Approach - a poem for parashat Vayigash

This is God's doing:
I knew it all along:
Divine intervention on a biblical scale -
someone should contact DeMille,
te absolvo to the rest of you;

You clearly had no part
in the glory-bound trainwreck
that was the beginning
of this merry-go-round life,
all murderous contempt aside.
You have no power here,
nor your little dog
or your sparkly red shoes.

Clearly it was God all along

So you may approach, knees bent,
tail between your legs,
and make as your offering gift
the  blood - spattered remnants of cloth of gold
and red and orange and purple and black -
You get the picture -
I get the glory.

Blessed is God,
and deserving of blessing.
Amen

A Long Line of Dreamers

For Joseph, who dreamed of himself

I come from a long line of dreamers.

They dreamed of the desert,

that golden swath of dust

stretching unto forever

They dreamed of mountains casting

long shadows over growing grain

and battered hearts.

They dreamed of angels

and men, and, sometimes,

could even tell the two apart.

My father was a master of visions.

He dreamed of God and angels,

of men who rose on ladders

and waged fierce battles

in the dark.

The dreamers who came before me

claimed the power of names

and prophecy,

though they could not defeat

the sunrise.

Across the vault of heaven,

my father planted feet and flags

and built a nation scattered

by time and light.

I, too, have dreamed of stars

and wheat that bowed

in graceful supplication.

Even the sun, in its radiance,

and the moon—that silver disk

against a fold of night—

bowed to me in my dreams.

What need have I of nations and time,

of angels or men,

with all that the spheres of heaven

and the bounty of God's earth

have given me?

I, after all, am a dreamer of greatness. 

A Long Line of Dreamers

I come from a long line of Dreamers

My Fathers
dreamed of the desert,
a great swath of golden dust
and sculpted sand
that stretched from here
to eternity.
They dreamed of mountains
that cast long shadows
over growing grain
and shattered hearts.
They dreamed of angels
and Men,
and sometimes,
they could even tell
the two apart.
Sometimes.
It was never a
perfect science.

My father was a master of visions
and dreamed of God,
as well as angels
and Men,
who romped on ladders
and waged fierce battle
in the dark,
and shrouded by fog.
They claimed the  Power of names
and Prophecy,
though they could not defeat
the sunrise when it came.
But of the stars,
skittering like sand
across the vault of heaven,
my father planted his feet
and his flags of possession,
and built a nation upon
that scattered field
of time and
Light.

I, too, have dreamed of stars,
and wheat that bowed
in graceful supplication.
Even the sun, in its radiance,
and the Moon -
a silvered disk against
a fold of night -
They bowed to me in
my Dreams.
What need do I have
of nations and time,
of angels
or Men,
when all the spheres of Heaven
and the bounty of God's earth
have given me
my proper due?

I am a dreamer of
Greatness.