A Prayer of Gratitude

Three hots,
a cot, served
in the prison of 
my hospital room.
My bed is alarmed,
guarding against an escape
from gravity.
A gravid situation -
Who would escape
the luxury of all this bounty?
Blessed beyond measure
aren't we,
with all that we need -
three hots,
a cot.
A heart of fire
and a table laden,
overflowing with bountiful goodness.

I breathe in the name of God.
Breathe in the name of God,
the name of God -
God!
There is such grace
 in this giving,
a kindness unmeasured.

So give thanks
and sing your praise
for all that we have,
for all we have not,
for all that will be given.
Sing praise,
and let us shout
Amen.

When a Giant Dies

It's hard -
So very hard -
when a giant dies.
They tend to fall in
fields of flowers -
wild, riotous colors
smelling of liquid night
and electric sky.

The birds know,
and the wind.
They pay tribute,
not quite hushed but
reverent still.
The sun and moon
dance together in a pale sly
and a handful of stars
catch in trees that
have known heat and thirst
yet are laden with green
and leaves of
heartbreak gold.
The whole world
is filled with glory.

It is so very hard when giants die,
hard to stand m their shadow,
with the bones of earth
and dust,
but I have been witness
to their majesty,
and I have wept
at the beauty
and grace
and the riot of color
as the earth welcomed
this giant home.


For the Notorious #RBG

A New Year's poem on the tenth anniversary of my brother's death

Happy new year!
Shana tova,
and sweetness,
so much sweetness!
And sincerest condolences.
Sorry about your brother.

His death came
just as the shofar sounded,
a blast to wake the heavens.
Happy birthday world!
A long note, sonorous.
Sorrowful.
Powerful.
He opened his eyes
and smiled, a last secret found
finally. And he died,
sweetly surrounded by love
and those last strains of the shofar.
So sorry, such grief.
Shana tova u'metukah!
A sweet and good year,
and condolences.
His memory will be a
blessing this year.
Every year.
Happy new year.
For a year of sweetness
and goodness
and sorrow
and love.

This Day: a prayer for parashat nitzavim

You feel like ghosts,
all of you standing here
under the mountain,
trembling,
shivering like the aspen

in sunlight,
beautiful and fragile.

I could not block out the noise -
God's thunder
God's demand,
but I heard the tender beat
of each heart that passed

and stood 

and trembled there,
and I was calmed.

Even with so many -
the all of us from before
and now
and yet to be,
God stood with us in that

triumvirate of time.

We lift out eyes in praise.
God likes praise,
loves prayer and devotion,

and smoke mixed 

with a little blood.

There was none of that 

on this day,

just ghosts 

and awe,

mixed with a
bit of fear.

We are all here,

together on this day,

we ghosts of now

and then 

and yet to be,

with God's voice

crashing down from the mountain.

resonating up from the ground

this holy ground,

a Voice filled with blessings

and curses,

surrounding us with 

the promise of love.

Psalm for shabbat

A psalm for Shabbat...

Slow.
slow and sweet, like
honey.
like light.
like grace.
Shabbat comes
and my heart opens
like light
slow.
and I
breathe

Shabbat shalom to all I love and hold dear. <3 p="">

Holy Ground

If I took off my shoes
on this holy ground
and walked the forever walk
and crossed the forever sea,
would it matter?

What ground is not holy?
What sea is not forever?
What journey does not bring me
closer to You?

Is there anywhere where You are not?
All the earth cries out Your name.
It is holy, as holy as this earth,
and forever as this sea.

Forever as this bush,
burning unconsumed,
unnoticed until it is not.
It is sweet forever fire.
It holds Your name.
It calls You close.

There is no place where You are not,
and every shoeless step
is a benediction, a psalm
to praise Your name.

Elegy: for George Floyd

Mama, oh mama,
The sun is too bright.
This knee on my neck
carries the weight of
centuries and stone.
Oh mama, I can't breathe!

The street smells like heat
and the sweat of ages
upon ages of silence,
my face pressed like a wildflower
into its creases and grime.
My blood runs, and mama,
I can't breathe!

Mama, oh mama,
what can I do?
I'm dying amidst brotherhood blue,
while the spring breeze
brings a hint of glory
that I know is meant
for skin more fair
and pockets more full.

Mama, oh mama!
I can't breathe.
The weight of the centuries
is crushing.
A single knee
and I am done.

That We All May Rise - a prayer for these days

God of hidden things -
unseen art,
unheard notes,
unfelt touch.
God of fear and hope
and weary, worried hearts,
hear my questions and cries.

The world is heavy now,
and the light arcs
through a glass so darkly.
My soul wanders,
weighted and alone.
Lift me!
Help me rise
and see,
help me rise
And hear,
help me rise
And feel,
so that hope conquers fear,
so that my weary, worried heart opens and pours forth love
like water,
like wine.

Comfort me,
that I may comfort those
who suffer and sigh.
See me,
that my eyes are open
to the world around me.
Lift me,
that we all may rise.

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

B'reishit: a poem for Creation and Tzimtzum

The Beginning didn't just break;
it shattered,
splintered and spilled
in a hundred -
a thousand
an infinity of directions.

God was not content,
apparently,
with the tzimtzum of Her creation,
the inhaled withdrawal,
an absence of essence.
Into that empty space
that once was filled
with the endlessness
of God, was filled now
with the chaos of dark
and light.
A single day,
and then six more,
and it was,
they were, mostly,
good.

And in that exact same instant,
in the inhaled breath
of the endless god,
light!

There was evening,
there was morning,
again and again and
again and again
millennia of agains,
and then a few more.
Tzimtzum

Year upon year,
age upon age,
mountains rose and
empires fell.
One day followed by another
and another
and another,
so often that sometimes
they ceased to have
meaning
or weight.
They were merely
time and again,
day upon day,
life after life,
mostly good.

A pretty good trick
to play, a sleight of hand
with space and light -
a divine game of cups.
Pick a hand held behind God's back.
He seems to favor that position.

What would it be like
I wonder, to be endless -
without end and infinite,
the superlative of all
superlatives?
would it be lonely
do you think
to be that
indivisibly singular?
To be filled to empty to full
in the blink of an eye
all at the same time?

I think if that were me,
I would want to scream.
I would want to gather in all my
everythingness, only to realize
there was nowhere to gather,
no thing to hold,
because I was everything
in every direction.
Only me,
with no spaces
or cracks
to let the light in.
Would I even know
what light is
or space?

Would I know sun
and sky and water and rain?
Would I see the Glory
and know that it was all
incompletely good?
Would I know God
and would I sing
praises to Her name?

Chazak

I held earth and air 

and fire and water
in my arms,
and I danced.
It was good.
I turned, and turned again,
with all that glory,
with all that binding,
dizzy with every letter
that burned with white fire.

Speak, and the world comes to be.
Sing, and God is exalted.
And so we ascend,
an image of holy,
ever holy
and good.

I held light.
I held joy,
and I hold fast to it,
touching heaven
surrounded by love.


For simchat torah 5780
In honor of Congregation Hakafa

But I Will Tend You

To the earth, I say  thank you
for the abundance
of your gifts.
There is grace in
the wheat that dances,
and bounty.
I cannot own you,
but I will tend you
with care.

To the heavens I say thank you
for your glory.
There is such wonder in
the play of stars
and light. For you,
I reach; in you
I find.
I cannot own you,
but I will tend you
with care.

To the water I say thank you
for your lithesome
liquid beauty.
There is power
in your ceaseless
surge and release.
I cannot own you
but I will tend you
with care.

To God I say thank you
for bringing us here
to this season of joy.
We cannot own
Your bounty,
but we will tend it all
with care,
so that we may come again
to say thanks
for this season
of joy.

The Birds Have Fled

The birds have fled,
flown the coop
as it were.
They've gone the way of the dodo
and the cricket
and bullfrog.
Good old Jeremiah has grown
silent with their absence.
It has not made my heart grow fonder,
not at all.

At least there is good parking now.

Still, I miss the birds,
and the sounds of
exultation as they rose in
such graceful joy,
from earth to
heaven, again and again,
angels caught,
captured in an updraft
on their way
to God.

Psalm 151

A psalm, a song of beauty and grief.

I have lived a life of fierce joy,
pursued a world of justice;
every breath a hymn to Your name,
every step a prayer.

You have lifted me
and I rejoice.
You have sheltered me
and I am redeemed.

And now I am weary,
my body spent.
I long for Your promise
of sweet grass
and still waters.
My words have all been said,
and my music,
once exultant,
has quieted.

There is great beauty in this silence,
and grief.

And You, God,
ever-present,
You speak,
so that time and worlds
continue to be.
You sing,
and the glory of Your song
urges us all to rise.
This was the beginning.
This will be the ever and always.
This is the eternal now.
Selah.

Ready

There is a rising expectancy

A hold-your-breath

gathering in,

 at the edge

that drops away

ten thousand feet

and ten thousand more.

A moment--

just that one,

that separates you from

everything else.

You hold yourself so

still,

so poised.

There's a heartbeat's difference

between waiting

and ready,

a heartbeat,

a moment,

the distance between

breaths,

You have walked the ten thousand steps,

and ten thousand more,

an eternity of steps

to cross that narrow distance,

to stand in hushed--

in rising

expectancy.

To leap into that moment,

to complete that breath,

to bridge the distance

between waiting

and God.

To stand

in grace,

in quiet stillness,

in breathless wonder,

on the other side of waiting.

And you gather in those tethers

that have shackled you

You gather them

and let them fall,

cracked and dusty and rusted through.

A breath.

A heartbeat.

A moment that stretches into

the rest of forever

(and then some)

And then

you leap.

Ready.

Harder Than Hard Ever Was

The floor was hard.
Never had there ever been anything harder.
She traced a scuff mark
with her finger,
her hand so small -
pudgy-fingered and soft.
There has never been anything ever so soft,
except maybe her heart,
which was tender and young
And had never known pain.
Not really.
She drew her knees up
to her chest,
where her tender heart beat,
and made herself small
As small as small as could  be
and never was she ever so small,
not when her Mama told her
how big she was,
how glorious was her spirit.
Don't hide, Mama said,
so she made herself as big as big could be.
But not now,
now was a time of small
and unknown pain,
and fear as big as the sky.
Now was the time of
a cold hard tile,
an ungiving tile,
scuffed,
empty,
Harder than ever hard was.
Harder than ever was pharoah's heart.
Harder than waiting
for Mama to come.

The Longest Journey: a poem for Tisha B'av

The longest journey

begins with a breath -

   breath being one of the names of God -

and ends in Breath:

   as the name of God is a prayer: amen.

It is played out

on a bridge more narrow than fear

and wider than Heaven,

and gathers together
the battered, embattled rubble

of broken days and history.

It is - as if it ever wasn't - love,

that journey of unknown proportion,

coming not because of,

nor in spite of, but 

a love that is whole

and endless

   and love -

      God, yes!

         Love,

             in all its infinite

                 and glorious

                    unknowing

                       boundlessness -

                          Love.

                          Love.

That is the journey.
That is the breath

That is the name
of God

Amen.

For Tisha B'av

Poppies

The poppies distract me.

They are so bright,

a riot of rich and royal-hued reds

mixed so democratically 

with purples and pinks and an occasional yellow.

They each lift their petalled faces 

to catch the sun.

With them come gasps and delight,

and quiet, joyful benediction

upon the suddenness of their glory.

With them comes praise 

for the grace of their difference.

We are all poppies, 

riotous in the fields of this land.

We are all poppies,

sun-warmed and sweet,
a glorious gift of beauty
and difference.

Praise on My Lips

I dreamed an ancient desert,
a wilderness of copper and gold
under skies of infinity blue
and heaven.

God dwelt there, made the ground holy,
built a Temple of canvas
and devotion,
and we sang, each morning,
my sisters and I -
Hosanna!
Hallelujah!

I woke then, with praise on my lips -
sweet, and it buzzed against my tongue,
made my body a holy Temple
of sacred grace.

And so I sang a song of rising,
under heaven and infinity blue,
a song of devotion and desire,
sweet benediction to the glory
of God.

To the Glory of God:a poem for Poway

Come, all of us, and enter
into the place where God dwells
and bend, and bow
and offer thanks
for this place,
this moment
of grace.

Bend, and bow
and offer praise
for God's glory
in wonder
and awe.

Bend, and bow
and offer a prayer
for wholeness
and safety
and peace.

And when the shots ring out
like the voice of thunder,
and blood flows like water,
like wine, a benediction
of grief that bends you
and bows you,

Cry out, cry out!
The glory of God is forever -
mercy flows from God's left hand,
compassion from God's right.
Bend and bow then
to the lord of hosts!
Exalted is the One who 
creates harmony on high,
blessed is the One who brings peace.

And let us say, amen.