I wonder if Dante’s poetic place
smack in the middle of purgatory,
(it’s where all poets go after death)
all the great ones find themselves there.
Even those who never had a book deal.
After a hearty breakfast
of Huevos Rancheros
and hot steamy cafe con leche
In that vast ocean of metaphors
where one finds small,
plump, and juicy enjambments
perfect for otherworldly poems.
Then after a nice lunch of
lamb meatballs on crunchy
Dutch bread topped off with
We take a walk in the garden of similes—
Where there are lush trees full of ripe fruit
like cherries ready to be plucked, joyfully
collected in our gilded baskets.
Dinner is roasted Chilean Sea Bass
marinated in garlic and cilantro
served with a delicate glass or two
of buttery California Chardonnay.
It’s during this time
Neither in heaven or hell,
we recite our daily poems
like grace is
a lovely meal.
Yishai is growing a garden.
He’s growing green beans, radishes
cantaloupes, cucumbers, onions,
So far he’s harvested a cantaloupe
It was the sweetest fruit a ten year
old has grown.
The garden is well watered and the
warm California sun helps to enrich
his cultivation with its life
He tends to his little garden
with anticipated joy,
as soon as he comes back
from school, off he goes
to check to see if the cantaloupe has
He’s proud of his growing
Once in a while,
he’ll bring me a radish or
green bean he’s grown.
Taking it in my hand,
I thank him and the creator
for the bountiful harvest and eat it.
Yum, yum, yum I say as I pat him
On the back, “good job son”
“Give me a high five”
What’s it like to die
under a fig tree?
“And every man shall plant a
vineyard and rest under his
Was the prophet speaking
I’m resting under a shaded tree,
listening to the soft caressing
songs of distant birds.
The Mediterranean California weather superb.
A gentle fall breeze wisps intermittently
cooling my restless soul.
Oh God, I’m overtaken by your love!
You created this for me,
to enjoy the quiet moments,
to enjoy the splendor of nature.
You give me so much peace,
that my simple words cannot
Words fail me.
How can I explain
Or the vastness of a clear blue sky?
How can I describe the scent of an
orange and grape filled
How can I describe white butterflies
dancing in the air?
When I plant my fig tree,
these are some of
the things I want
Behind my house
tends her garden.
Her labor and
to grow lovely flowers
brings me sensual joy.
The rich pink
ruby red roses—
framed by a
yellow lemon tree,
from my back window
in a voyeuristic
How can I deprive my senses?
I can’t—I steal
like a common thief,
as my own.
Rose garden, my rose garden
where have you gone?
I planted and tended you.
I carefully mended you.
I looked over you.
Made you smell the sun.
And then I delicately
Pruned you when your time
When the earth froze I covered you,
I jealously protected you.
I anticipated your every return.
I delighted when your first buds shown.
I called on the birds to witness
the miracle of spring,
when your colors sprung.
To see you bloom, was my heart’s desire.
When you released your perfume,
I bent my knees to gather in more.
Rose garden, my rose garden
My dear friends, You’re no longer here
to witness my joy or my tears.
Now I’m troubled and
I’ve come undone!