a scrap of our poetry is hanging
on the line that we've drawn
scraps of our poetry, playing in
the space between

scraps of our poetry
little by little dissolve to void
scraps of our poetry
hurt and heal my heart.

scraps of us, I throw and keep
to and fro
till its wholeness is here
you, with me.

Running slowly to catch my breath,
It alludes me, everytime I see your angelic face.

Your lips as sweet as nectar
Takes my soul higher every time I have but a little taste.

Drunk on your intoxicating love
For your touch, I'm scrambling to pull ahead of the race.

I'm floating among the clouds
Holding on to your smile, if not,
I'll get lost in space.

You extract the best part of me from me, for you,
I notion I will always be willing to chase

This a mere mortals words,
written in bliss, forever
sealed, with an angel's kiss.

Square me up with a new a vengeance
  Strike thunder of a different kind
    Pray not to see my gleaming face when you're ahead
      But hear me first
        Boom loud with anticipation
          When you're behind

Hosannah (Mombo from Missoura)


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Hosannah (Hebrew): an exclamation of joy, adoration

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who says Hosannah anymore, I think, recalling
a question reversed,^ one, long ago, that she sent to me,
the answer comes, a puddle splashing grandmother,
Mombo from Missoura

a what?

doesn’t matter

Periodic perusals of the small fine poems here, jewels lost in the kerfuffle,
At once, a signet ringing word jumps into my historical consciousness,
That little place, where the childhood was puzzled, but purified, remembering
That little boy, in synagogue, lost amid a congregation chanting
             Hosannah! to
Yahweh, ghost god, user of intermediaries-whisperers,

Mombo from Missoura (today’s guest voice)

selected by greater forces to make him recall the unity of many voices

his squeaking tone, found among that pure noise
that went to god’s heart direct

exclaiming in joy, adoration of
a majesty unfound on Earth,
sealed with a Selah,
crowned with Hallelujah

that god who never, incapable of forgetting,
still chats with him, that boy, now a boy~poppy,
from time to time,
recalling when together,
they too, puddle jumped,
looking for oil drop rainbow spots
so they could unison shout out loud

Hosannah! A rainbow on Earth

Sabbath Sept. 14, 2019
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^ ”who writes poems like this?”

I wish I could
Package each and every single adjective that I have used to describe you thus far
And send them to you individually
So that you could have enough pieces
To make a portrait
Big enough to cover the entire night sky
Not missing an inch
So you could marvel at it the way I do
When you’re feeling down
And if it does nothing else
I hope it makes you smile
The way I do
When I’m down
I know I’m not a healer, and theres nothing I can fix
But I am a writer
So I’d like to give you this



I’ve dug deep inside myself and found pieces of you buried in the depths of my heart
Places I’ve never known
Places I want to discover



It’s funny cause
I’ve started and ended this poem about 34 times.
Today.
Alone.
I won’t address the other days.
This is a simple one...

I wonder if the lead in my pencil gets excited when I begin to write your name.

Sometimes, I’m jealous that it’s gotten to touch you before I have.