Archive for September, 2016

First Things First

Advance humbly;
we all were once
squiggly beings.

© Chagall 2016

Big Finish

The gaze paints a portrait of
you, lilac and oceanic.

Room-light a dying candle
– the last flame licked, wisps of smoke … the wick –
flutters then dies in evening wind.

The house is dark
save pinholes of stars
where once were windows.

I float here easy as I do
sand or water. Dancing
blue-white as moonlight on snow.

And everywhere, everybody, everything
seems to hum

© Chagall 2016

Haiku for Pervasive Things

Maybe just nature
More than anything demands
Love, respect, our fear

© Chagall 2016

Star Catalog SAO 244567

Conflicted today about what to write:
a new star born in the stingray nebula or
my father and I in a photo younger
than my children are today.

Astronomers say the star expanded due to a helium flash,
“…back to giant dimensions: the born again scenario.”

Through the Hubble telescope I can see my dad
swim upon ripples of time, breathe between strokes,
expertly gulping air.

Suns by day are stars by night depending where you are.

© Chagall 2016


ghosts flee
these fields


hear the elders

words melt
ignorant wisps

I am yet
not fulfilled

here this place

© Chagall 2016


The sounds of night
linger and stray
into morning

This is not
real light
I’m aware

Too faded
too bright

Too soon
the day

The day

Time slows

I enumerate
each passing

One by

I am lost
in implicate order

of my own design

© Chagall 2016

The Message

My mother comes to me
in dreams

I ask
Where are you, Mom?

she says Heaven

Relieved, I ask
Are you happy, Mom?

She dips her hand in a shallow pool
the water cascades from her palm down her arm

she nods then adds
Though everyone here is starving

© Chagall 2016

Let There Be

The universe is staging
a trillion-photon march on creation
to show us how solidarity’s done

Anywhere that light is
that’s where you’ll find me

© Chagall 2016

Soothing Salve (A Play in 3 Acts)

Warning: Must be 10 years of age or older to read this post

Act 1
Kneed in the balls.

Act 2
Need in the balls.

Act 3
Kneading the balls.

Coming soon: If sands or butts

© Chagall 2016

Morning Nocturne

Consider that
there is
no God

All birds sing
of their own

a sadder tune

There is
no echo
nor refrain

No joyous

A lonely lilt
on empty branch

© Chagall 2016

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