Best Chaim Poems
Swing of the bat, contests
Fielders’ gloves, ball in motion,
Run, slide, throw - called safe!
Innings are by turns,
Dramatic or biding, boxscores
Revealing who’s up.
Catching foul ball strays,
Or in bleachers just catch rays,
Fans cheer, hoot and wave!
Hear “Smack!” a hit!
Vendors warble, “Peanuts and beer!”
Star spangled banner.
If you come early,
Ask for heros’ autographs,
Snap players’ faces.
Distance ‘tween bases,
Had to be divinely ordained,
Perfecting the game!
Whether the home team ,
Overcomes temporary calamity,
Makes or breaks dreams!
© Chaim Wilson
I wish I could have
seen and heard Theodore Roosevelt ,
Eugene Debs and Calvin Coolidge
speak their minds
I wish I could travel back
in time to see Daniel Webster,
meet Lewis and Clark
I wish time was malleable
And that we could travel back
to see Chaim Potok - J.R.R. Tolkien,
the Lubavitcher rebbe, Martin Luther King
But friend - you and I are trapped in the early 21st century
Let's try to make the
most of it
For as the Old Tentmaker knew "The moving finger writes - and having writ moves on....
Age 51 is often when one’s unable,
To buy the status quo, it’s old and needs mending.
New sports car, how youthful! Refuting the label,
Of premature old age, gray hair pending.
Girl friends need to be added to the stable,
Young women, their company lending,
Immortal aura when sharing their bar table.
What invokes “against aloneness”, or “befriending”?
You’ll find a word “antimonos” in Greek fable.
The element Antimony, #51, is alloy tending,
By emulating its properties, “Romeo” is enabled.
By experimenting with the valence one’s sending,
Reactions occur, some of which may be stable,
But it’s hard to tell if another is bonding or pretending,
Especially, to induce attraction, one increases spending.
Remember to study and use the Periodic Table,
It prolongs youth, the illusion of vitality never ending.
© Chaim Wilson
The bustle and tune of city,
Is composed by the Architects.
Eyes upward, not staring at feet,
Take in cornices, gargoyles and chimneys,
Building high notes reaching down - lifting up.
Harmonies are hummed by neighborhoods of,
Next-door musicians with whom to shoot-breeze.
Rhythm’s source is traffic of crowds,
A quarter rest on the park bench,
Crescendos in fountains and skylines,
Chords lie in store as markets implore,
Side trip timing from Clef library-museums,
Playgrounds emanate the jazz of joy,
In stadiums you hear Souza marches,
Love songs played in coffee houses,
Where I’m drinking cappuccino,
As my eyes listen and ears observe.
(c) Chaim Wilson
You are blameless to not swim,
Where water is ingenuously cool,
Too cool for fish to frolic,
Whoever heard of a Procrustean waterbed?
I am taking swimming lessons at the J.C.C.,
From Pasternak and Yevtushenko.
Cool water with cool air generates no breeze,
Calm as a dish.
The pen is mightier than the sword,
And even works as a good oar,
When there is no wind,
And sails luff.
© Chaim Wilson
Life is time that's awarded to do what you will.
It's your deeds then recorded that chapters will fill.
It's a miracle given, divinely ordained,
That by passions is driven, by conscience restrained.
Life's pretend and illusion and fantastic dreams
It's mistakes and confusion, excitement and schemes.
It's absurd and is strange and a hectic charade,
And is compromise, change, and a joyful parade.
Life is knowledge, perception, pursuit, and romance.
It's invention, conception, and taking a chance.
It is loss and bereavement and battles not won;
But is also achievement and spirit and fun.
Life is striving, prevailing, and staying the course.
It's discouragement, failing, and doubt and remorse.
Life's the people you've met and the challenges dared.
It's forgive and forget and is happiness shared.
Life's experience, pain, the direction you chart.
It's your character, brain and persona and heart.
It's your children and lover and parents and friends,
And the truths you discover, and making amends.
Life's acceptance and choices; it's hope, faith, and fear.
It's the music and voices and laughter you hear.
It's the drama you're staging, opinions you own,
And adventure and aging and fighting alone.
Life is ancestry, gender, appearance, IQ.
It's persistence, surrender, and work that you do.
It's ordeals and decisions, a journey that's new,
And is wishes and visions that fade or come true.
Life is sensual pleasure's delights and their toll
And the moderate measures that urges control.
It's a scenic stampede and bolero-like beat
And the love human's need to existence complete.
Life's a crawl and an amble, a march and a leap.
It's a gallop and gambol, retirement and sleep.
It's a trudge and a trek and a carnival ride.
In the cosmos, a speck that a soul occupied.
Life's routine and surprising, the then and the now,
From a curtain that's rising to ultimate bow.
Life's a marvelous host to whom glasses we lift.
With L' Chaim we toast this magnificent gift.
Not to Show Off One's Learning
(?? ???? ???? ???????)
Instead Self Effacing, B'Tz'nyus,
Otherwise, Imbibe Drink of Ego,
Schnapps in Shrinking Hollowness,
Rather Honor Your Fellow,
Not Me! Nor Mine! but Togetherness,
Elevate Your Jewish 'Bro,
B'Nai Yisroel Cholent Finesse!
Refrain from Preemie Torah,
Too Much, Too Early, Infatuation,
Better Nurture & Ripen in Aura,
Even Rav Chaim of Volozhin,
Was Refused by the Gra,
For Yetzer HaRah was in Suspicion,
'Til a Year of Reflection in Awe,
Passed, Then Yes! from the Vilna Goan!
Torah: Black Fire on White Fire, A Nafka Mina
Every Place, every Space,
In ink, 'tween signs, ‘tween lines,
Everywhere He, Where are we?
Ask, "Mi Hashem Aylai?"
Not, "What's in for me?"
Descent from Kedushah is "I"
Ego, Ugly Mess, Rears our Smallness,
Whether in "I" or Mired in Man,
My Hand, My team, vs. Oneness
We can live to please "I",
Or Harvard or other Men,
What's the difference? Our Eye's Sty!
To live His Torah, Nullifies Me
We Need to Be, Alive ‘n Doin’,
Here, Now! We Want to Be.
He gave us myriad Mitzvot,
To glimpse Him, to Breathe ‘n Do,
To be in His Company.
Life's not just other Men,
Them With to Hang Out, Them to Please,
He Knows our Dodge Cop Out.
Men are Seen, He’s Hidden.
Pleasin’ Men is counter Our Goal,
He smiles, if We’re Herein.
As He is Here, We Be in our All.
Men make Noise, when Losin’ Stature,
Men are in Places, not in 'tween Spaces.
Be as the One, Sip His Strength, in Being Alone,
Be a Rolling Stone, Not just a Clone,
He’s Here, We likewise ignore Noise.
It takes max strength Chutzpah,
Swim Agin' the Torrent, Be Current,
Carpe Diem, Not be a Puppet of Them.
The Gematria of Aish equals Kara,
Or Fire in Hearing 'Sounds of Silence': A Calling,
Horton Hears a Who, Choosing is Less than to Be Chosen.
Be Strong; You're Created to Be a Man,
Hashem's Eved, In touch with Your Maker,
Answer to Him, not some Faker.
© Chaim Ben Moshe 2018
Sweet 16, Sealed in Wax
Nothing compares, can't hold a candle,
To our togetherness in love,
Hand in hand we share our "One-dle",
As a ship in harbor, we nestle in our cove!
Nothing's like sweet sixteen,
Enamored , married & matched to Barbara,
"Aishes Chayil" humble yet royal queen,
She has "tzniusly" survived Chaim's parabola!
16 annuals as one, traditionally one gifts wax,
Not diamonds nor strings of pearls,
Our companion hood Bananagrams max,
Together, our joy unfurls!
Also known as Blooma Yehudis,
"Blossom of Thankfulness" is her label,
Such crocus lotus presence is greater than Buddha's,
Barbara's loyal! Her love sturdy as a cable!
Sweet 16 flies by like an arrow,
Bezrat Hashem, we'll be together for many more,
This verse is composed in Chaim's marrow,
There's affection aplenty yet in store!
Barbara's put up with O.C.D. plus Ataxia,
How? Chaim in gratitude, quietly thunders & wonders,
Worse than raining "Cats & Dogs", worse than "Hailing Taxis",
Barbara patiently endures Chaim's blatant blunders!
Torah: Black Fire on White Fire
Every Place, Every Space,
In Ink, 'Tween Signs, ‘Tween Lines,
Everywhere He, Where are we?
Ask, "Mi Hashem Aylai?"
Not, "What's in for me?"
Descent from Kedushah is "I"
Ego's swig, a "Drink Me" potion of Shrinkingness,
Causing "I" to be Mired in Pride,
My Hand; Plural World vs. Oneness
We are 'Taken In', pleasing "I",
Or Harvard or other Men,
What's the difference? Our Eye's Sty!
Live His Torah, is Zeroing Me Debris,
Our Chance to Be, Alive ‘n Doin’,
Here, Now! Waiting on Him is Freeing.
He gave us Myriad Mitzvot,
To glimpse Him, to Breathe ‘n Do,
To be in His Company True.
Life's not just other Men,
With Them to Hang Out, Them to Please,
Acquiring Clout, our Dodge Cop Out.
Men are Seen, He’s Hidden.
Pleasin’ Men counters Our Goal,
So, He smiles, if We’re Herein.
As He is Here, We don't Fear Scowling Faces.
Men make Noise, when Losin’ Stature,
Men are in Places, not 'Tween Spaces.
Drink In the One, Sip His Strength, to Stand Alone,
Be a Rolling Stone, Not just a Clone,
His Whisper is Choice, so Ignore Men's Noise.
It takes max strength Chutzpah,
Swim Agin' the Torrent, Yet be Current,
Carpe Diem, Be not a Puppet of Them.
Gematria, 301, means Fire equals Call,
Or Fire in Hearing 'Sounds of Silence': A Calling,
Horton Hears a Who, Choosing is Less than to Be Chosen.
Be Strong; You're Created to Be a Man,
Hashem's Eved, In touch with Your Maker,
Answer to Him, not some Faker.
© Chaim Ben Moshe 2018
After My Death
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Say this when you eulogize me:
Here was a man — now, poof, he's gone!
He died before his time.
The music of his life suddenly ground to a halt...
Such a pity! There was another song in him, somewhere,
but now it's been lost,
forever.
What a pity! He had a violin,
a living, eloquent soul
to which he uttered
the secrets of his heart,
setting its strings vibrating,
save the one he kept inviolate.
Back and forth his supple fingers twirled;
one string alone remained mesmerized,
yet unheard.
Such a pity!
All his life the string quivered,
quavering silently,
yearning for its song, its mate,
as a heart falters before its departure.
Despite constant delays it waited daily,
mutely beseeching its savior, Love,
who lingered, loitered, tarried incessantly
and never came.
Great was the pain!
There was a man — now, poof, he's gone!
The music of his life was suddenly interrupted.
There was another song in him, somewhere,
but now it is lost
forever.
Chaim Nachman Bialik (1873-1934), first name also Hayim or Haim, was a Jewish Holocaust poet who wrote in Hebrew. Bialik was one of the pioneers of modern Hebrew poetry; he came to be recognized as Israel's national poet and the foremost modern Hebrew poet.
Keywords/Tags: Chaim Nachman Bialik, Hebrew, translation, Israel, life, music, violin, voice, sound, song, string, strings, heart, mate, love, pain, lost, forever
Especially one courteously wrapped ably
anonymously gifted to
an aspiring gourmet Chef Boyardee
i.e. not surprisingly... revealing mystery
person none other than...
yepper namely me.
Moost anyone can show
off culinary karate chop
suey, whether schooled among
fishy creatures either
from black lagoon,
or privately tutored,
(this haint no canibal)
courtesy mythological Cyclop,
somewhat riotously,
quirkily and precariously,
when blindsided flop
which slapdash loco motion often
misconstrued for latest dance moves
characterizing boogie woogie
(touting Louis Armstrong talents
as token bugle boy), and/or hip hop.
Audible sigh of relief exhaled by
none other than Chaim Yankel,
whose tail feathers ruffled
linkedin to setback, which former
(malfunctioning microwave) did rankle.
No longer must
hungry tummies all told
eat food frozen and/or cold
leftovers formed into Rorschach,
neigh Horseshack habitat mold
more suitable as clay pigeons,
where strong arms
analogous to accordion fold
readied to take aim and fire
young trumpeting Olympian trained
contestants, albeit aghast at
proliferating firearms when polled
wantonly, indiscriminately, and blithely
taking precious innocent lives
worth more than fine spun gold.
Eve vent chilly this monseigneur
and his madam
(Church Lady) conceding faithful
to follow and acquiesce
and countenance flimflam
toward yours truly,
no matter a fake Imam
who offered up feast
Earth friendly biologically/
genetically modified, prepared
artificial intelligent algorithmically
programmed manufactured in Vietnam,
who cooked delectable
Soylent green eggs and ham.
Best not prepare
former entree in microwave
lest they explode instantly
killing home of the brave
necessitating, none other
than one lame rhymester at large
to end poem quickly senseless verse
in order for his hide to save.
Tripped on Cupid
Chaim buzzes like a roving bee, "Hey, Honey!!"
Stumbling loving me..."I'll try saying it! Warm & funny":
Together, We delight in any 'Lil Thing,
Like eyeing Brookside Crocuses, purple heralds of Spring!
Can I give you a soothing back rub?
For I'm a wobbling wheel, you're my hub!!
My enamored emotional senses create the wobble,
Without you, Barbara, my life would be trouble!!
Per chance, let's dance... "Hula Hoop it",
I offer a fumble footed jig, Tripped on Cupid!
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
Chaim Tickles the Ivories on our 14th
Blooma Yehudis's Cure for Tickle Cell Anemia:
The Bilecks, Chaim's Piano & Poor Puns,
Bananagram Moshe, Laundry & Sleep-o-mania,
Shalom Bais, Cookin', & Walkin' at Ann's,
Savoring, Chaim sings "Hail Fredonia!!!",
Don't be Hasty! The Tasty Final Crumb Stuns,
Bottom Line: Wondrous Wife, Cozy Compania,
When Blooma is Home, Chaim Runs!
Note: Ivory for the 14th