The seed of an idea
(And the idea of a seed)
                                   Planted:

Work it, Man, by the sweat
Of your skin and the dirt
Under your fingernail; shape
It, Divine Creature, by the
Image of your beauty and the
Imagination of your innocence.
Let your soul kiss the soil, your
Mind cultivate the land, your
Heart pound the earth like a
Conun-drum to a heavenly beat.

Six years hoe it, sow it and grow it
Plant it, rant it and rave
Field it, shield it and save
Rare it, care it, steer it
Shear it (and even share it).
Make the best of the land
Given to you, the most of
Your talents and opportunities –
And, I know they will make the most
                                   Of you.

Six years, turn the earth into a paradise,
Tearfully and painfully, no rest or respite
(How could you when the earth awaits?):
Take the barren desert and make it an
                                   Avant-garden.

When you come to the
Land that I give you
The land will rest
A Shabbat for G-d

O, but on the seventh –
A lullaby to the land:

Close your eyes and drift away
Lying on a fragile bed of leaves
Your tendrils fly loose and your
Vines blow softly in the breeze.
Rest now, my peaceful flower,
Your eyelashes fluttering over
Rose-petal cheeks, pomegranate
Lips formed into a child’s smile,
And your tall grasses rise and fall
With every breath of pulsating
                                   Existence.

This here is the rest of the song
                 And the song of rest –
                                   A lullaby:

Earth at rest and heaven wide-awake

It sings quietly to earth, soothing its
Aching limbs and tired muscles
Exhausted and drained, once sore
Now soaring in a land of dreams
And dreams of a land –

                                   Dreamland:

Where hopes run wild and the future is today.
Where we don’t have to prune or preen, for
Things grow divinely without the need of Man
To imp and impede: natural the way it was meant
To be. Six years it may take to tame the earth
But, then, only one – the seventh – to touch heaven.

But how, how to recognize the heaven in earth,
The soul in body, the colorful bloom in dirty soil?

G-d spoke to Moshe
On Mount Sinai…

From the mountain it comes
And into the man (and land) it goes:
Torah, the Word of G-d,
                 Creates reality and dreams
(Not, heaven forbid, do dreams and reality create Torah)

At Sinai a reality and dream was given
                               In it’s entirety:
Not only the symphony
But every individual key
Major or minor, sharp or flat –
                                   Noteworthy.

From the mountain to the land
A dream inching toward reality,
Toward a Dreamland:

Dream peacefully, Earth –
                 And awake more peacefully yet.


Mendel Jacobson is a writer, poet and journalist living in Brooklyn. His weekly poetry can be seen at jakeyology.blogspot.com