-
MUSEUMS NO MORE
Travel guides always wantto send me to museums of art,of history, of culture, of science.I appreciate their guidance but Iwould prefer to spend my timevisiting zoos, looking at animalsand ignoring the placardspainfully detailing what I am seeing.I have been to countlessmuseums and while each offeredbeauty and knowledge, eachdemanded that I needed to learn,to interpret, to…
-
TO BE
He had wondered what it would be liketo be a Buddha, I mean, he thought, doBuddhas know they are Buddhas ordoes someone have to tell them, andif so, how does that person knowthat this person must be a Buddha?He wasn’t sure he wanted to becomea Buddha since no one could explainwhat possible benefit there would…
-
REMEMBERING CHILDHOOD
There isn’t much to write about,not much recalled, now brief glimpseslike aged photographs, black and whiteor color but so time faded they bleednow into sepia, fragments, his face herehers never appearing as if she, not satisfiedwith how she looked, purged my memory.It may be a factor of age, but there areother contemporaneous moments stillin clear…
-
SPINNERS
They were hoveringlike so many demented helicopterson the verge of the pondthis morning, as if fightingthe humidity that hangslike a velvet curtainover summer mornings.They look littlelike the dragonfliesof my childhood imaginationnor of the great beastswho should oncehave roamed here.We are nowtheir predatorsbut the morning sunno longer danceson the wingswe have given up.
-
THIS IS NOT
This is not the poemmy birth mother meant to writemeant to tuck in my blanketwhen I was handed overto the adoption agencymeant to follow methrough childhood, youth,adulthood, to be readon the day my sons were born.It would be a poemthat would be etcheddeeply into my psychethat would echo in my mindduring the quiet moments.She never…
-
SABBATH
She could not understand whyanyone, really, would willinglygive up their Saturday morningto sit inside and recite prayershalf in a language that neitherthey nor most of the congregationspoke, and when I said some knewthe translations by heart, she added“then why not recite those.”She had a point, I knew, but wouldI easily concede, as if thatwould make…
-
VICARIOUSLY
I wonder how my life would bedifferent if just once duringmy childhood I had imaginedthere was a ghost under my bedor a skeleton buried in the garden.I read books with thosescenes and I felt deprived.My friends said that I lackedimagination, and I was ableto imagine them fallingvictim to ghosts that inhabitedtheir homes, were carried offby…
-
MY RABBI (PART 1)
If you ask why I am a BuddhistI will tell you there are a myriadof possible reasons, choose one,or take this one, it fits nicely. I am in college, pulling my gradesup to mediocre, thoughts of medicinegone, law only faint on a distant horizona master’s degree away. I visit my childhood rabbi, a manwho has…
-
ON ARRIVING
They arrive after a long flightfrom tyranny, from oppressionfrom the nightmare of endlessfear, from hunger, from faithdenied, from the bottomlessdepths of poverty, scarredmemories etched in their souls,hoping for an ending as muchas wishing for a new beginning.They have been here, a newgeneration, raised on the stories,versed in the painful history,still residual anger bornof love for…
-
SPRING
She says her favorite monthis May, when spring’s gripis tightest, but most of allshe cherishes the rain.She is intimate with the rain,there is a privacy that onlyshe can concede, if she wants.She can take a drop of rainand it is hers alone, she needonly share it with the sky,it is always clean on her tongue.She…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 