Sonnet # 3

A faithless wife led to love’s auction.

You cast her off as a bird does a feather,

Which would result in elevation and instruction

Of a bride-in-waiting, from the Jewish tribe, named Esther.

Her father Mordecai led her to the throne.

He took care to instruct… trust his devoted daughter.

Your nuptials would be well invested. Mordecai, alone…

Concealed… saved your life, though he faced strife thereafter.

Haman paralleled in rising and demanded service,

Which Mordecai declined to offer, so Haman schemed against him… his tribe,

Which he soon discovered… delivered to Esther. Esther said you owed a service

To your savior. You pondered. Haman boasted. His scheming started to unwind.

You soon uncovered Haman’s scheme and had him hung… praised Esther’s father

… His tribe. All was saved from watchful words…the heeding to a lover.

The Advantage of Paperbound Texts

The printing of paperbound books is viewed as an antiquated notion in digital-doe-ray-me-society. Many, perhaps, believe hard or paperback texts are unnecessary fodder to be tossed to the shredder.

Many 21st century citizens believe everything will go digital. They say “Why spend time and resources creating trinkets only enjoyable to a few bibliophiles.”

I grant many hardbound copies of texts – outside their accompanying dust jacket – are not centerpiece-level ornamental knick-knacks for guests to toss bits of conversation upon.

The modern physical book does not look like many of the careful ornamented books of last century or before – other than the odd edition of a classic text rolled out as a promotion piece – most books publishers do not publish a book in either a pleasant looking leather or cloth binding.

When the dust jacket is removed from most books rolling out of factory print and binding mills, the bound copies of the zoo of texts look identical on the outside – outside the varying color shade and title-indented-print.

Despite this, the book still has advantage over the digital text – even the more-eye-friendly e-ink devices. Paperbound texts often soar above their digital counterparts in page layout.

Page layout is important because it increases the readability of the texts. Page layout also makes what you are reading more pleasant to look at.

Outside of page layout, there is a mystic aura offered by paperbound texts, which digital copies fail to carry.

The aura is identical to the feeling found by many in the physical look of vinyl records, their casing, rotation and audio presentation.

Sonnet #2

SONNET #2

Reading midrashes by night in candlelight.

Sitting, rocking back and forth in rhythm

Over each iota, each location for oversight –

Over each letter trace of the sacred system

Rocking, moving lips… yet silent as an alef.

Providing commentary over commentary –

Pondering, discovering, applying… a habit

Of revising a commentary of a commentary –

Eyeing ages of eyes, meddling with masterminds.

Yes, each sage whispers to us as a blanket of lips –

Moving back…forward… pausing…puffing… the times

Of rabbinic rocking of rhythmic deconstruction trips.

A twist here, an insert here. We pause… digress upon

Each line, alphabetical trace, mouthed… meditated upon.

Sonnet #1

When I present my head to the wind

In hopes this wind will soon abate.

The tired agonies which time commends

To bring the world into a restless state.

The breeze whispers… screams… nothing

, Though it throws breaks… scatters houses

, Hits the fallen match and leaves the town to nothing –

Though I reach out, pound and shout my loudest.

I sit and inquire until my brow clenches tight.

I sit with head bent and thoughts sent unto

The rustle, which lit the bush like candlelight.

Yet, I do not hear the wind return … soon.

Yet, soon a tingle seems to slip and settle in…

Soon a calm and a glimpse of where to begin.

Monday’s Head Pounding

Today, my head tremored, as I lifted it off the pillow. It tremored with pain. I cannot know weather the pain is due to too much water or too many capsules of melatonin.

The only solution is to enter the bathroom and pour several bottles or glasses of water, gulp them down and then wander to the medicine cabinet for a dosage of migraine killers, which I chase down with another gulp or gulps full of water – depending how I feel the appropriate measure should measure out for the day’s dithered-dozing dilemma

Insomnia curses, it laughs at one during the night. Insomnia then makes sure to laugh, while making several careful and calculated jabs – upon your waking and then throughout the day. Goodnight sleep it huffs. Goodnight sleep you wish Insomnia says, while giving a corner smile.

May the brain fog never leave you during your day Insomnia pronounces? May you carry the fog with you, as a leper’s bell, to ring as you walk the down the street, hallways, and shelf corridors within your day’s foot reach.

May you seek out stimulants to attempt to curb the curse you carry. May you fail to completely blow away the fog. Insomnia says as it pounds its gavel in your neural chambers.

As We Sit Thinking (Poem)

Puffing, pondering…scratching the hairs on our head –

As our heads are swirled in Socratic dialogue –

Continuing to press upon and inquire of

One another on each careful pressing and stressing on

internal perusings and musings which are played, re-played

As a re-run of a never ending

Interchangement and rearrangement

Of a flicker of images…

As pictures channeled through

On a television screen.

Puffing, pondering…scratching the hairs on our head

As we sit comfortably at tables,

As our minds are brewed

On the weather or not of all the possible

Eternal and temporary places or things,

As we sit here sipping wine at dinner tables

Partaking of our evening meal,

as we masticate on past knowledge stages…

The sages, philosophers, priests, rabbis, quacks of the past ages.

Puffing, pondering…scratching the hairs on our head –

We sit here spurting out, dishing out,

Attempting to figure out all the

Why is thats, how is thats, and the how comes

Why?… Because we cannot take the

“Oh just because it is just so,

You should not question so,

You should not continue on so.”

Puffing, pondering…scratching the hairs on our head –

We sit… as our minds are tantalized over Talmudic riddles,

As we go over every last

Syllable and inflection, infraction and word placement,

Repeats… all word and phrasal patterns

Let Us Sing (Poem)

Sing out each of tone with careful punctuation

As you harmonize each line,

Each syllable…

Each sign of punctuation

Let us join as one voice

Let us raise our voices up as one signal

As we heave, pant, chant –

Let the air puffs meld…merge into each other,

Melted into sweet…dreamed up drifts

Of da da da’s

Of la la la’s

For one another,

To comfort one another.

Let us struggle with one another.

Let us speak truths.

Uncomfortable… though worthwhile truths.

Let us speak of justice –

Let us categorize.

Let us judge justice justly.

Let us demean the justice, which retracts from the poor and twists for the rich.

Let us speak of the need to seek a justice blind to status or purse.

Let us sound a cry.

A proud cry,

Perhaps, a humble cry,

A glad cry,

Perhaps, a sad cry.

Let us let others join us,

As they hear us,

Up-up elevator up to the skyscraper and escalated up to mountaintops

Down-Down creviced deep inside volcanoes and deep under the sea –

As they feel us,

From foot-sole to hand-palm –

Inside ear canal and reverberated into neural canal –

As they are attracted to us –

Struck and stuck to our timed and rhymed chorus.

Let the crowed of the varied… yet harmonized sounds carry.

Let the chanted choir change the world.

Over Coffee Cups (Poem)

Let us pour cups of coffee at 6 a.m.

To set up and swirl the internal, visceral, humble conversation

And drift out of dreams and screams. The what does it all mean questions –

Which are infusing our mental quarters

And set us up pressing and perusing, all the hourly, weekly, monthly, yearly, thoughts

which left us confusing each other.. and perhaps others.

Please speak.

What is the moments musing?

Tell me.

I will tell you.

Speak to me.

I will speak to you.

Say your life in verse.

Tell it to me softly.

Sing it in tuneful, soulfull, thrilling

harmony.

Let us speak –

Let our minds drift –

as we take our bites of jellied and buttered toast.

What will you be up to?

What have you been up to?

I have been up, down, swung left, swung right.

I am a little mesmerized in the

Thoughts, inclinations, frustrations,

which have left me paralyzed.

I may or may not be all right.

I hope your life has been a delight.

Never mind the strings hummed on my daily plight.

I am sure it will be all right.

It is all about the fight –

Swung with our personal kicks and punches –

sometimes ending in victories…

Sometimes losses.

The lulls of life all lay on a coin toss of head or tailes.

What will be our end state count?

What will be the end tally?

Check my hand.

Tell where the end toll of toil will land.

Oh! you don’t know.

Well… I don’t either I suppose.

Only history will read it out I suppose?

A chronicle will tell both our all I suppose.

Let us tell all as the crumbs fall.

Well that is all I suppose.

I know you really need to go.

I suppose I played too much upon my own oboe.

Good luck.

Tell me about news of your travels

When you return.

Perhaps, I have a few things to learn

Upon this future news.