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Haiku for Rivulets Traversed

Ants traverse freely
Leaves curled into Escher curves
Endlessly nowhere

© Chagall ∞

 

Doormat

I’m not coming out, but I will invite you in;
today we’re serving sliced-twice fried rainbow.

© Chagall ∞

Ta-Da!

My enjambement is intended to make
make you stutter, step a-
round stuff, leap …
stick
the landing.

© Chagall ∞

Miracles are merely potential
miracles until they occur.
We’ve ennui lately with need
to live more divinely,
find light where there’s none
beyond all suns.
Blessed are we
all. We
are.

© Chagall ∞

The Carousel

Neither left nor right appeals to
one who is constantly turning.

© Chagall ∞

Aphorism #9

Certainty on any topic is
a prototype for a pathway to truth.

© Chagall ∞

Brokenhearted

I dropped my son and his girl off
at JFK Airport last night for their
after-midnight flight to London. They
were so excited. I am so deeply saddened
that the world is as it is and I regret
that we are not all loving people.

© Chagall ∞

I Miss Miracles

Autumn of 1969, my uncle lived a stone’s throw
from Shea Stadium, Queens, New York. Planes we’d
see, hear and could almost touch overhead from his
backyard were the same ones flying there in
black and white on Channel 9. Everyone mostly from
back then is gone now. But the call of the final out
still ricochets through space and time as a wave
of sound and image, bounced off Telestar, Cleon Jones
forever under the shot to left before the large white
letters 371.

© Chagall ∞

Alphabet City

chagall backdrop

Wind through the trees,
Autumn –

or is that surf,
July?

I am northeast
and southbound
baby.

I need a jukebox,
an American Legion.

I prefer a good tap beer,
or a pinot noir from Beaune.

You can’t beat 3PM
for afternoon
delight.

although

noon, one

two, four, five

all have special meaning

Okay,
anytime
is right.

I adore
the produce aisle.

I do so love
losing my ticklish mind
undercover with you.

Keep a bottle on chill,
keep us moving forward.

© Chagall, 2013

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The Paleolithics had neither plaid nor paisley
and as far as I know they didn’t plant parsley or
parsnips either – perhaps persimmons? Their art
amazingly exceeds their tools, stone goddesses more
majestic than the pebble axes that beget them
lovingly, beautifully incised designs to lift spirits,
to raise hopes, and to imbue faith in the goodness of creation.

We, the ancient people.

© Chagall ∞

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