Glimpses of early light

400,000 years after the Big Bang,

gasses changed. Hydrogen once

simply neutral began to 

ionize, leaving protons

nearly naked, electrons

stripped away.

Early stars, bigger and more violent

than anything we know today

are the most likely culprits.

How are we to glimpse traces

of that rending illumination?

Only the faintest whisper

lingers in the cacophony

of cosmic babble.

Pity the astrophysicists

with their low antennae

and supercomputers

seeking, seeking

subtle signals from

this first light.

Poets are their companions

in misery trying to hear

the primal  unsaid

s      t     r     e   t    c    h

s              t               r              e              t               c          h

the silence within each

word

                              —Vera Schwarcz

THE FIRST WEEK OF CREATION

DAY ONE: BEFORE THE ATOMS FORMED

“In the beginning, God created the heaven and earth.” (Genesis 1:1)

Before the atoms formed, God ruled as King,

Before the primal light proclaimed His reign,

Before vast hosts of angels learned to sing.

Before the day could bow, or night could bring

A sable robe to cover His domain,

Before the atoms formed, God ruled as King.

All sovereignty was His, before the wing

Of time first flew as chaos gasped in vain,

Before vast hosts of angels learned to sing.

But now God reigns as well, as when the string

Of space first stretched to limit and constrain;

Before the atoms formed, God ruled as King.

His throne stands firm, His crown and royal ring

Still gleam today, as gleamed His regal chain

Before vast hosts of angels learned to sing.

And after time will end, when everything

Will fade, God’s majesty shall never wane.

Before the atoms formed, God ruled as King,

Before vast hosts of angels learned to sing.

DAY TWO: BEYOND THE TIDES

“And God said, ‘Let there be a sky in the midst of the waters, and it shall divide the waters from waters.” (Genesis 1:6)

The waters billowed, surging left and right,

Beyond the tides, beyond the furthest boundaries,

Until they parted, split by a sky of light.

Prisms of colors flowed as waves, from white

To sea-weed green and the bluest galaxies;

The waters billowed, surging left and right.

From this world to worlds-to-come, from day to night,

The waters streamed and sang God’s melodies,

Until they parted, split by a sky of light.

For then, the upper waters rose with might,

To fill the Torah’s oceans, gulfs and seas;

The waters billowed, surging left and right.

The lower waters plunged from heaven’s height,

To water Eden’s garden, rivers, trees,

Until they parted, split by a sky of light.

But now in deserts, we dream we drink despite

Our drought, while digging wells on hands and knees.

The waters billowed, surging left and right,

Until they parted, split by a sky of light.

DAY THREE: VERDANT GREEN

“And God said, ‘Let the earth bring forth vegetation: seed-bearing plants, and every kind of fruit-tree that bears fruit with the seed inside, on the earth;’and it was so.”  (Genesis 1:11)

In forests, fields and jungles cloaked with green,

We wade in life’s splendor; but all our lives,

We ask ourselves, “What does existence mean?”

Is all this verdant beauty just a screen

That masks our graves?  What significance survives

In forests, fields and jungles cloaked with green?

As life blossoms—exquisite, death mocks—obscene;

As death hews down all with axes and knives,

We ask ourselves, “What does existence mean?”

Is the world pollinated by death’s queen,

Who stings and makes bitter honey in her hives,

In forests, fields and jungles cloaked with green?

Why must our flowers’velvet fade, the sheen

Of blossoms dim, whenever death arrives?

We ask ourselves, “What does existence mean?”

Where is God’s truth, majestic and serene?

Under seas of leaves and grass, it swims and dives.

In forests, fields and jungles cloaked with green,

We ask ourselves, “What does existence mean?”

DAY FOUR: THE MOON OF JERUSALEM

“And God said, ‘Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to distinguish between the day and the night; and they shall be for signs and appointed times, for days and years.”  (Genesis 1:14)

In the race of time, the sprinter was the sun

Which quickly sped through days, but lost the race;

When night appeared, it was the moon that won.

How bright the dawn, when the sun began to run

With confidence, ability and grace;

In the race of time, the sprinter was the sun.

But the sun, which lit up worlds all stars should shun,

Reduced his speed and waned without a trace;

When night appeared, it was the moon that won.

As hosts of stars declared the race was done,

The moon of Jerusalem reached first place;

In the race of time, the sprinter was the sun.

The stars took threads they earlier had spun

And hid the moon behind a veil of lace;

When night appeared, it was the moon that won.

“Bring light,” the stars command, “when there is none,

And at the end of days, reveal your face.”

In the race of time, the sprinter was the sun;

When night appeared, it was the moon that won.

DAY FIVE: BLUE WHALES OF FAITH

“And God blessed them, saying, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the waters of the sea….”

(Genesis 1:22)

Below the ocean’s surface swim blue whales

Of faith that chant God’s glory and His praise,

Undaunted by sea-tempests, storms and gales.

The females sing their psalms all day, the males

All night, as dolphins dance and sea-weed sways;

Below the ocean’s surface swim blue whales—

Undaunted by the whalers’ ship that sails

In search of prey a sharpened harpoon slays;

Undaunted by sea-tempests, storms and gales.

And even when the fickle ocean fails

To bring their krill, even then faith’s music plays;

Below the ocean’s surface swim blue whales.

Rising above the waves, each whale inhales

God’s grace as God commands and he obeys,

Undaunted by sea-tempests, storms and gales.

Their songs and prayers proclaim that faith prevails

In the depths of God’s concealed and hidden ways;

Below the ocean’s surface swim blue whales,

Undaunted by sea-tempests, storms and gales.

DAY SIX: TWO FEET IN TWO WORLDS

“And God created man in His image, in the image of God He created man; male and female He created them.” (Genesis 1:27)

In the image of God, Man and Woman shine,

Yet lose this glow in the blackness of the night,

Two feet in two worlds, animal and divine.

Each dawn we pray to sip the angels’wine

That lets our souls reflect the angels’light;

In the image of God, Man and Woman shine.

Each dusk we leave our candles in the shrine

To wander in back streets where tomcats fight,

Two feet in two worlds, animal and divine.

But night retreats and shadows realign

As light returns and fills our eyes with white;

In the image of God, Man and Woman shine.

Is human blindness malignant or benign?

Is human fate to see, then lose our sight?

Two feet in two worlds, animal and divine?

Our souls ablaze, we search for God’s design,

For ways to make two separate realms unite;

In the image of God, Man and Woman shine;

Two feet in two worlds, animal and divine.

DAY SEVEN: THE SHABBAT, A SHRINE OF TIME

“And God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it; because on it He rested from all His work that God in creating had made.” (Genesis 2:3)

With bronze from Jacob’s ladder, which angels climb;

With stone from Abraham’s altars, and his sand;

With Isaac’s wood is built a shrine of time.

With lullabies that Rachel sings in rhyme;

With music Leah’s children understand;

With bronze from Jacob’s ladder, which angels climb.

With curtains Rebecca weaves, still in their prime;

With sacred ephods Sarah sews by hand;

With Isaac’s wood is built a shrine of time.

Seconds, minutes and hours comprise the lime

That binds its bricks, the books that Moses scanned,

With bronze from Jacob’s ladder, which angels climb.

With Joseph’s stars, which prophets teach to shine;

With Joseph’s grain, which grows on scholars’land;

With Isaac’s wood is built a shrine of time.

With sips and fragrance of the Messiah’s wine;

With bread his wife will bake; with all God planned;

With bronze from Jacob’s ladder, which angels climb;

With Isaac’s wood is built a shrine of time.

                                                                                     —Yakov Azriel

Life different from the life we know

How do peel away the deepest layers

enveloping three billion years

of biological tinkering?

Until recently, life as we know it

dressed itself in three forms:

Archae, Bacteria and Eukaryota.

With new tools  for DNA sequencing,

single cells and viruses hidden

in isolated crevices are revealing

secrets modern microbes

have never touched.

From deep within

the earth’s crust,

biologists have

excavated a

mimivirus

particle,

neither Bacteria nor Archaea.

Its long extinct lineage

is coming to teach us:

life speaks in more tongues

than we have labeled

or heard before.

                                       —Vera Schwarcz

[fissuring]

Between two high notes

The song gives a crack

Long enough

To allow me to enter

Like a fish jumping back

Into the night water

Both the fish and I leave no

Trace behind us, and the world

Remains undisturbed as we swim

Deeper and deeper in blue silence

Upon my return, I find the music

Still going on, while the fish has

Disappeared into the unknown

                                                                 —Changming Yuan

Bird & Stone

Alighting on me

tiny feet upon my brow

no wrinkle

rumple from me

I dare not startle you

pausing here remote

solid slipping

as if a house on sand.

Alas!

          Some fancy

stirs your wings to flight

nails scratch a flurry

of new blood to the surface

your fading 

becomes a hieroglyph

occult now for millennia

fondness follows

was ever thing so unsurprising?

                                                                —Rosa Walling-Wefelmeyer

WILD EYES

1. Rachel

Shaking out the bedclothes,

I turn to meet your stare.

Wild eyes, for love you took me on.

I lift you and you fear the air,

when I hold you close

you turn your face to me.

What are you thinking, long gaze

burning into my own.

2. Ariel

Ariel’s love languishes

he casts his head back

into the bend of my shoulder

jade eyes slit,

fur fragrant of cedar and cinnamon

his great tail—silken ebony—

wraps royal about us.

I push my face into his fierce world.

3. Kinneret

a.

Kinneret born, you come to me

from runs along that pebbled shore,

your name speaks of poets and pioneers,

the azure waters of your bright eyes

bring seascape into this walled city.

b.

On laundry days, joyous baths take the place of sea spray,

a run at the washtub—my hand lifts a splash,

shaking off the drops, cat-happy, you search out my eyes

and play ask for more.

c.

Shabbat morning, wait at the door

to welcome each babe and child, each grownup.

The family, they climb the many stairs to enter your domain,

Resting at our feet you share table chatter.

With all gone home, we close the door

and settle into the peace of Eden

d.

Nights of pain, at my bedside,

long legged cat, lines drawn in silver.

“Look,” I say to David, “he will sit there now for hours.”

In his wisdom my son decides, “He does for you what he can.”

e.

Too soon, life’s end, a failure of the flesh.

Reluctant still to leave my embrace,

— fragile skull pressed into my warm fingers

 and caressing palms.

Your essence which would never part from me

is released from my arms and gone.

f.

When they lift your frail body, a soft whimper 

so distant, is the sound of a stranger,

no longer that dear voice that was your own.

Soul spark lit to share my life,

you have done well

to heal the many wounds of my days.

4.

The lost animals sent for me to love,

live all in my dreams,

sharing our human lives,

theirs can never be as ours.

Small hearts, small beings,

where is centered your love,

what is the secret source

of that cleaving to myself ?

                                                  —Shira Twersky-Cassel

Despoiled Dirt

On a day in rain-soaked Jerusalem,

when the glow of Tu Be’Shvat,

the New Year for trees, renews

ardor for earth and man,

my gaze is guided downward,

past the roots of flowering almonds

to soils geologists have mapped

as rare, endangered, dead.

We who savor grapes, figs, dates, olives,

pomegranate, barley, wheat, who cherish

the Land which nurtures each fruit, and us,

know too little about Cecil,

the yellow-brown loam

once rich in carbon, mica.

Decapitated now.

If we dare lift the green carpet beneath our feet,

we may hear the man-stripped ground

cry out: “My carbons gone! Without

my minerals I cannot filter or cool your air.

Your songs now fly with clipped wings,

tremulous over despoiled dirt.”

                                                                  —Vera Schwarcz

Decide

Where is the tree that stood on the hill

the mossy stone wall, a century strength

a small house below, window boxes and lace

the woman who loved it and left

The metals have been blowing with the anxious ashes of the dead

memories  scattered like refugees

identities picked like pockets

stories opened from a can

there are many truths they say, many friends… none

I stand on my head and east is west

The big dipper feeds the earth

pours in the night and tucks us in

the north star an heirloom for when the streams run dry

yes it changes, we change, growth, destruction,

raise your tired head to the wind and decide.

                                                                                         —Susan Oleferuk

The Trade

In the dream we lay together on the side of the road

my face against your still warm brown fur, eyes large and anguished

our blood cooling together

I had been driving on a foggy night

my arm was across your ribs as I died, we, probably

the same size, whispered every night

covered with leaves and mud and snow

as we lay waiting to be sent where

we did not know

in my guilt and growing love

I traded you my soul

I would return as the deer

You warned me of the hunger, the hunting, the cull, the cold

but I thought of the days in the air and sun

the freedom I had felt only here and there

in turn you heard of all that awaited you

the bounty, food, warmth, power too

and when we were called  we walked two by two

we walked off two deer.

                                                     —Susan Oleferuk

Song of Birds

How can I sing of birds while earth’s on fire?

The news is aflame with fiendish desire,

Yet many with water to douse the blaze

Stroll blithely along the rustic pathways,

Finding birds and flowers to admire.

Just as a crescent moon will wax entire,

Ambitious hate suffuses an empire.

When the watchful wander within a haze,

How can I sing of birds?

Chirping birds might echo a holy choir,

And rustling leaves the strings of Nature’s lyre,

Yet if we are nearing the end of days,

Should our words be lost in idyllic praise?

As more kindling is stacked around our pyre,

How can I sing of birds?

                                                         —Ron L. Hodges

THE ARK

Seems the Lord was always whittling away,

casting out those first two or letting Lot

bargain a hundred down to ten. By our time,

nearly everybody had disappointed him again.

So we had to build a boat to his specifications

in the middle of the plains far from any sea.

Of course, ridicule turned to begging

when the rains finally came.  By the end

of the first week we had to club them off.

Afloat, we were headed we knew not where,

passing people clinging to tree tops

fighting snakes and birds for space.

They called out to us but even if we could

have steered, we wouldn’t have stopped.

We had more than we could handle

keeping order among predators and

indiscriminate breeders, the feedings,

the filth.  And the incessant noise—

clucking, roaring, braying, screeching,

growling and hissing day and night.

It poured 24/40.  The world was one ocean,

even mountains were submerged.  Bodies

floated by, debris of all sorts. Despair

took hold, even the creatures became quiet.

When finally we were perched atop a mountain

then the wait of months for the waters

to recede.  Weeks to unload everything

onto the stinking muck.  But busy as we were,

we felt no elation, not even for our survival.

We were racked by a sadness for something

we couldn’t explain, something forever lost,

whatever it is we mean when we say home.         

                                                                                   —Sarah Brown Weitzman

UNNATURAL DISASTER

I have seen towers shattered, and great waves

Rise up and fall on beach and field and town

And bury tens of thousands without graves;

I have seen sheets of lava rolling down,

Effacing forests’ ancient histories,

Have seen great ships on icebergs crack and spill

Their freight of souls to the voracious seas,

And earth’s foundations crack, and the cracks fill

With humankind’s ingenious works o’erthrown.

Yet direst of all grave disastrous sights

Is that of Mind contorted to condone

Enormity, and grant wrong equal rights

With justice. For the fall of reason brings

(G-d guard!) the fall of all earth’s goodly things.

                                                                                            —E. Kam-Ron

Cross-Pollinization/

They that lack the heart to know, don’t fear to ask, gather at the dust of the feet of the Sages where they might learn  (Pele Yoetz, Reason, 2)

So you don’t understand.  It’s too hard,

a jigsaw puzzle, pieces spread apart . . .

as on a meadow.  Butterflies

catch the scents of blossoms.  You start

just out, in the air. You rise,

flustered, confused.  Relative to your size,

a picture, a panorama.  So big

as you count, the flowers wave.  Surmise,

enter a tree, branches so thick,

catch the dust, something special.  Lick

the sweetness, another, think, drink,

and down to the field, feel the colors drunk,

learn this universe. Discover the link

between where you were, and what you bring.

                                                                                           —Zev Davis

What Makes the World Go Round

Pattern in nature, pattern in art,

The stay against Chaos or Non-existence:

In ancient mythologies God or the Gods

Against such evil head the resistance.

The electrons’whirl round the nucleus,

The monthly dance of earth and moon,

The bands of trade winds round the globe,

The yearly dry time and monsoon.

The net of veins within the leaf,

The points where seeds lie in the fruit,

The flaunting circle formed by petals,

The hidden branchings of the root.

The wax cells of the honey bee,

The vee of speeding geese in flight,

The bubble net of hunting whales,

The silken threads where spiders bite.

The wheels with cogs engaging cogs,

The painter’s landscape viewed through an arch,

The line of bullets in a cartridge belt,

The ranks of soldiers on the march.

Is pattern’s source a Mind Divine

Whose creation has cruelly gone awry,

Or does it spill out as it may

From the fall of mindless Chance’s die?

                                                                             —Henry Summerfield

A Dream

Happy the year five hundred thousand:

The Cherubim seem to lower the sword;

Eden appears again in this world,

Some say under aegis of Eden’s Lord.

Still there are atheists and theists

Debating their cases in verse and prose;

Each side ready to learn from the other,

Rivals they are, but never foes.

Like a plant of careful grafting,

The human brain is adjusted and trained;

Equal its service of self and others;

Self-aggrandizement’s disdained.

Voters never enthrone a hater,

Cheater, glib talker, or poltroon;

War is a memory faint and abhorred,

The demagogue’s rant a forgotten tune.

Happy the year five hundred thousand:

Legend’s Golden Age has returned,

Humankind guides its arts and science,

Keeps all good knowledge it has learned,

Such as how, in a distant future,

To move this fertile planet far;

Flee an expanding, devouring sun;

Hitch it to another star.

                                                   —Henry Summerfield

JUST A CLICK AWAY ON MY COMPUTER

Poet Emily Dickinson’s arrest record

in the state of Massachusetts

Phone number for John the Baptist

Email address of William Shakespeare

Present age of Henry the Eighth.

I can Twitter with the Sphinx

or get a background check

on Matisse’s Odalisque. Print out

Bluebeard’s present martial status.

Check Methuselah’s credit report

or Nefertiti’s work record.

Find resumes for the Great Gatsby

and the Wicked Witch of the East.

Noah’s Ark has been located

and its complete passenger list.

Ludwig van Beethoven wants to be

my friend on Facebook and

I can get LinkedIn with the Devil

or establish contact with Mars

listed in the Yellow Pages

in the borough of Outer Space

just a click away.

                                   —Sarah Brown Weitzman