gary polonsky

Who are wise? They who learn from everyone.
Who are rich? They who rejoice in their portion.
Who are mighty? They who subdue their passions.
I did not say this. Not smart enough.‎
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Music in the air,
Landscape with her hands -
What's the message there
That lands?
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January 20th of '42,
A mother was birthing the newest Jew,
While ‎across the ocean, by a crystaline lake,
Met 15 Nazis for the singular sake
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Two Germany's, South Africa,
Northern Ireland, Columbia,
Reconciled though years of hate
Pushed them to assassinate,
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A sonnet

We can choose our way, ‎even when most liable,
Even when the Capos come to smash
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Having been is also a kind of being,
Being seen is also a kind of seeing,
Being heard is also a kind of hearing,
Being feared is also a kind of fearing.
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On the eve of certain death,
A young girl pointed to a tree,
And in her penultimate breath,
Averred, O how lucky can I be?
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What do you do when he breaks your heart,
When you were sure you'd never part,
When you were sure your love was true
And then he went and shattered you,
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Tell me Bobby Fisher,
How to kill the queen?
Just set out to squish her
Or strategize unseen?
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Your status may be tension
Or equilibrium,
Each needs comprehension,
No hero nor a bum.
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What is the sense of life?
Sensibility?
Love leaping rife?
Superiority?
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"Silence is Violence",
I didn't make it up,
The sign was held in silence,
A metaphor's pre-nup
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A sonnet

When I consider my imagination
With all its faults, platitudes and figments,
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I stood by the mantle,
Beer in my hook,
Result of a slicing
When I didn't look,
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A sonnet

Some songs are waiting to be sung
In voice or voices raised toward the sun,
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Trav'ling with my Satchel,
Time to turn the Paige,
Trumpeting with Satchmo
When dixie was the rage,
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Everybody owes God a death,
The Laws of Obligation so beqeth.
I shan't predict how little or how late.
What's the point? All is simply fate.
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You know how life doesn't always end
At points of time or space bred in our mind,
Doesn't matter ‎how nobly you intend
An outcome, ‎life is life, an oft-surprising kind.
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a sonnet

I recall when Zalman's eyes and mine did meet
Each other's, my first Shabbat in Whitby Shul,
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Of "Memory's rapturous pain" did Bronte write,
Drinking deep of anguish so divine,
Daring not to languish lest it bite,
Dwelling not where life had been unkind.
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