Two שני Lights


And they are lights in darkness, maybe one, well then there’s two, some would call them children, it seems they are the light that leads me to you.

In the evening, here in the small light, may be it is one light maybe it is two. I as the old man recognize beginnings, celebrate endings, I don’t feel so brave tonight. It could be I am, called into a war, my heart a mix of gelatin and rock iron ore, and still it seems this life has gone by too fast, every little breath has passed me, it seems not to last. I walked over, asked a question of a soldier, do you have to be brave, to carry a gun? Can’t you be just as brave to raise a son, and do you place your spirit in a world, to let it die out, to watch it whirl? Are you stronger to kill and fight, to volunteer for others, when questions fill your night.

All I know is one light, two lights, or more, are less lights, then my conscious would allow me to ignore. And I know there are captains, warriors who would fight, it seems to me an industry, like there are missionaries on a foreign site teaching all of knowledge, the blessings of false spoils. Yet I will not know I will not surmise, I will not take one light, two lights in the night, I will take forever, where G_D lets me fly, I will take all of the lights, before I die.

In the morning, just before the dawn, as I an old man, reached a river run, and in the counting of lost souls, the ones that count by one, came a single light or two, their bravery past done. And what have you done my friend, you’ve fought a war never done, you preached a world of saviors, and still no souls won. While many harmless people, walking day by day, raise their simple banners, instill a good word in their children, they whisper and they say. Go and seek a goodness, seek all light that fills, never look for one light, it never will fulfill. But oh my son of better days, my daughter that climbs each hill, seek to know all of light, for partial light it kills. One light or two lights, are the beginning and end, but there is so much, so very much, that fills from end to end.

All I know is one light, two lights, or more, are less lights, then my conscious would allow me to ignore. And I know there are captains, warriors who would fight, it seems to me an industry, like there are missionaries on a foreign site teaching all of knowledge, the blessings of false spoils. Yet I will not know I will not surmise, I will not take one light, two lights in the night, I will take forever, where G_D lets me fly, I will take all of the lights, before I die.

And they are lights in darkness, maybe one, well then there’s two, some would call them children, it seems they are the light that leads me to you.

For my two lights. – 09.05.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Mr. Carter (1989)


It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. Son there’s always plants, you never dreamed that they would grow, but over there on Garden Street I’ve planted and I’ve sowed. My life with Mrs. Carter is the sum of all that’s green, a placement in a flower box that blooms like its still spring. For every little tear I’ve cried in life, there’s been a plant, a garden, and my woman to keep my soul intact. You think that life is lonely try not having leaves in spring, the pedals of a rose just like a woman’s inner tender wings. So much I’d like to tell you before you hit the road, and travel to your high country where different flowers grow. I’ll stick to just this story, this little piece of luck I’ve touched, inside the secret to long life and the reasons that there’s love. It’s the honesty of G_Ds green earth teaching me what’s up above. Teaching me what’s up above.

I believe my dear Daniel the year was 1956, when hurricane Flossy came and made our home a pile of sticks. We lived in our garden in a shelter made like a tent, and Mrs. Carter my dear sweet woman, the heat it made her sick. I prayed to find an answer, there were no Doctors to be had, no one to help this black man, and my wife so near her death. I went into the garden a patch of drowned earth, and kneeled upon a tattered plant, to beg for what I’m worth. There my boy I smelled life so strong, minty and all green, the smell of peppermint, my boy, it seemed like it was spring. It seemed just like an answer to all that was bad, the mix of leave and water to bring my missus back.

It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. You know a kingdom can’t survive if it is built on pure stone, neither can your heart know things of love you’ve never known. I tell you sir as you drive off from this southern shore, take a lesson from these plants their gifts and their lore’s. Take my voice my story, of plants and flowers so green, and build your life in far off lands, and love a girl like spring. When the day does arrive when heat fells your soul, look for peppermint to make a tea, its worth much more than told. Some day when you’re thinking, of all that I’ve said look at plants around you, and know that you’re blessed. Know that you’re blessed.

It goes a little bit like this, a little bit like that, you take a perfect flower, and you treat it for what it lacks. It’s the honesty of G_Ds green earth teaching me what’s up above. Teaching me what’s up above. – 05.28.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Blessings of the Writer (Psalm of Tiferet)


Poet, you chase me, contain me in a breeze. Creator, a story, that’s born in me to believe. Wonder, first footsteps, a child you must first feed. Chastened, by darkness, you lose your mortality. Listening, stirred inward, your desert takes its toll. Hear now of a fever, a story never told. Haunted, by a sonnet, of a ghost that thieved its soul. Spirit’s, drunken soldiers, the pleasure’s still untold. Firelight, in a canyon, a pen it scribes of love. Silent, before magic, the rum it finds my blood. Tattered by the critique, the one who cannot see, the blessing of the writer when lost in mystery.

I defined G-D casting lighting, felt summer when it’s cold, written of assurance, with demons in control. Old men that were Merlin, have written in my sleep. Valleys, retained by witches have sown the words I reap. Candles, in leafless forest have chased me with a rhyme. Daniel, you have dominion, Bel’s prince has summoned time. You helped me scribe the starlight, from high born desert nights. Etched my thought in shadows, and led me to the light. The ode of throne and sapphire, a dreamed that stopped my strife, the blessing of the writer, the sparks that changed my life.

Compose, now I a changeling, an alchemy not taught, a summoning of fusion, tainted by some thought. Write I, now the sound unmade, deficient of first light, reform it to its bed now made, and ask to have real sight. Honor me with writing that changes form and deed, give me striking wisdom that grows this tree of peace. Let delight seize me, and write down song in me. Constitute the psalm of sea, and let me sail away. Establish on my forehead and arm for time to be, the blessings of the writer, my familiar trapped in me. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/16/2014