Monthly Archives: May 2017

The Girls’ Provocation Continues


The Girls’ Provocation Continues (Randyjw; May 31, 2017)


Do you like soap operas? Serial drama? I never much cared for it. I once worked out of a lady’s home for her business, handcrafting marbleized and stenciled pencils, coasters, placemats and clipboards. It was a great job, and I worked there around school schedules, etc., including breaks. She loved “Days of Our Lives” and would stop work at that time, feed me some lettuce and carrots, perhaps some cottage cheese, and we’d watch the show. True, it was addictive if you tune in all the time, but it never became a habit for me to break.


I know other people who are fans of the show, and not much on the show had really changed in the decades since I’d first viewed it. My mother eventually became addicted to the show. And do you remember the friend I had told you about who wouldn’t give me back my job at the print shop? I had gotten her a job with this lady, as well, and it wasn’t much later that she began to badmouth me and complain about me, and I then found myself soon without a job. Everything had been fine for a loooong time, prior to her joining on. Oh, well. I used to work for her Dad’s store downtown after school, etc. Often they picked me up, but at a later point I also commuted by public transportation.




The drama is just a segue for the latest episode of: “As the Shelter Spins”.


In today’s episode, the “charger situation” had been resolved with the ingenious mattress (mat) planogram devised by the “false accusationer”, the pink-haired “K”. The girls were all present to hear the fix and to see the results in action. The mats were laid. Each had an outlet. Nirvana.


Randy stays in the lobby, where all girls are to remain for at least two hours, until the last of the girls have had their showers, and until beds are assigned (called), etc. We did “beds” earlier, though, based on this new planogram.


People began to retire a bit early to the room. There was some kind of weird tension in the air. I decided that I didn’t want to be the only one caught in the lobby on some weird condition I wasn’t aware of, so I went into the room. I made up my bed with my own coverlet (it’s like a duvet cover, with a top and bottom sewn together; it actually was a comforter cover with the batting removed) and my makeshift pillow (I have a pillow with me, but don’t use it here), which is a towel-covered duffel bag filled with odds and ends. All good.


I go back to the lobby, not yet ready for sleep, and when I return, I find that somebody has taken my outlet spot, and the cable cord extends past the girl beside me to the next person. The girl next to me this evening is the one with cancer, who has been using my phone, anyway, so I don’t think it’s her phone and I can’t imagine that she would want all my charge to be depleted. But, she also let me fall to the wolves without even intervening to mention my assistance and to say, “Hey; comeon…. You’re picking apart a nice person, who goes out of their way to help others… Would you lay off the poor girl?” But, no… She might have one outlet, but I can’t imagine she’d be the culprit for the second.


Now I’m tired. I would like to lie down on my mat like all the rest of these “b’s” are doing with their phones, but they clearly are making a provocation against me by doing this. So, I’m being forced to stay up in the lobby to get my phone charged (and to write this post). And if I say anything, I’ll be banned from “the vicinity” and the shelter. Alot of them are ex-jailbirds. G-d, what “h” is this…


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FYI (Randyjw; May 31, 2017)


I’ve already used up my monthly limit of 500MB of data on my free “Obamaphone” until the last week of June. I won’t be able to surf the internet, read your poetry, look for jobs in the interim. I just have a few days of service left of my previously-paid unlimited plan before it expires, so please understand I’m not ignoring you; it’s just that I no longer will have the capacity to be able to enjoy your words.


Thanks for everything.



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Bullied And Ganged-Up On At The Homeless Shelter


Bullied And Ganged-Up On At The Homeless Shelter (Randyjw; May 31, 2017)


I’ve experienced some bullying in my life: the school toughgirl knocked the wind out of me when she picked me up and hurled me against a tree, for no reason; lots of anti-Semitic incidents, some of which I’ve written about; and last night. I was in tears, begging the perpetrators to stop, but they wouldn’t. This involved not only all the girls, but the staff that sided with them. What did I do? Stuck up for myself from continually being run over like a doormat, that’s what.


Since being homeless on May 1st, 2017, I try to get into a shelter when I can, but there is not enough space to admit all who wish to lodge. Through a phone random-lottery system, or via a physical process of meeting with a group in different cities during the week who have the authority to recommend a referral, a person might receive a three-night stay.


The phone method takes higher precedence and priority — people who receive a placement this way are often first to be allowed physical entry to the facility and receive their shower number first. Secondly, the referring agency does not mean a guaranteed placement: I once had a three-night referral via this method, where I only got to stay for the first night!


The director, or whatever the man’s title is, closed the door to me and another girl during the second night of my supposed referral, and I had to sleep outside that evening. I’m pretty sure that this was also the day that I’d gotten really sick from the food at the soup kitchen, seeing the same hot dogs in the rice that had been featured at lunchtime the previous day, retching it all, etc., in the portapotties outside.


Upon return on what should have been the third eve of my “referral”, the woman in charge that evening asked where I was the previous evening. I told her what had been told to me, in that I was told that there was no room in the shelter for me that (second) evening. So, on the third evening, she classified it as a “compassion” stay, nullifying the referral agency classification. In effect, it makes me look like a “bad guy”, as if I was a “no show” on a referral. Furthermore, it makes them look like they’re then the “good guys”, by extending their “compassion” by allowing me to stay, nevertheless. When I asked her why it was being considered a “compassion” night, instead of the actual third night of my referral, she responded, “It’s like the second night never happened”. Uh-huh.


This is not the first time they’ve done some funnywork with my classification. A different time, I was denied by the lottery system, but had gotten a three-night referral through meeting with the referral group. But, the director guy (title?) had them change the paperwork to read as the phone classification, instead. When I questioned this, they were insistent that I had received approval via the phone method (when I hadn’t) and not via the referral group, who had given me the written referral slip to get in!


What’s going on? What’s with the fancy footwork in the paperwork process? Furthermore, where are all the supplies and funds going? Why had there been a constant lack of toilet paper, and locked bathrooms, forcing too many people to use too few facilities? It’s kindof wreaked havoc with my bladder.


Well, get a load of this! On that third night, which they were considering a “compassion” night to me, we had already set up our mats on the floor (yep, mats on the floor) and been given sheets (you get just one sheet and nothing else — no pillow, no blanket, etc. — and it could be children’s-sized, so it’s too small to double-over, or a fitted sheet, to the same effect), the woman in charge then told us that she was picking ten women who could stay, and the rest (about eight others, or so), would have to leave.


Needless to say, my name was not chosen amongst those who could stay. So, at about 8:00 p.m. at night, we were all tossed unceremoniously out the door, with nowhere to go. Most of the public transportation system has already sytopped service by then. What are we to do?


I felt particularly bad for one of the women who was kicked out with me who has arthritis throughout her body and who gets around with a wheeled device she places one knee upon and then pushes herself around, like a sort of scooter. She was crying outside the front door of the shelter into her phone to someone, telling that person that she had nowhere to go; I haven’t seen her since.


Last night was just repulsive. I had spoken to the girls previously on the third night to voice my displeasure that it wasn’t fair for them to continually grab the same mat spot by a wall outlet, leaving others with no means to keep an eye on and charge their phone overnight. While there are other outlets, unattended phones were apparently being stolen, and so it meant the need to physically accompany the phone to discourage its disappearance.


The same perpetrators in the same spots the past three nights had apparently been given favoritism to be allowed to claim those spots without anyone else being allowed to have a fair shot to do so, since I had never heard the call for “beds” usually given by the evening’s director, during which bunk bed spots are assigned, AFTER WHICH all others are then told to proceed to get a mat and go to the classroom. The “beds” call has been the normal policy procedure of both the director guy, and the director woman-person (title?) I’d previously mentioned. There has been no other “policy” but the “beds” call.


But, of course, when it came to me, the staff gave a new reason, deemed “policy”, which pretends that the order of bed choice was determined by the shower-order number. This was never the policy.


The girls were really rude on that third night and, rather than agree that their behavior was inconsiderate and selfish, they told me that it was I who was disrespectful. For what? Mentioning the truth? Pointing out their selfishness? The unfairness to other people? I also need to make sure to have a charge on my phone, so that I can at least try to call the phone-lottery to try for a space. I also am letting the girl going through cancer treatments use my phones to call the American Cancer Society, her foodstamp customer service, her daughter, etc. I had been even more upset about the fact that the girls kept making both of us stay in the middle, and that they had been doing that to her. She can still text with the phone someone gave her, so that still needs to take a charge.


On the following night, my fourth night without a charger spot, because they hogged the same spots again, I complained again. They all ganged up against me and started lying about me. One said I laughed when I got my way. One of the girls, who might’ve been staff that night (I’m not sure), said “suck it up”. I just thought it was unfair to let that discrimination and favoritism to continue.


The girl that said “suck it up” then accused me of being drunk. I’m not much of a drinker. No drinks, no drugs, etc. Used to smoke cigaretes, but quit when it was a monetary choice between smoking and eating. The staff was also taking everybody else’s side! At the false accusation of an abusive person, they made me take a breathalyzer! I had written two grievance reports May 30th; one for the outlet situation, which really was a case about favoritism and discrimination; the second report was an outgrowth of the first, based on the denial of my first statements, and the response of the girl (and everyone) being extremely abusive to me and the false claim. Of course, the breathalyzer was negative.


Another staff woman said that I didn’t have the right (to make my statement) and intimidate everybody else (all the girls). Me — intimidating them? No… They were intimidating me. I kept saying “stop it, stop it” on and on and on through my tears, but they wouldn’t. “H”, a homeless girl with major temper tantrums, accused me of putting on an act with my tears (no; I was being entirely group and agency bullied).


When another man in charge came to find out the “truth” and made me take a breathalyzer based on someone’s false whims, I was also threatened with being told that if he heard my name mentioned one more time, he would have me removed from “the vicinity”. Not: “the premises”, but “the vicinity”. What does that mean? To me it means he’d take out a restraining order against me to make sure I was nowhere in the distance allowed. Wow. So extreme for my trying to stick up for democracy, and fairness, in the system.


Afterwards, the staff told the other girls the results of my breathalyzer (uh, wait a sec… I appreciate that she did, but isn’t that a violation of my medical and privacy rights? I believe it is!) Then, I believe one of the perpetrators may have recorded a portion of the incidents. Again, we’re in a homeless shelter, which is supposed to have some safeguards and protections. And, exactly where were they in my case? If she recorded me without my consent, which she did not have, she really violated my rights. Afterwards, she had someone take a picture of her on her mat against the wall, with a smarmy smile.


After the girls were told the results, they continued to gripe and make accusations. One, “K”, said then I must be on drugs. I said I’d be wiling to take a blood test. They kept being really mean to me, throughout. One of the girls, “H”, with severe issues, had just thrown a hissyfit temper tantrum fairly recently over the same issue, until she got her way. She was one of the worst attackers. She made an attack on my age, saying that a 60-year old shouldn’t be acting like a child. I said I wasn’t 60. She then said “seventy”. I’m not seventy, either. Age discrimination, anyone?


They made “H” move. I was then accused of having laughed at that point, when I got my way, and reported to the front desk, over and over, which I was refuting because I’d walked up and heard the false further accusation, which never happened. The woman must have tried to promote this lie more than a half-dozen times.


Tonight, the next night in the saga, the girl, “K”, who I had written a grievance report about regarding the false alcohol accusation, had come up with a different way of laying the mats, in order that more people can share them — just as it should be.


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A Prayer Answered


A Prayer Answered (Randyjw; May 30, 2017)


I feel very forsaken and forgotten, alone and lonely, in this latest episode of my life’s journey. But, I know that my prayers, both large and small, have been answered.


One, that I’ve gotten to know the real meaning of love, and to have experienced its expression.


Two, some of the smaller, day-to-day acts of kindness that are also a part of its expression.


I have a sore and hoarse throat and cold, queasiness, and a general, overall fatigue with under-the-weather feelings which accompany this type of sickness. But, it has kindof settled, extremely heavily, in my lungs and chest. I felt that being left outside in the elements in this condition was almost akin to a death knell for me. But, that didn’t happen.


Instead, I was allowed a reprieve and a sheltered stay, later on this evening and for a couple of days further in a shelter. I haven’t always been outside this entire time — hence the sometime electricity to charge my phone(s) and continue these posts.


I also take advantage of the services of an extremely helpful soup kitchen, which provides services beyond a daily meal, which is generous beyond imagining. They help people obtain documents which may have been lost during a homeless person’s odyssey, such as a birth certificate, the costs of which are being absorbed and privately funded; being a central meeting place for external services, such as the people who come by to provide the free phones. I’ve also met with someone (all volunteers) who processed my application for food stamps and Medicaid. I’d thought I could now get Medicaid due to my work accident and recent disabling condition, but the food-stamp people apparently don’t consider it enough of a disability to keep me out of the work force completely, and so have denied me the Medicaid portion of the application, for which all this time I was kindof counting on as my panacea to take care of my tumor.


Meanwhile, I had been to a doctor’s office to which the front desk workers told me the doctor will do pro bono work, but under the aegis of the Health Department, to which they’d verbally referred me. I had gone there, but they had given me a list of documents needed so lengthy, difficult to procure, and cumbersome, that I couldn’t really follow-through, at the time. Like, a birth certificate, etc. Now, through the soup kitchen, I can get my birth certificate.


But, now that it seemed I could possibly qualify for Medicaid since my recent disabling incident, I was kindof counting on that. I had filled out the application, and only needed to copy the documents to send, but extenuating factors kept intervening. I got sick or had other body-based issues; costs were mounting but financial resources were being depleted… it kept being one thing after another to prevent me from sending it off.


But, the volunteer at the soup kitchen who did my foodstamp application was filling-in for another person, who normally does them and is out with an injury. She is a liaison for a medical hospital group and signs people up for their services. I did that. I’m not sure exactly what it is, and I did briefly see that I’d still be liable for any and all medical bills incurred, but later someone mentioned that it’s on a sliding scale, so you pay according to income and those without income wouldn’t need to pay. That doesn’t make me feel good, especially since I also briefly read in the flurry of paperwork, that I couldn’t be the recipient of care from the medical agency that, apparently, does provide free services. I’d rather receive services that are provided and meant to be free of charge, rather than wrack myself up in financial debt, even if it is absolved. Gosh. But, this is what transpired, and what’s done is done. It will take several weeks to go into effect, I’ve heard. Meanwhile, my tumor seems to have spread and grown, kindof going inward. I do need to have something done about it and I kindof don’t feel well…


When I made the phone calls to the American Cancer Society under their Road to Recovery program for the ride for the homeless cancer patient, I mentioned my own tumor and asked about clinical trials that might be ongoing in the area. They said they need a specific diagnosis, and that they really didn’t have a way to go through all the individual trials, since there could be “a thousand”. I recall having read about the specifics of all different trials when I was doing my own “research” on cancer, years ago. I think it was the National Institutes of Health, but I can’t recall. I have relatively little left of my belongings, including intellectual work/research, due to my homeless state. This photo was work I had to let go of, because I couldn’t carry it with me:

I was a bit dismayed at the lack of cohesion and professionalism I found at ACS. Several specialists thanked me for giving the requisite four-day notice; then, it seemed the request hadn’t been processed; then, they said they hadn’t had enough time to alert any volunteers over the Memorial Day weekend. They did say they would issue a special pickup by cab for the girl, in the end, and that was nice, but it did take an inordinate number of calls to follow-through to make sure this all would happen.


I wrote an email to the Trump team to see if they could assist in getting much-needed supplies, like towels and toiletries, to the shelter. They have a shortage. I presently use my own towel and sheet to alleviate the shortage, but they lock bathrooms, which are often toilet-paper-free, anyways; cut dishtowels in halves or quarters; and I recently overheard someone saying they could crack the hotel-sized bars of soap in half and give us just the half (I have plentiful of my own toiletry items with me). I took a photo! Look:

I went to my outdoor sitting/sleeping spot to catch a few winks while awaiting my entry-time later to the shelter (they kick people out during the daytime) and fell asleep on my coverlet. I distinctly felt that, at one point, I’d just been hugged, as the sunshine warmed my face and tried to dry my nasal cold.


When I woke up, I found that someone had come by and placed these bottles of water next to me. Just earlier, I had been lamenting the fact that I often forget to fill my water thermos when I have the opportunity to do so, just like I had forgotten to do so earlier. So, I wished that I had had some water! And, look!

I hope you’ll forgive my distractedness and forgetfulness. I have a constant lack of sleep and my focus is a million places at once.


My battery on this phone is now at 2%, so I must go, now. Take care, be well, and shalom!


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Form And Function

Form And Function (Randyjw; May 29, 2017)


Found this video. It’s nice, but it doesn’t say words that I would… It gives a different impression, so just ignore that…



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The Dolphin Play

The Dolphin Play (Randyjw; May 29, 2017)


The sea was a keeper of secrets

great things that fell into the vast abyss

taking root along the stretch of coral reefs built

to support an odyssey of an underwater ecosystem

whether the chambered nautilus in its brown and white gown

or the built-up nachre of the mother-of-pearl shell

men who plied these waters all had their tales to tell

The scalloped oyster and its rounded pearl within

or the giant squid and its purple-black ink

from which were written the songs of the pirate’s den

and of those who drowned

in the words of the siren’s song and the depths of the love told therein

The dolphin mate paired with a friend

to somersault in the water and leap in a rhythm designed just by them

dappled sun on their backs and the green bed of the tides

following the main sail’s shadowing mast as their guide


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May 28 2017


May 28, 2017 (Randyjw)


I  was stuck in a torrential downpour again; it leaked into my suitcase without me realizing it, and now some of my clothes have become a bit moldy. They’re drying in the sun, and then I’ll handwash them, when I can sneak around and get to do it, somewhere. Unbelievable.


Got a free “Obamaphone”; that will help when the service on my paid phone expires, since I cannot afford another month. The rest of my other things will probably be gotten rid of, too. Oh, well.


I did help another girl with cancer by using my phone to help try to get transportation for her to be able to go to her chemo and follow-up appointments; I hope it works out for her. I knew about the service by having looked into it previously for a friend diagnosed with breast cancer.


Though I may be at a low time in my life, I can still try to do nice things for people, regardless how others might view me or my situation.


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Misty Eagle

Misty Eagle (Randyjw; May 27, 2017)




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May Flowers

May Flowers (Randyjw; May 26, 2017)




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 Loss (Randyjw; May 24, 2017)


Sorrowful offerings of sadness

shared wherever you are

across the pond

in a market in Jerusalem

it knows no bounds

only grief which reaches

to all hearts beyond

when humanity is breached

to end another’s song


Dedicated to the strength of the United Kingdom in the loss of souls by suicide bomb in Manchester, England, May 22, 2017.


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Lean-Two (Randyjw; May 22, 2017)


Yellow flowers on dainty stems

nod their acquiescence

in the enveloping breeze

and blades of grass

twitter excitedly in silence

as it comes to pass

I watch the sunlight

glint off the roof

of the next building

in the fading day

my new eyes gaze

from ground height

dreaming my life

a different way

But I’m calm

as I go slightly feral

black-and-white kitty guide

leading me to mango

feeling your presence

as I track yellow dust

across the back alley

I’ll trade the mosquito’s hum

for yours in my ear

squashed in this lean-to

with raffia in our hair


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Spanish Sonrisa

Spanish Sonrisa (Randyjw; May 31, 2017)




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Lean-To (Randyjw; May 21, 2017)


Lean to the left,

Lean to the right,

Sit down,

Stand up,

Fight, fight, fight!!!


Not much to cheer about, these days…

Writing this post from the impromptu lean-to I made, yesterday, May 20, 2017.


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Yeah Hoodie


Yeah Hoodie (Randyjw; May 20, 2017)




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A Sprouting Seed

A Sprouting Seed (Randyjw; May 15, 2017)


Without due favor

it was claimed by some

that the fruits of its labor

would never come

that its surface exterior

was too hard to crack

that its hollow interior

could never give back

But the little tree fruit

grew green, then yellow

destined to take root

amongst its compatriot fellows

It nursed in the pods

and drew strength from its provider

with the nectar of the gods

it grew bigger and stronger

And one day it broke off

from the hordes of the rest

its source shared with love

from the self it knew best

Its milk tasted sweet

its oils of pure notes

its flesh good to eat

of good fiber its coat

And one came along

who discovered this prize

a cherished song sung

and with wizened eyes

Uncovered further goodness

of the one that rolled astray

whether enriched with its present nutrients

or set in earth to be a tree, someday


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A Bissele History


A Bissele History (Randyjw; May 15, 2017)


Here’s a “bissele” history of the Middle Ages of the Jews in Europe, which is fairly representative of the treatment of Jews in every place, at most times, with the exception of Jewish reign in Israel at all times.


This article was researched and written by Dolly, and includes a bonus recipe. Enjoy!




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Window On The World

Window On The World (Randyjw; April 25, 2017; April 26, 2017; May 15, 2017)     (  

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Better Yet

Better Yet (Randyjw; May 13, 2017)




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On: My Poem, “Leah”


On: My Poem, “Leah” (Randyjw; May 12, 2017)


This poem was generated based on the thoughts and imagery which had vividly popped into my head, just prior to its writing. It is based on the Biblical story of Leah and Rachel, and its theme is a common one to me — one which I’ve considered writing about in book form, more extensively.


It is written with my own experiences and feelings in mind, some of which I find particular more to adopted and blended families, as such; the less-favored child shunted aside, whether at home, or in being chosen amongst their peers for the sports team or the group leader. It is also about the favored child harboring a sort of “survivor’s guilt” for always being considered the “golden child” above everyone else, with the attendant guilt of feeling that their own status relegates others to a lesser status, rather than equality. In my life, I have held both.


I write for others, as well as for myself. My poetry is a composite of my imagination, experience and creativity. Sometimes, it is written solely for rhyme or meter. This particular piece is peculiar to myself; imagery, heritage and personal experience. Its direction was singular, and could be broad-based, as well — but was not — at least, this time — meant or directed to a specific person.


I’m not sure if I could publish a book with one of those obligatory disclaimers, as my work really often is for/about/to someone in particular. I suppose this is the “judgement” stuff I hate, which features heavily in much of the poetic community’s body of work, and of which I find myself engaging in, at times, too. Several female writers/poetesses have been either the inspiration or the subject of a few of my own pieces; I’m not sure all self-identified.


My Hebrew name is Rachel, yet I often feel as one might expect should be the feelings of Leah. Rachel and Leah are progenitors of the Jewish tribes of Israel. Their story is written in the Bible, and their story is the embodiment of my ancestral lineage.


Being an adopted Jewish child without knowledge of specific identifying details of my birth parents places me in a broader human gene pool from which my sense of self, in addition to my adoptive parents’ ministrations, has been plucked. My older brother, also Jewish and adopted at around 3 years of age, I was told, was the unfavored child, compared with myself, in my family. He had a mostly horrible life. I could not, in the end, save him, and he passed away, from cancer, as my father had. I am now living portions of his life. I would have rather it had all been me, and not he — but that is not how it unfolded during our lifetimes.


Leah is the older sister of Rachel, daughters of the man named Lavan. Lavan lives in Haran, and is the sister of Rivkah (Rebeccah), who is mother to Jacob and Esau. Jacob was sent to live with Lavan, to seek out a bride from amongst his people there, and to escape the wrath of his brother, Esau, for having received the blessings from his father, which should have been Esau’s by birth order of the firstborn.


Jacob sets eyes on Rachel, and falls in love with her. Lavan’s “brideprice” for his daughter is Jacobs’ labor of seven years. But, it was considered an impropriety to marry a daughter out of birth order, and so Leah was given, beneath the veil and the tent,  on the eve of the wedding. Jacob still desired to marry Rachel, and thus worked another seven years for her hand, as well.


Leah knew that she was not the favored wife of Jacob, and G-d helped console her by making of her a mother who gave birth to six children. Rachel was loved, but she could not conceive during these early years, and would only do so late in life, her second child, Binyamin (“Ben oni”), being her last, after which she died on the way to Efrat. She is buried in her own tomb, where she died (the site wrongly being accorded a heritage site of the “Palestinians” by the United Nations), rather than in the Cave of Machpelah, in Hevron, where the other Patriarchs are buried (another site wrongly given to the “Palestinians”).


A great deal of myself is in this story, as well.


May we celebrate joy in families and in motherhood.


Happy Mother’s Day. In gratitude, with love, to all whom I could ever call “Mother” and all who would call me “daughter”, or any other beloved name.


Love, Randy/Rachel


“Jacob”; May 12, 2017; last edited by Llightex;



“”Leah”; May 12, 2017; last edited by Space-Age Meat:



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Centaur Angel

Centaur Angel (Randyjw; May 11, 2017)


When you want to recall me

just look to the sky

G-d painted you this picture

to remember me by


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Where You Are

Where You Are (Randyjw; May 11, 2017)


Are you parked inside my heart

nobody’s business to know where you are

Are you dreamed in my head

eyes open and awake to the heartbeat timed with mine

Are you the words that make the salt depart my eyes,

Yes, love, you are all of these

regardless where you are


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Leah (Randyjw; May 11, 2017)


Passed over through obligation

Love of a second-born

a burden to feel the rejection

as fallen chaff to the floor

the scythe slicing through the stalks

Golden rays catch the gleanings

tracing footsteps others walk

life sustained with separate meaning

To see the suffering of another’s soul

is an infliction of a deeply made wound

embodied in my name of Rachel

I feel Leah’s spirit in the stars and the moon


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Karma (Randyjw; May 9, 2017)


My heart only thinks of you

there is none other I would care to give it to

A friend, whether old or new

can share some of the recesses to make it more full

My life, without you, is riven in two

We each give our lives to one another

when we spend time in thought or in being with the other

If doing so, rather than grasping my straws to stay alive and give us more

has no worth and you just choose to rattle your sword

then, please, do us both a favor and take your trust right out that door

In other than concrete terms, karma will always find its way to seeing we both receive what’s in store


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cc (Randyjw; May 8, 2017 / Posted: May 9, 2017)


The world is full of people’s pain

Reading of yours adds to mine

If I could spare yours, I would

If I add to your sorrow

I have nothing to gain

I’ve given the best representation I can

of the person I am

and the place in which I’m in

If you’re disappointed in that

I cannot fulfill more of your needs

That makes me sad

Perhaps you may not realize I once stood

where you were

I said the same things and felt the same way

and it saddens me when forever things changed

And I try to impart that to you

through what I relate and the things that I say

It doesn’t change my feelings,

and I would frankly be dismayed

to find that you had to walk in my shoes

and wound up being treated this way

You can’t understand now

nor, if ever, could it be that you may

but what you don’t realize in my love

is that it has to be this way, no other

Most would find this unacceptable

deemed selfish to my own terms, as such

labels would be applied, like ‘conditional’

too-free, yet not, and often, too much

Some people do things and hope to clear a path

it’s the greatest form of love to try to steer one from going down a tested route leading to the deep abyss

I would rather do this and be tormented with your judgement, disappointment and skyview heights

Because as supercilious as I once was,

the least I can do in crossing your path

is to let my own message help to keep yours right

You might not want or need my thoughts

and you might not take it in the right way

You can think what you want, and say what you say,

But, believe me, you cut me to the core and strip me in threads

You have no right to measure the quantity I’ve bled


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Eyes Cried Digitized


Eyes Cried Digitized (Randyjw; March 31; 2017; April 2, 2017 / Posted: May 8, 2017)




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Scorpion Tree

Scorpion Tree (Randyjw; May 8, 2017)


The photo doesn’t quite capture the branches, which look like a scorpion rearing up; guess you had to be there…




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Homeless in the Park

Homeless in the Park (Randyjw; May 7, 2017)


This photo doesn’t capture the sheer devastation and enormity of the homeless situation in America, and here, in a park, where some in the area congregate. It stretches back for some distance, evoking the atmosphere of a refugee camp. In fact, it’s worse than a refugee camp; here, there are no real tents — just makeshift lean-to’s and tarps covering people’s belongings. I’ve driven by a supposed refugee camp past an Israeli checkpoint, and, there, it is just a regular neighborhood. In Israel and its environs, the only difference is in it’s name.


Today I spent the better part of a morning and afternoon attending church with a small congregation and some other homeless people. I was picked up in a van (with all my luggage) and driven along a circuitous route to make several stops, a good distance away, to collect more downtrodden.


Their wheelchair lift in the van is broken, so I wrote an email to the Trump team, as I’ve appointed myself a sortof ‘eyes and ears on the streets’ advisor to alert them to the problems of real-life people with problems. I’ve also written them more emails about other things.


The church is a little building, whose regular congregation is all-Black. The hymnals were soulful and really heartfelt. I found myself clapping along and there was alot of joyous utterances of faith there. Their faith was enough to believe that G-d was invited and welcomed in that space. I felt there was some relevance, and, therefore, not a coincidence, that my bat-mitzvah portion was the story of Jacob setting the rock under his head at Beit-El (which means “House of G-d”) and saying that G-d was surely in this place, and I knew it not.


One of the congregants said that she had a Jewish friend to whom she felt compelled to share a certain verse from Isaiah with. She said she had somehow needed to do the same with me. It is a very similar verse to the one I love from Joshua 1:9, which reads:

Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage; be not affrighted, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.’

Translation from the 1917 Jewish Publication Society (JPS) Tanakh, which see, here:






After the service, they served a little breakfast, and then drove everybody to their return spots.


This was most of my day, today. It was pretty good.


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Thoughts Today

Thoughts Today (Randyjw; May 6, 2017)


There is, really, profound thoughts expressed by those whom others would deem a bit outside of the normal channels of the mental realm. This isn’t my first uncovering of this realization, but a chance to experience it more fully in my physical world, presently. It’s extremely enjoyable to have refreshing conversations with individuals who one might not come into contact with on a regular basis; those with oddities, eccentricities, and bold, new perspectives. I love it.


Today’s hangout was with an individual said, by him, to be scorned quite regularly by others. I found him to be, perhaps, a possible prophetlike person. He refuses, like a monk, to take for himself, and only what he gets from others will he use/eat/enjoy. He takes asceticism quite seriously. It turns out that he says he’s a poet, a great artist, and likes science. Would love to see his work.


Later today, someone broke the pop-up handle on my heavy suitcase. Wheeling it around all day will be close to impossible, nor can I loop some other bags around it, like I had been doing. This is going to be impossible. My skin couldn’t take another second in the sun, or I’ll break out in sun poisoning; I’m so burnt and my lips are so cracked. I’m exhausted beyond belief, and can’t even think straight. It was a wonder I wrote a poem. I’m insane over you. My downfall slowly documented.


I’ve been sad thinking tomorrow was Mother’s Day, but I see that doesn’t come until next Sunday.


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Dusky Blue

Dusky Blue (Randyjw; May 6, 2017)


If even for just one hour
It would be really nice
to set aside the limits of men
to express our innermost desires
as we would really wish
allowing our minds to blossom
like the almond tree in spring
and our words to flow
as freely as blue ink in the fountain pen


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In Your Presence

In Your Presence (Randyjw; May 5, 2017)


I can’t quite play this music out loud right now, so I’m going to take a stab at it (the good kind) and select it somewhat”blindly”. I gave away my headphones to someone who wanted some, and this person had really helped to protect me as I led the “homeless lifestyle” and kept me safe, while I had to stay up all night, walk around with my sortof heavy luggage with some belongings in it, try not to be arrested by the police for loitering, sleep maybe twenty minutes (if that) — no room at the shelter (reminds me of “no room at the inn”). It was pouring rain, also.


Thank you to some really caring people out there in the world. This one, homeless, like me, was brilliant, and reads and watches alot of the same stuff I would watch, as well. Yay; newish new friend. Not more, though. That’s okay; we’re good on both ends with that.


I was lucky in that, for some reason, I continually had male protection throughout my awful night on the street by a string of nice men who stayed with me until another kindof “took over”. One was a black man, one or two others came by, and my new friend was a southern guy. So there we were: Black, Jewish and Southern, all getting along; that was really neat. I was really lucky. Someone told me their homeless lady friend was just robbed and beaten up really badly. These are my fears. Worse, sometimes the homeless are killed. I’m really afraid.


Wrote the above two days ago. I got stuck outside for hours in the pouring rain, again. It’s a good thing I had somewhat handy a rain poncho and a shower curtain liner to cover my luggage with (heh-heh). The wheel on my luggage is starting to fall apart, now. I don’t know what I’ll do when that goes… My posts are turning into a homeless journal. Depressing, ain’t it?


Some guy jumped out of his truck and ran across the street to offer me an umbrella, but I had no extra hands with which to carry it, so I didn’t take it. That was sweet.


So far, the police haven’t bothered me, but I think they might’ve taken in my new friend, who was hanging out on the sofa in the back street. He’d already told me he had an upcoming appearance due in court and has about $250.00 in fines. He does get some help from his Dad, though, with a check from the sale of some family property.


Gallantry may be perceived to be an old-fashioned characteristic from bygone days, but it sure is nice to experience it. Thank you to the kind men out there who still, also, agree (we know who you are)…




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Violet Light

Violet Light (Randyjw; May 1, 2017)




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In Black And White (we find grey)

In Black And White (we find grey) (Randyjw; May 8, 2017)




This was a pre-scheduled post, meant for May 1st, as many of my upcoming posts will be; but, for some reason, it didn’t post. My phone will die at the end of the month, if things don’t change. I’ll write if I can, want, am able. Thanks for following, being my friends, and being who you are. That’s the best. I love that about you.


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