The Other Side

A place so far away - I am,

Yet not a place at all;

Where all the good things grow - indeed,

My trees are thick and tall.

People will work hard to reach

the land where I do lay,

But when they come here they look at 

Each other in dismay:

"This is not what I thought

Or wished I'd ever see;

The land I worked so hard to reach

Yet lies beyonder me.

Look at how despicable

Is all the greenery,

The land of trees - thick and tall

Is where I want to be."

So off they go now to a land

No better than my own;

But listen friend, there is one thing

I wish they would have known:

"Do gaze at my very trees 

While on the ground you lie,

And even lowliest of leaves

Will always touch the sky."

     

Novels

Its words they will take me,

To faraway places,

To times long by-gone - 

Other clock faces.

I am still

In my seat,

Where I was 

Half past noon,

And the sun

It was beat -

Now its swapped

For the moon.

Oh, who conjured this work which

I cannot lay down,

"It sure does its job well!"

I remark with a frown.

'Cause hire I did

This book from the store,

Seventeen bucks -

Not a penny more!

    

Rain

What from others it takes,

To me it does give.

A time to to be myself,

My real me can live.

.   .   .

When it comes they shudder,

Hide behind a closing door,

And when it finally abates,

They hope it will - forevermore.

Why they so think I do not know,

These people of civility,

Can they not see the hand of G-d

Making green his tapestry?

Oh, now I can see their mistake,

They have not been doing their part;

Instead of framing what he made,

They're ruining his work of art:

Where he put grass they put cement,

And lots of other things like that,

So of course when it comes back,

They'll hate it - but it's tit for tat.

But you, for one - just go and see,

The way rain is supposed to be:

Clean, clear, pure and bright,

It's sure to bring you much delight,

Why, you may even feel like me,

Untied, and for the time being -

Free.

    

Musings (13)

Many a flower,

Only at night,

Opens its petals;

Shines its light.

        

Daydreams

I was flying,

Free as can be,

Unconstrained.

No longer did my legs,

Carry my burden,

Groaning.

A taste of the unknown,

For a usually limited

Me.

T'was all good -

Till the crash;

I was no longer jumping -

I had landed.

Reality hurts.

  

Ode To a Tree

When I first saw you,

You were bare,

I thought

You're like the rest

Of them trees,

The limbs of yours

I could not see -

How high they stretch;

How worn they are.

But now,

It's all there,

In the open:

Better than the rest,

Taller,

Thicker,

Broader.

Had you a mouth,

You would speak,

Of all those,

Who you've had

Under your spell,

Of all those,

Who you sheltered

Under your leaves.

But since you're silent

I can't be sure,

So I think

I'm the first,

Whom your limbs

Seem to embrace;

Whom your leaves

Seem to shield,

From a burning sun.

But even so,

I say I'm different -

I saw you first

 In the dark.

     

Arythmaahem...(2)

Like a river

Whose water flows

Ever so slowly,

Are my pens' letters

When I've time to think;

Like free speech

Emanating

In no hurry,

Is my quill

When I don't rhyme.

But when I rhyme

I have no time -

My pen and ink

Can't stop to think -

It must work,

It must go;

Like a stream,

It should flow;

I can't say

What I want,

I must fit

All my rant,

Into sentences exactly the same size,

Or they might think that I'm not very wise.

So I stop -

And start again,

My heart -

It speaks

Its own language -

Unconformed.

Then I feel 

Truly free -

My hand extends

The heart of me.
   

Arythmaahem...

Should poems rhyme

With meter and time?

Or are they good - even

If they don't?

A story I'll say:

T'was yesterday,

That Sam our poet,

Who did also know it,

Decided to recite,

For his sons' wedding night,

A poem -

So very bright.

Yes bright it was,

It was because,

Although it did not -

- Could not -

 - Would not -

Rhyme,

It was still genius -

But one thing at a time.

So Sam our poet,

Went to the stand,

And stand he did,

With paper in hand;

He stood some more,

Amid looks galore,

His eyes how they darted,

Before he started!

 Then start he did,

And the crowd went wild:

"He speaks like a child!"

"He speaks like a child!"

His eyes vainly looked,

For a friend which could,

Save him from the sitch,

With zero a hitch.

What happened next,

I can't really say,

Because they threw

Chairs

Tables

Glasses

And the whole crowd left

And

Never came

Back again

To hear our 

[By now no longer poetic]

Sam speak.

So what do you think?
Is expended ink,
Only goodly spent,
If it has a flow,
Like a river so slow?
If it has taste,
And is not made in haste?

Or is it good even -

If it

Ends

Like this?
  

Australia

Far away a land forlornly lies,
Well hidden it is from prying eyes,
"Down Under" they call it with a grin,
But me that fabled country did not win:

For while the duck-billed mammals' eggs it lays,
The big and arid hole centrally stays;
And while it breeds majestic kangaroos,
I've yet to see them other than in zoos;

For while its' people greet me with "G'day"s,
The laid-back culture me still does amaze;
And while they on the wrong side always cruise,
I've still to answer what I here did lose;

So as I leave all I'll do is say,
Happy - that far away,
I'll be - when it does lay.

   

Bedsheets

My bed, my bed
It has no feet,
So in its' stead
There goes my sheet,

By night it's neat
By day it's not,
To stay still it
Was never taught,

How it walks
I do not know,
To new spots it
Will always go,

(I never thought
A thing like that,
Could have me brought
So off the bat,)

Why, one day
I might awake,
And have to give
A double take,

For I will see
A note for me:
"I do not mean
To let you down,
But 'till next week
I'm out of town!"

 

Nosson Deitch OBM

As if I knew

What was to come,

As if I knew -

My heart is numb.

As if I saw

What was to be,

As if I saw -

It could be me.