Our Rise

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

The World Without You

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.

*

The Scent Of Lemons

To Amnon Zamir

Macadamwolf

Photograph by Yaron Rosner

 

You carry the Scent of lemons,

of gathered Sun, weathered

like Salt into your existence

Millennia of unsettled Dust

 

With the Fullness of pomegranates

the voices of my Ancestors roll

off your tongue, fall to my feet

as you turn, lean towards me

 

Touching your cheek, I hear them

call me Home, pleading

me to remember

 

I shudder in your warmth

Pine beneath

my golden welcome,

your mouth stamps

me with my essence

Patience I whisper,

and return to the pact

I have made my life

in Exile to be.