THE SPACE ON THE CLOCK Between the Tick and the Tock. Have a good Shabbos!
THAT-WHICH-SOME-CALL-“GOD“: Universal, non-dual. What is It for you?
Mom in the drug store Called out to her son: “Brooklyn!” Am I getting old?
Slate-thin clouds cover shoulders that lately knew sun. Make up your mind, God.
Scary loud gusts brush From the trees’ green-flowing hair Stray twigs and branches.
ELEVEN A. M., September the twenty-fifth — Rain hits Sonoma.
EVEN AFTER TEN YEARS, THE memories and pain are still fresh when I think of them. I don’t think of them often. My habit in those days was to check the Ha’aretz news ticker with my morning coffee. “Hmm… soccer…
EVIDENTLY, SHE WROTE A POEM in 1928 called “Dirge With Music.” I have not yet read any of her other works, but I hope they’re like this one. The last stanza says it all: Down, down, down into the darkness…
HAD I NOT BEEN SWIFT, He would have brought the rat in. It’s the thought that counts.
HE COULDN’T TELL WHETHER HE loved beauty or women more until the day he called his mom and said “Guess what? I’m marrying a sunset.”
WE ARE THE WRESTLERS-WITH-God, the ones grabbing His lapels and hollering “Speak up, sonny!” and don’t worry about staining the carpets. And we like It that way. You who put God on a shelf Who pull Him out once or…
OUR NEW MOTTO IS: “All That’s News To Me, I Print.” (New York Times-inspired.)