G_D is Wyoming

His name is in Wyoming, inscribed in rock near the great divide, and often you may pass it when I-80 bends by twice. Through time and winters soul storms, those places where innocence dies, there runs a great contender, your hurt will be love’s guide. For high above the valleys, where the dirt does fly, when the winds come screaming, like an ego that’s been denied. Lessons in Wyoming, bard wire were Shepard died, looking for some mercy, the wilderness is unkind. In land that takes its likeness, from a lunar sky, harsh and barren in places, an American Judea find. Look closer in Wyoming, look for names and rhyme, listen to the sound of mourning from an open sky. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming.

There are no doors in Wyoming, at least that you can hide behind, no cover of a savior, I imagine you know, the kind, for here in Wyoming a good sin can be found, right here in all this open, where rock and sky abound, and mercy comes from such a name, pronounced without a sound, gliding from the Tetons, bringing compassion down. And on some nights when no moon comes, a rare occasion in places bare, a sea of spirits rise, empty hoods white and wise, and as companions they stare at the sky, and pray for what’s not seen, Adonai, mercy please, and then for few who know, unless you’ve traveled that high road in pain, then you see. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming.

Medicine Bow Peak speaks lightning from the other side, telling those who hear it say, it’s time, all of nature is tied, to a pattern diagram, intersecting to the head, earthly kings and queens will never find, what’s in Wyoming. Would you bend and say, take my fears away, travel down I-80, under darkened skies, ask for the intersession of the hoods that rise. Seek the mercy there, coming through the wildest air, and then you too will find, such a great wonder of time. G_D is Wyoming, G_D is Wyoming. – 01.17.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Red Feather Lakes

Running Man in Snow – Thornton Walker

There are seconds, days, the snow comes in, when the howling smell of winter spins, then like a saved voyage for the old and the lame, I bend and stretch and remember what happened that day.

By the rock of upper Eden by Red Feather Lakes, I began a lonely run on a seasons day, by the trail of frozen Aspen far from spring and life come new, I watched the sun rising, as I ran my way to you. It was eighty six of hundred feet of elevated play headed up to ninety two odd four of rock, where the lions lay, and the breath from all my fury past flittered away, when the snow pack of the timber suddenly gave way.

Said an angel to a child, watch him slide upon his back, watch him slide on to Lake Erie, but watch him come on back, for in a second mystery for the humble and the grave, it’s just a little journey to help him love G-D today. It seems in revelations like apocalyptic doom, and this poor child of the future is wasting his time too soon, so will of all that happens and what is delayed will bring this runner higher, and bring him to grace.

When you fall through time of sorrow and you bend your back on ice, it takes from you great arrogance, and it doesn’t feel so nice, you think a lot about dying and you wonder if you’ll cry, when you sink beneath cold waters, in the mountains you will lie. Rolling and skidding like a sinner feeling scorn, resting above an icy water like a shadow on a storm. Breathing ever harder grabbing life in its quick play, what a blessing is a second, when there’s none to give away.

Said a light upon the snowy field of war over man, leave your footprints altogether, and don’t grab his hand, in the blood that’s freely flowing from the crack above his face, I cement ‘EL Elyon as judgment and I send him on his way. For there is none all the better, that will call out my name than a broken man of service for the Ancient of Days. For whom is worthy judged a man, than he who has tried, better man I love in judgment, than one covered for life.

It is not seen or known without how, I came to be pulled, from an icy shadow with a love, and my death was annulled. In the winter of my deluge when ‘EL Elyon judged me, I was taken without wanting, and with that I am free.

There are seconds, days, the snow comes in, when the howling smell of winter spins, then like a saved voyage for the old and the lame, I bend and stretch and remember what happened that day. 10.15.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Sarah Smiles

You passed right in front of me, while I slept in bed, a dream of a memory, of things left unsaid. It could be I’m delinquent, on some emotion due, a writer of a story, of something I knew, so before this little puzzle gets torn, and tucked from view, Sarah, I’m going to tell the world, all about you.

In sapphire blue you entered a hue, your voice afar and distant and somehow you knew, a high holiday, trumpets at play, Rosh Hashanah, in stars. Older in view, eighty odd two, a Hebrew princess, Ms. Shar. Your glasses askew, your white hair like new, better than friends, you healed my scar. If every little picture that you wove that day, came out of my darkness, came out to play, a young man with a trouble, would just melt away at your smile. Sarah Smiles!

We call assisted living for the old and lame, a retirement ageing center is just a stage name, for where we tuck our elders to sleep and wait, till they die. Then we sigh. Something happened to me when I met you, Au Revoir to shadows with a future view, a mitzvah for my earthly views, all of lies, said goodbye, with your smile. Sarah Smiles!

A juncture in my life, where a habit dies, a thoughtless way of dreaming when I met her eyes, a new way of believing in the right divine, thought of time, old woman die. Not their eyes. Every Thursday evening by the strike of five, I find you royally sitting, with your flame filled eyes, we talk and sing together till your supper arrives, than goodbye. With a smile. Sarah Smiles!

It seems I dreamed the Pentateuch was living flame, its words came spilling over in your voice and name, and when I entered dawn, the thought still remained, of your mind, when you died, for you smiled. Sarah Smiles!

I know your sparks dance beyond this holiday, atonement soon arrives but for now the trumpets play, I eat my honeyed apples and your ghost sashays with a smile. Sarah Smiles!

For Sarah (Smiles) Shars – January 14, 1931 – September 4, 2013

09.23.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Sara Smile-Daryl Hall & Rumer (All rights Daryl Hall & John Oates)

Ruth (Seasons of Moab)

Ruth of the spring, walking in fields infinity loose it’s a factor, nobody knows, what dogma she brings, she looks to the moon her benefactor. She sings, through the silt, she walks in the high grass, the stars closing in as dawn grows light dim, and then like she knew, her dark hair takes hue, and falls on her naked shoulders. Sapphire it glows in the field of rows, filled with red clover, her scent forever he’s after. What wisdom Ruth brings as light fills the king, Ein Sof an element forever. You turn oh my love, I haven’t seen all, and my shadow would fall for your laughter. Ruth I came down, in modern, fast sounds, and nothing could hold me forever, ask wisdom if spring, can grant you great things your line some will sing thereafter.

She passes a field and walks by a stream, she enters the summer of full moons and dreams. Ruth prays from her womb, she see’s many things, she looks to the sky, while katydids sing. Then under a moon, while sheaves bend and woo, and spirits come down, the handmaid turns round. She dances for lightning under the sky, moves her hips, wonderfully for heaven and sighs, and El he came down, and whispers love found, and all Moab, dwells in her rapture. Her harvest is sun, her life is spun, and children they come under the moon and in laughter.

Adonai, sighs and fly’s from the sky, while autumn brings moons that light her thighs, and all in the field is happy and still, while Ruth spins love from dark tatters. She speaks without sound, a craft few have found, a life that glows without character. Distilled, and matured, from spirit she coo’s and harvest in fall, a field brings total together. What, now strange queen, Shaddai’s wing, it tills deep, and births what won’t shatter. In Moab it’s time, own your design, a woman like none ever after.

Ruth of the winter, not bent, or with shiver, the field frozen ground, but still life comes down, and her white hair falls, her curved smile is all, that Hashem will deliver. In spirit and ice, a frozen rain comes, and Moab bends ground, judgment is bound, by tundra that’s still a place of her heart, remembered. Did not Ruth in spring say, unselfishly, it is not my heart but your will in mine to surrender. She is like a servant that warms fallen snow, her beauty and body makes heaven glow, and Moab beneath her, while Tiferet flows, and all in the field ready’s to sow, once here after.

You turn oh my love, I haven’t seen all, and my shadow would fall for your laughter. – 09.18.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Grammy (Reverie)

I called down a dream of Grammy, she arrived on a Sabbath day, I turn and she’s gone, now what’s told, stays long, and sealed in what she did say!

Your dress it is colors, a book of old stories, a vision in time of my youth. Did you not summon my mind to question, what is not seen, what is true? Grammy it’s summer, though I see winter, how can I touch through the gloom. There are visions wanting to open, wanting to dance with my youth. Are they the presence of what really matters, please in your latitude pray? Has ever color come from what’s over, have ghost delivered a truth?  Has fluid filled the stalk of a stover, my Grammy please tell me what’s true.

“What have you seen boy, there in red clover does the wind blow trouble this day”?

I know not faith that moves worlds over, I know only what my Grammy does say.

Last night I saw you, Grammy you shook me, I awoke my heart shaking, and you were gone. Is there a meaning, to what you were bringing, does my world now have long? Grammy you died, your white hair was dropping, birds were falling that day. In death was candor, of what would come after, thoughts of that child, and words arrayed.

There you are moments, katydids talking, blessing my heart as it storms.

“Boy there are watchers, some roam in daylight, some are moving, way too soon, listen and follow, what is found simple, G_D will not leave you to be ruined.”

Grammy no secrets, life has now found me, ghost are calling me out to play. Chilled falling season, heat all around me, I turn to see what you will say!

“Kindness is simple, it seeks no favors, it has been named in seventy-two ways, summon me no more, it is not natural, go and breath what this night has conveyed”.

Her dress in colors, then it was over, I awoke to find strange shadows at play. A note of a whisper, from spirit’s gone over, a tone from what my Grammy did say.

I called down a dream of Grammy, she arrived on a Sabbath day, I turn and she’s gone, now what’s told, stays long, and sealed in what she did say! – 08.30.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Tides of Light (The Confession)

This is the longest walk I’ve ever known, this path that brings me to a place, where I must atone. Some words have been floating by me tasting the breeze, but for once I’m getting ready to just be me. Some know me for my laughter, others think I have skill, the truth in all this chatter is I’m not honest still. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. A broken man has no place that matters still, for deep inside his shattered life, deception has will. I do not wish confession on an altar pain-built, I’ll make my own admission before G-d at his will.

A word or two of caution for what you would hear, is not sin built on malice of that I am clear, but still I do remember what defines sagacity, a purse full of dollars from dishonesty. I wish there was a map of who I should be, a chart of holy markers defining personality. I regress from my purpose stalling this road to my goal, a few more words about me places few choose to go. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

I’ve seen the world’s compassion in a short crooked frame, it does not fit the picture of what most doers say. The words of crying darkness roll like sounds from a quake, but weeping doesn’t matter, just the words that I say. You see I stole and borrowed from what was not mine, I took and claimed tomorrow with my love undefined. I went into a kingdom that was not mine to keep, I made those ears that listened follow Balaam’s belief. So there it is in English and I need not say more, the terror that you’ll leave me, makes me walk even more. For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me.

In a roadway, in a puddle, in a faraway sigh. In a goodness, light left standing, the still on the tide. Here you listen, here you bind me, and my madness does die. In the moment, all around me, I am given, I am human, I am owned in your sight, I am owned in your sight!

For me to walk the tides of light, and be judged free, I must pull out some thoughts of war that rule over me. – 08.22.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Martin Begotto

The question he answers with tears in his eyes, how long is she living, what way she will die. The bed by the window still covered by sun, makes Martin, Begotto, see her so young. A bride by a portal of death drawing near, the silence of waiting, the emptiness of fear. For fifty-six years a wife by his side, he turns his back to her, she dies with goodbye. In softness of twilight, that glistens death’s gloom, he searches his pockets and pulls forth a spoon. With ashes he sprinkles and sighs with content, Martin is grieving his sacrifice spent.

Wait, Martin a question as dark fills your eyes, so much has happened and still you won’t cry? For Martin, Begotto, you seem not surprised that death is your healer, your pain now denied, and what of those ashes that fell from a spoon, what gift is your secret, that covered this room? Your loved one just passed us, your sweet Sherry wife, why do you not wallow in angry wet cries?

Martin, his grimace, a pale zippered moon, a worm in elixir, its breath now consumed. Martin an old man, who fought in a war, who lost half his sons in ways he deplores, why one of them died with strange fire in his blood, another was murdered a stabbing well done. Martin Begotto a man with a spoon, ashes of recall poured in a room.

The ashes of letters burned in the dark, from years of division, when love was so hard, his life in Korea, while she held the home, come back my sweet bunny, I feel so alone. The boys miss their daddy, they watch the war news, they walk in your snow boots, and play your old blues. The records have been scratched, I hope you don’t mind, I love you dear Martin, our laughs and our times. He’s burned all the letters of medical creed the ones spelling death with their boys deceased. He’s grabbed the deep spoon that held lintel and rice to spoon memories ashes, where Sherry abides.

Martin Begotto turns and he blinks, his life with his Sherry is now done complete, whatever he wanted has given receipt, an answer to life, that never repeats. This life is now over, the part in this room, his Sherry is glowing, she’s met her new groom. – 07.20.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Crooked Tree (Something for Nothing)

All rights to Image Michael Bennati

Under the sun near the crooked tree, I came to find a discipline that would set me free. It seemed a cold labor on a frozen fact would be the text book reasoning for what I lacked. What about the sunshine, and who made my breath, what about the rigors of a spiritual attack? Is smiling on a social network all of who I should be, telling all my victories of G_D in me? Is pounding in illusion ecological false facts, a time bomb of delusion on a new age attack. All about the outer shell while inner lacks. All I want is something and reality intact, well something for nothing and your grace is free, a simple line of lineage on a crooked tree.

Omen of a summer when I thought I’d died, looking ever skyward my whole life a lie. There were little children who counted on me, a simple deadly father who was lost at sea. I saw a moving shadow that laughed at my dreams. I fantasized a flame filled coven by some fallen leaves. What was all so simple in all I lacked, inward fallen symptom when I could not turn back. You spawned something for nothing by a crooked tree, enchanted simple love in beauty you in me. You’re something for nothing for the things that I lack. I will not follow deadwood on a stolen tree, I’ll fly raptured like eternal, indifferent, laughing, something for nothing, living Torah all together spirit, a simple line of lineage on a crooked tree.

Years of watching strangers lie and scheme, days of knowing that your faith was free. There are winds that shake me and try to deceive, those frozen ever chosen by a covered tree. You have given something as far as I can see, you have judged the living by a crooked tree. I will follow footsteps that have helped me grow, something for nothing, in the great space, wide open, something for nothing living by a crooked tree.

Crooked tree theology is not lost on me, a wind that blows in winter till it bends belief. Shallow is the timber that is straight on sight, cut and used for purpose, covered in a shelter, of a primed dead night. Crooked is your love born on great delight. Great and full of favor in a full mooned light. Something for nothing while you bend me, something for nothing that sets me free. דָּנִיֵּאל 05.22.2014

Bathsheba the Morning After (Pull Me Under)

My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.

Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.


David (מַּלְכוּת)
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014

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