A hole in my door I don’t need anymore
It’s meant to allow mail to fall to my floor
Ex-colleagues don’t call since the day I retired
When I reached the age of ‘No longer required’
A hole in my door with flaps inside and out
Never with one envelope sticking out
These days I think it might even be great
To receive a small note re the next village fete
A hole in my door what’s the purpose of that
Never one communique on my mat
It seems that I’ve wound up on life’s storage shelf
Should I perhaps send a note to myself
A hole in my door that lets draughts in at night
But no mail comes through it… does nobody write?
I could seal it up… I’m quite sure I could do it
For nobody visits… nobody calls through it
This chilly spring morning it’s Valentine’s Day
I look to my door and my heart tells me, “Hey!”
The envelope, clearly, is not just a flyer
For it says my name… not ‘The occupier’.
Have I an admirer, my heart starts to race
I open the letter in impatient haste
I ask myself, “Who’s sending letters to you?”
Then, writ large in red… ‘YOUR PAYMENT IS DUE!’
When this body, a shoddy tent,
Is folded and tucked away,
Of no more use, it’s value spent,
Only memories left as communique.
What remarkable gifts did it leave?
Did it accomplish any good?
Will it be known just for its ease,
Or did it do everything it could?
Was it an intense and shining light,
That helped others upon the Path,
Showing passage in the night,
To escape the world’s evil wrath?
Will it be known for moral integrity,
Compassion and solace to those in need?
How many in the sea of community
Will know any of its worthy deeds?
Did it stand against the storms,
Braving opposition that souls be served?
When flooded by nefarious norms,
Did it miraculously stronger emerge?
Dear Fellow Poets,
I urge you to read the short paragraphs below, and if you are so inclined, to contact your congressperson immediately. YOU CAN make a difference.
Israel is dreadfully short of weapons and military equipment for the 300,000 reservists it has called up in the last 24 hours to counter the unprecedented terror attack visited on it for the past three days.
A communique to me from Rachel Levy, a liaison for Garin Tzabar, the organization which supports lone soldiers (like my son Daniel Wolf) in Israel, reports hundreds of soldiers being asked to report for duty with ordinary hammers, as weapons (!)
Unfortunately, no new U.S. funds can be authorized for Israel without a new Speaker of the House in place. (All legislation and appropriations are hung up, by the way, not just emergency aid to Israel).
So, please contact your congressperson today. Ask him/her/they to move with all possible haste to choose a new Speaker of the House of Representatives.
Thank you for your reading, and for any and all support forthcoming.
Blessings, Gershon Wolf
P.S. Prayers are extremely helpful as well. ~ gw
Didn't get around to writing a poem today
racked my brain, but can't think of a single word play
allowed too much other stuff to get in my way
with all that's on my heart, where's my communique?
now here I am, without a single rhyme to say! :O
The door is closed
The shutter down
No voices heard
Now out of town
Portcullis, locks
A barricade
Small chance to rescue
What was made
The landing pad
A storm does seize
To wildest rush
From gentle breeze
Out to lunch
Back in five
Lost moments where
A heart did thrive
I missed a memo
No call to chat
Thumbs-up emoji
That is that?
A one-way street
Without reverse
A mystery
Perhaps a curse
What's done is done
Some may say
But heroes find
A better way
To rescue friendship
To seek the truth
It's old school faithful
Yes, foresooth
Place on the armour
Grab sword..Away!
We live to love
Another day
Here I am yet again,
this day, a plan in place,
prepared with gift of token kind,
enough to show I care.
Excited with anticipation,
the time, for it draws near.
Faith prevails, though uncertain,
a hope that things still stand.
Undeterred, I carry on,
no clear communique.
Arrived said time, no sign of you,
the hope turns to despair.
A death of sorts arrives this day,
I feel it deep inside,
the spark is gone, extinguished by
the rains you send my way.
Could it be of grand design,
to break me of my will,
so I give up, and you no guilt,
it ends as if by plan.
The truth I see, it works for you,
a fool, no more I'll be,
so continue on and live your life,
no place in there for me.
Not so very long ago
When I wanted to bake
I would go to my cookbooks
For a recipe to make
Tattered and stained they were
History literally splattered on
Notes written like ‘doubles well’
Or ‘sponge cake by Yvonne’
….sometimes even a photo…..
Today for recipes I scroll the net
Searching methodically
For the only tab I want to find
Labelled ‘Jump to Recipe’
Now, I don’t know about you
But I don’t want to be besieged
By pages and pages of text
Cut and pasted for me to read
I know it’s to maximise SEOs
And other such kinds of device
But for God’s sake, get to the point
When ingredients and method suffice
I don’t want to know the origin
Of different pasta shapes
Or how cinnamon got its name
Or rare varieties of grapes
I have no objection at all
To a small communique
But screeds of text turn me off
So I’ve ordered a takeaway
No sneers from me
No spite for thee
No malice for you
Bonhomie on view
No fight day or night
Hmmm…
That’s about right
The moral of this
That ought to be told
Is serve your soup warm
Neither too hot…
Nor cold
*
[This was written for Milton’s ‘5 New Year
resolutions’ contest, but I felt it didn’t quite fit
the remit. Wasn’t going to post it, but in light
Of Soup’s communique re bullying, I felt it held
Some water.]
Self-Inquiry..
"Not this..Not this"
That old-timey formula to find
One's true self..then updated:
Not nothing..not everything
A viral communique..then
This news flash:
Not-even-nothing..not-even-everything..
All of these "Nots" left the self
Bruised but resilient..still standing..
Yet..
This obscure notice could always be
Found buried in the Obituaries:
The self inquires..the self is inquiry
Freedom is already as inquiry dies..
Apparently...
Your dog has an indispensable dispatch,
a critical communique.
Are you listening?
Your dog is howling at sirens,
annoying all your neighbors.
Have you noticed?
Your dog’s evolutionary chain from wolves,
a prescriptive instinct.
Are you appreciating?
Your dog’s howling though, is much more,
the opening of a primordial door,
the call to a roaming distant pack,
a whining ballad to wilder tribe crying back.
Your dog prays to something larger than himself,
and because you are leading the pack,
it includes you.
This then, a necessity to survive.
This then, the most fundamental meaning
of God!
Your dog is howling at sirens.
Listen to your dog!
Just because an impetus arose
Thank dog, and cat,
no pet tee filed - late fee
incurred from this
sole heir, matted son
Avenue of Harris communique
to his youngest sister
busy as a queen bee,
her name mentioned
backwards solely for
wry ming sense – re:
garding Dunning-Harris Shari:
Not there need not
be any clear cut,
nor cloudy total
reason to bolster wee
kind fortitude to write
an email (albeit
with my characteristic
trademark rhyme) to in vite
my own impetus to dash
off a friendly hello
in a gentle
effort to unite
sibling camaraderie,
whether this
material in question
profound or trite
with no pro noun
sub bull adverbial,
or adjectival intent,
and of course nada spite,
this exercise to compose,
whatever occurs within
mum mind quite
likely to concern
general circumstances,
rather than touch upon
any single plight
since, an easily educated guess
can paint (no Norman...
Church Bells Sing
The Church bells ring as they bring the dawn of a new day
Ding Dong
Bing Bong
Sing Song
What is their Ap-peal I ask myself, what messages do they convey
Bong Bing
Dong Ding
Song Sing
Is it a birth a marriage or death or a more important communique
Ding Bong
Ring Song
Bing Dong
Maybe they herald peace at last for mankind to finally find our way
Ding Dong
Bing Bong
Sing Song
Now I hear the bells are chiming and this is what they say
Live together, share together, tolerate each other’s way’s
Save the planet and yourselves because you can find a way
Let the church bells sing their song every single day
To remind us what we must do to save our human race
Bong… Bong…… Bong………….
DAMO
Everybody deserves a day off,
even corporate pimps
Let somebody else watch the Madison Avenue whores
advertise their seductive cable street wares
Conscript the company pimp wannabe intern simps
Then issue frequent frequency warnings
to the parents,
telling them to shield the children's eyes ...
But do not attempt,
do not attempt to dilute or disguise
the visual sale messages with clumsy adult lies
Though B of D executives will foreswear otherwise
It's on me ... so take that day off, corporate pimps
Just remember to text the memo
to all the legal department gumshoe limps
Should any dark net pirate intercept
this encrypted communique,
of which their security breaching eyes are not
authorized to read
The strict protocol after being cyber hacked,
is to disavow any disseminated classified company
market philosophy
Nevertheless, let the corporate pimps
enjoy their easily earned day off
in a consumer paid luxury hotel
Surrounded by pretty women dressed very skimp
Dim the light of her motel room; quite, as recovery lingers on ¿
Another pain killer, washed back by some power drink with claws..
This cup and butterscotch pudding to numb the flavour in his cigarette
While waltzing once more through a two inch box; communique this play ?
Pirouetting about her cyber space stage; sheltered from the sunlight; a signat
Time these past few days, left confiding in as conversing with life's hollow walls...
Cast amid some pyramid production it seems of late; crafted a stairway to her stars.
Suzerain; proximities pontifical glares....
As intensity growls its pagans bionic breath?!
In pseudos communique exhaling this mojoes
Agitation; truths sheer anticipation adorned in illumination
Amid vestures of golden grace bejeweled with, inversive bows....
*****************************************************
....“Sunlit Halos” ~
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