Few leaves fall as the breeze
Bends the taller Cyprus branches
And stirs the wind chimes
That hang lazily
From the white lattice work
Over the terrace.
The soft pleasant full sounds
Emitted as the cylinders touch one another,
Become confused and discordant
When the air contrives to turn direction.
My neighbor’s more robust bells
Present a challenge that subsumes
My more modest offering,
Creating a hopeless cacophony
When the air stills
There is little to mark the sound’s passing,
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Putting Away the Toys
I prayed, lit candles,
Insisted our apartment
Suffer some of the milder indignities
Called for by the sons of Abraham.
For a year after my bar mitzvah
I genuflected, vowed obeisance
To he “Who could not be named”
My folks, secular Jews,
Who attended services 3 times a year,
Tolerated this errant behavior
In the belief that it would pass.
They were right.
I decided I did not believe,
Concluded that my Friday night rituals were insincere.
I put away that toy.
Perhaps that marked my emancipation?
I’ve not had refuge from the tyranny
Of an unplanned universe,
Where” evolution” means only “change”.
No more do I express empathy or sympathy
For the believers,
Finding them far too righteous,
Manifesting an arrogance and ignorance
That transcends and refigures the “minds I”.
I did not lose religion, I rejected it.
Not so, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy,
And America’s promise --
These are gone and I’m the poorer for the loss.
Insisted our apartment
Suffer some of the milder indignities
Called for by the sons of Abraham.
For a year after my bar mitzvah
I genuflected, vowed obeisance
To he “Who could not be named”
My folks, secular Jews,
Who attended services 3 times a year,
Tolerated this errant behavior
In the belief that it would pass.
They were right.
I decided I did not believe,
Concluded that my Friday night rituals were insincere.
I put away that toy.
Perhaps that marked my emancipation?
I’ve not had refuge from the tyranny
Of an unplanned universe,
Where” evolution” means only “change”.
No more do I express empathy or sympathy
For the believers,
Finding them far too righteous,
Manifesting an arrogance and ignorance
That transcends and refigures the “minds I”.
I did not lose religion, I rejected it.
Not so, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy,
And America’s promise --
These are gone and I’m the poorer for the loss.
Dachau
Holding a pistol in a prisoner’s mouth
Seems an ordinary, even daily, event.
But this one is special.
A spring day. In the photograph
Two soldiers chat in the background.
There are signs of new leaves
On the forsaken solitary birch,
Visible behind the officers cap.
Dachau a small town.
A half-hour from Munich,
Chose to remain unaware
Of the purpose of the concentration camp
That sits on its northern boundary.
Villagers would not care to know
That the prisoner, wearing a gray stripped
Jacket and pants, will, in death,
Emblemize the need for Germany
To economize, helping the “war” effort.
Being Saturday, the commandant reflects
On tomorrows, day-off.
His wife insisted on a picnic
Away from the sounds, sights, and smells.
Luther and Jonathan, ages 6 and 9
Will surely love the outing.
They get to run, have treats at the confectionery
And spread the blanket
That will be home for 2 hours.
“Come”, he reminds himself of the task at hand.
The prisoner facing him has a yellow star poorly sewn
To his jacket at chest height.
Like the other prisoner he is hairless.
We see only the right side of the second prisoner.
He could be Jewish, Catholic, gay or just a business man.
Whose home was needed to aid the Fuehrer.
One suspects these 2 prisoners were selected randomly,
Except for their similar height.
Tied back to back, they can both be killed with a single bullet.
All small scale executions done this way,
Would lower the waste of needed ammunition,
And greatly assist the Fatherland.
Seems an ordinary, even daily, event.
But this one is special.
A spring day. In the photograph
Two soldiers chat in the background.
There are signs of new leaves
On the forsaken solitary birch,
Visible behind the officers cap.
Dachau a small town.
A half-hour from Munich,
Chose to remain unaware
Of the purpose of the concentration camp
That sits on its northern boundary.
Villagers would not care to know
That the prisoner, wearing a gray stripped
Jacket and pants, will, in death,
Emblemize the need for Germany
To economize, helping the “war” effort.
Being Saturday, the commandant reflects
On tomorrows, day-off.
His wife insisted on a picnic
Away from the sounds, sights, and smells.
Luther and Jonathan, ages 6 and 9
Will surely love the outing.
They get to run, have treats at the confectionery
And spread the blanket
That will be home for 2 hours.
“Come”, he reminds himself of the task at hand.
The prisoner facing him has a yellow star poorly sewn
To his jacket at chest height.
Like the other prisoner he is hairless.
We see only the right side of the second prisoner.
He could be Jewish, Catholic, gay or just a business man.
Whose home was needed to aid the Fuehrer.
One suspects these 2 prisoners were selected randomly,
Except for their similar height.
Tied back to back, they can both be killed with a single bullet.
All small scale executions done this way,
Would lower the waste of needed ammunition,
And greatly assist the Fatherland.
Creationism
Despair riddles the gray moth community.
Soot and grime collect on the buildings,
A haven to these moths
For the last 100 years,
Now show signs of perfidy.
Chimneys do not cough with the effort
That drives industry.
Survival, a careless host,
Belongs to Darwin.
White moths blend comfortably now in the midst of the city.
Where the gray moth has lost its camouflage.
Soot and grime collect on the buildings,
A haven to these moths
For the last 100 years,
Now show signs of perfidy.
Chimneys do not cough with the effort
That drives industry.
Survival, a careless host,
Belongs to Darwin.
White moths blend comfortably now in the midst of the city.
Where the gray moth has lost its camouflage.
Less to Work With
Bruce, the legendary knight loses his right arm,
But continues the battle .
Stout hearted, he will not concede.
After the loss of both arms and legs.
He still demands the duel continue,
Threatening to subdue his opponent with his teeth.
That comic sketch fits me well.
Paddle ball and tennis are gone,
Courtesy of a bad shoulder.
My head does not produce enough hair
To slow the sad state of my balding dome.
I hear most of a conversation,
Unless the speaker looks away.
Anything not in my path will be forgotten.
Anything in my path has the potential to cripple me.
I can read all the words in the paper,
Provided they are not in small print.
Of course, there are the pills,
Colorful little creatures, that dull my consciousness.
But, my heart is strong and will last for years to come.
(Thanks to a pacemaker.)
But continues the battle .
Stout hearted, he will not concede.
After the loss of both arms and legs.
He still demands the duel continue,
Threatening to subdue his opponent with his teeth.
That comic sketch fits me well.
Paddle ball and tennis are gone,
Courtesy of a bad shoulder.
My head does not produce enough hair
To slow the sad state of my balding dome.
I hear most of a conversation,
Unless the speaker looks away.
Anything not in my path will be forgotten.
Anything in my path has the potential to cripple me.
I can read all the words in the paper,
Provided they are not in small print.
Of course, there are the pills,
Colorful little creatures, that dull my consciousness.
But, my heart is strong and will last for years to come.
(Thanks to a pacemaker.)
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