David Weiser

B List

006.  I reviewed all my decisions,

                  Lining them up in the yard,

                           But they would not stand still.

          They raced in all directions,    

                 Bumping and tripping each other,

                           And many fights broke out.

          The drill turned into chaos

                  Marked by desperate screams:

                           “Please make up your mind!”

027. Being a bystander

                  In the accidents of life,

                           I offer testimony.

         But no one wants to hear:

                  The judges have retired,

                           The police do not respond.

         I see the poor exploited,

                  And the fatherless so lost.

                           They too will not believe me.

042. Minor disappointments

                  Will accumulate

                           Until a tear drips down.

         Half-forgotten words

                  Out of a stale debate

                           Haunt the mind’s old house.

         Like a mosquito bite,

                  Tiny stings of hate

                           Keep us up at night.

050. The smart machines that talk

                  Diminish human speech

                           To ugly shrieks and grunts.

         The streets themselves are snarling

                  And curse the avenues.

                           They clash at every corner,

         While children dumb as fish

                  Glide into pure silence

                           Where parents cannot go.

063. A man who cannot smile

                  (Although he sometimes tries)

                           Will never feel at ease.

                  Memory interferes

                           By retrieving mirth

                                    Out of the buried past.

                  Polite, considerate

                           Of those who have not suffered,

                                    He thinks of his fallen son.

065. Does life depreciate

                  Among the multitudes

                           Swarming the crowded streets?

         What is a person worth

                  When a million others

                           Vie to take his place?                          

         Great urban density

                  Cheapens the human soul.

                           It feels expendable.

069. Decadence of the mouth

                  Corrupts the purest soul.

                           The palate grows too fine

         For ordinary food.

                  The lips begin to smirk

                           About the middle class.

         Soon the curses flow

                  From liberated tongues,

                             Denying right and wrong.

 101.  In a land of many rivers

                    We worked the fertile soil

                             And reaped a hundredfold.

         The earth gave precious grain

                  And multiplied our flocks;

                           Our wives wore chains of gold.

         Yet all these gains brought loss:

                  Our children did not need us

                           Or the birthright that they sold.

104. I found a moderate leopard

                  Willing to change his spots,

                            But not all of them.

         Peace is a gradual process

                  But dialogue has started,

                           Increasing confidence.

         I told the leopard’s neighbors

                  They’d live in peace someday

                           When grasses are his prey.

111. Because you dissect the Word,

                  Slicing its letters and sounds,

                            You reduce it to thin air.

                  Because you disassemble

                           The palace of good reason,

                                    You sit on a pile of stones.

                  Deadly analysis,

                           The scalpel that you wield

                                    Will someday slash your throat.

114. An uncommitted mind

                  Flits like a butterfly

                           Among the painted flowers.

         Dizzy with distraction,

                  It flutters to the ground

                           Upon exhausted wings.

         It has no hive, no honey,

                  No solid wax of faith

                           To shape into a cause.

123. Who erased the blackboard?

                  Some names have disappeared;

                           We won’t see them again.

         When teacher took attendance,

                  Not everyone said “Here.”

                            Where are the absentees?

         Some of us have transferred

                  To another school,

                           And they are doing well.

138.  “The media mess us up,

                  Walking around like zombies,

                           Poisoned through the ears.

        The media make their millions

                  By fracking through our brains,

                           Extracting the black gold.

         Don’t ask us to fight back.

                  We don’t have many friends,

                           Just Mom, and she’s at work.”

153. Where branches have been cut

                  Knots in the wood remain,

                           Dark spots against the grain.

         Where skin was cut and opened

                  Till the body slowly healed

                           Is by a scar revealed.

         So we who long have grieved

                  Cannot conceal the blemish

                           Of suffering relieved.

171. We are playing word games

                        That nobody can win,

                                 Except the words themselves.

        They hold us hostage

                In riddles of existence

                        Whose answer must be silence.

        They have set a ransom

                That nobody can pay,

                        Except with our lives.

174. Comfortable victims

                Complain about their parents

                        And the troubles of this world.

        They search for underdogs

                For whom they can be sorry

                        As much as for themselves.

        They meet to demonstrate

                Against reality

                        And smoke the mellow weed.

213. The shredder frightens me;

                I fear my memories

                        Will turn into confetti.

        The little blades revolve

                Somewhere in my brain:

                        What was your name again?

        I stretch out my arms

                But cannot touch the word

                        That I am searching for.

231. The “best minds” don’t go crazy.

                Sounds good, but still a lie;

                        It’s the worst minds every time.

        Fess up, howling beatnik:

                The booze, the drugs, the affairs --

                        Could they bestow a vision?

        Enough that they made you famous

                For more than fifteen minutes.

                        Then they helped you die.

236. Shabbat in Tel-Aviv:

                The motorcycles roar

                        And people jog with dogs.

        Others just sit and smoke

                And watch me as I walk

                        Towards the synagogue.

        How long, O Lord, how long

                Will we ignore the Law

                        And think we do no wrong?

264. “Check it out,” he shouts,

                The hustler with loaded dice,

                        Lurking on the corner.

        “Here’s a guy who won,”

                Pointing to his buddy

                        Whose fist is full of cash.

        And all of us will play

                The only game in town,

                        Global Economy.

294. An old and wrinkled hand

                Lifts up a spoon for me.

                        Could such a hand be mine?

        I recognize some dots,

                And the pattern of those veins

                        I think I’ve seen before.

        I know there’s no one here

                To feed me cereal,

                        And yet I can’t be sure.