Origins

Our Rise

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for Countless Millennia

 we Chewed our way

through the day

*

hundreds of thousands of years

we lived a life

centered

on masticating, sleeping

and mating

*

our Formidable

remaining jaws

show Powerful Teeth

designed to break down

bark, tubers and grasses

for Hours

*

our skulls

Smaller

suggest an undersized brain

too busy Chewing

*

A Shift Occurred

*

that Formidable jaw

Retracts

resembling what we have now

Simultaneously

our skull’s cavity

Expands

allowing our brains

to increase threefold

*

 by the size of our diminished jaw

and larger crown

it Appears

we have discovered

Meat

and the application of Fire

 resulting

in Cooked Fare

*

Metabolizing

half digested food

and spending less of our day Chewing

Equals

gaining many more calories for time spent eating

*

Gives Us So Much More

Bang for our Buck

*

Consequently,

Our Brains,

Such Hungry Organs,

Evolve Voraciously

*

we begin Envisioning

a future, a past,

even the Sacred

*

That Moment

when the Lion

became an Image

of Power and Dignity

the Sky

a benevolent Father

the Earth

a Mother

whose Law must be heeded

lest we suffer

her Retribution

*

That Moment

was the Hour

of Our Becoming

when

unlike any other living being

we began Speaking

a language of Symbols

depicting the Imaginary

the Allegorical

and the Metaphysical

superimposing

Humans and Nature

*

self reflective

we Became what we Are

*

the Symbolic Species

*

Art Work by Yaron Rosner

Art Work by Yaron Rosner

Stealing Fire

kikirosner

by expanding

Horizons

we See more

*

perceive

the weft and warp

behind the weave

Motives

behind Actions

*

by seeing more

we Imagine more

Symbolic Beings That We Are

understand the Value

of our choices

rather than feeling subjected

to the decisions

of others

*

By Expanding Our Horizons

we inevitably test our Faith

Everyday

a multiplication of options

was it right? was it not?

*

makes some of us Cower

others Soar

*

The Price of Stealing Fire

*

Art Work By Yaron Rosner

Art Work By Yaron Rosner

The World Without You

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You Say

you don’t belong

here anymore

*

weary of a world

changing so fast

your Spirit

flails

in the loneliness

of your words

*

I pause

*

the Origin of my life,

I  never imagined

you Elsewhere

than part of it

Now

unwelcome

and inevitable

the notion of your absence

prods me

*

I see

a Dimming

momentary

for the planet

but Permanent in

my chambers,

the ones built

with Your Blood

*

golden Mayo cropped

  My mother, Marilyn Cashman Nahas is 83

Very lucky to still have her in my life.

*

PLUTO Ruler of the Underworld

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A queen concealed

behind the mask of a male deity

your Realm, the undifferentiated

instinctual world, defines

our humanity or lack thereof

*

the earthbound laws of our world incarnate

limitations of our flesh

painful or ecstatic

your promise, trial by fire

leaves us with Bare Bones,

the beauty of which, unfathomable,

cannot be apprehended

*

the miracle of feeling

the Core of one’s existence

feared as punishment

experienced as the expiation

of hubris and its artifice

*

You rumble beneath us

shaming our lives wrapped

in the illusion of grandiosity:

we are but peons of honor

as we tread this Earth

struggling with your rules

until exhausted, we surrender

transform

or die

Pluto

Pluto

I Come With My Ancestors

kikirosner

I come with my Ancestors

to tell you a tale

of loss and acceptance

love and redemption

*

I bring with me

the long line of people

preceding my coming

 they gather around my person

as I sit here to tell you

that no story is told

without the telling

of ones Forbearers

 those who have passed on

their feats, failures

loves and fears

to us, their Continuance

*

I come to you today

with the stories of a people,

my people, told already

or untold, their stories

that are mine will be revealed

*

my Elders

the intrinsic matter

of my genetic make up

 the fabric

of so many mysteries

 a weft of understanding

woven into my soul

when I listen

*

my ancestors

loved or unloved

they are my life

and I, in the middle of my journey

am an Elder in the making

*

les trois freres

Macadam Wolf

kikirosner

 

White with wisps of black

as if touched by my grandfather’s smoke

Tip of you Encircled

the trap didn’t catch you

my snowy roamer,

howling you called me

begging me to closen

I approached carefully

all the while bending to your Height

 

Finally in the kiss of Kinship we Bonded

with the ritual scent searching

and proffering of posteriors

 

Fierce but connected

Social yet independent

you shook my hand and without

drooling nuzzled my cheek,

your great whiteness Abounding

 

a loner missing your pack

you found me, another loner seeking my pack

where Wanderers Unite

Cease Pacing the Earth

in search of their Backyards

from Soul to Soul

I bow to your wild Elegance

silent hero

Champion of the Pack

 

 

Art Work By Yaron Rosner

Art Work By Yaron Rosner

 

My Anchor

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To My Uncle Ty

 

Your shoulders held me high Above

the fray, the calm strength

of your hands hoisted me Up-

sliding around your neck

into your arms, down again

Terra Firma

 

The years apart, where

only Fleeting memories

of your warmth

the Vibrato of your chest

as you spoke carrying me,

surfaced and faded

 

As I grew into my fullness

I looked for you

Begged your mind

Prodded your heart

found Sustenance in Both

 

Now in the Winter of your life

you stand so Tall, profoundly farsighted

your Vision ever so prescient

the warmth and equanimity

Magnified

 

You look upon me

the same admiring love

with which years ago

you used to teach me the value

of my intuition, strength of my character

I look into those eyes, your Face

the rounded shoulders,

the missing Digit

see the Anchor

you have been

 

All My Life

 

Tree in the Dark

Utterances

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Invisible Babble

in the background of my life

Ghosts of my inheritance

flailing behind my Mother,

dragging their feet behind my Father

One surrounded by Mist threatens

to dissolve the fiber of my resilience

the other covered in tired dust,

ancient Dirt calls me to my purpose

reminds me of my origin

The Legacy of deep sorrow

and profound joy in the wisdom

of the earth’s Beginning

The maddening Utterances

no longer outside

live Within me, those that Resonate,

the others have melted

like Vapor in the sun’s warmth,

some still come as Whispers

life Encouraging itself.

Yaron Art 5

The Tale of Lost and Found Grandparents

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Living in their Absence,

is like entering a room

still carrying the Scent

of a person no longer there,

a Lingering, that never leaves,

I get used to, so think is gone,

the Sensation there is something else,

never the Confirmation

*

Until one day they Emerge,

my Elders

living inside me

shyly or boisterously

the scent intensifies

the lingering becomes immanent

My ancestors appear, nod their heads

smile, then fade;

only a few remain,

ones I can Visualize best,

ones I never knew I had

was not surprised by

*

My Ancestors

the long line of Souls

Crowding at the door

to get a look at me,

their Continuance

*

Duplicata grandparents

Art Work by Yaron Rosner

Stepping into the History of my Condition

kikirosner

I watch a backdrop of raging flames

bundles of crackling faggots

the Thunderous wind generated

by the Heat of eight million women

rising in great Billowing black clouds

*

Distant wails for the mother, sister, wife,

and a Hardening

of the spirit in those who Survive

*

A Deadened silence creeps before the roaring fire

only to Release from its fumes single women

distinguishing themselves in a New world

fabricated by men. The lonely individuals

become many, until I see my own Grandmothers

walking towards me, one upheld by the Steel

of her Choices, the other crippled by hers.

From the Ashes of their Ancestors, the painstakingly

slow but necessary demand for Repairs.

*

Stepping into the history of my condition

I step into the Sacrifice made by millions

of Women for their descendants,

from the Wreckage, the Burgeoning

of ancient wisdom put to Sleep for centuries,

kissed long enough, it Awakens,

stretches its limbs and with deepened

but ready Eyes, meets the carrier

of its Continuance.

Fire