You Cannot Think the Book of Life Will Close

You cannot think the book of life will close.
Opportunity must seem a right.
Most days contain a trace of paradise,
Kindling the hope that God is nice
Instead of just or loving or pure light.
Prepare for what is not what you propose:
Perhaps you think your prayers will suffice,
Unburdening your heart with hunger slight.
Repentance takes much more than you suppose.

You Pray Not for Yourself Alone but All

You pray not for yourself alone but all.
One never chooses sin in isolation.
Most evil is not merely personal.
Kindness looks for common inspiration.
In every act there is community.
Perhaps one would prefer it were not so.
Placing each's guilt on all may be
Unfair, but then each righteous soul must see
Reflections of itself in every woe.
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Revenge Is Often Taken in the Mind

Revenge is often taken in the mind.
Open wounds untreated tend to bleed.
Some who else would be both good and kind
Hate others in the thought, if not the deed.
Have mercy, then, upon yourself, and clear
Away the anger twisting you inside,
Sanctifying for the coming year
Heart and spirit, cleansed of pain and pride.
As you ask forgiveness, so forgive,
Nor need you lose your honor with your fury.
All find their just reward in how they live,
Held to account by a less partial jury.
Rosh Hashana Opens to the Page
Rosh Hashanah opens to the page
On which is writ, for good or ill, our fate.
Still wrestling with angels, we engage,
Harrowing our hearts, our destined state.
However, "we" encompasses us all,
As though we were but droplets in a wave
Suspended on its journey to the shore,
Hard put to any single droplet save.
And so we pray not only for ourselves,
Nor only for our family, friends, or tribe:
All must be our congregation, else,
Having thus lost hope, we won't survive.
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Remember the Utility of Shame

Remember the utility of shame,
On which in part our decency depends.
Such sentiments evolve to serve our ends,
Harrowing the mask behind the name.
How apt that to ourselves we be revealed
As time pauses in between the years,
Season of incantatory tears,
Harrowed for the sins we have concealed.
Allow your shame full access to your heart,
Nor flinch from bearing witness to your part,
As only what is treated can be healed.
Return Each Year to Test the Ancient Waters
Return each year to test the ancient waters,
Opening the unaccustomed heart.
So may you retain a Jewish soul,
Having given it its yearly outing.
Here your parents meet your sons and daughters,
A junction wrought by well-established art,
Severing the spirit from the role,
Holding in its golden words your routing.
All you're left with is what really matters,
Needing, to be whole, to be a part,
At least this once a year a Jew of old,
Holy in this place despite your doubting.
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How Might I, in Faith, Do as You Ask

How might I, in faith, do as You ask?
Innocent, I hung upon Your Word,
Great with the intention to be good.
However, here life flows the other way.
How might I remove the inner mask,
Opening my heart to the absurd,
Letting go the righteousness I would
Yet have between the truth and what I say.
Deliver me, then, naked to this task,
And turn away, Whom I so long have served.
Yearning to repent, as well I should,
So let me see myself in my own gaze.
Reason Ought Not Be the Enemy
Reason ought not be the enemy
Of myth, but rather its interpreter,
Showing one what else one might not see,
Hindsight to which faith might well refer.
Holding on to myth does not require
A blindness to what science has to say.
Salvation is not merely a desire
Hoped for in some long-outmoded way.
A myth, like art, sustains itself through beauty,
Not only true, but doing double duty
As both the cast of conscience and the fire,
Habitude no argument need sway.
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Holiness and Faith Are the Rewards

We'll go on, after you,
Without you we'll go on,
Though something beautiful inside
Us all has turned to stone.
We'll go on, after you,
Without you through the years
Of pain and raw bewilderment
And brutal, angry tears.
We'll go on, after you,
Without you we will heal,
Though love may labor in the heart
And joy the loss conceal.
We'll go on, after you,
Without you we will grow
Together as a family
That you will never know.
We'll go on, after you,
Without you life goes on,
But neither hope nor happiness
Undoes what you have done.
Holiness and Faith Are the Rewards
Holiness and faith are the rewards:
In doing lies the seed of one's becoming.
Given what the faithless life affords,
How could one not revel in the running?
Holy days are opportunities,
Open doors to being who one would.
Longing to be touched by grace, one sees
Yet one more chance to choose the unchanged good.
Do not think that faith is ever certain:
All one's life, like love, it comes and goes.
Yet one can always stand before the curtain,
Singing for one's soul the prayers one knows.
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Thirty-Five Years Later He Was Gone

Thirty-five years later he was gone,
Leaving her with just an empty hole
Where once her life had been. Bereft of meaning,
She rode the ancient fury of her grief.
So many years of loving him, a garden
Dissolved into a wild, wasted sea!
So much of life now waiting to be buried,
Poisoned, lying putrid in her heart!
And yet she could do nothing for awhile
But lie upon her bed of writhing pain,
Knowing that in time she would be healed,
But never, never quite completely whole.
Always there would be this frozen anger
Waiting to be placed upon the table.
No matter her attempts to be forgiving,
She would again consume that bitter meal!
And even in the sunshine of her laughter,
Her life returned to her by time and love,
Even in the meadows of her joy,
There still would be the place he left behind.
Twenty-Two Years Later They Were Dead
Twenty-two years later they were dead
And nothing was resolved, nor would it be.
Life, as is its wont, had gone ahead,
But both of them, though freed, were never free.
Both remarried, loved, fell ill, and died,
Buried separately, with space reserved
For those who mourned them most, the two outside
What once was home but could not be preserved.
What bitterness and blame, forgiveness, rage,
Guilt, shame, fury, impotence, and sorrow
Sloshed against the walls of each's cage,
A storm that never yielded to tomorrow.
How beautiful and sad, the love of youth
That, though it could not last, outlasts the truth.
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Love Was Not Enough for Us

Love was not enough for us,
Though we were much in love.
We started down the well-worn path,
But it was not to be.
Delight was not enough for us,
Nor tenderness that moved
Through years of angry dissonance
Towards some dark, bitter sea.
Our differences were far too great,
Our lives too far apart.
We didn't like each other much,
But put that truth aside
Until one day it was too late
To reignite the heart.
One told the other, who agreed
At last that it had died.
But then, ah, then! we felt our loss
As unremitting pain,
As deep and inconsolable,
Unbearable regret.
And all alone we had to cross
That desert once again
That we might know that we had loved
Too much to soon forget.
There Is No Mountain Higher than the Wall
There is no mountain higher than the wall
That comes between two people once in love.
But time can tear a mountain down with tears
As former lovers slowly move towards touch.
There is no happiness in hard, cold anger
Twisted like a girder in one's way.
The sun and rain can manage to grow flowers
Across the bleakest crust of lava plain.
So we, too, I hope, can manage friendship
Upon the battlefield of past defeat.
I would not want to lose our years of loving
To moments caught for good in bitter light.
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Jim Has Blue Eyes Flecked with Gold

Jim has blue eyes flecked with gold;
Dark-haired handsome, rock-like good.
Marriage hid him, as it should,
Until his love ran cold.
He lived only down the street.
I was married, so was he.
But when divorces left us free,
We found the chance to meet.
Now we're both far happier
Than either ever was before.
Through suffering we found the door
That opened to each other.
We'll always feel, of course, the pain.
Divorce cannot but make one bleed.
But in that pain there lay a seed
That soon would bloom again.
Love Undoes Its Heritage Quite Slowly
Love undoes its heritage quite slowly,
Spinning like a planet through its dust.
Sometimes it feels like hatred, sometimes mourning,
Sometimes pain long paralyzed by rust.
Sometimes shame of past humiliation
Wrings the heart with hands inured to toil,
And once again some drops of unspent fury
Spill upon the dry and barren soil.
Ay, me! When will it end? The seasoned sorrow
Of unforgiven trespasses of old?
No matter new love blossoming! There's somewhere
A place within untenanted and cold.
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All I Ever Wanted Is to Love You

All I ever wanted was to love you
As when I saw you first from far away.
But then it was my sweet mistake to have you
Too young to hold the demons long at bay.
For years I hated you, for only hate
Could cauterize the wounds that would not heal,
And gorged myself on fantasies to sate
A hunger I could neither suage nor feel.
Eventually, we both found other loves
And settled into other lives. And yet
The past like some unquiet ghost still moves
Within, too fraught with longing to forget.
We have moved on, as is mature and wise.
But love, though long abandoned, never dies.
Hardly a Day Goes By that I Don't Think of You
Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of you,
Mostly in anger, sometimes with hatred.
I loved you nearly half my life, and now
The bad has swallowed up the good, has eaten my heart.
How sad that I must bury so much of me!
I wish I could bury you.
The real, living you I don't want to hear about.
You were once what I lived for, and now
I don't even want to know when you are dead.
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Look Not on My Body but My Soul

Look not on my body but my soul,
Only on the face behind the veil,
Only with the touch of inner Braille,
Knowing through yourself my being whole.
Nor ought you touch my skin but with your heart,
Only in the tenderness of love.
Though my outer self repulsive prove,
Of me the mask is but a minor part.
Nor should you know me out of charity:
Misfortune can become a kind of grace,
Yielding special wisdom to a few.
Bring mainly for yourself your empathy,
Opening a richer, wider view,
Doorway to a person much like you
Yet fired by the fate he must embrace.
Sebastian
Sebastian may be blind, but he can see
Everything extant to you and me.
Because his sight is safely tucked away,
All his other senses come to play,
Singing in the sunlight of their song,
Taking bits of paradise along.
In life there is no limit to our joy,
A gift whatever senses we employ.
Nor if our hearts can see, will we go wrong.
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I'm Sorry I Can't Tell You What

I'm sorry I can't tell you what
I'm sure you'd rather hear,
But there's a burden in my heart
I can no longer bear.
There's an anger I must cross
Before I come to you
And make my peace with who you are,
And try your soul anew.
I know I wasn't what you wanted
When you wanted me,
A healthy, happy baby girl
You could raise easily.
I was born impaired, and you
Have never understood
That what I am is whole and fair
And beautiful and good.
You were sorry, first for me
And then for you, and wept,
But I would not be me without
The fact that I am deaf.
I am a gift to celebrate
And not a cause to grieve.
As a child this was what
I needed to believe.
I needed but a different road
To reach the common goal,
But you decided there were things
I couldn't do at all.
And rather than accept what life
Had given in its grace,
You looked at what life had withheld
And turned from its embrace.
Ah, Mother! How you injured me
By what you would not own!
To love myself I had to leave
And make my way alone,
And have my children in the course
Of what I would become,
But always, always looking back
To where I had no home.
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Happy Candles Dance with Light

Happy candles dance with light
As children watch them with delight.
Now they flicker, now they glow,
Until the flames burn down too low.
Kindness is a candle bright
Kindled by an inner light,
A flame that brings an inner glow --
Happiness, as well you know!

Happiness Depends on Lighting Lights

Happiness depends on lighting lights,
As what one does without reflects within.
People plead the poignance of their plights,
Pleased to play the hapless harlequin.
Yet one must purify the sacred temple,
Haul the lamps up, clean them, set them out,
Acting to await the miracle,
Neither seized by fear nor free of doubt.
Underneath all miracles is faith,
Knowing not, but hoping what might be,
Kindled by the will, though pain and death
Assault with darkness all that one can see
Here, where all is here miraculously.
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Eight Days the Light Continued on Its Own

Eight days the light continued on its own:
A miracle, they say, but not more so
Than ordinary lives of flesh and bone,
Consuming wicks burned ashen long ago.
Within there is a mystic lake of fire,
Fuel-less energy, power uncelled,
Unmeasured fount of obstinate desire,
Hope burning, where no hope was ever held.
Invisible source of all that's seen or seeing,
Unseen light that animates the void;
Unlit spark of indivisible Being,
Shard of One that cannot be destroyed:
To be so vast a miracle till death
Is why we struggle fiercely for each breath.

Given the Nature of Reality

Given the nature of reality
And the elusiveness of truth;
Being aware of ambiguity
Re: uncertainties of proof;
In the service of not seeming
Excessively uncouth:
Light a candle. Save a rabbi.
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Your Legacy Must Be Both Love and Fear

Your legacy must be both love and fear.
I know that when you died, you feared for me.
The family curse you carried in your breast
Was not a gift you wanted to pass on.
But fear of it, just like my love for you,
Must linger in my heart, unwelcome guest!
And as I weep for your too early death,
I also can hear rumblings of my own.
Ah, Mother! We are linked like paper dolls,
A line of little cutouts in a row.
I see my clearest memories in my mirror
And feel your anguish bloom beneath my breast.
For this, my love for you is more, not less.
In our misfortune there's a common grace:
For me, in that you must have grieved my burden;
For you, in that you must have mine foreseen.
The Cancer That Killed You Was Part of You Gone Quite Insane
The cancer that killed you was part of you gone quite insane:
The good run amok; death from life bursting awry,
Like a poor paranoid on a bell tower sniping away,
Killing the order that gives all the colony life.
Nature, of course, has madness built into its music,
Disturbing its peace with the agony all artists crave.
Perhaps that's what killed you: the one-in-so-many malfunctions
That chaos requires to shatter the oneness of light.
But chaos is aided in our time by greed in abundance:
Greed like a cancer destroying our colony Earth;
Greed that we eat, drink, and breathe, in our dreams, in our language;
Greed in the nuclei of our dwindling faiths.
What killed you, my loved one, is blended in recycled plastic
Spewing its toxins in micrograms into the sky.
Your life was a goat on the altar of modern convenience,
Bearing the sins of us all towards that merciless god.
We live in a world whose rulers are partners with death;
For whom cancer must be a number that balances out.
You were just perhaps the unlucky percent to be traded
For progress towards some CEO's end-of-year bottom line.
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There's Beauty in the Barest Breath of Sunshine

There's beauty in the barest breath of sunshine,
Wasted on all but those who know despair.
Each wound turns passions just a bit more grey,
Not adding new nor taking old away,
Trading joy for something far less fair,
Yet turning grace to something far more fine.
For such, there is a winding of the way
In which a bleakness, soon become a sign,
Vividly undoes the dying day,
Evoking longings one can hardly bear.
When Life Becomes a Sea of Pain
When life becomes a sea of pain
And every moment agony
I must endure again, again,
It is a curse to have to be.
And every moment agony,
And every longing fixed on death;
It is a curse to have to be
And fight by instinct for each breath.
And every longing fixed on death
Even as I must go on
And fight by instinct for each breath,
Sailing thus, though loved, alone.
Even as I must go on,
You watch me helpless from the shore;
Sailing thus, though loved, alone,
I need you with me all the more.
You watch me helpless from the shore
As I endure again, again;
I need you with me all the more
When life becomes a sea of pain
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Thank You for Having Faith in Me

Thank you for having faith in me,
However hard it was.
An illness is compounded by
No one coming near.
Kindness can take courage when
You see what mania does.
Opening your arms to me
Unravels my own fear.
Thank You for the Heart Your Loved One Gave Me
Thank you for the heart your loved one gave me.
How strange that it should beat within my chest!
All are one, and that is what has saved me,
Nor does one truly die till all find rest.
Know that in your loved one's heart a purpose
Yet drives the ancient inborn urge to be.
Our union is not merely on the surface,
Unraveling the words that make me, me.
The Gift of Life Is Never More or Less
The gift of life is never more or less.
Either days or years are merely moments.
Reverence remains the source of bliss.
More memories do not increase remembrance.
If death must early come, then let it be
Nor more nor less than if it had come late:
A part of a much larger mystery,
Leaving wind and wisdom in its wake.
Longing is the music of our sphere,
Yearning for a time past time and space
In which all that we love is ever here,
Love everlasting, which is now our grace,
Living with us more than we can bear.
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Some Find It Quite Sufficient to Endure

Some find it quite sufficient to endure
In permanent and unremitting pain,
X-ing out all else but getting through
The day with neither loss nor hope of gain,
Yearning more for closure than for cure.
Such find faith in difficult terrain,
Immersed in grace both vivid and unsure,
Xerophytes that do as they must do.
Some Find Their Identity in Courage
Some find their identity in courage,
In giving nothing up to loss or pain,
X-ing out all traces of self-pity,
Then taking on the demons once again,
Yielding only what the years must ravage.
Sing, then, of those who rise above the damage,
In valor beautiful, if rarely pretty,
Xerophytes that bloom in harsh terrain.
O Lord, Help Me Be a Burden
O Lord, help me be a burden!
My mother and my sister do their duty,
But I can see impatience in their eyes.
Help me, please, endure until my time.
My mother and my sister do their duty,
Loving me as righteousness demands.
Help me, please, endure until my time,
And midst my pain to live with ample grace.
Loving me as righteousness demands,
They teach me how to lean upon your love,
And midst my pain to live with ample grace.
O lift me up upon your unspent shoulders!
They teach me how to lean upon your love,
But I can see impatience in their eyes.
O lift me up upon your unspent shoulders!
O Lord, help me be a burden!
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I Pray for You and Wish I Could Do More

I pray for you and wish I could do more,
But more I cannot do from far away.
Like leaves before the wind we cannot stay,
Ripped dancing, dancing to the forest floor.
I wish I could your ailing health restore
And bring you to the strength of yesterday,
But all we mortal souls can do is pray
That God might alter what we have in store.
The beauty in our fragile life is love,
The only thing that makes the moment matter,
The golden thread that binds us all in light.
I wish, I wish I could your pain remove,
But like a wall the truth my will must shatter,
And so I send my prayers into the night.
Mental Illness Doesn't Touch the Soul
Mental illness doesn't touch the soul
Even as it punishes the mind.
None can will the wanderings of the wind,
Though winter come, and tempests take their toll.
All who suffer innocent shall find
Love waiting by the window, well and whole,
Inside the heart, where it has full control,
Longing ever, ever unresigned.
Let go your fear, and follow, then, your path,
Neither more nor less constrained than those
Embraced by gods less ruthless in their wrath.
Sing bravely down the windrows of your woes,
Savoring a grace that comes and goes.
So May a Tiny, Clever Enemy
So may a tiny, clever enemy
Wield more power than the greatest states.
Inventive, mutant, merciless murderers,
Now they plot as the world prepares and waits,
Each moment shadowed by catastrophe.
For us, the only road to victory
Lies through the valley of the sufferers,
Unified in love till death abates.
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Grace Comes with a Patina of Pain

Grace comes with a patina of pain.
Each creature must endure what it desires.
There are days one would not wish again,
When all one is, is wish till pain expires.
Expire it does in time, and will for you,
Lest it seem as though time will not run,
Lounging by the bed though dawn is due,
Sensing savagely you want it gone.
Oh, yes, we know that this is life, though we
Outlive both pain and joy. The will to be
Nothing wills but for the inner One.
Hallelujah! I'm Pregnant! Praise the Lord!
Hallelujah! I'm pregnant! Praise the Lord!
For the Lord has quickened my womb! With my husband,
Of course, and Dr. Heller, who quickened the sperm.
Which makes it no less a miracle.
For the Lord has quickened my womb! With my husband
I thank Him and science both, and bless them.
Which makes it no less a miracle
Of the Lord, Who works through the works of our hands.
I thank Him and science both, and bless them.
With science I have but a passing acquaintance.
Of the Lord Who works through the works of our hands,
Of the Lord I sing all the words in my heart!
With science I have but a passing acquaintance,
Of course, and Dr. Heller, who quickened the sperm.
Of the Lord I sing all the words in my heart:
Hallelujah! I'm pregnant! Praise the Lord!
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Eighty-Eight

Eighty-eight spends much of life in bed,
Interred beyond her time in drugs and pain.
Grateful only for the gift of sleep,
Having lost the will to laugh or weep,
The shrunken doll repeats just one refrain,
Yearning for the comforts of the dead.
Even so, the trail of pills has led
Into a world she grapples with in vain,
Grasping for a grace she cannot keep,
Harsh and vivid hauntings of the brain
That make of life a stew of joy and dread.
Given the Fragility of Life
Given the fragility of life,
Each of us remains a miracle,
Though new emerged from some bright sea of pain.
When every second feels just like a knife
Entering the soft flesh of the will,
Life whispers soon we will be well again.
Linger, then, along the edge of shade;
Soon enough you will be in the sun,
Open-armed, erect, and unafraid.
Old wounds remind us of fierce battles won,
Nor will our patient faith not be repaid.
Cherrie
Cherrie is now using Debbie's kidney,*
Having lost the service of her own.
Each moment of existence is a gift
Replacing just the one one just has left,
Renewing momently the moment gone.
In such a melody each note exactly
Embodies the full grace of what was done.
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Diabetes Tells Us We're Machines

Diabetes tells us we're machines,
Intended to exist but for a time.
All that brought us pleasure in our prime
Breaks down to prove the metal of our means.
Eventually, all of us must die,
Though, perhaps, not quite so bit-by-bit.
Each soul must see of life the whole of it,
So as to know of death the reason why.
Death Rides with Us on Our Ecstasy
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Unwanted fellow traveler of joy,
Wanderer within our will to be,
Finding in our promiscuity
Multiple partners to pillage and destroy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Seed within our seed sown carelessly
By dupes who would the enemy deploy,
Wanderer within our will to be,
Foiled alone by a society
Whose common strength of will does each will buoy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Less threatening the more fidelity
Fences off the flesh with which we toy.
Wanderer within our will to be,
AIDS, if nothing else, has helped us see
That we must love if we would lust enjoy.
Death rides with us on our ecstasy,
Wanderer within our will to be.
Debbie
Debbie has donated her right kidney,*
Ever generous, even with her life.
Being is a gift to be passed on
Before one's private miracle is done,
Image of a grace not grace enough
Except when given to another gladly.
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As My Debt Grows, So My Love Does, Too

As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
What you give I cannot half repay.
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
I can't help being moody, often blue,
Irritable, anxious, sad, and yet you stay.
As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
I know I'm lucky to have someone who
Will love me through this, day by troubled day.
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
Gifts like yours to me do not accrue.
Still, it's hard when giving goes one way.
As my debt grows, so my love does, too.
Yet unlike money, love is never due.
Its return is free, in just the way
Your love for me inflames my love for you,
A natural grace, making one of two.
And so this darkness has its own bright ray:
As my debt grows, so my love does, too;
Your love for me inflames my love for you.
As Though I Were Just Flowing, Flowing
As though I were just flowing, flowing,
Leaving not a trace behind,
Zest for life not one whit less,
However blank the roving mind;
Emptiness the space for being
In the moving moment still,
Meaning nothing more than meaning,
Each ellipse elliptical;
Reminiscences like flowers
'Ere the garden was convened,
So sweet the disconnected hours . . .
Aunt Louise
Aunt Louise lived only half on Earth,
Unable quite to leave her prior home,
Nestled in a dream, perhaps by birth,
Though loved--ah, loved!--ultimately alone.
Let her be a lesson in delight:
Of cats and restaurants and small routines,
Undaunted by the nearness of the night,
Improvising much with meager means.
She was for us an enigmatic face,
Eloquent of innocence and grace.
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The Wind Brings Down Its Icy Load

The wind brings down its icy load;
Curtains close across the sky.
Travelers shudder on the road:
There will be shelter by-and-by.
All one has seen and one has sown
Now feeds the feasts of fantasy.
Merriment goes on within;
Trees and candles dance with light.
Without, the world is grey and grim;
Within the house, all is bright.
How might one stand against the wind
But with the joy one brings to it?
The window hints of happiness;
The wanderer walks quickly past.
The week-old ice is treacherous;
The snow is falling thick and fast.
Shelter cannot be a place
For those whose spirits will not rest.
Bells ring through the chilly air;
People purchase gifts on time.
Windows, doorways, front yards bear
Of inner truth the outward sign:
Love beneath commercial cheer;
Loneliness decked out in din.
The season freezes all but love;
Winter grips the waterways.
Upon white meadows nothing moves;
Life sleeps through the nights and days.
O love! At once both flame and fuel,
Light well what meets the inner gaze!
Suppose There Were No Special Times for Greetings
Suppose there were no special times for greetings,
Each day equally a holy day.
All things are holy just because of being
Shards of Being, lightning wrapped in clay.
One might then be merry all the time,
Needing no occasion for good cheer,
Seeing in each moment the sublime,
God born in every child throughout the year.
Reasoning thus, one need not leave bereft
Each everyday not specialized for joy.
Eden is a place we never left,
Though smoke and smog our view of it destroy.
In paradise all time is time for glory,
Nor do the angels choose one sacred story.
God is in all things with grace to be,
Shining in all seasons equally.
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So May You Be Happy at This Time

So may you be happy at this time,
Even as the sun turns back again,
A simple fact, a symbol, and a sign
Some would find but little meaning in.
Out of what we see we make ourselves,
Needing to be taught that ancient art.
Souls born when the woods were full of elves
Give lessons in the shaping of the heart.
Reason now supplies an explanation
Equal to the workings of the will,
Exact in each elliptical equation
That would all cant and superstition still.
In numbers, though, there is great mystery,
Nor is what we measure what we see,
Giving space for poetry and dance,
Song and celebration, choice and chance.
So Shall All This Pillow Talk
So shall all this pillow talk
End in gifts and preparations,
As all other topics balk,
Suddenly on quarter rations.
Old memories now come a-haunting,
New revived by repetition,
Summoned by a wistful wanting,
Given one's unwilled condition.
Render, then, the season's song,
Embracing both the work and play
Equally, as both belong
To cherishing the holiday.
In love and weary duty go,
Needing tokens to bestow,
Graced with many loved ones who
Shall soon bestow their gifts on you.
When You Read This, We'll Be Wed
When you read this, we'll be wed,
A married couple wishing you
A Merry Christmas, New Year's too,
And happiness in days ahead.
May we all be joined in love,
And share the joys with which we're blessed,
Bear with charm and grace the rest,
And to all good neighbors prove.
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Snow Is Just the Icing on the Cake

Snow is just the icing on the cake.
Even as the Earth begins to warm,
And we reduce our footprints for its sake,
So will light from dark again be born.
Old customs, rooted deeply in the heart,
Now live on as atmospheric joy.
'Mid pines or palms, mince pie or mango tart,
Seasonal displays our spirits buoy.
Greetings, then, and hopes for the new year,
Regardless of the temperature outside!
Each gift of time is cause enough for cheer;
Each moment yet unlived a blushing bride.
Though the world be dark and warming fast,
In season's joy is something that will last.
Nor will we soon forget to celebrate
Grace so bountiful or gifts so great,
Sensing well the fortune of our fate.
So Do We Mark the Turning of the Light
So do we mark the turning of the light,
Each turning imperceptibly within,
As dawn comes to the coldest depths of night,
Sweet silver hint that day will soon begin.
Our darkest hours are those of greatest cheer,
Nor need we faith to feel the moment's grace,
Still holy, though the mechanism's clear,
Gift of time transcending time and place.
Reason sees no reason for rebirth:
Each moment is an equal place to start.
Even so, we recognize its worth:
The ritual redemption of the heart.
In us there yet remains the ancient awe,
Now overlaid with litany and law,
Grateful to the gods for seasons sure,
Sustained by love unseen and worship pure.
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Simple Pleasures Rest on Complex Piers

Simple pleasures rest on complex piers
Engineered to stand against the wind,
A latticework of love that lasts the years,
Steel lace on which we ply our passions blind.
On certain days, however, we recall
Necessary links to worlds below,
Seasons of remembrance that with small
Gifts of grace rekindle what we know.
Revel, then, within, and celebrate
Each tangled thread that binds you to your life,
Embracing the regrets that are your fate,
Traveling again the roads to light.
In such sweet seasons love, however wrought,
Neither what you feared nor what you sought,
Grants audience to sentiment unstained,
So pure but treasured tinctures are retained.
Sing of All the Pleasures of the Season
Sing of all the pleasures of the season!
Each moment sing as time awaits your song!
All your senses savor, with good reason,
Such delights as will not last for long.
Open up your heart to love and laughter!
Nor need you mourn who've fallen by the way.
Sing, and put aside what you are after,
Giving to sweet revelry its day!
Reason not with winter but remember:
Each moment is a canticle to being.
Even in the dark month of December,
This tiny cosmos is well worth the seeing.
Into now pour all your joy and sorrow,
Nor ought you stint on anything you feel,
Giving all your caution to tomorrow,
Sing, singing that the Earth might heal.
Sing of the Holidays That End the Year
Sing of the holidays that end the year!
Each cause for celebration and reflection.
As darkness rules the earth, sing of good cheer,
Sustained by will and nourished by affection.
Of Christmas, Hanukkah, and New Year's Eve,
Now sing that you might magnify the light!
Sing, for in your joy you will believe,
Granted grace throughout the bitter night.
Rekindle for these reckonings the fire
Each carries as a favor to the heart,
Eloquent of rapture and desire,
Twin grounds of both sincerity and art.
In quest of fellowship and common feeling,
Needing company, nor care concealing,
Giving and receiving equal measure,
Sing, then, of passion, faith, and simple pleasure!
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Show Me All the Bounty of Your Giving

Show me all the bounty of your giving:
Each cornucopia spills out in vain
As some of the sweet happiness of living
Sinks deep into a dry and dusty plain.
Of labor and of love there is no ending,
Nor can we ever pocket our reward.
Some tender that we're tempted into spending
Goes for gifts that others can't afford.
Remember that the Earth's a single sea,
Equable in what one takes and gives.
Each act redeems its value naturally,
Taking grace from everything that lives.
In giving there is rich and varied treasure,
Nor more nor less than taking's vivid pleasure,
Granting ample joy to those who care,
Subject to what pain they choose to share.
Silence Is a Quality of Snow
Silence is a quality of snow.
Eager to hear it, I trudge through virgin fields,
Awake at the heart of nothingness, and so
Seized press on, as the world's white oneness yields.
Oh, what happiness! Though the deadly cold
Numbs the extremities, traveling inward.
'Ere it reaches the heart, I turn, the old
Songs singing in my head as I head homeward.
Give thanks, then, for the unforgiving silence,
Revelation in white swaddling clothes,
Eden's seed asleep as we find radiance
Even in the bleak December snows.
To be is to contain the holy light,
In nothingness the being ever born,
Never more the locus of delight,
Grace the equal gift of day and night,
Shining like a candle until dawn.
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Sense Makes Little Sense This Time of Year

Sense makes little sense this time of year.
Each has reason to dispense with reason.
As darkness soon descends, the festive season
Shines out upon vast rolling fields of fear.
Old customs still survive, long loved and dear,
Now bought and sold, it's true, as is the fashion,
Still filling faith with poetry and passion,
Giving to dark days a touch of cheer.
Reason says there's little cause for worry:
Electric lights have long since tamed the darkness;
Even winter doesn't wish us harm,
Taught to be a nuisance well contained.
In our hearts, though, time still stirs the slurry;
Now the dark stokes fears of nothingness.
Gifts mean more, and love becomes the warm
Sanctum in which hope can be sustained.
Shine like a Moon upon Your Field of Snow
Shine like a moon upon your field of snow!
Each buried root awaits the touch of spring
As you to your own celebrations bring
Such glory as reflects from down below.
Of mirrors let us sing, and holy light
Not ours, that yet we spread across the darkness,
'Twixt eternity and nothingness
Shining to illuminate the night.
Gardens wait, and naked stands of trees;
Rivers wait, and lakes, and frozen streams.
Eden waits to try again its dreams,
Enduring underneath our cruelties.
The world reflects your moonlight, white and still.
In what you see is what you are, though time
Needs cycles of the wind and of the will,
Granting to each sentiment its clime
So you may each sense of life fulfill.
Short Days Augur Longer Ones
Short days augur longer ones
Even as the cold
Alights upon the early gloom,
Sailing on the wind.
One feels the chill inside one's bones;
Night too soon takes hold.
So we light the festive room,
Gathering within.
Remember those long summer days,
Each a little shorter?
Evenings had a touch of grief
Trailing behind.
In each sharp turn, time delays
Not only change of weather.
Gripped by passion or belief,
Slowly we unwind.
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Seasons Are like Seasonings

Seasons are like seasonings,
Each a complex taste
Amplifying appetites of
Souls with senses graced.
Open up your windows,
Nestle in your beds,
Scent the scents of wakening fields,
Gaze at golds and reds.
Revel in the tang of time
Even now when night
Ends too soon the caravans
Traveling towards light.
In gratitude for being
Now sing that all might hear!
Give the gift of merriment!
Sing of love and cheer!
Secular Celebrations Seem So Spare
Secular celebrations seem so spare,
Even with religious ancestry,
As though the brick beneath what had been there
Stood unadorned where stuccoed grace should be.
Old prayers and praises now sound insincere,
No longer fitting where but reason reigns.
'Tis the season, nonetheless, for cheer;
Scoured of mystery, mystique remains.
God aside, the dark still turns towards light;
Revolving Earth still tilts into the sun;
Each gift of breath still fills one with delight;
Each child is still all being new begun.
The miracles one celebrates are questions
Implying answers too remote to know.
Nor need one not have faith in the directions
Given those whose fate it is to go
Step by careful step towards what is so.
Seldom Do We See Trees Go Out Walking
Seldom do we see trees go out walking,
Eager to drink in the morning sun.
As they lift their long arms towards the light,
Still they must be rooted in the earth,
Of one soil and water, in one place.
Night is when the restless go out walking,
Seeking dreams that cannot face the sun,
Gigantic, pulsing screams of garish light
Reeling through the agonies of Earth,
Escaping the drab certainties of place.
Each winter there's a time to go out walking,
To see the hills washed in a newborn sun,
In the pale slant of late December light,
Neither pastel dreams nor solid earth.
Gently adrift, we settle on some place,
Sunlight walking through our patch of Earth.
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God Knows the Price of Tuning Forks

God knows the price of tuning forks,
And alphabets, and astral signs.
Beside the passion of the flame
Reclines a squat and jealous name;
Inside the tyranny of lines
Endures a sweet, soft-scented shame,
Loosing stays, and words, and corks.
Hanumas Is Something Strange Indeed
Hanumas is something strange indeed:
A Hanukkah and Christmas in one night!
Now mixed families must combine the two,
Uniting loved ones just as God would do,
Making separate flames a single light.
All who love by love are thenceforth freed
Simply in all love to find delight.
Happy Hanukkah, Dear Child
Happy Hanukkah, dear child,
A time for fun and play!
Now you get a lot of gifts,
Unwrapping one each day!
Kids love gifts, of course, but then
Kids also ought to know
About the eight-day miracle that
Happened long ago.
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Chanukah Itself's the Miracle

Chanukah itself's the miracle:
How could we remember all those years,
Aliens lost upon a shoreless sea,
Not only scattered--battered, shattered, tattered,
Unwelcome guests of hosts unmerciful,
Knowing well the wellsprings of our tears,
A life devoured by identity
Holding on to legacies that mattered?
Cheerful Lights Dance Within Your Window
Cheerful lights dance within your window,
Happy to dispel a bit of darkness.
As you display your faith, remember when
No light was light enough to light the wind.
Underneath our joy there must be sorrow
Kindled by a willing act of witness,
A turn to share in love again, again,
Horrors that we would not leave behind.
Clearly There Were Jews and There Were Jews
Clearly there were Jews and there were Jews --
Hellenized, not Hellenized, not caring.
Assimilation let one pick and choose,
Not wedded to the faith that one was wearing.
Until a king sought Judaism's end,
Kindling a flame that burned inside,
A miracle that would the faith defend --
Here for us, a faith that else had died.
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By Day Each Soul Must Walk Within Its Shadow

By day each soul must walk within its shadow.
Only night can make us whole again.
Nor joy nor pain can race across the meadow
Night seeds with stars, so vast it were in vain.
In each new day hope rises with the light.
Evening comes: we hunger for the night.
More truth, and vaster, can be seen at night.
All time unveiled gathers in a meadow
Resplendent with the history of light.
Know that in the darkness, free of shadow,
Unto the primal moment, not in vain,
Shines all that ever was, alive again.
So do all vanished moments live again:
Events are past before we see their light.
The star that shines upon the darkened meadow
Has long since moved on to another night.
Give, then, all due attention to the shadow
As thoughts reflect off surfaces in vain.
Bright thoughts shall give us surfaces in vain,
Refracted through the mysteries of night.
In words we see ourselves set forth again,
Each incandescent in the wash of light
Lingering across the golden meadow.
Candles Dance on Their Menorah
Candles dance on their menorah,
Happy to be burning bright!
All the children dance the hora,
Nimbly leaping with delight!
Understand the miracle
Kindled by a match that sings,
A cantor with his canticle,
Here to give the moment wings.
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