Corvus

The dawn and the dusk
are our kingdoms the jays
do curse us –
The new moon’s courtiers
we feed her chartreuse chords
adorn her in emerald oaks
promise her the sun –
Once we were rainbows
until our feathers reached
for the earth so like leaves
we fell into the dreams
of our oaks our voices became
amber our sorrows shed
into the crimson we were again
taken by the winds our queen redeemed us in cloaks as purple as night –
We bless you with our stories
in staccato punctuation upon
the parchment clouds we are
the first poets, o poets
we are your angels –
Lift your feathers speak
in the deepest violet of life
waste not one portion of this feast
her heart is yours to eat.

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A Pair of Lungs, A Few Spoons, and an Elephant–My Life with COPD

Source: A Pair of Lungs, A Few Spoons, and an Elephant–My Life with COPD

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TED TALK: For more tolerance, we need more … tourism?

Source: TED TALK: For more tolerance, we need more … tourism?

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Macushla

Macushla
July 18 at 6:44pm ยท
Refuah Shlema ~

The body is an ecosystem.
All the flora and fauna that live
and die and live again and
battle. A universe
of beings, the ghosts
of memory and attempts both
fruitful and thwarted.
Soldiers adorned in white armor
muster and rally, defeat
insurrections, lose
battles. We are reborn.

How many times has this woman
stood at my bedside, her hand
on my forehead, her cheek
on my cheek, sitting, standing
not tiring – no, so tired.
Just not leaving.

When you visit the sick
you take some illness away
with you. Not in you.
Don’t worry.
You don’t take on their illness.
You carry some away
like in a basket.

But, a mother doesn’t worry.
She would take it in her
to take it away.
You who lived in the universe
of her body or
a citizen of her heart if
not her physical body.
She wouldn’t worry.
She is a soldier, too.

So, I stand here. My hand
on her forehead, my heart
wanting to be so strong
as to beat for hers as well.
So fragile the borders
of this now tiny universe
this warrior heart pulsing
its rallying drumbeat.
My cheek upon her cheek.
Her heart my native land.

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The Zen Dozens

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Ich und Du

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Do You
recognize Me?
Us?
You.

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Shabbat Shalom! 12 Nissan 5774

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Courtesy my garden (and a cooperative Spring!), flowers to crown Shabbat HaMalka, Herself, the Holy Bride.

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