And Julia says hi –
a summer of sun soaked
peppermint RayBan razzmatazz
– tell her hello for me too.
© Chagall 2016
Archive for November, 2016
Where do all
the tumbleweeds go
after they’ve blown away?
Where do all
the scorpions hide
during the rain storm?
Watch me now,
James Brown said,
watch me as I bust a move.
Radio
even back then
out there in the desert.
© Chagall 2016
Yes – perfect – place her there,
far from the maddening roar of
the love these two share.
© Chagall 2016
Crest absorbs warm rain
Lone bird soaking on a branch
Watery warbles
© Chagall 2016
Small letters alight on her lashes, tiny poetry about her eyes
Kisses of ancient rhythm, a pucker for a flame stoked
Each blink the turn of a page reveals whole worlds
Every breath has meaning, those lighter than air defy gravity
Limericks line her brow when she laughs
When she sighs I trace my lips along the long volta of her neckline
Where her sonnets turn around
Down her arms flow three-letter words, we are kids again
Awash in primary colors, hands waving wildly at tickles
Dancing about in a spray, we drink water from a hose
There are symbols dangling from her ears that I do not recognize
Baubles of mystery; I linger there eschewing translation.
© Chagall 2016
Mistaken that I was mistook;
they knew exactly who I am.
© Chagall 2016
I wrote a song just for her about the sand and sea – I played it
and she swam away
© Chagall 2016
On a carpet of flower petals
I lie eyeing the sun. Tap
those receptors there,
prod me to yearn for forever
or another vast place where I sense
my being is once removed.
My sunlit face not a fleeting echo.
Her smile across the handlebars
with my heart there in the basket.
I watch her pedal away. Somewhere
there are sambas playing.
© Chagall 2016
The procession begins,
mere letters shape form
from void, become benign
shapes we call words,
to beget concept.
Me?
I’m happy
right here.
© Chagall 2016
For my Dad, 5th Marines, Spearhead Division, Iwo Jima,
who lived through events that I cannot even fathom.
My dad said
just before landing
they handed out shots of
pure grain alcohol 180 proof
courage at 9 knots moving in
Higgins boats toward the island
when the bow ramp dropped the Marines in front
went face-down quickly into the ocean while the others
ran by to stake positions on the red volcanic sand surrounding the prize
Mount Suribachi
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 