Death’s Garden; A Sonnet
by Judi Bachrach 10/22/18
Sitting alone at the top of my head,
The mind grasps at everything to mean something.
Tell me how to live now that he is dead!
My heart cries, keens, remembers how to sing.
The soil of pain breeds rich fertility.
The mind cannot comprehend the reason,
Wonders at its own inability,
To reap Love’s harvest from this dark season.
Death’s bounty brings me spaciousness at last,
Lets my mind rest inside the mystery.
The heart frees my thoughts from future and past.
A seed planted now creates history.
Life is the digging, love is the growing,
My soul flourishes in peace, Not Knowing.
DISSOLUTION
by Judi Bachrach 20014
In my dream, the last wave delivered me to a shore
my eyes not yet open.
I groped to fill my usual basket
Confused
by tangled seaweed
Weighed down
by barnacled stones
Worried
over half a sand dollar
Desperate
over everyone’s garbage.
Fully re-collected
I arose with the sun
and trudged along the shore
towards the breakwater.
Midday I sit to rest unconcerned
as I watch my basket
dragged away by the gathering tide.
Empty
I close my lids against the sun.
Bright lights dance inside.
I taste
the tangy salt air
feel
the gritty warm breeze on my cheeks
hear
the mingle of birds and waves and buoys
smell
the death of countless briny creatures
Observe
my endless dissolution in the sea.
River Stones
by Judi Bachrach 10/3/18
I stepped into this unknown river.
He is not here to hold my hand.
I had not even been to Ohio before.
How deep did these waters flow?
How swift was the current?
Is there another side?
Hesitant and dripping wet
from ceaseless inner storms,
I searched along the bank while I stood shaking.
Here the riverbed widened out and I saw the stones.
Choosing which way was best for me,
a path was revealed, stone by stone.
New hands reached out for mine
Steadying, supporting, also wading through the unknown.
Nobody knows how long
but we do not travel alone.
Dayenu for David
Judi Bachrach 7/28/18
Richard, one day
when it is his time
David will join you
I know you will be there
to let him know
astonished as you were
how loved he is
how he is Love Itself
how many individual lights
gather him into their One embrace
and hold him forever
always have
always will
the long dream of forgetting
lost in Always
our dear human selves
at rest in Awareness
the brief separation of
God knowing God
Elijah comes through the door
raises his own glass on high
(he thanks you for the years you and Richard did it for him)
drinks down with a laugh
and softly sings:
If David knew how much he’s loved
If David knew how much he’s loved
If David knew how much he’s loved
That would be enough
Day, Day-enu,
Day, Day-enu,
Day, Day-enu,
Dayenu, Dayenu!
8/13/18
Our Sky
by Judi Bachrach
Astonished
Last night was the height
of the Pleides meteor shower.
How did it get to be almost fall?
By nine o’clock
Darkness covers the courtyard
Remember
we used to camp out
on the southeast side of the mountain
waking each other up to see
Handfuls of arcing lights
a breath
one, then more and more
on good years,
more than our spent wishes could follow.
We are so small
Our planet so large
Our planet so small
the cosmos so large
The vast unlimited Mind of God
Unfathomable
Morning geese are
tracking their way
back through our sky
I’ve Grown Used to Miracles
by Adi Da
I’ve grown used to miracles.
The wonder is not whether
we be together
me with those I’m loving
on some other side.
The wonder is that we’ve met and been together
loving here, in this world,
where love is yet to take its hold.
Of course this is no consolation to you,
You who are seeking for me everywhere.
But this is not the place for consolations.
And only those who understand are fit for loving here.
I was used to miracles the day I lived.
And now I begin my days myself.
Even if I make a logic of your sentiment
If we found each other here
how should we lose the touch
in a world more light?
(from Crazy Da Must Sing,(Inclined to His Weaker Side)
For Richard
Kendal Birthdays
This is his first not birthday
A day I never imagined
Has arrived
Not a dearth of imagination
But a surfeit of love that blinds
The inevitable as impossible
The day that mortality
Counts coup in passing through
Time and space
He no longer inhabits
I do
The bed I wake up in
Could be anywhere
But it is from here
I will continue lose him
To gain the unimaginable
Not a dearth of imagination
But a surfeit of Love
Opens my eyes
Beyond time and space
Death has no birthdays
The red wing blackbirds
Shrill by the pond
My new home
For Richard
Harvesting Father’s Day
You aren’t here to celebrate
but your fathering love is
The delight of your daughters
bestowing you with sticky cards
spilled coffee and burned toast
Ferocious Kerpolean transformed
into wimpy little Sneezy
with a touch of the button
at the end of your nose
From schools to camps to colleges
and beyond
helplessly loving them
from the moment of birth
the paradox of letting heart investments
out into an impersonal world
confounding challenges triumphs and tragedies
beyond your control
You can rest assured.
They are well poised safe and secure
Their gorgeous strong arms carry all you gave
personalizing the world they live in
They know
the day of the father
is not a day but
a lifetime of fathering fruits
Today you give us the gift of remembering Love.
This Desert
mid 90’s, rewritten 6/9/18 Judi Bachrach
I used to think that love looked like this:
A mother holds her child tightly to her breast.
She only lets go as the child needs her to
her arms remain there always.
This never happened with me.
Does it mean I was never loved ?
There are many answers
but only one is true.
I didn’t know
the painful holes in my childhood
would create the strongest possible jar
to hold my longing for Love
I say,”YES !”
and Love breaks the jar
again and again
until there is no me
no you
no jar
no way
to die of thirst in this desert anymore.
5/28/18
Screen Savior
Lying with my head on my mother’s lap
across the bench seat in our ’52 Chevy
tree tops and telephone wires
rush by
sweet smells of summer tucking me in
Today I left my hometown
semi reclining in the back seat of a Subaru
this long drive from Woodstock
upstate NY mountain greens and RVs rush by
Sitting up I see
Memorial Day golfers, hikers, kayakers,
trucks, motorcycles, American flags
morning beers and tents in the Oxbow campsite
orange life vests swimming in the Allegheny
Clouds pull away like taffy
into mashed potatoes and cotton balls
milky mares tails
of a hot summer day
My old home leaves me in miles and hours
the screen I am using hasn’t changed
only the projections on it from
childhood to widowhood
Always north and west
the same eyes see
Damascus, Bath, Cuba go by
the Seneca-Iroquois Nation museum and casino
Jamestown, into Eerie, PA
Rolling on to the flat lands of OH
through a haze of barbecue smoke
the Great Lake glimmers at Cleveland’s edge
we drive on through to Oberlin
my new home town
In the hotel at night I close my eyes
the world still rushing by
the screen never alters
it must be untouched Love itself
the only home that remains still
For a New Beginning
In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.
For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.
It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.
Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.
Though your destination is not clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is one with your life’s desire.
Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.
John O’Donohue
The News (1990’s) Judi Bachrach
This computer screen separates us.
You never placed the gun in my hand
But I have killed a thousand nameless faces.
I never saw you on the battlefield
but I am at war.
Silently, I grind the faces of my enemies
beneath my boot heels every day.
I have drunk the victim’s bitter gall with you.
One day we shall be justified
in a terrible revenge.
This morning I sit at my warm kitchen table.
reading about you.
If news itself connected us to one another
perhaps
we could begin to hold forgiveness in our hearts
instead of these guns in our hands.
NRA Membership 2/7/00 Judi Bachrach
Unbridled enthusiasm runs amok in the fields.
Your thoughts are clay pigeons
And I want to shoot them down
Before they sprout wings and fly away.
Pessimism takes so much energy, you said.
But I believe I spend less on disappointment, I replied.
I’d rather resign my membership in the NRA
And stand there
With my hands in my pockets
Open
Not invested in the outcome.
Fount of the Unknown Waters
5/15/18
Spewing out my known losses
makes room
for unknown aquifers
artesian wells spring forth
with every step
saints and god/desses do that
leave footprints of faith
well marked oases on desert sands
Thirsty I try to follow
while clutching the world I knew
puddles shrink into sand
until there is nothing to grasp
Unlooked for
unknown waters arise
gushing forth
fountains everywhere nowhere
sprayed exuberantly from earth to air
dissipating mists of time and memory
unpredictable eruptions of pure faith
drench the weary traveler through and through
Absolutely Clear
My aid, Claire, sent me this poem today. Others have also brought it to my attention lately.
“I wanted to share this with you: Absolutely Clear by Shams al-Din Hafiz”