Flotilla

the ground is still wet
impelled to be quiet
shivering in the delicious chill

writing lines I don't understand
about plotting to kill others
to wage war and court suffering

true stillness is a hole
that's been filled, a hole
that's been dug in the earth with our hands

filled with the music of machines
the music of motors
and screams of the suffering

to return to silence together
to know we are loved and to love
every human to love

to live in peace
with all creatures
in spite of our urge

against evolved self-control
to not lash out in anger
with violence

to reach and to rise
to do no harm first
to love me and know I love you

if the only limit is your imagination
what's happening? what's not to change the world?
don't pretend to sleep -- run & burrow & breathe deeply

young wife

written in 1995;
posted in celebration of our 15th wedding anniversary

she dreams, coming
home from the market. sacks
swing from her fingers
brush her legs
bump her hips, her skin
anticipates
satisfying her husband's hunger
with her special sauce
and the approaching sunset and tomorrow and tomorrow

honey moon

written in 1995;
posted in celebration of our 15th wedding anniversary

you're a Superman pool toy
on you stretched out belly down
I can fly

you call me green olive
without the pit
you sing tapioca pudding

laughing
the super market will be open
late tonight

a folly foretold

after David Grossman, writing from Jerusalem

how insecure, confused and panicky
the natural continuation of the shameful
prepared to embitter

and somehow, all these calamities
fearfully aware of the mess
becomes ever more inflexible

I would like to believe
above all, this insane operation
typified... freshness, originality, creativity

already there are those
to blame... our shame
however, will be harder

Love Letter

imagine kissing
in a garden near a lemon tree
under twinkling lights

in a forgotten chapel
on a park bench at midnight
in a deserted ballroom

imagine kissing
on a low wall
in the air alive

against a high wall
feeling pressure and hunger
which is desire

to imagine kissing
is release
desire is release

the nature of desire
is not to have
but to want

On Losing CC

thinking about giving in pink ink
about greed and generosity
and community beyond self-interest

having hand-watered the entry garden
this hot spring evening
and taken down the signs

children holding hands, walking forward
into a green, positive future
-- but not on my dime, said the neighbor

so what will become of the neighborhood
that values not sacrifice or service
that values acquisition and politics

and it crops up again and again
in the sound of running sprinklers
despite a forecast of rain

in a lack of lovingkindess
today's children
are shortchanged

awaken neighbor
to the cries outside your window
this hot spring evening

a dream of theater and preaching
stopped my day cold
before it began

and in brown sugar
I hid and in a screen of light
I hid and in your gaze

I will not hide nor will I be
inside your stone tower
or in your heart

Right Now

though the wood would not burn
you sucked bitter sweetness
right down gullet

into belly and pulsating
outwards through limbs and right
out of digits

illuminating space around
your sparkling geode and your colorful eye
your tinctures and your candlesticks

holy bitter sweetness
that is life not as obvious
as one might hope

but true as every written word
inducing faith and passion
holy bitter sweet love

by Emily Dickinson

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

asked by a stranger on FB
are you TG or GG?
feeling flattered and freaked
and assuredly fabulous

humility
what is that called
candle still burns

redeemable during our season
core power became
anywhere

clearing clutter
clearing mind
creating peace

deep in green mountains
birds and memories
tell the future

winter day gazing
aloe lemon bougainvilla
swaying palms frame a mountaintop

Edward Hirsch on Reading Poetry

not a poem, but a great short interview piece...

http://bigthink.com/edwardhirsch

She Understands Me

by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010)
in grateful memory

it is all blood and breaking,
blood and breaking, the thing
drops out of its box squalling
into the light. they are both squalling,
animal and cage. her bars lie wet, open
and empty and she has made herself again
out of flesh out of dictionaries,
she is always emptying and it is all
the same wound the same blood the same breaking.

The Latest

keeps going left
back to work
in a garden of clouds

hoping not to get caught
in other people's weather
one more time

still awakening last night
while alarms sound ever closer
to the storm

you are a soul
a challenging luxury
not to be complacent

surprised by the heft
but not by ubiquitous voice
or your shadow left in the night

Prayer for Haiti on Shabbat

from lack,
may abundance flourish

from fear,
may strength grow

from destruction,
may compassion and connection 
take flight

a winter meal when you're not home

after e.e. cummings

thick pea soup and a simple omelette
israeli salad

(juicy tomatoes and firm cucumbers
fresh squeezed lemon juice and virgin olive oil
pepper and salt)

and spicy green
tea

Tattoo Stats

found poem with apologies/thanks to Sue Swartz

Approximately 1 in every 4 Americans age 18-50 has a tattoo
This is up from 16% in 2003
No one is keeping numbers on the over-50 crowd
One third of all 18-25 year olds have at least one tattoo
Among the 26-40 age group, it’s 40%
31% of people with tattoos are gay, lesbian or bisexual
34% of people with tattoos feel sexier because they are tattooed
29% feel more rebellious
Democrats are more likely to be tattooed than Republicans,
though the latter are more likely to regret
their decision to be inked

Random Treat Thank You

snow snow snow

I know

say ashrei with me

god's glow

light and faraway fire

reminding

morning noon and night

I shall return

please wait quietly

a jaunty jolt

the very air

fine pink

woody shots of rosemary

and lantana

now clean of fallen leaves

my name on a street sign

for the first time

since childhood

you may not think I'm pretty

say ashrei with me

we've just to try on

not a bad mind either

comes of light in the distance

humility just realized

oddment

tweak

thank you

like this

manners taught by example

I'm half and half

there's so much to learn

curing an environment

onto the page

a ribbon twisted into words

and away we go

ubiquitous

Status 2009

contemplating new directions
and strategies for my life
a great yoga class
today
sick of war and killing and assault
particularly in tune with the synergy
in my life no longer employed
as a teacher
just hopeful
simultaneously idling and noodling
eating toast
deserves a treat hunkering down
meditate this morning
starting to think focus
on remaining uplifted in my life
immersed in daily practices received
three pink and red birthday bouquets
rhyme time subconscious mind
preparing for the Queen
optimistically overwhelmed juggling
battery operated rain one or two hours a week
phone calls money bickering tools
and always chocolate love
shooby doo wop doo wah
loves the smell of damp chapparal
feeling productive, joyful and blessed
lost a gorgeous essential tree
in memory we've named it
in my life
loves

A Poem by Marge Piercy

in memory of Yona Kollin

Kaddish

Look around us, search above us, below, behind.
We stand in a great web of being joined together.
Let us praise, let us love the life we are lent
passing through us in the body of Israel
and our own bodies, let's say amen.

Time flows through us like water.
The past and the dead speak through us.
We breathe out our children's children, blessing.

Blessed is the earth from which we grow,
Blessed the life we are lent,
blessed the ones who teach us,
blessed the ones we teach,
blessed is the word that cannot say the glory
that shines through us and remains to shine
flowing past distant suns on the way to forever.
Let's say amen.

Blessed is light, blessed is darkness,
but blessed above all else is peace
which bears the fruits of knowledge
on strong branches, let's say amen.

Peace that bears joy into the world,
peace that enables love, peace over Israel
everywhere, blessed and holy is peace, let's say amen.

4 Mile Shuffle

Outside & Inside
(Only) Halfway to Everywhere

Mezzanine
Indian Summer Sky

Hey Hey My My
Yours

For Allen Ginsberg

whacked out by vision through horn rims
driven by a lust for life and men and justice and aim and ohm
pervert hero, you masturbated publicly hiding your hand under your poetry

an American poet, the grimy sublime of being
sexy tripping along the boardwalk of the world
naked high and free as the ruby sun

I think of you as I watch pigeons mating in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty and ripe young suits have a game of catch through the lunch hour
I think of you when my poems get noticed for their naughty words
I think of you when I capitalize myself

The Human Condition

like a pine cone
landing with a dull thud
destined to become so much brown mulch

knocking loose some fertile kernel
which may take root and become
a masterpiece

look up
through the dry needles
the innocent waste of age

see the symmetry of sky
and trees and sounds of birds
and the sun hiding in the little forest

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Why I Am A Pacifist

The parents of my parent's parents
made their way to where
I would not know
from hunger pangs, pogroms,
a fate cast in fire

Their memories are for blessing

They cracked the yoke
of violence born
of fear and lack
so that I might bear only
what weight I choose. And I do,
carrying hope and my blood's memory
of slavery and sacrifice
like shiny epaulets, dangling
from my clean, grateful shoulders.

The streets I walk are golden,
I am more at ease
than even in their dreams.
I see this sacred world
not through their bloodshot eyes
and for this
to bless them for this blessing
daring to imagine
and for my children's children
I am a pacifist.