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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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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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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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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And Thou Shalt Love

There! Do you see the light
High on that mountain?
Even here there is
Light! Do you see it?
Only darkness. You see
Reflections of dreams. Here
Darkness covers even
Tomorrow. Who can
Hope any longer for light?
Yet there it is! We must
Go towards it, or else--
Or be of those who love
Darkness, luminous darkness . . .

Bees Swarm Along the Fragile Edge of Darkness
Bees swarm along the fragile edge of darkness.
Open wounds attract blood-hungry flies.
Near my heart lie savage little souls
Neatly arrayed to feast upon my life.
In eight days God will be through with miracles.
Even so, life is a gift of love.
So how does one enjoy this gift of love,
Even as one moves from light to darkness?
There is no moment free of miracles,
However swift and deep one's passion flies.
Glory is the dancing quark of life,
Alight with love and lust in all our souls.
Born of the cataclysm, our burgeoning souls
Race towards infinity, love
Infinite, lust infinite, life
Eternal as light billowing into darkness.
Little do we see how far it flies
As we spin through Earth-bound miracles.
Nor can we comprehend these miracles.
Darkness is the center of our souls,
Like still black water in the moonlight. Love
Is of this emptiness; unburdened, it flies
Swiftly in widening circles, skimming the darkness,
A motion outward at the heart of life.
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