Spring Fever Transcend Dances
by Gerard Sarnat




cacti view


1. BHHS-63 Boswell Presents February 2018 Precipitation Dance Stipulations



80° t-shirt, shorts and one Bud weather on Steve Webb’s Indian Wells patio,

Fred or Julie puhlease FedEx more snow from your Midwest backyard now

so septuagenarian boychick Carter can ski some dry Sierra powder tomorrow  

plus parched California might use it to avoid greater desiccation than already.




At the same time Montecito Citizen Goldie prefers extended gentle drizzles over

dumps since they are still digging out from under 2,000,000 cubic yards of mud.

Media’s finally gone away, left them alone (end of body parts found on beaches),

but cadaver dogs still search local neighborhoods for two missing young victims.






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2. Roughly Hewn Lucky 7 Milestones Hagiography?


1967 – start Stanford with no premed, 5 instead of the regular 4 years

plus non-graded curriculum so I could concentrate on

Summer of Love in San Francisco, rock ‘n roll, sex, drugs, Vietnam.

No intention attending graduation, innocents off doing

natural childbirth home deliveries dancing under Marin’s diamond sky.


1987—generation past, Dr. Robot devolving into Evil Corp as CEO/

Chief Medical Officer, my face is splashed a million

times on the glossy cover of a national HMO’s marketing materials.

Younger daughter’s real pissed that she’s not on it too.


2007 – score of years more, eldest graduates from UCLA Med School

where Father’s also being honored. I am very proud.

4 years later Dad died at 99. End 2017, I have not yet begun to recover.





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3. Heavenly Hybrids



i. Passover, Easter & ascension of the Prophet occur this April.


Skywriter launches infinite luminous light-year plumes, some

of which appear to gambol monogamous existences close together.

But after a wink or two of their eyes each seems extinguished, only

to carry on atoneness with the spirit’s other invisible ink entries

in its marvelous book of life above our little blue marble.



sky trails



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ii. beatitudes


heavenly peace,  a peace that surpasses all understanding. serenity in the present moment

after moment after moment. though my carburetor genetically boogies to joyful, I can be

possessed by the engine of hypohypomanic-revved non-tranquility. under the influence

of pure ecstasy, every second slows down to allow basking in blessed bliss.





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4. Model Seder?


Give or take 3200 or so years since Passover began

and a couple of millennia after Jesus’ last

as a Hebrew, Bubbe and I gather up our grandson

to participate in the 1st graders’ celebration

before Jewish day school closes for the holidays.


Strange to me, the rabbi opens with a request,

Grand/parents, please shoot selfies with youngins

holding Haggadahs*, and ends -- apparently

unmoved by Arab plights today -- we sing, Oppress'd

so hard they could not stand / Let my People go.


And in between, West Los Angelians down gluten-

free matzohs while the rabbi’s towhead son,

when the mic’s in his hand to answer #1 of the Four

Questions, demonstrates new freedom by roaring

at the cantor, Why can’t I eat BLTs instead of maror**?


His mom exemplifies blond trophy wife converts

who’re more zealous about this stuff than tough guy

circumcised husbands preoccupied earning enough

to pay Temple *** tuition where alert security guards

may get higher salaries than replaceable teachers.


Soon as the principal dismisses the children

then orders doors locked, the scourge of Brentwood

places her finger on adults to pledge dance-card dollars

to an Israel Right Or Wrong gala as pencil-thin women

put on game faces bidding against BDS*** etc.


* Passover service text ** Bitter herbs signifying slavery before Exodus

*** Boycott Divestment Sanctions Movement to end occupation of Palestinian territories



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5. Sand Dollars Can’t Redeem Our Young Men*


The place Daddy loved before he set,

the place his son moved to live near a daughter,

the place we celebrated Shabbat with first grandsons,

the place to have sword fights and Fourth of July,

the place my wife and I still consider a home,

the place it is now hard to walk on the sand,

the place which we naïvely did not sell for top dollar,

the place all four families gather to be together,

the place where the Pacific’s music makes me stable and happy,

the place whose Saturday’s surf gobbled up a good neighbor,

the place this Passover morning we heard equally bad news from Jerusalem,   

the place some nightfalls I’ve begun to feel like the departing sun.


   Don Swift          Elchanan

*Also In Memoriam for Elchanan, a live wire motorcycle spirit, 1992-12April2017





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