08/01 Direct Link
Broken man coughs, a breathing mass flexing, shrinking in twilight. Families pour into streets, mothers wail. Foreign and dark eyes meet him before he is swallowed in the throng, he has missed him. Broken man wraps his legs. His unworthiness gathered like last bits of bread, pulls himself up. It is at this moment he feels the breath of the Rabbi kneeling close. The broken man shudders. Heat and blood bring words: “Rabbi,” I have nothing, not dove or grain? The Temple…Rabbi?” The sky stilled. Blood, saliva, and the dark-skinned Rabbi with calloused hand…”come with me.” The man gets up.
08/02 Direct Link
When my son wakes up

the whole house is changed

the numbness of blue midnight

the hallway filled with stillness

his small voice bends the wall

and we wake for him

for a moment

I consider the lesson

“can he make it on his own?”

“should he learn this simple truth?”

“ should I go to him?”

at this moment

in the incalculable depths

of “right thinking,”

I remember the beating

of my own heart

the callous rush of emotion

the lesson is not mine to teach

the truth’s waiting,

restless and snoring in tiny

quick breaths

across my hall.

08/03 Direct Link
Most days my son

stands in the open

green and fair field

pushed up against

our house

picks weeds

stuffs them into pockets


along my legs

it’s at this moment

the sight of his brown head

the trees the field the two

the world reveals itself

unfolding immensely

clouds crushing him

the world, real

I pull him into me

want him to know the difference

between his own legs and mine

want him to feel his weight

is no longer his own

want him to know

no space between us

I lift him so high

he’ll forget the ground

08/04 Direct Link
I try

to remember

conversations I heard

at seven

changes in my room

foul smell

of cigarettes

unchanged sheets

city air

through my window

quiet unmemorable


it seemed about me

but everything is “me’ at seven

numbing yells

from other rooms

down cold hallways

calculated pauses

quiet, shelved disdain

it’s at this moment

that the real memories come

the cool air of Central Park

sliding ponds

the laughter

of other children

I live there you know

live there even now

in snow, flashes of snow

white tapestry

spread out and cut

by ribbons

of icy pavement

where I slide

08/05 Direct Link
To speak

Of the virgin birth

Is to ask the question

Did everything really did change

G-d really did

Come into the world

And it was at this moment

He decided that he would

Be a part of us again

even if we cut the forest

down and eaten the fruit

of our early lives

but what if the story

is not true

if Mary was taken

by some wily fool

and felt ashamed to tell Joseph

and the shame ruled her

into the conjuring of such a tale

is it the real story of the garden

all over again?

08/06 Direct Link
at the birthday party

children clamor over

favors. stuffed monkeys

for girls,

for boys

a yellow hilted

foam rubber sword

skillfully forged

and good to the grip

my son grabs it

by the blade

and it’s at this moment

that I realize

he has no clue

what a sword is

or why,

his words

“what’s it for?”

so alive and genuine

filled with the call for truth

sputtered and stammered

my own words

leak from my mouth

up and over my shameful lip

how would I answer this boy?

I began the structure

“you know how sometimes

you are afraid?

08/07 Direct Link
This is the night of the metapoem the poet talks about the poem how it’s created dropped off full of worth and hope to inspire bring about that subtle “oh” that quiet hum at the end of its reading reminding us all, especially the poet that we make some contribution into the hearts and minds of men. There’s no going back once the sound’s been captured Frst it seems like nothing but there’s physical sensation to this audible response stronger then clapping because the lump in the throat actually pushed sound from where it no longer fits inside the mouth
08/08 Direct Link
Like most men

I dream about

the chance to be “good”

for the sake of my family.

Why then do I drip

in impatient washings,

quiet murmurs

of self pity

the moment

I find that Asa won’t sleep

because “it’s boring”

and his voice

asleep and dreaming

“sleep next to me.”

It’s at this moment

That I can find myself

find truth

long enough to feel


remember that

honor is set inside of us

making us new

never stopping

even for impatience

or self pity

is outside of us and for us

even in nightlighted

quietness of daylight’s end

08/09 Direct Link
As of today I’m no longer living my life terms of that one day when he left. So I need to say goodbye to that day. Goodbye. No, goodbye. Later. Farewell day. Hasta. take a hike, goodbye, I’m done, no more, shalom, arriverdici, that’s a wrap, au revoir, late, out, so long. Day, see ya. (Turn and walk away sulkily yet confident without a word). It’s at this moment, when I’ve walked away, when there is breath enough for truth, I realize that it isn’t the day that needs talking to. It needs to be the man. Both of us.
08/10 Direct Link
At almost three

You love the park

When kids play

Beneath the pepper trees

Swinging, climbing

Sliding through the tunnel.

Very brave

Of you, and a new development

Because you don’t like dark places

Since you figured out

The strangeness of the dark.

We wait for Lorien

Joaquin, jack, and

Others you call

By name

Sometimes by color

“my orange friend”

It doesn’t matter

Because they’re your friends

there are no requirements

You try and share

And often can’t

Except for moments

Of divine kindess

Where you give

The car to the crying boy

Your “purple friend”

He needs it.

08/11 Direct Link
You finally found me

Across the wide bed

Your tiny hands

Fell into mine

Soft and light

Folded over

My arm

Then your legs

One by one

Like those teddy bears

That pinch and squeeze,

And I couldn’t sleep

Watching you there

I have been waiting for you


To find me.

It’s taken ten months

For you to know that

Your Daddy has strong

And open arms,

And your bright eyes

In the morning

A little bit shy

And blinking

Because you know

Now, that your world

just doubled

You know now,

Braver each time

That I am here.

08/12 Direct Link
In a few days

You are going

To Pre-school

But still

What will we do without you For those eight hours

Your sister will swing her

Head back and forth

She will be looking for you

Your father will be waiting at the gate

To pull you out

Your mother will

Celebrate some independence

For her for you

you will find

Kids, and people, and new things

And learn, and grow,

And I will wonder if we

Did the right thing

Sending you there

To line up

To share

To find structure

Where maybe you still

Ought to just play

08/13 Direct Link
Samaria Before you were born

I whispered

Into your womb

that your

Faith will

Be the strongest of all

That you’ll know

What truth tastes like

And have nothing else

when I look at you

Your deep eyes holding me

Your miniature finger

Pointing at me

Waiting for mine

I see that you already

Know when your father

Is lost, that he has found

Some orphaned road to walk

Already you bring me back

To the courageous

Patting of outstretched hand

Your feet up

Recling in your high chair

So you can see your foot

Your lips pursed into smile

08/14 Direct Link
“pon-pans” are tiny seeds

That dig out of the ground

Or tonight, before bed time

the very thing

You jump up and down on

When it is jumping time

In the bed.

Once they have been jumped

On properly,

The “pon-pans”

Must then be kicked onto

The legs of the person

Next to you,


These things

Have so many options for use,

So many ways they can be played with

They are the beginnings

Of imaginings

Moving from the quiet

Blue-black world

Inside of you

Into their, full

And second life

Where your


Mixes with ours,

Becomes real.

08/15 Direct Link

A tree

On a rising hill

Pushed against

A steep-walled

Cliff where water

Is falling

Into a deep pool

Cool and blue

In the afternoon,

Is beautiful.

There’s no argument

To this truth,

No moral or relative

Way out

No tolerant and cautious

Way of allowing for other insight

That calls this anything other than beauty.

Have we lost the strength to say

What is true?

Is it more important to allow

For the fallacy, the shallow

And un-gutted missive

That life is a play dough

Sculpture that must

be acknowledged

as beautiful

because it is a made thing?

08/16 Direct Link
I want to walk

Into the cold Museum

Squeak my shoes along

Tile floors

Until I come to the place

Where the urinal

Is mounted on the wall

And the plaque below

Displays the artists


Some perverted dream

That became nothing

But a post-modern

Way in

To a world where he

Doesn’t belong.

I want to stand

And face this thing,

Call it ugly,

Not art,

Not even a usable toilet.

I want to stop

The lines

Of field trippers,


hand in hand,

I want to hear them

proclaim “not art!”

To fully live

In what they know.

08/17 Direct Link
This morning

You called me in

At 5:30

Told me

you had found

A “snool,”

Your tiny

Two-year-old hands

Held open,

lifted up

Before your

Smiling, sleepy face.

“What color is it?”

I asked.

“It’s a blue one.”

In this early light

Your eyes sleepy

And almond

like your mom,

You looked like

Someone from a dream

A boy I might hope to know

Who’d imagine

‘snools,’ share them

With me when you could.

“I dropped it!” you said,

and looked down

threatened tears,

but this is part of the life

of ‘snools.’

They are often dropped

And found again.

08/18 Direct Link
I try to think of all the ways

I can love you.

Practical ways.

So it was when

We are at the zoo


And you saw your first

Meercat, that snarling

And famed rodent

You grunted loudly

Your face vibrating,

Finger pointing

Your brother and me

Looked at you

At each other

And we knew

That the zoo

Is fun for us

But that maybe

It is your place

As you grunt

And half smile

Through otters,

And pigs,

And kit foxes,

And I can’t help but think

About how much more

you are a “you” like no other.

08/19 Direct Link
Why do we think

It’s okay

To let

Our children cry?

Or to let them go


Do we bend to

What we ought not to

By believing

That because others do this

Because our culture

Tells us

Because it “is” good for them

To learn about the world

To deal with the world

In a certain way

That we give that away

In any sense

Even two days a week

For others

Trained as they may be,

Yet getting paid,

Good hearted,

To be the people

That teach our

Kids what

We have been charged

To give them?

08/20 Direct Link
Hand in hand

Your mom and me

A little swing

A quick look

Geraniums awake,

Pink inside green beds

The climbing tree

In the circle

Of the parking lot

And you already know

That yours is the yellow door

Straight to your cubby

To the star with your name

At the top…A-S-A

And you smile at me

Hug and move into


And you paint

And cry when the other

Kids do, you will

Read and dance

And wrestle for cars

And part of you will wonder

Why you are here

But even in this

You trust us.

You trust.

08/21 Direct Link
It’s not too late for me

Not too late

To slip down

Into the uncharted place

Where no one can find me.

It is fair to say this.

It’s fair for me to remember

South Lake Tahoe

Oglala Avenue

Run run run

Slide to the bus

The snow piled

8 feet into canyon

Walls, and the flakes

Still piling, and even

After school

Making dirt appear

With motorcycle wheels

Spinning in the dark grey

Snow. Making my way.

Is it wrong that I was so happy?

Wrong that even unaware

Of what I lost

I was happy?

Did I know?

08/22 Direct Link
When Elijah

Left Beersheba

He wandered until

He found a broom tree

Sat beneath it, told God,

No more.

In my backyard

A pomegranate

Bursts with fruit

Reddening into September

I look beneath its branches everyday

For smooth spot to sit.

I am losing my strength

In this world

Colder and dim and bright

All at once.

I understand

with each day

I live less and less

For myself

But this is not some noble revelation

It’s an unavoidable circumstance

Where sometimes nobility rises.

Here, under the leafy branches

Of this pomegranate

I wonder if quietly

the angels are near

08/23 Direct Link
Da Da

Is what you say

And you are starting

To look at me

make the words

Mean something.

I want you to need me

Sammy, yet you

Are already

Nothing but need

Wrapped in diapers

And balmex,

Watermelon stained

Mouth, bunny graham

Cracker smeared into

Your shirt

My hand feeble attempts

To show my love to you

Along with the partly

Full bottle, a poor

Substitute for mom,

Yet you seem to drink it

Just for me.

Your big eyes

Squinting into smiles

your deepest care

to make me feel how

Already you know

How much I need you.

08/24 Direct Link
Elijah wept beneath the broom tree, too tired now to go on. It didn’t matter how much God had done for him. Exhausted, he waited in the heat. He waited. The trick here is that somehow in his waiting he never got distracted enough to miss the angel when he came. He never closed his eyes far enough, or covered his ears. He knew enough to remember truth even in his misery. That truth, the broom tree, the angel, all that he had seen and all that he had left somehow wrapped itself together to be the voice of God.
08/25 Direct Link

Beneath the Broom Tree, Elijah ate the last of his bread, drank until his wineskins bled dry, and laid his head down on the rock on the upper slope of the hill. There was very little wind in the afternoon, and the stillness calmed him. He was afraid, not for the first time, but he saw her face in the very sky, and he could not escape the fear. Her beauty terrible, her voice, melodic, her power complete, and the sweat in his eyes burned him. He slept there for a very little while; the tortured sleep of dread.
08/26 Direct Link

In a waking moment he was glad enough to have left his servant in Beersheba. It is only in loneliness that a man can fully join forces with the devil, so his pity could be complete, his fear, allowed to overtake him, festered at first just below the hill in a silent blackness that swirled beneath the hill below the broom tree. It crept up the slope silently mocking the ground as it floated over, consumed it. Elijah began to imagine prayer. He found on his lips the words of death and release that he had dared not utter.
08/27 Direct Link

The blackness moved closer to the broom tree as Elijah’s words began leak out, his self pity overflowing now into the dry and coarse air, “take my life O’ Lord, I’m like my fathers before me! This enough now.” It was at this moment, that the branches of the broom tree seemed to extend down over his chest, the leaves translucent, almost white in the sunlight, the branches moved over his body in one sweep then; it seemed to him, farther down the hill. He felt new again, and there, near the rock, the impossible smell of hearth cake.
08/28 Direct Link

He ate and drank from an earthen jug, and again he lay down, his fear dimmed, his strength flowing back, his breath even and true, but this time the branches did not move, and the unmistakable shake of some heavenly hand, some divine and unmistakable voice filled his body with remembrance and hope folded into holy fear. He sat up, leaned against the tree. He ate. He drank, and at last he got up, looked out across Judah. Horeb appeared in the distance. Below the hill of the broom tree, blackness seeped into the desert floor. Elijah walked.
08/29 Direct Link

To walk forty days with no shoes was not the difficult part. It was the spears and arrows of Jezebel that were the greatest obstacle. The angel had commanded he go, and Elijah believed, even prayed that there would be some sense of Holy protection, but her words about the sword, and the truth of death of all the prophets at her hand filled him with an earthly fear. Perhaps, he thought, beneath the moon one night, is why He is making walk all the way to Horeb. Forty days beneath the sun. Forty days under the cold moon.
08/30 Direct Link

Yet even at Horeb, Elijah hid in a cave, filled with fear, asking for his very life. I know this cave. I understand its embrace. I’ve lived inside its rocky walls. I’ve hoped for earthquakes, for wind, for fire, and I’m ready now, to hide my face in the cloak, to hear the still, small voice, “why are you here?” And I will answer honestly now, the truth now. I am standing at the entrance to the cave, and I am full of hope. I know why you made me walk this far. I am ready. I am afraid.
08/31 Direct Link
This is the one I’ve been waiting for, ultra stream of consciousness that’s really about nothing, not some ridiculous grand finale with its own banners and gobo lights streaming, no carnival of elastic jumping acrobats or blue man group drum pounding. I am done for now, but alive now with the purpose the creator of this whole thing probably hoped for, or am I imagining too much altruism? Whatever way. Done is done is done is done, and I haven’t’ done that yet, I have been pretty good maybe this piece will just have to end before it comes to…