The Switch Strikes

        The boy calls for his mama in Hebrew
The father calls for his daughter in Arabic
        Tears streak a chubby face and the switch strikes
Fingernails scrape against the ceiling fragments, floor remnants
        His head bobbles on a tiny neck--body hasn’t caught up yet
All of her future, all of her now, within walls of was
        “Call for your mama Jew lover!” And the switch strikes
Then he uncovers them: tiny toes, a little foot
        And the switch strikes

                A wail of incomprehension

        The boy calls for his mama
The father calls for his daughter
                And the switch strikes

        This is my boy, my very own boy,
        I see his hands reach for his mama
This is my daughter, my very own daughter,
I see her baby foot in the rubble

O Canaan
Canaan!
O Canaanites

Jew or Gentile, Arab or Hebrew, Israeli or Palestinian
Can you not see?
You kill my babies
Can you not see that they are all my babies?
They are all my little ones
Let them come to me

Let me take them up into my arms and take their tears
Let me envelop their tiny hands in my palms
Let me comfort them

O Canaan are you not steeped in enough blood already?
Do your stones not cry out at the blood there?
The blood of your brothers
The blood of Abraham’s sons
The blood of my little ones

But who will stop? The starters or the finishers? Or last time’s starters or finishers?
Or those who started before?
Back past all the hateful deeds of terrorists
                                                    tyrants
                                            colonists
                                        caliphs
                                   caesars
                        and madmen

to Joshua clearing the promised land of the first Canaanites

                    Finishing that aliyah

                    At the end of a spear

A jihad before that word was spoken in this land
A jihad in a land that continues to scream in the voice of its children that

                                       NO WAR IS HOLY

But still,
The Jew is killed
The Arab is killed
The aliyah continues
What aliyah is there still?
The struggle (the true jihad) up from the pit of hatred
The Aliyah to a new (renewed) promised land

Let it be the one where my little ones are free
Let it be the one where I hold them in my arms

            If not Israel
            If not Palestine
            Be a New Canaan

Be a new people of six-pointed star and crescent
Be a new people of green, blue, and white
Be a new people of olive branch and dove

Or draw your lines starting in Gehinnom
and let the little ones be burned in the mouth of Moloch
while you blame your brothers

and the switch strikes.

April 2020 Haiku

I.
Surprised by spring's joy
The buds unfold in new light
Sleep gives way to life

II.
Read spring's wisdom here
Late or cold, the shoots come up
Pushing life through loam

III.
The season of death
Surprises us by ending
We are April's fools

The Locusts Progress

As the locusts progress,

The tsunami takes in its fatal breath,

The first rumours of the quake surface

And air raid sirens pierce silent skies

We say they will not destroy our fields.

It will not drown my streets.

It will not shake my house.

It will not strike me

or my neighbour.

But when the locusts do not stop,

The wave does not halt upon our shores,

The shaking starts without hint of conclusion

And missiles fall as rain

              On the just and the unjust

We learn what it takes to know each other

Friend or foe, sister or brother;

We are all neighbours here

As the locusts progress.

             

What sickness must we endure?

What violence of nature or man?

What calamity must befall

To finally know that,

When it is all over,

We will all be there

Side by side

 Picking fallen seeds

From ravaged fields.

The Prologue's End

The coulee calls one down the ridge

And the sunrise fills it up with gold

The mule deer watch and wait

And the new valley’s edge beckons

What waits for me upon the other side?

Here in these brutalist walls

Enmeshed in fluorescent light

I build upon myself and wait

With minds united and diverse

I slag through texts and pages

The digital blue-glow lights the way

And acrimonious groups parse opaque instructions

Filling the valley with fog

Here at the prologue’s culmination

I emerge from the fog-thick vale

And see three more ahead

And beyond

The glowing plain

This is, after all, just the prologue

Play and Interplay

A touch of bottled light reflected

Across the eyes

A dance of undulating waved

Into the ears

A breath of crisp air

with the clean decay of leaves

The play and interplay of what goes in

And what bubbles to come out

Let it out

Don’t fear

Lest it be bad

Let it be bad

Or at least, let it be not good

Not yet

Still frothing, growing, changing

Let it out

Let it breathe

Let it leave and become

Let the play and interplay not end

With the black hole of your eyes

The vacuum of your ears

Let it free

Let it back out

Teach me your play

And interplay

Where the blue glow ends
 And the slick dark begins

Where the lean and hunch
Becomes the cower and drowse

Where the time slips
And comes off the axel
And rolls away
And we watch it go

Though it travels as fast as we walk

Meet us there
And save us from it.

The Entropy of The Human Soul - Part I

Part I. The Dénouement

Beginnings are so gurgling, giggling new
And I’ve had one or two
But when the time comes to end
I find that it, I cannot do

And what will it take
To find my heart and mind awake
To make more (time) than I spend
And bring this entropy to brake?

Directionless I fear
I will not find my “Here!”
That special place to wend
And weave my way to in my end

I wander in my state
While my mind and soul stagnate
My heart a supernova
Yet this red dwarf hesitates

Endings are so flickering, whimpering slow
I have a lot to show
But nothing new to add
to fight the creeping veil of woe

Of a want of a destination

The spring of my achievement has fled
My breath now freezes on the platform
I am here with my burdens
Searching for a destination

I fled my home in winter
More cold at heart than in bones
The tracks beat the rhythm of my flight
And snow had cloaked the decay

(Yet when the train stopped in between
I dreamed of getting off
And walking into fields of white
Until the brilliance consumed me.)
Consume me.

But destinations are difficult
And I carried my burdens from the platform
To tables of slowly masticating hunchers
And lunch-supper-breakfast-lunchers

I was fed my destination at mushy lunches:
The humped backs, the shuffled steps,
The fogged eyes, the vacant stares.
I was destined for indigestion.

So I walked through uniform woods
To slide idle hands in winter pockets
But the closeness of the trees
Couldn't hide my loneliness from me

I purposefully evade my sense of purpose
And stuff the present in my eyes
Until I'm presently blind
And all I've done is flee and flee

I will carry my burdens from the platform
Past tables of slowly striking keyboard hunchers
And nine-to-five five-to-niners...
I'm finding destinations difficult.

The Crescendo

I rage, I toil, I cower and sweat.

I have not met my maker yet

and if I meet him I shall say,

‘Please come again another day.

I am not ready. I am not ripe.

The times not right!’ I’d wail and gripe.

I’d beg of him right there some sign

that he was fair; that fate aligned

and gave me all that I deserved

not less and from the path I swerved

by some dark power ill beset

to full crescendo of regret.

And in the whisper there I heard

the tempest break at silent words.

I knew, and he reminds me now,

that I deserved much worse allowed

for fate is held by piercèd hands

that save each one from fair demands.

From instant darkness, ash, and flame

and takes upon himself the blame

So God the Father please forgive

my angry heart; my will to live.

Teach me—slowly—how to die

that I might live for more than lies—

not what I see but for the hearts

That beat for thee—in distant parts—

a tune you love to hear and share:

The music of the lives you cared

enough to bring out from the dark.

And each that beats and stills you mark

as yours—this orchestra of strings.

So take my heart and make me sing:

Now in life and then in death,

may all I do; may every breath

be all for you my Elohim—

the Ever Greater Than He Seems.

The Grand Risk

And I said that if they don't
then you will
leave...
but I knew that the truth doesn't
break
down so simply,
because there
at the breaking
and in the moment of
retreat
the tale of the steps you took
and the hearts that
meet
are lost in the blur of the 
momentary.


Before the smudging
of present sufferings
there was love and
hope
smiles and
laughs
and eventually
those things that will last on
into life and memory. 
And we look back
and see
and know
it was worth it to
go past this 
flickering hesitation. 


Go past this and don't
build those comfort walls
of fluffy cells
in the cold institute of your 
self-embracing solitude. 
Go past this into that
grand risk
of a heart open to 
greater loves than this.

My Choice Draught

I’m inebriated on life

And all it has to offer

I keep taking big gulps

—Coughing, spluttering, spilling—

Rather than sips and swallows.

There is so much music

Sights, smells, things to try

Tastes to taste

Feelings to feel

Thoughts to think

There are so many books,

Sports, jobs, games, skills, responsibilities

And the people!

The people!

There are so many of them

So many of us

So many stories,

Tales of families, sorrows, joys

Of evil, good and all that’s between,

Friends, acquaintances, lovers, and all who could be...

Why is it that so few will touch my life?

So few... and so many...

I am drunk on presence

And thirsting for presence

I vacillate between extreme loneliness

And a desire for solitude

But the people

I wouldn’t give them up

I wouldn’t go sober

For while they kill me, enrage me,

Love me, challenge me, seduce me,

Question me, inform me, teach me,

Learn from me, touch me, strike me,

Enable me, analyze me, judge me,

Forgive me, kiss me, speak to me,

Destroy me and rebuild me

I know that I would not be me

Without you.

Let us get drunk on our presence

On our very being, and that being

Together.

In the Presence of Greatness

IV. The Diving Post

Lone and jutting from the wave brushed sea

I waited long for him to climb up me.

Once a summer he’d make a single trip

To my lonely beach to take a dip.

He would swim a hundred feet from shore

To take a single dive and not one more.

III. The Pier Column

Barnacled, I raised my load so light

In my row I stood so true and right

And once a month she’d be coming down

To the coast by this fast dying town.

She’d walk the planks past me down to the end

And watch the sea pass by just like a friend.

II. The Evergreen

A blaze of green I stood so proud and tall

Until that day when my turn came to fall.

A man came with an eye patch and a brace

And looked at me with sun upon his face.

He felled me there, in land becoming stark

And took off his glove to touch my gnarled bark.

I. The Sapling

Awake with waiting till my time would come

To be between his finger and his thumb

And from his bag of forest he grabbed me

To place me in the soil to form a tree.

Upon a stump nearby, he sat to eat

And shed some silent tears into his meat.

V. The Carving

Now I stand upon a shelf austere

With memories in moments through the years.

She found me there along the beach one day

A chunk of driftwood, weathered, dried and grey.  

She carved and whittled something out of me,

Something always waiting for her to see.

I Made Myself...

I made myself an island

And carved its edges mild

I made myself an island

But It still became the wild

I made myself an island

Safe from all the waves

I made myself an island

Where I’ll dig my grave

I made myself an island

And it stands here still, alone

I made myself an island

When I really want a home

I made myself an island

And my walls became the sea

I made myself an island

Oh Lord what’s become of me?

I Defy Despair

I defy despair

till the moment after my last breath

takes me elsewhere.

I defy despair

in the midst of turmoils

economic, environmental and emotional

I defy it

when all I own is dust

when all I know is gone

when all I love has passed

away

I defy despair

I defy it when

those in charge act like children

when suffering spreads like a wound

when the rational seems defeated by madness

when the voices of children

starved and helpless

go unanswered

I defy despair

And I do not defy it with anger

I do not fling impotent rage into the wind

I do not shout at the sky

Or rail against the stars

I defy it quietly and simply

serenely and constantly

persistently and resolutely

with that powerful

four letter word...

Hope.

Just try to defy that.

She Walked Between

Who walked between my winters
And left a warm impression there
Who walked between these islands
Reminding me of bridges fair

Who scaled the walls so frozen
Who added life to all the bare
And plain facades I'd chosen
To mask me from a luring stare
Of eyes that keep their secrets
While calling one to care

Who left before the winter
Could freeze her anywhere.

Odysseus' Folly

Bind me to the mast I said

Bind me good and tight

Plug your ears with wax I said

And don’t give into fright

Release me not till we’re long past

If I order or give plea

Loose me not until we’ve gone

Leave me bound here to this tree

We passed that fateful isle then

They were close enough to hear

The singing pulled at my frail soul

Its beauty brought forth a tear

I fought, I strove and tore my flesh

The ropes they bit and burned

I screamed, I wailed, I begged to leave

My efforts my crew just spurned

And when we passed away from there

I felt the loosing my mind

But the soul in me was rent in two

There’s no rest that I can find

I should have passed another way

I should have closed my ears

I should have stopped my wondering

That’s caused these restless years

And now I’m home; my journey’s done

I’m with family and my friends

I've battled monsters, men and seas

Yet the haunting song still rends

I hear it in the ocean’s waves

It’s hinted in the tide

The wind suggests its melody

From their voices I can’t hide

I’m called to cross the barren seas

I’m drawn to the rocky shore

I stand upon the brink of doom

And question what it was for

Why did I need to hear their song?

And pass so near that isle?

The sirens they are calling still

Across the watery miles

If I had stayed in ignorance

I may have saved my bliss

But now at home I’m wandering

Looking for what I miss

Some songs are much too wonderful

For these human ears to hear

And some are much too terrible

To add knowledge to innocent fear

I went through veiled and evil lands

I traversed the dim shadowed shore

I heard a dire forbidden song

’Fore Lethe I’ll rest nevermore

(This is an old one I never published on this blog for some reason. It seemed appropriate to post it now with the mythology theme over at the garden.)

What Creeps By My Bedside

Self-pity crept in by the bedside

Laid a languorous hand on my back

And pressed me into smothering covers

I fought back not a bit and sunk

Into the soft, motionless depths

Of a savoured sorrow

That tasted dry and overwrought

Bringing me back to restless immobility

What tossing and turning did this ship—

Myself—endure upon the sea of sleeplessness

I fought with rage and pride against a foe

That dared to offer out a hand to save me

“Grab hold and live!”

He cried from the deck

And still I screamed futile rage and sorrow

Gurgling against the waves

“Give me this!”

I shouted

“Give me one wrong to remember;

One grudge to nurture.”

But he stole the dead weight from my hands

And carried me to shore

Back to my bedside

Where self-pity lay defeated

Then instead of weeping

I gave in to sleeping.

The Wreck

The waves of the sea flow unknowingly

Where graceful ships once sailed

Where swimming backs glistened in setting sun

Where dolphins and turtles swam

            And still the waves come.

The waves have no memories

Not like the land and the sea-floor

Memories can’t be written in the waves -

Like they are in the rock -

Or strewn across the water

Like they are in the sandy bed of the ocean

            And still the waves come.

The ocean keeps her secrets below the surface

Men get caught up in their reflections

While beneath lies something greater

In the shallows or the depths

More mysteries are hidden

Than the ever-undulating surface tells

            And still the waves come.

Near the white sand shallows
Of a palm speckled beach

Lies a secret there for any to see

Anyone who looks deeper

And has an aluminum lung

            And still the waves come.

Past a carpet of timid garden eels

And schools of shimmering jacks

And flashing barracuda

Is the waves’ hulking secret

Weighed down by bright orange fans of coral

And the black, yellow and green of feather stars

It is the wreck

            And still the waves come.

What was once a ship, now a secret garden

Flowing soft corals and multicoloured hard corals

Darting gobies and ponderous groupers

Fish of every colour on a painter’s pallet

Grazing turtles

And slowly patrolling sharks

Tired out from a night’s hunting.

And still the waves come.

This secret garden

This Atlantis beneath forgetful waves

Is hardly touched by man and rarely seen

An oasis in the underwater desert

            And still the waves come.

But if you go where the waves can’t remember

And where the storms have long passed

Where the turtles and the white-tips roam

You will see a slice of Eden

Buried from man forever

Beneath waves with no memory

            And still they come. 

Even Pinocchio Knew His Maker

The puppets mock the puppeteers

not noticing their strings

They dance and hop and raise their voice to sing...

All they know are peers

of wood and wire

of paint and polish

of termite hollowed ash

of ventriloqu’d voices

and mimicked choices

that with their pride does clash.

“We are the kings

We hold the strings!”

They obediently say

not knowing who in the air

above holds fatal sway.

Don’t you see the enemy?

He wishes you to dance

your time away until you say

it was nothing but mere chance.

Don’t you see the enemy?

He wishes you to hide

him behind a myth or blind

tradition that you deride.

And what if sin and evil

are more than dated words?

What if they hold meaning

more than the absurd

notion of a god that acts like a child—

notion of a god that is anything but mild—

For what does this race earn

if not cruel death

by turning on itself and ignoring the rest?

We rape and burn and pillage

We steal and break and kill

A child takes a village

But one father has no will

We sow our own destruction

And arm our future foes

We revel in corruption

To what end? No one knows

And all us so-called-people

Who think ourselves so good

With hubris higher than a steeple

At the wayside we all stood

The spectators are guilty

The watchers did the crime

The reclining ones have blood-stained hands

We all live in the grime

Not one of us is sinless

We all hold equal share

We can make ourselves all kinless

Or admit there’s burdens to bear

When we see that we’re all brothers

And sisters straight from birth

We’ll be halfway to discovering

Our purpose here on earth.

Were I to Scoop Out a Star...

Were I to scoop out a star
from an isolated sky
and place it in your hands...
Were I to feed you its brilliance
spoonful by spoonful...


Were I to feed you Polaris
or the gem in Orion's Belt...
Were I to feed you the Lion's tail
or the entire milky way...


Were I to wait
until the glowing bits
went down inside your slender neck
and gathered in your stomach...
Were I to wait
until your body absorbed all the sparkling pieces
and your heart pumped the light through your veins...
Were I to wait
'till your eyelashes sparkled
and every strand of your hair shone
you would not be more beautiful than you are in this moment:


In the blanket of sunlight that embraces you
with your hair down
with your eyes lit by laughter
with your laugh lines tickling your temples
and your smile breaking my heart


(You shatter me so gently
See the pieces sparkle)