out which leaves no thing off-and-apart,
Followed by "t," for transmission of the much discussed life-awaking touch,
And "h" comes after noting the having and holding forth that which is held in the heart,
"E" trips easily after, as each cornucopial element a mother will evince,
"R" closes up the graphic, with the motherly river-flowing life-ness, within which the universe is rinsed.
Man, Like if the Tintinnabultion of Bells--
Father's Day
Man, like if the tintinnabulation of bells
On this third June Sunday chime for anything,
With their tongues, you know, knocking in the metal hoods,
man, if the sun shines, spurting out its mass of flames,
you know, its corona crown a hundred thousand miles above its surface;
and man, if the radio waves that skit skat across space
And crash, you know, into some electronic cups,
If all that means anything, you know, it means Happy Father's Day.
Happy Father's Day, you see, like also from these galaxies, which, wham, explode and are suddenly just there, see, and
Also like Happy Father's Day from all sorts
Of ships, and fireworking rockets, and from chimney stacks too,
And old Cap'n Ahab's iv'ry leg, I mean on
The third June Sunday they just get up and bow to you,
You know, and they all say Happy Father's Day, and
They all mean it too, and we all do too
Everything, just about, says Happy Father's Day
Just look around: subway trains rumbling and whizzing by,
Skyscrapers (especially the Empire State Building with its
Antenna on top picking up those skitskatting radio waves:
man-to-man like, you see, right?) and man if you
Like go to a concert, you can't just sit and look at those
Trombones sliding and those saxes weaving, and those bass bows
Sawing without knowing man that at least half that
Orchestra's saying: Happy Father's Day, beat beat.
So dig, if you're down and out, waiting sometime
For that third June Sunday to reel around, perk up
Those manly ears,
And listen man, 'cause we're all always saying:
Happy Father's Day.
Yuki's Birthday
Is Yuki kooky?
No--Yuki is not kooky.
Hmmm...
Is she a tree?
No--she is not a tree.
Well then,
Can we call her tall.
No--we cannot call her tall.
Can we call her Paul?
No! We cannot call her Paul.
Maybe we can call her small?
No!! We cannot even call her small.
Well,
if Yuki is not kooky,
if she is not a tree,
if we cannot call her tall, or Paul--and cannot even call her small,
(Can we say she is a tray?
No, we can't say she's a tray)
if we can't say she's a tray
then oh then what can we say?
Oh hey!
It's her BIRTHDAY!
(Can we say it is her birthday?
YES! We can say it's her birthday!)
May the Stars Shine at Night--
Birthday Poem
May the stars shine at night,
The moon be full and round,
May the earth be white
When snow falls on the ground.
Let the sky be blue,
The sand tan-gold,
Like the quick-fading dew,
Let your thoughts never grow old.
Let night follow day
And the rain come in its season--
Let each wave go its way
And each sorrow have its reason.
May the leaves grow green
And the blossoms sprout true,
You were once nineteen--
Happy twentieth to you!
The Cherry Blossoms in the Park--
Birthday and Mother's Day Poem
The cherry blossoms in the park
Are sprinkling petals to the ground
The long tailed song birds flit their wings
And chirp a quick, liquescent sound,
The clouds that pass, the breeze that ruffles
Maple leaves still fresh, unpressed,
Give way to sun and panoplies
OF dandelions, scarlet crest
Of oriole discreet and quick
Flashes from the vine-wound tree,
The rain-soaked ground now warm and dry,
The ants exploring busily,
In this, the season of the spring,
The heart of life, the month of May,
I wish you double good (your birth-
Day and as well, your Mother's Day),
That as the tree that gives its fruit
After fragrant blossoms passed,
You share your gifts ephemeral
And after, qualities that last.
The North Wind Blows His Frigid Blast--
Uncle's Birthday
The north wind blows his frigid blast
From Arctic wastes of storm and snow,
Explodes across the sunless ice
And hurtles over sea and floe,
But in the shiver of its blast
That scums New York with jagged frost,
That rips through streets, on scarlet cheeks,
That raises waves where ships re tossed,
A whisper of a summer lull,
A sated, southwest, sun-touched breeze,
Softly strokes my frozen cheek
And whispers of antipodes.
And, Uncle, I begin to think
That there is more than sleet and cold,
That even winter bears a scent
Of herbal breezes flecked with gold--
So may your days, like pleasant herbs,
Each yield its scent of eau and cheer,
And may your eye and steps and heart
Enjoy the incense-bearing year.
Sara Malya, You're Unique--
First Birthday
Sara Malya, you're unique.
You are one. And when you speak,
Our hearts are won. And your eyes
Are clear and do not know of lies.
May your every word be true
As your eyes of sapphire blue,
May our every speech be fair
As your gold and curly hair,
May your speaking always praise
God in all His many ways.
If I Were a Cat--Or an Avocado--
Birthday Poem
If I were a cat--or an avocado--
How'd I express in emotive bravado,
Exclaim and declaim a spruce declaration,
inflecting precisely a grand proclamation?
If I were a duck or koala bear
(Who'll bear no stroke or stranger's stare)
How would I grunt, if a bear--or quack,
If I were that duck (having finished his snack)?
Oh how I would meow--oh how I would quack--
Or fall from a tree with rhetorical smack--
Or stare (if a bear) and snort (obligato
If "etiquette" be this koala bear's motto)?
If wishing to speak, to proclaim and declare
In manner so fleet and so facile, so far,
These words which I herewith say (if I may):
"I wish you a birthday most fair in each way."
Although I Like the Dawn--
Mother's Day Poem
Although I like the dawn--
If I can rise up early--
And though I like small leaves
And tendrils that are curly,
And also mountains, rills,
And skerries, creeks and berries,
Catfish, tadpoles, turtles,
Plus gorse- and huckleberries,
And figs and bursts of rain
And birds that screech and mutter,
Iridescent beetles
And powdered moths that flutter,
I set no day aside
Of single meditation
To think on all their charms
With pointed concentration;
And yet there is a day
That's set aside for Mother,
Because, reflection shows,
There simply is no other--
My natural reserve
Prevents elaboration
But simple words suffice:
You're worth a celebration!
Each Day a Day is Born Anew--
Father's Birthday
Each day a day is born anew.
No sky is what it was before,
Each ocean is a different sea,
Each atom, star (and less, and more)
Are changed from what they were before.
What was a foot is now a head
And head descends again to foot,
And angels in the nighttime tread
A ladder, walking up and down.
Each iris, kite, each thatch of hay,
Each ant and leaf, each corral reef,
Each cliff have nothing but this day.
And so each person every day
Is recreated, born anew.
In every glint of dusty sight
The motes of heaven twinkle through.
And once a year we celebrate
With "Happy Birthday, Pop, to you!"
In Sea Gate Stands a Brown-limbed Tree--
Birthday Poem
In Sea Gate stands a brown-limbed tree,
Whose birds all like to talk with me
About the weather, ants and bats
And whether antelopes wear hats.
I heard a twitter, chirp and cheep--
A bird had asked: "Are you asleep?
Tell me, is it really so--
That you simply do not know?"
"What do you mean?" I asked. "Do tell!
I wish to understand you well."
"Liora's birthday is today!
And now what do you have to say?"
I sang, I danced, and with that bird
Rejoiced. Without another word
I left a note on your front door:
"A happy birthday--and many more!"
There is a Bird Upon a Tree--
Mother's Birthday
There is a bird upon a tree
Who's heard to mutter plaintively
Each time it shakes a frozen wing,
"I can't wait for the Spring."
There is a street whose barren trees
Are waiting for the southwest breeze,
Who yearn, desire, wish and pine
For the days of sunshine.
There is a person whom I ken
Who lives in Sea Gate and who when
It snows or blows is heard to say
"I can't wait for my birthday."
It is my mother, that is so,
Whose birthday comes when goes the snow,
When grass grows thick on plain and hill,
That is to say, in April.
A happy birthday to you, then,
A happy birthday to you when
It's Passover--we sing and say,
"A very happy birthday."
There is a Person Who Feels Well--
Father's Birthday
There is a person who feels well,
Now that his age is--shall I tell?
Those who live with him on Lyme
Agree this age came right on time.
I mean, its coming coincided
With his birthday, a decided
Happy--though not rare--event.
(And which we all agree was meant
To be.) The candles are a lot,
But make a lot of light--so what
The matter what their number is?
Now, champagne makes a lot of fizz.
But we've got Perrier. And take
Rattner's who make scrumptious cake.
But we've got Allenby's, and that
Is also good. Although old hat,
I'll sum my words up in this way--
I'll clear my throat and then I'll say:
May your birthday be as bright
As all the candles here tonight.
In the Innards of the Moon--
Mother's Birthday
In the innards of the moon
Dwell the dreadful Jim-jim-jo.
I asked them how to praise my mom.
They roared at me, "We do no know!"
On the hills of Mercury
The awful Dimple-Demple dwell.
I asked them how to praise my mom.
They yelled at me, "We cannot tell!"
And so, from star to star I roamed
To meet the creatures dwelling there.
Some lived in trees, and some in ink
(The latter had peroxide hair).
Some looked like small geraniums
And some like ancient Oldsmobiles,
And one was like a yellow coup
Which rolled on copper-plated wheels.
But though I searched and asked and sought,
I no one found to answer me:
"I have the word, the phrase, the thought,
Which answers to your weary plea."
And then I came to Gumbledum,
A planet in the milky West
Ten thousand light years from the earth
And always glad to greet a guest.
I met thereon the Gumbleman,
Who's something like a pinkish peach,
Or sometimes like a setting sun
Upon the purple, dusky beach,
He's sometimes like a violet,
And sometimes glinting like the dew.
He looked at me with tiger eyes
And said, "I'll tell you what I'll do.
"Tonight I'll wear my uniform
With buckles and a crimson sash,
I'll dance a lusty Russian dance
From earth, you'll see my buttons flash!"
"My thanks," I said, "dear Gumbleman,
This all is very good and kind,
It's thoughtful and creative too,
But not the thing I had in mind."
And so I came to planet earth,
Which shone a deep, liquescent blue--
My mother's birthday swiftly came,
And still I knew not what to do.
I didn't know the words to praise
And not the phrases I should say--
But can't I wish a very happy
Birthday to her anyway?
A THANKS
God, thank You, because when I turned to You
There was no hesitation but everything began to go right,
And the debt I owe I hope I can return
Somehow in these small words.
i see a world of ten thousand realities
And know that there is only one firmness,
One base, one strength,
That You are that Strength, that Base, that Firmness.
Is it enough to say I joy, I love,
I thank, I bless?
God bless, bless God!
THE TRAIL
I need Your help. In fact, You are my all.
You are my day, my night, my work, my rest.
You are my hand and staff. And when I fall
And drop from You as far as east from west,
Then all I have to do is call to You
In any voice, with any words at all.
Any cry which leaps from the heart will do.
And when my way is stopped, the gates are tall,
When the brambles catch at my steady tread,
And when, indeed, I've fallen far and deep
Where no path leads me free, where hope is dead,
Where life is cold and comfort lies asleep,
I only have to call to You, unveil
My heart. And that already is the trail.
STAY WITH ME
Though I stray, stay with me--
When I look to You, I find You,
When I search for You, You are with me--
I was lost and turned to all sides,
I was alone, I turned
From side to side,
I was a tree without roots,
I turned to all healers,
But You are my tranquility.
I wanted power
But You are the great power.
NOT FOR OUR SAKE
(after Psalm 115)
Not for my pride, but to Your glory,
Not for my gain, but for the spreading of Your grace--
Be with me always,
That I may not think I am the one who knows,
For it is You who are the knowledge;
that I may not gain pleasure from hearing my voice alone,
For it is Your wisdom which gives it worth;
that I may not hold myself above others,
For before You all are the same;
That I may not grow great in my eyes,
For it is You who are the greatness, who has created my eyes.
not for our sake, but to You, O Lord,
Be the glory.
A CITY PAVED IN STONE
It is a city paved in stone
Whose buildings are eternal pink,
Whose arches catch the setting sun,
Whose muezzins cry, Jerusalem.
And when the huts before the wall
Were cleared away, a space was formed
Where exiled from the holy court,
The Jews could call, Jerusalem.
There is a tree whose golden boughs
And leaves glow with the golden glow
Of which which washes Friday eve
The houses of Jerusalem.
There is no prayer waiting for
The traveller on the gentle stones,
Yet make a prayer of the tears
That settled in Jerusalem.
THE CASTLE OF TORAH
I was on the shore constructing towers; around me countless others
Too made monuments and mansions, to be acclaimed the greatest,
But they were so many, this effort was in vain; t he growing tide advanced
And crumbled the towers at the shore.
I turned and saw a strong, symmetrical castle which rose behind me;
Many were adding to its beauty; some built on the castle,
Others embellished previous designs, working for its glory,
And all was of a piece.
I left my towers to work on the castle; on the shore behind me
Structures stood magnificent and shining; others were decaying
And disintegrating by the water; the great castle stood incorruptible,
Its work unending.