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Tap The Innocence

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I watched him
over his shoulder
at first not recognizing
the lines, but then I saw
he was drawing asunder,
which I thought was no
longer allowed.

© Chagall 2015

A Toke In The Dark

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I inhale till
the flame goes out.

© Chagall 2015

Flotsam

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Who knows what you’ll find

on the edges of cards

used to scrape up

the mess.

© Chagall 2015

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Your eyes find these words
Across the chasm they come
Light up the dark bridge

© Chagall 2015

Chagall:

I hope you are enjoying summer. All the best – Chagall

Originally posted on Alphabet City:

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Morning at the old wood gate
warblers peck for breakfast
excited cheeps for each
spider in the dead bark
of the mailbox post they find

Sweet pea blossoms
like caramel sugar on the hot
steady breeze off the pond
where the fattest cattails grow

Meadow katydids chatter
while fuzzy bees bump and buzz

Ankle-top hoppers pop
alight on bent-grass
sway there asleep at the tips
until sprung again

I chew wild sorrel while I wait
lemon zest on my tongue
glorious as the day is breaking

Wavy heat
off U.S. 9
along the hill
by Neary’s field

That’s the way you’ll come
with your dad
in his old grain truck

Your head out the window
Ike with his Camels
unfiltered and smoky

He tousles my hair
says I’m a fine young man says
you and Elizabeth have fun

Lately he shakes
a marionette
fly-away arms from the palsy

But he…

View original 91 more words

Bubbles Always Burst

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Threadbare themes are all I’ve left
discarded, dressed in symbol
so far removed from the pang in my gut,
the swift uptake of breath, the gasp
that attests to beauty, the prolonged
search for words to convey the fleeting
moment, one step behind disappears
a paintbrush stroke of water,
a wet hieroglyphic that mists in the hot sun
and is gone.

© Chagall

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Isn’t this one brighter,
isn’t it worthy? The stars
will one day be perfect, given
the time, kindly mark my word.

© Chagall 2015

Nod

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Eyes grow heavy, my mind wanders to the edge
of that time when white lace curtains blew
on a gentle breeze, I step out the door, a porch
suspended on the edge of a cloud for a portico
crunchy like snow, the others dive, I’m game but
such a long way down, instead I hesitate
missing them as they leap one by one,
I run after the small lost dog and slip on the mud
that the snow has become, I surf while she watches
not falling but staining the back of my pants
in a low crouch, the other says that’s the song
and I say that’s the same one you asked about yesterday,
that’s what’s-her-name, and in the dream I tell her
that I dreamed about her, already wrapped up beyond
and tangled in the fray.

© Chagall 2015

Life

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So soon
to be
so much
too late.

© Chagall 2015

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To say that Mia’s face reflects joy
misses the difference between essence
and something else indicative of being,
more reality than actual figure on ground
posing as people pretend to be shadow.

© Chagall 2015

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