I’m crying, can’t stop
Snowfall at night but it’s day
You! Onto the boat!
Chagall 2015
Archive for September, 2015
The universe runs parallel to ours
Birthed at that time, yes the Towers still stand
Grandma’s picture frames show us at Disney
Paddy came home late last night but who cares
Yet she jogs everyday alongside him
Chagall 2015
It was me at the window that morning
Running my fingers along the lace tat
Watching you walk away so gracefully
Of that day I remember so little
You turned, I ducked, I saw you blow kisses
You waved, I stood, at the corner you wait
I wait
You’ll come back like you always do
Chagall 2015
I have only once before reblogged an others work. On this September 11, 2015, I thought it appropriate to post this on Alphabet City. You owe it to yourself to become acquainted with this extraordinary story. I invite you to watch the video. The artist is here on WordPress should you care to visit her, at http://joannagilmanhyde.com – Peace & Love, May all your loved ones return tonight – Carlos Chagall
An amazing undertaking by an amazing artist…Joanna Hyde.
Self Organizing Galaxy
The Self Organizing Galaxy was a temporary art exhibit on a lower World Trade Centre building done by Joanna Hyde in 1984. She was a young artist at the time and had just graduated from Cooper Union when she completed the project. It is a relevant and truly amazing piece of Art. I have watched this video several times and I am in AWE of the dedication, skill and insight of Joanna as an Artist. What an accomplishment this is.
“One Woman’s Effort”
Photograph by: An Anonymous Port Authority Photographer
Yesterday the sun will shine as it did
the future kinetic sky-blue yearns for grace
peaceful children yawn, kiss daddy
steadily my friends are falling everywhere klaxons toll
let them float one last time dear God
(burn my throat with tears I can’t feel
brace my lungs with rage to howl)
to alight on sunlit beams
splayed across the Hudson
Chagall 2015
I revealed myself, infinite forms
numerous as stars of the sky
in the moment, to which he sought
sanity weeping, begging for me to cease, he’d seen enough:
thus I bestowed wisdom and peace upon young Arjuna.
Chagall 2015
Had my face into the berries
shaking the ripest free
minding my own business
when a bee took it upon himself
to sting me, obviously not aware
of the relationship I’d fostered
with the ecosystem around, a newbie
(if you will) who didn’t get the pecking order,
so I sat him down to say:
Hey listen, around here we live and let live,
species means quite little, your kind and I
are tight and while I don’t like to play the Queen card,
trust me – I will!
He buzzed understanding, landed on my nose,
looked me deep in the eye in the eye in the eye, to which I puffed
out my lower lip, blew my breath upward, sending him aloft
on his way.
Did I ever tell you about my electric-blue damselflies?
Chagall 2015
I fall in love
too often for I mistake sorrow
for the amorous
Perhaps it’s my sense
of being atop the chain
striving to deliver the lonely
their fair due
So I would die in your place
loving you more than myself
mistakenly standing
the world on its end
Chagall 2015
On my back barely beneath water,
the soft sand molds me to form,
I’m dense, settled in with full gravity,
heavy human-molten, I dare myself to breathe
in the liquid as at birth my lungs
accustom to the wet, I relax accepting
this will end soon, I smile
at diffracted rays of sun, the final light
I will see this time around; this drowning
is not so hard, it’s more a state of mind.
Chagall 2015
Happy Friday. I don’t know whether to be serious, or to party. So I seriously party. Happy Long Weekend. My vote in 2016 goes to the candidate who will make weekly 4-day weekends our national norm. Love & Peace. —Chagall
Paris underground, got to get above
to breathe in colored light and rain,
somewhere the girl with the doe’s eyes emits scents
when she’s warm again, but for now the metro is too hot.
The last drag on a night as it nears
dawn, I retain my poise even though I shuffle
and carry myself contemplative, in the rush of early stars,
late tears, departing planes, misted red tail lights.
I can see the flicker, a thousand cycles per second
impressions to strobe, so I dance and pulse intentionally
out of time in order to preserve the macabre, the long spindle
of my spine held erect in this samba, tendrils limber vines.
I bow best in tuxedo, she curtsies in gown, with spit-shine shoes
and perfect air waltzed down the stair rail, shined baluster
on which we glide so gingerly, how I embrace her at the landing
night lamps hushed…
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