The Reckoning

Forward, forward, into the shapeless culmination
I tumble, and by the reckoning of a shadow
Taste the light that bleeds through my window
At the coming of each day.
Seed of night, by which dreams grow,
I plant you now deep
In the soil of my memory
And return with dirt-stained hands
To that shadow, which reckons me again.

A Blessing

I breathe in the blessing of air
And so I must give back the blessing of my voice
Even when there is nobody there.
I sing to the moon for its blessing of light.
I sing to the trees for blessing me with their beauty
And their shade.
I sing to the spinning wheel of time
For sharing its rhythm with my song.
And I sing to the dead,
Who have blessed me with that unknowable gift
From which all life is sprung.
And to you, too, I sing
For blessing me with an open door and a warm embrace
In that most cherished and sacred place--
Your soul.

Shadow Man Prayer

The shadow man bangs the gong, and I rise
Naked and alert to my flesh.
Dreams dance away into oblivion--
Only the melody remains.
Somewhere far down the line
I will remember the words to this song.
Like an ancient rose musing in the sunlight
I will answer it with a prayer
And be calm.

The Great Poet on His Deathbed

The great Nobel Prize winning poet lay on his deathbed with his wife of fourty years and family surrounding him. The room was filled with cards and flowers from his loving fans and admirers. Members of the press stood outside the door trying to get a glimpse of the famous man. His wife held his hand, weeping, repeating his name over and over, and saying, "Don't leave me. Don't leave me." And what was the last thought that ran through the great man's head as he took his final breath? It was: "Maybe one day I will be recognized for my gift. Maybe soon." And he was.

On the Death of My Grandfather, Hyman Spector 12/13/16

No more to seek, because all is found.
Nor more to ask, for all is in wisdom bound.
With God you came, and still
In His company now,
The echo of your soul will eternally sound.
If life is but a dream,
Then so death must be as well.
Sleep well, my grandfather!
You are free of your earthly shell!

Why it is fun to be a bastard

Cruelty, in its essence, is anger expressed in joy. It is easy to be cruel, easier than delight, because, it requires no outside factors. We can be cruel whenever we want. Delight requires some REASON to feel delight. In cruelty, one can create his own delight with a mere gesture. In other words, it is as easy to be cruel as it is to be kind. But of course, we can only be kind to those who will accept our kindness. When one rejects kindness, the only alternative is to leave the person alone, which, let's face it, is no fun, OR, to be cruel, which is delightful...until it blows up in one's face.

Two Haiku

1.
A thousand speckled rays
On the river flowing.
Silver leaves in emerald grass.

2.
A single leaf remains
On the bough of the sugar maple.
The sun relishes the downy coats of the swans.

Nursery Rhyme

Mamma bird and baby bird sitting on a tree.
Baby bird flew off and mamma said, "Whee!"
Baby bird flew around looking at the clouds.
Baby came right back and mamma was proud!

Rose of My Love

The rose of my love is blooming into song.
Fresh from the earth my eternal joy springs.
Pluck this rose, my darling, and cherish it while it lasts.
In this springtime glory, we shall know love at last.

The Two Toads

Two toads were swimming in a pond one afternoon when they happened upon an object floating on the water. It was about the size of their heads, round, red, with a rounded and ridged wall running all around it. In fact, it was a bottle cap. The toads looked curiously at the object. The first toad grabbed it and put it on its head. “It’s a hat!” he said.

            “No,” said the other, and took the bottle cap and filled it with water, then drank from it. “It’s a cup!” he said.

            Finally, a tortoise appeared and ate the bottle cap, but choked on it and died.

            “It must have been poisonous, whatever it was,” said the toads. Fools.

Birthday Poem

For thirty one years I have known the breath of life,
Its sorrows, its joys, its terrors, and its delights.
The world remains fresh, and so do I.
Each night I behold a brand new star in the sky.
Each day, brand new faces smile as they pass by.
For whatever reason, fate has brought me here,
And I offer these words to you now, empty of pride,
And without fear.

The Two Shamans

Once there were two shamans. The first, Kanaman, lived in the village of Komassuwana. The second, Lamassana, lived in the village of Ossanashamba. It so happened that the village of Komassuwana was decimated by famine. Only Kanaman survived. He traveled far into the night, dying of starvation. When he reached the village of Ossanashamba, he was flesh and bones, and the people, upon seeing him, brought him to Lanassana's tent. Food was brought to him, but he would not eat. He was left alone with Lanassana. Lanassana looked at Kanaman and took out a peace pipe, and began to smoke. He said, "You are dying of starvation. You must eat." But Kanaman said, "How can I eat when all of my people are dead?" Lanassana said, "Take this peace pipe and smoke." Kanaman smoked. He saw a vision. His people were rising from the dead. They formed a great procession and sang and played loud on the drums. Then, they began to eat. They ate and ate until their bellies bulged. Then they began to laugh. They laughed and laughed until they began to weep. And then too Kanaman began to weep. He wept and wept until he began to laugh. He looked at the food before him, and it was radiant. All of his misery was gone and his belly growled. He reached out his hand and took the food, and he ate.