what color means to life
where mono chromatic light
is non prismatic?

the angle of incidence
co relates with refraction

Walk in the Garden of Paradise

Search in the universe

Mangoes oranges
leaves and trees
compose more about long walks in the breeze
on horseback think of you as a cow boy
with times up your sleeves
like infernal hell

Think of the black hole
you read about yesterday
also about the stars and galaxies
distant away
reminisce of your friends and teachers at school
whom you loved
while some did fool you

Gradual process is my colourful nomenclature.
My self-exhibited great subject an essential drum beat that
I want to grab.

Vitality is coming out my life
At last that shall make people to shout: wow!
For a sudden reality of my very long dreams
Many would be in doubt to agree for an outlaw for decades
To create such mastery piece and to be co-author;
Some people will not believe my little
Scratch creativity.
Knowing that I work behind the close door for years
More especially (in solitary) that I always draw my strength.

babushka
quaint
storied face
shmata chic
hilarious taste
tangles her English
with yiddishe schtick
quizzically eyes all
modern kitsch

a boasting pride for
her matzah brei
thinks she deserves
a nobel prize
she's being sarcatic
of course she won't win
it taste as bland as
the box it came in

He returned from the war looking like a scared wounded animal,
The spark in his eyes gone, like two extinguished smoking candles,
Crutches under his upper arms, balancing carefully on one leg,
Looking like a one legged pink flamingo in a faraway jungle swamp.

His mind scrambled and unclear like an early misty London fog,
A stranger to his wife and children, totally broken in body and mind
Waking up every night from nightmares in a cold sweat, screaming,
He sees bullets flying all around him, his friends bleeding to death.

The opposite of solitude
Is disturbance

Like the burly moose
Who found me
Alone in the deep woods
And scared me
Half to death

We don’t always mean
To disturb
(But we definitely do)

And even when we try
To get away
Our pesky thoughts
Follow us
Like beasts
We cannot really trust

We must learn
To quiet our hearts

Escape the presence
Of the things we fear
The most

Take another trip
To the forest
A long drive in the car

A poem …

is not bad prose that provokes an onslaught
is not profane, but projects the humane
is composed purposely to promote thought
is not meant to offend, but to transcend

provides freedom to express the mundane
poignantly paints events of History
creates a space to explore the arcane
inspires visions of human victory

walking bare feet
they start talking
it's all live footage
of sensory images
screened over
flint, limestone, moss
documenting
laughter, grief, silence
of those who walked bare before
in darkness and light

thorn in the sole
becomes a memoir

some days,
like a blank slate
awaiting a big bang,
I slip comfortably into nothingness
and lounge around
in complete aquiescence

not much I can say about it
(being totally blank at the time)
but eventually
thoughts of a basic nature
start ping-ponging
vague glimpses
of useless stuff

...why do I have a red car
...did Michaelangelo have a last name
...how long have I had these slippers

Little Dipper
Above the children’s houses,
Are you gonna
Scoop out the dreams
From their little heads
And share them
With God?

Are you gonna pour in
Patience and passion
So they can pursue them
From start
To glorious finish?

Oh Little Dipper,
Are you gonna dip yourself
In the lake nearby —
Fill the clouds
With nourishing rain,
So the children can see flowers
bloom and leaves appear,