chagall backdrop

Maybe it’s merely imagination –
many the writer is starting to sound
profounder, more angled straight to the heart
the crux of matter at the tips of tongues
blinders on to purple prose . . . is a rose . . .

The etiquette of intricate ponder
rounding sharp corners to confront the glimpse
some grammar no stammer add syntax then wax
hi! to haiku, or some form of the day
sonnets – not enough of those . . . is a rose . . .

Perhaps trees are out of season these days
wan starlight has lost its thrall of yore
lovers still in moonbeams kiss,  same old hats
hymns to almighty odes to psalms to gods
to these themes, you’d turn up your nose? . . . a rose.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013