Very nice black bird in the tree today, said my father’s mother, as she said her grace. His eyes are blue with magic, they burn with foreign fire, they circle me with six points, interpret my desire. That Turdus merula, is darker than the night delayed, detached yet from the living he sees with other sight. Said my father’s mother if I breath by right, a son I will be given, I’ll birth him in the night. That hew upon the high ground that looks just like a star, will call upon the dark bird to name this baby knight. His sign shall be a jackdaw, on spirit he shall grow, divisible by wonder, his marvel cherished bright, a colorless of ageless, and a temperate on the right, a blackbird of the sages, determined by his sight. Ten and twenty Grackles have summoned while he plays, they fly in awe majestic, he turns they float away.

The Crow he called out early, the day the world stood still, the day my father’s mother said name him as you will. Whatever is his worry the Rook will be his guide, he’ll fly him into battle, and he’ll watch him when he dies. In the highland thistles, a blackbird looks your way, his eyes are blue with magic, and he will not look away. Chasten now your story, believe your wisdom done, In Merle you have your glory, a blackbird is your son.

In Merle you have a name ship that’s shadowed by the sun. A Rook that flew between names, from father down to son. There cries within a namesake a search for why or when, to challenge all your answers to settle all your sins. If I dream of Ravens that lead me to my home, have I found a haven will I no more roam. However seems my journey, this name that I’m assigned, like he who went before me, I will not know but why. Ten and twenty Grackles have summoned while I write, they fly in awe majestic, I turn they float away.




My Father’s middle name was Merle, as is mine. It means Blackbird. – 06.27.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Picture courtesy of Mitch Dobrowner/Kopeikin Gallery

Welcome on down did you fly lava wings, did you bring the people for as far as they can see, did they descend to plant and ascend to sleep. Did the world look so different from the bridge of your peaks? Did the holy wind blow in the mist of lights, supernatural terror in a world without sight, did the fourth world open to your boat with wings, did you land in fire where the sand does sing? Was there land in water, flowing by your side, did you summon great monsters from your ship on high, did your first breath of air born in sacred sky’s, come from secret places living soil that cannot die.

Did the people sail under star and moon, fashioned constellations with the weave and loom? Were there four sacred mountains built by reformed soil, did you place your ship between them and begin to toil, did you harvest herbs of buttons and natural seeds, at the foot of your transport on a desert sea. Why, you must have climbed when your day was done, on that final day you climbed it when the lightning come. It probably came a signal from a naayééʼs teeth flowing blue electric dragon from what we can’t see. While around the ship in holding, there was quiet at last, the chʼį́įdii of the mountain was a ship turned black.

Welcome on down, to what we can’t see, in a brown painted picture of mythology, some say it couldn’t happen, for it’s not their belief, the arrival of the people on a ship at sleep. To approach it is to wonder why it cannot be, the creation of a people from another sea. For one world to another until this one four, it’s a story not so different from all other lore, for shiprock is a temple that rest on this world’s floor, a carrier of a people from another door. Welcome on down did you fly lava wings, did you bring a holy people do they hold the key? – 06/08/2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Growing up in Kirtland, New Mexico I got used to seeing Shiprock in the distance, looming, guarding, watching in dark volcanic silence.  For some, the Navajo, it’s presence is holy.  I believe they are correct 🙂

Mother You Have Fought a Dragon

Image courtesy of original

Mother you have fought a dragon, it dragged you to some shore. Terror free and in reprieve you have prayed for never more. Woman you have birthed a heartache, one that bled your soul. Ten to one you have fought and won, and begged to win no more. Charming leaves that fall in spring, never following a guide. Children roam with gods unknown, and issue a summons of pride, and you will cry them through, to a place of you, in a storm laid grace, you will hide their face and in your love they abide.

Mother you have issued summons, lost a battle in the dark. Writ it please to lose judgment, and please, compassion with a start. Female you have challenged souls of angels, asked for love where devils play. This destiny of what you see, is what your will wants staid. Passion dies where ego starts, what will of child, will lose the day, when stars and poems fall from G_D’s eyes when a mother turns her love and prays. Your child, has future work in shadows, a walk that fights to reach the dawn, a mother she begs to join the battle, in tears she nurtures time not won.

Mother you will run on razors, bleed where daemons dare not come. Serenade a chorus, by rhyme, sown by footprints in a mind, there by nature, a wonder born, there a mother lined and worn, there her purpose with her love she sees. Lady by your creed your labor, in your very virtue find, mother you have fought a dragon, the keys to some dungeon shine. Son you breathe, when she believes, amass your fortune, heal your ghost wound, it has heard your mother’s cry. Daughter your kingdom, hive your anger, she’s your mirror, she’s your maker, she is by your side.

Mother you have fought a dragon!


For every mother who has fought for her children! Happy Mother’s Day! – דָּנִיֵּאל 05_10_2014

Dusk & Resurrection (Cycles)_v2

I begin here in winter, the air more translucent and conductive, breathing falling.  In dusk, my face ever changing, your cycles before me.  I stood in sapphire lightning, feeling Hashem’s love consistent in all forms of reason synthesize me.  I suppose it was want, mixed with compassion and need that just kept whispering and giving until I prayed that it would give me my leave.  Dusk is seldom a rite in the dominion of Yotsehr Or’, but on that day, that star bound shrinking day, when the winds poured with their sweet soulful waters, that interesting day, HaKadosh, Baruch Hu kissed my mouth with life and made me, there was dusk, sounding twilight until darkness became like glass.  From my entrance dusk cries out to dusk, in answer light cries out to light and E’in Sof eternal rung unto rung I climbed and was delivered.

Ripping husk of famine, layer upon layer, it recalls me and this second time it leaves me.  Sound grows deeper at dusk, the light specters that have been playing most of the day turn their age and the sparkle in their eye settles, somewhat like watching the sand descend to its last grain in the hourglass, the window shade descending on a bright winter day.  Adon Olam,in dusk my assignment, my lasting grace.  This worn shelter you have stated, this internal wisdom you created, my delicate seed.  This is a wilderness in which you play my destiny, this bone held lodging upon sinking sand.  In unadorned razed ramparts I ask you my Emet, and with your energy, with your consideration, without pause, YHWH-Rapha you become me.  No entity, no earthbound accommodation, beyond me separation calls out to separation, in answer atom calls out to atom and HaMakom present rung unto rung I climbed and was received.

Genetic revelation, prognosis by change, a gift of resurrection, infernal insight, enflamed creation, dawn it rides hard before me, HaRachaman in mercy, aware never leaving unto you before sapphire, I am.  Electrical destiny, where you take me Ehiyeh sh’Ehiyeh, I am before me resurrection you release me to fly!  Renewal awakened, blind judgment forsaken, these questions are answered I will follow no dark prophet, let alone will you ever let me die.  Uri Gol blessed beauty in this your era, resurrection from fire, a place of your kindness, here surrounded by dross Mechayeh Metim returning forever you have given me breath.  This is thunder unrestrained by behavior, revived before Eden to see G-ds pure eyes.  In life of this Torah, a resurrection as blind calls out to blind, in answer sight calls out to sight and Tzur Israel resurrects me so that rung after rung I climb and I am born with fire in my feet, Adoshem, one G-D of creation I am resurrected free. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/06/2014


A song set in simplicity that has no rhyme or reason to be, a tune set before there is melody. Glazes of splendor, two in sweet paradigm you have grown before me. Stunning, like the substance of G_D’s dominion in me, placed purity of the love we made. Times you will climb, times you will fight, and when you fall you will shatter me but I will never turn away. The moon and stars, did you see them tonight, did you know they reached for you and then fell from the sky. That’s okay, that’s the reason I pray, and most of the time the words meet your destiny and fall into a mystic grace. The love I feel sometimes is displaced, and truth be known like my father before me you will never know its candor, until the morning sunlight hits your face and you touch my ghost at play. In quality I sired you before the face of G_D’s thunder I begged you to be blessed before second place, and in compassion this life’s wilderness was replaced with the elegance of YHWH’s refining fire that stands before me. There are warnings, attributes and words of linen fine I could utter, choices, blessings, instructions, rare psalm’s I could sing on a summer’s night. They would only take away from what has already been placed in you. So I remind you, I place you in the travesty of this atomic age, and place your hearts before you for only one holds you. You are chosen twice like two twins before his endless space and time, in compassion resting glowing cherubim’s before your fate. My faith, my belief, you are two risen before me, resting like peridot and sapphire without a care. A path before you arises, a change before you someday soon. It comes to harvest like a daemon full of puritan spark. I will be there, through the veil, I will see you, looking back at me. I will watch you run to quiet the storm, and like the song you are, that song set in simplicity, that one with no rhyme or reason to be, you will create melody. דָּנִיֵּאל

The Start of a Day









Summon you letter, sound of the din, curse of believer, friend of the wind.  Slip of the season, born on the range, more than a reason, pictures at play.  Subtle translation, that bends to the bow, cradle of spirit, bereshit below.  Infants and candles, minor keys play, lost in the physics, of a new day.

Crystal of distance, sight of the glow, death of the phantom, start of the show.  Creation tunic that shields a new start, lightning, and earthquakes, spoken by sparks.  Screaming and yelling while banshees die, balance of two worlds born on a sigh, grace, and passion while bodies play, born like a baby, the start of a day.

Destiny of water, conscience below, immortal groaning born of a soul.  Shadow of wisdom, equal in time, pressure of fortune, song, and pure rhyme.  Imminent kingdom, death of the gloom, systems of motion, under the moon.  Heavens are splitting, while feathers lust, done in pure image, the creators trust.

The first day of spoken creation, what was it like?  Did devils look to the sky and marvel at solids appearing out of chaos?  Did the ‘Ancient of Days’ motion or simply communicate by transmitted thought?  So many languages, from time to time emitting the creation story, some complex, some scrawled simply in stone.  I believe in order for there to have been a first day, there had to have been a last, and before that a first, end to end all in a circle, always spoken, always a first day!  – DS 01/14/2014 


Wonder of September


Wonder of September, deep, striking Messiah glistens.  Fallen ice from the ledge where he watches waiting for his ethereal fall.  Strange air, blonde eyes judgment blue she pushes by.  Impatient craving knowledge she leaps.  Molten with banished hope he stands the sacrifice.  Days with lions he waits, by the wheels and machinations of Ezekiel he plays.  Choice of wisdom, paradigm of virtue he turns and faces G-d.  Vessels bound receiving, open eyelids giving he flows, reeling he falls, and beauty is risen.

The moon debases and mixes.  Imperfection has found the alchemy of wishes, he falls and fly’s with major chords of creation between his teeth.  Orchestrated knowledge melds together, with stars that glow, a soul for September immortal eyes that glisten with compassion.  Some things are meant for passion, rain before the snow.  Stranger still as cells are released at earth is the heat as Seraphim sing.  Days of ancient, blood of little kings, archetype of David, blessed of firmament this baby companion brings.

Shattered adjectives beyond description, summoned emanation, choice of colors in lightning he falls.  Across horizons his void, his balance gazes upon him, so cold in ice.  All is equal in September, captured earthward the lower and the upward release.  Concealed union, the moon is darkened, the cradle rocking with strong release.  The veil is spinning grown together, the map of chaos bequeaths this day.  Psalms of liquid, lost charms in strange tongues praising, the birth of wonder has come to pray.

Conjecture comes to witness, and then like a pale familiar it crawls away.  Solitude in wonder, Malkuth spans the kingdom where the child lays.  The esoteric rhythm, tree, and temple sheltered in consent by flesh.  Colorless dominions void of reflection, consciousness gathered by wondrous sight.  Air and existence, deep upon deep filled now with days.  Dancing flesh moving, through a glass now seen clearly, she who left before him now kisses his face.  The wonder of September is born in grace. – DS 12/07/2013

For my son Ryan who is the Wonder of SeptemberDS 12/07/2013