"yom" poems
Tell me mother
as you kiss your baby
that no one died today,
that no one was a martyr
or a hero,
and that all who now sleep will awake,
and that the sirens that now sound
will be the only death recorded,
and that the drivers without cars,
and the cars without drivers,
will each find a partner
for as long as they need,
like the Palm Doves in the park.
Tell me mother,
that as long as you
love your baby
all mothers will love theirs
and no mother will again mourn
the foreheads without a kiss
and the kiss that has no forehead
to receive it.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
You don't wear black face.
You'd never do such.
You don't wear white face;
Do you Kabuki?
Mime, non? Mime, oui?
But every March,
Millions of others,
Attired in green,
Some painted like Celtic warriors,
Affect terrible brogues,
And get sotted, some must disgracefully.
That's what the Irish do, think they?
I won't wear a yarmulke on Yom Kippur,
Not a burka on Eid al-Adha,
Or lead the parade
Up Fifth Avenue.
Slainte
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 2:58 PM UTC
First see new photo, or else won't make sense.
Word is out
Animal kingdom on red alert,
No animus allowed near the chair,
Tween human and animal.
Good eats, good writes to be had,
Near that ye old adirondacke chair,
Where scribbles float in
L'air du temps,
Ripe for the plucking.
Arrived in the night dark,
Twelve eyes grinning, sheepish,
Wasn't tho no sheep, just a veritable
**** deer herd munching the shrubs,
Who when head lighted, indifferently said,
Yo ******* it is September, remember,
Get the fk off our lawn!
Argh.
Morning.
Coffee-armed. Tablet shotguned,
Went to write in the fall sun,
When to my shock n' awe,
A gaggle of geese, awaiting.
And I mean a good-god-damn giggling-gaggle, no sht!
Probably resetting, resettling, looking for forgiveness,
For ******** all over the hard scrabbled grass.
Well no atonement boys, Yom Kippur notwithstanding,
I ain't the forgiving type!
No, no poet!
We stand before you on the Jewish Judgement Day,
Decorously waiting, in a row,
Before the throne, tho honking a little rudely,
Impatient for inscribing in Natalino's
Hall of Fame, Book of Life for the coming year.
Harrumph.
Well, in that case,
(Ego melting secretly inside),
Here is a poem just for you.
Fly south safe,
Inscribed and sealed you will be,
In both the Book of Life and Prosperity,
But only if you, stay off my grass in perpetuity!
Done and off they flew,
Me smiling, proud of my new fame,
Until I found their presents
Under my flip flops.
******* deer.
******* rabbits.
******* geese.
I wish they were not such
Poetry fanatics.
Ok.
Forgiven.
10:11am Yom Kippur morning.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Dear God, The Boston Red Sox Win The World Series?
My congratulations to themselves from Bahstom,
I am sure you will wear your crown with classy
NY Yankee Pride and not riot in the streets
As has been known to happen in Beantown.
But I though I would let you know,
Having spoken to god on Yom Kippur,
He confessed it was a typing mistake.
He meant for the Chicago White Sox
To be resurrected and to win,
Not noticing he was auto-incorrected,
Reassuring me that he was
Installing IOS7, so it won't happen again.
Pride goeth before the fall of 2014.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Dear Robert
I'm enclosing the warranty
for your shaver In case
anything should happen
I've circled the address
where to bring it
Dad still isn't feeling
well and is going
this week to the doctor I can't
imagine
what can be wrong -
but I'm really getting concerned
Oh!
by the way
did you mail
that letter
to the bank
I hope
so
Today
we are going to a wake
for Phyllis Spina.
She died
on Saturday -
acute leukemia.
Your brothers are fine
they're off -
Yom Kippur
All else is
okay Love
Mom
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
,000 drafts of poems proposed,
some but a bit, a title, a bob,
some wondering why are they kept
in suspended animation, the fire of exiting
from placenta to screaming baby, most,
patient waiting, over the undivided divide,
the Cumbersome Attention Gap to cross,
to the state of hallelujah completion
this race should be an Olympic one,
it is unwinnable, but only open to poets
who willing to go the unlimited distance,
every finished oeuvre, spawns bornes two
more, so you, fool, even a fifth grader,
intuits the higher math of you’ll never
catchup, but rise invigorated to meet,
greet the wonderous sunrise challenge…
and the promised ones, “next one for you,”
the unconditional incompleyedy poems
so overdue, the muses send an armored truck
to collect just the largesse of fine fines…
as my old West Village friend sang, you poet,
“might as well try and catch the wind”
this leads me to observe a new day’s first
birthday, even as Leonard sings Yom Kippur
hymns of mortality, and all the ways humans
can pass thru the gap in the morn clouds that
is the passageway to the Higher North…
you see, this is this poems day of naissance,
one day, one candle, now extant, but sooner
to be a not, one more poem sent heavenward
after a brilliant brief coexistence with the
innards of my mind…
Aug 14, 2024
Aug 14, 2024 at 10:37 AM UTC
they're human, they talk
backwards, d'uh d'uh, um yummy
dub dub d'uh?!
i'll get an idiot to fro-and-back a lick
of what you were supposed to say:
middle aged content with wife and children,
blessed: on the chill... oh wee Yom Kippur:
no wait, here's me with an english scalpel
and here's me, bare nuggets are ******** freely dangling
Wyoming is like neo-Syria,
much ado about squares and triangles and straight lines:
testimony Texas / Mexico / Tahiti / dude! mind the surf!
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
If Christmas were given
the same gaze as Yom Kippur,
there would be riotous, careful,
false-faced diligence in the streets
of every Capital; silent prayers of
meditation mediation senseless acts
of kindness from a root of sterile fear
as if to offend Christianity would bring
about a Talibani death-wrath if-and-when
affronted-- but Christmas and Christ have
been so transparent as to become tested
combinations on the invisible lock of human
desire everyone eventually frustrated at the failure
of probable-consistent guess as to turn to Freudian
psychology for answer in lieu of Christ's final revelation
numerical in nature-- numerical strangeness Da Vinci Code
impossible-- as all other religions keep their yaps shut whilst
all Christianity has left is the little grey Luoyang City safe--
we've all given up and assumed it's empty-- empty like the
universe, maybe.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
Tipsy
I was tipsy last night,
Quite enjoyed it.
Drinking just a thimbleful one time a year,
And there was I, a stumblebum, but clear
In head,
Dutifully fulfilling all that needed
To be done.
A charming, wonderful sensation – fun.
And yet, I thought about my liver.
Will I ever, no, I’ll never
Be a drinker,
I’m too much a thinker
And a Jew.
And if you didn’t know
We Jews are not great drinkers,
Just great thinkers,
Contrite sinners on Yom Kippur
Nobel winners,
Alcohol not in our tribe.
And so, it is not likely I’ll imbibe
Too many jiggers wine or *****
Too many calories
And I don’t want to lose
My liver’s life too soon –
Or looks, or senses or the boon
Of brain and knowing
Who I am
And who I’m born
To be.
Tipsy 7.1.2017
Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC
A shout out to Raphael Lemkin,
Explicitly moved by
Armenian annihilation
To coin the word: GENOCIDE,
Back in 1943, or was it 1944?
You’d think he’d be sure,
Something that important,
The naming of things, after all,
Much more than an encoding;
A digital construct of the mind,
Wedding thought to language,
Marrying idea to its name.
GENOCIDE.
Which came first, word or deed?
Way to go, Raphael--
“Systematic and premeditated
Exterminations, within legal parameters,”--
You coined it.
You named it.
Giving voice to something
Better left un-said,
Better off un-thought of.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Although an atheist
with many question that abound
bout the lineage of humanity, this bard
formerly of Belmont hills
nada seeketh to be crowned
yet applauds those
who attest in deity
where salvation doth re-dound
peace of body, mind
and spirit can be found
and rest in peace when demise
finds her/him under ground
identified by a tombstone and a mound
which...over time becomes less round.
-----------------------------------------------------
YOM KIPPUR ™
Those who practice Jewish
faith pay obeisance
Too holiest day of their year
Atonement & repentance mantra themes
Unswerving prayers flock doth wear
As spiritual raiment in tandem
With a twenty-five hour
fast orthodox n’er veer
With pride synagogues rabbi beckons
flock to don cloak of virtue to wear
Supplicating against creator
sans vices within psyche tear
The delicate fabric covenant
easily shredded
per temptation from ****** spear
Loftiness attendant on this
High Holy Day
whence judgment severe
Within gilt written tomb
encapsulating behavior –
Vile forgiveness rare
Thus inducing many a worshiper
To spend hours immersed in prayer
Or…even self-abuse to vitiate
demonic forces that invisibly leer
Drowning out words of the prophet
that believers must hear
To attain coveted accompaniment
To promised land
without materialistic gear
Whence with most obedience
to sacred texts will fare
Most successfully and kowtowed
Like Rudolph the red nose rein deer
While Santa Claus
godlike heard crystal clear
Whose voice ushers inxs of hoof beats
Akin to horn of Gabriel did blare
As eve n tide cast dark shadows
from royal Belvedere
For those lives of purity
offered salvation into the heavenly air.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
Upon the days twixt Rosh Ha-Shana
And Yom Kippur,
We are commanded to ask,
For our sins, forgiveness
From those to whom
We have committed them.
But when I think upon this,
Upon the year now passed,
Yea, I do find sins and many
But none so grievous and yet
Not too grievous that I cannot admit to them
Without great penalty
That I feel obliged to oblige tradition.
Rather what dwells upon me
Is less my sins
And more the opportunities
Passed by by me
And those which appeared but for a moment,
A flash in the pan of fate,
A horse,
Quickly Sprinted
Across the great green field
Of love,
The sun shining upon its back
And glorious mane
As it trampled past,
A fleeting moment
An eternal memory,
Leaving deep impressions
Upon the ground,
Ones that will not clear
For years, or maybe ever
Even as I try
To move past it
In at least some ways,
For I refuse to be
As lonely as I was
And Am.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
It's raining.
It's boring.
Yet the Blue Jay with their hawk-like- like sound
Swooped down from a high branch to take a freshly roasted shelled nut
Thirty seconds later another appeared and grabbed another nut.
Their crests and colors of blue, white, and black were visible in the rain.
Not a bad way to walk on a Holy day where fasting and no driving happen once a year
Before you utter a sound the computer and other modern-day conveniences are essential to my well-being such as walking
So thanks Blue Jays for making this Yom Kippur easier
C@rainbowchaser2023
Sep 25, 2023
Sep 25, 2023 at 11:49 AM UTC
A book of the dead?
a book I once read
accounts of a war
plus
Yom Kippur.
The holiest day indeed
news feed
accounts of a war
Yom Kippur
plus
one hundred days.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
Nazis On The Streets Of Sweden
(1st draft – there may be others
We have illusions, all.
But most of us don’t want to ****
I looked it up.
I asked some simple questions.
Google told me:
**** symbols are allowed in Israel!
Also in the USA!
Prohibited in Germany,
Allowed in Finland.
Austria is definite. No! no! no!, no! and no!
Some countries have no laws at all –
Apparently no views
Or views so lax
They seem to non-chalate* the facts.
Neo- Nazis plan to march
The streets of Sweden,
Thirtieth September, twenty seventeen.
They call themselves a neo –
Their philosophy is old as ******
Old as Wagner, long before.
False ideals, inner lies but outer dealings
Hates delusional, baiting plentiful.
March occurring on Yom Kippur,
Near a synagogue, to boot.
Their aim: to root out, root out, root…
Annihilate, decimate, eradicate,
Means inhumane,
And most important,
Based on lies!
Statistical, imaginary, fantasized.
Nazis on the streets of Sweden,
We do not believe in you!
*non-chalate: I’ve made a verb out of the word nonchalant
because such was needed and could not be found in the dictionary.
Nazis On The Streets Of Sweden 9.30.2017
Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 8:04 AM UTC
Why does everyone I know get paid pregnancy leave?
Why don’t I get even one day off to grieve?
Why do I have to feel bad to ask people when they are due?
Why do others feel free to tell me what to do?
(Why do I have to wake up in red?
Why do I have to sleep alone in my bed?
Why do my mikvah’s always fall out on the wrong time
Why does my life sometimes taste like lemon-lime?)
Why are my friends popping babies every year?
Why do I have so much love to share?
Why when I kiss a little kid does she run away?
Why does her mom tell me she doesn’t enjoy being kissed by day?
Why do I need to feel satisfied with my job as a wife?
Why do other people have so much more in their life?
Why do I shop for so many kids costumes?
Why do I dread every Yom Tov as it looms?
Why do I ask why if it won’t get me anywhere?
Why do I ask why if it won’t make anything clear?
So I won’t ask why for I want to continue to live!
And I won’t ask why as I continue to give.
I know I have a father in heaven who loves me like insane.
I know that He shares in every ounce of my pain.
I know that He runs the world the way only He could.
I know that He gives me so much blessing and good.
I know that I need to continue doing what’s right.
I know that I need to daven for everyone to have their Yeshuah in sight.
I know that I shouldn’t give into the frustration,
I know that I should live a life full of appreciation.
I know that He does what’s best and I’ll emerge stronger,
I know that I need to hold on just a little longer.
I know to live and maximize my days meanwhile,
I know to always try my best, enjoy my life and smile!
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
1. Dinosaurs are Birds not Reptiles.
2. “Not even a Sparrow falls apart from the Father.” (Matthew 10:29)
3. Though this has its funny aspects it's not satire, it's true.
God was in a joyous mood
When He created Birds!
That fifth yom He went feather-wild!
Heaps of herds and hoards of Birds.
From Mountains high to Oceans blue.
This World was theirs, forever so!
Eternal-Now was all they knew!
And it was all that they COULD know!
They roared and danced
And sung and pranced,
Became enhanced;
And grew and GREW
And GREW and GREW!
They shrieked in glee!
(Pure wild! Pure free!)
Lept to to the thundering, cloudy skies
They seized the sparkling blue!
For sixty-million, dragon years
They tended their young
And ruled the skies!
The few who saw the bad rock
f
a
l
l
Gazed calmly with unknowing eyes!
One moment live, the next one, dead!
(To think such rocks still out there: Dread!!!!)
In Just one breath most Birds were GONE!!!
But Mammals lived and carried on!
Then along came Humanity,
With our Divine Insanity.
0ur Crazy-Dream that
Death could DIE!!
But is that silly, really?
Really, really silly?
?
!
y
When Quadrupeds l
Had learned to……. F
So we grew up in ALL WAYS into Christ.*
Lost our meanness, became nice!
And We built Ourselves a Treasure-Square!*
All of life and love are there!
Though the stars contract
And the Cosmos cracks
The worlds shrink back
And the atoms snap!
And the Big Crunch wins
Inside that Cube we live as Kings!
Covered in millions of flashing jewels!
Nothing and never is anything cruel!
Kindness and Joy, Logic and Love,
Always, always, ALWAYS the rule!
With every environment wild or tame
From Bedford Falls to Istanblane
Anything that you could want!
From Gems and gold to Elephants!
We grew up in All Ways Into The Word,*
Who vowed that not one, Single Bird
Would fall apart,
From His gentle Mind
And His Gracious Heart!*
(Now remember: Sixty-million years of them!)
So! Angel’s choir practice: Session One.
A T-Rex joins in! Ain't that fun?!
Admiring a verdant Forest?
Here scurries a flock of Apatosaurus's!
My mansion shouldn’t be for Birds!!
For herds and Hoards and flocks of Birds!
I don’t mean to fuss or rage,
But is this Heaven or a Big Bird Cage?!
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 6:55 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Upon Reading Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Sinai
Cohen took his soul out into the desert
He may have left part of it there to burn
Upon the sands of war and the sands of time
A chord that echoes in an Egyptian wind
As with a corpse-like tank in hull defilade
Or an *** rusting among the rocks
The prayers of Yom Kippur in whispers sung
The desert waits for us to worship there
Cohen took his soul out into the desert
We should gird our ***** and go look for it
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 9:34 PM UTC