I’m not your typical invitation
Please apprise me of your inclination
Don’t you dare pretend
Or else I’ll apprehend
You! ~ and hang you by your subluxation
Autumn is gilded with bucolic hues.
Fawn feathered birds wing in indigo skies.
Burnished umbers and rusts imbued with blues
on a landscaped palette, my eyes apprise.
Nature's artistry paints without a brush,
Autumn skies imbued with landscaped artistry.
Inspired by 'The Gilded Season' posted 11/10/23.
Detroit Rolls Royce
Actually a “Cherry Picker”,
A Royce costume,
Disguising Yonah’s rise,
Repairing Balmore’s eruv slicker,
Faster than a Lamborgini volume,
But TA’s Gabbai is wise,
Checking wires needs a “Stickler”,
An observant Jew who doesn’t assume,
Taking pains to apprise,
R’ Ribiat is a George Washington “flicker”,
Both are Fathers, Yonah of the Ribiat Bloom,
Detroit Tiger & Lion prize,
Ty Cobb wore knickers,
R’ Ribiat a “Bekesher” plus reads volumes,
Hears Baila’s sighs & cries,
Eats Kosher, laughs never snickers,
Enjoy to 120! Adar zoom resume!
Chaim & Barbara
Wherefrom does the ego’s I-thought arise,
which distances our presence from the source,
is the untruth which we need to apprise,
in staid stillness without applying force,
pulsations of bliss, choosing to endorse,
breath by breath holding steady our focus,
in the cave of heart, along love’s locus.
bliss tempests rise
we apprise not
surprise embraced
Astray, I pray the day
Will stay the way I say
My heart to start the part
Compart, outsmart my chart
To rise, eyes on the skies
Revise, apprise the prize
And blest with zest to wrest
My quest to crest the test
To share my flair with care
Aware repair is there.
This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.
Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.
When I think of food and drink,
it's no surprise
the question does arise,
with booze some choose to let it breathe
and defer their bottle of wine,
I prefer to savour the flavour
and give mouth to mouth to mine.
(Que Syrah, Syrah!)
Some say, “The glass is half full,”
with accent on the positive,
some see the glass half empty,
and focus on the negative.
Two sides to every story,
supposedly that implies,
as for me I see
something else entirely.
And as for size I will apprise,
but, before I do, I beg of you,
allow me one more swig,
“Sláinte, salud, prost, cin cin,”
the glass is too damn big!
observe reflex responses that arise ~
flawed perception marks the way we apprise
Betwixt the vibrant threads of a busy bazaar,
A foreigner's gaze seize on a singular star,
A boy with one eye, an enigma raid,
Their dialogue begins, a journey to trade.
"Your salesmanship shines," the foreigner inquires,
"Does schooling attend you? Or familial fires?"
Orphaned and lone, no kin he admires,
The boy's tale unravel, as ambition inspires.
"English, how come its in your tongue?" the foreigner probes,
Through travelers' tales, the boy's knowledge thorough on globe.
In the loom of life, where destiny robes,
Their discourse unfurls, where curiosity lobs.
But the foreigner, intrigued by a deeper array,
Asks of the boy, his eye's fate's ray.
"Taken away," the boy voice like a squall,
No pity sought, nor tears to enthrall.
"Would you wish for new eye?" the foreigner's quest,
To gaze upon wonders, life's behest,
Boy apprise "I'd rather dwell in darkness, at rest,"
Than with one eye, bear life's test.
Silence ensues, the foreigner's heart sways,
By the boy's resolve, in life's maze,
A cashmere carpet purchased, in a daze,
Their encounter profound, in bazaar's craze.
If we be still, joy will arise,
then with nothing there to apprise,
distanced from thoughts of loss or gain,
we dance carefree in the bliss rain,
moment by moment in stillness,
marking the path to soul’s wellness.
Purim Headstand
Scaling K2’s peak,
Of sudden surprise,
Upending Fate,
Rashaim could not sneak,
Anymore, Nes apprise,
Mistaken 70 years being too late,
Goyim’s scheme did leak,
Gave to the rise,
Haman’s gallows up straight,
Head Over Heels unique,
“Hesther Panim” foiled the devise,
Sank the Hate,
Now October 7 will eake,
Out & End Hamas’s vise,
Israel will “8”,
Stop the illusion streak,
Puzzling Whys?
Did Hashem Jews create?
Not as odd as Sinwar’s mistake!
Note: 8 is Rise Above, also Coming of Moshiach?
Hesther Panim is the Hidden Face of Hashem
Rashaim are Bad Evil Guys
Goyim are NonJews
There is a darkness in my life,
a forecast of torrential rain that drowns my heart with sorrow,
and its gloom clouds my mind,
washing away any hope for tomorrow,
This darkness overshadows me,
eclipsing whatever light that remains within my soul,
and the more I try to fight it,
the less I feel in control,
Tears spill onto my cheeks,
tracing the outlines of a smile seldom shown,
as I sit alone in this cave of a home,
hidden from the world and hardening like stone,
It's as if I'm dying inside,
trapped within the confines of an epidermis tomb,
while my cries for help echo through the barrenness of my existence,
resonating with apprise of my impending doom,
But in this aphotic zone in the depths of my core,
my words are a sconce on the walls of my heart,
illuminating the halls of my soul,
so that others may navigate their way through the dark.
The thinking clouds, looking down on earth, and thinking.
They are puffed, curdled milk clouds that are high and cold.
They apprise a December sun which seems to be winking.
The clouds wink back, refusing to drop the snowflakes they hold.
In high pressure of atmosperic prevailing wind,
With a tantrum sun not wanting to share its rays,
'Tis the fate this year that December's snow, the clouds rescind.
While earth waits for snow in darkness of January's days.
Having long since ceased to weigh, measure or size,
presence no longer dwells upon loss or gain,
for having seen the Self, we now realise,
that bondage to ego cravings is a chain,
which we’ve broken free from, so why then apprise,
healing warmth of the sun and pain brought by rain,
more so when we know that we are living light,
with bliss cascading within by day and night?
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