When it comes to socks
I’ve a couple of uncoupled pairs
Lonely and wooly,
gray and blue
Perhaps just a tad
like me
© Chagall 2014
Archive for September, 2014
Hope, opaque spirals spun
fast, dense blurs at center
like atoms imitate solids
though there’s nothing real
but grace
© Chagall 2014
This poem is unlike the others.
It tells no tale of twin souls,
makes no attempt to pinpoint
the space between here and there,
the real and not. This poem flies
at a level that can be deemed neither
high nor low. Arrhythmic at best,
to say the least, sans discernible
-ameter. The point is all ways shifting
in time, like the bouncing ball of olde,
prompts us to sing-along, for past times’
sake, for those who’ve gone before us,
and wait. If I hold this poem up to the sky
once printed on thick opaque bond,
it can serve to shield the eyes
on days eclipsed by celestial objects
aligning their orbital sine-waves. Folded
as a fan, this poem can cool, or can serve
proxy for one’s hand to wave goodbye,
to a stranger or soul-mate or exiting goddess.
Yes, this poem is not like the rest.
© Chagall 2014
I shake baby bees
Heavy laden with pollen
From the pistils
Of flowers I’ve picked
Brought inside
While she assumes
Infinite pose
On the warm, wood slats
© Chagall 2014
Coffee, three poems, a bagel, one re-blog
it’s time now to start my day!
© Chagall 2014
One of the most amazing sounds I’ve ever heard. Hoping you give it a listen. If you have headphones, even better. Take time out for the minute and a half to listen. peace & Love —Chagall
Listen to the haunting song of the Kauaʻi ʻŌʻō, presumed extinct since 1985. Headphones recommended to fully appreciate the rhythm, tenor, tones, and intervals, of the bird’s song. This is the bird at night.
I believe this is the only known footage of the bird:
http://www.arkive.org/kauai-oo/moho-braccatus/video-00
See here for additional recordings and to browse the wonderful collection of the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Macaulay Library
http://macaulaylibrary.org/
Again, farewell Kauaʻi ʻŌʻō.
—–Chagall
As I stand here bared atop this mountain
arms stretched to the heavens in awkward pirouette
how can you say that I am not ethereal enough
to matter?
I’ll crouch low and contort, build up tension
and torque then release like a venomous viper
if you prefer a lady-like me
Akimbo!
What more can I say?
Perhaps bobbing for pumpkins is more your sport
I can breathe just so long underwater
till my lungs give way, I invert inside-out
in order to let outside-in
Tell me why would it matter
if I leaped from this charmed aerie?
And floated like down to the river and sank
belly-up to the bubbly bottom
© Chagall 2014
Sometimes the path through the land is clear
and we merely have to traverse it
with words and delicate pen reciting
curves, contours, and lies
While other times the wood is dense
thicket, entanglements abound
barring the way to cool waters that flow
there in the snippets of life below
So carefully pace the mosaic
and choose the tiles you’ll land upon
with the greatest of care
You only get
one roll
© Chagall 2014
The stars will show no favor
withhold answers with stoic reserve
despite burning madly
So we never know how they came to be
five-pointed
Or how it’s decided which will emerge
as the first one seen tonight
Wishes and dreams soaked-up and trapped
with power to make none come true
And after all they burn out
fade red light, leave us dark and alone
Still
the pulse . . .
© Chagall 2014
I discover the orb gapes
just enough to tease
me forward another
inch, I consider
myself lucky somedays
biding my time
till the seers relax
enough to forget me
when I’ll make my dash
in time’s nick to avoid
the jaw and the chomp
of the pincers
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 