Let there be light:
plea or command?
© Chagall ∞
Archive for June, 2017
Let there be light:
plea or command?
© Chagall ∞
I’m exploring why this one particular
poem of my own makes me cry.
© Chagall ∞
52 weeks in a year, 26 letters in the alphabet
… merely coincidence?
Time is money and money is naught and so
thought is time. I keep looking for a word
to rhyme.
She just didn’t happen upon circumstance
or the circumference of the happenstance.
Far from it.
Far be it for me to opine from afar. I’m
fairly sure that that of which I speak is uncertain.
Hold your tongue, I’ll hold mine
or yours if you prefer.
Oh,
how I’d
hold it
Right up front, before I begin, a preface to what
I’m about to say, a few opening remarks. But first …
I need to know,
how easy is it
to maintain that glow,
that wonderful charm,
that sense of the moon
while dancing
© Chagall ∞
Can a couplet convey an altering jolt similar to an epic?
How many gods does it take to screw-in a tree?
© Chagall ∞
Depending on where you are, it’s already
yesterday elsewhere.
Chagall ∞
Some seeds display
erratic behavior
rather inconsistency
in their rate of sprout
with respect to time –
how long – and volume –
how many, more specifically
the percentage coming through
I treat such seeds with mild disdain
jostling their incubators and
peat pellet packs, perturbations
surely their style, nothing regular
about the routine I provide, rotating
to sun, shade to moist, dry
to mist, drench to relaxed bouts
on cedar planks, cool porches after
hot days, the deck still radiant with heat
photons captured their pulse eager
to tell of where they’ve been, places
they hope to see
The seeds, perhaps seedlings now, asleep atop this cooling bed
dream on behalf of light emanating underneath as heat
Into the earth on a vision quest
for hydrogen-oxygen-carbon – even more sunlight
color minerals, trace elements, the spectrum
proxy for the union of unnamed things
Inconceivably there are no more miles…
View original post 114 more words
Keep moving
we must follow
every drop of ray
must fall – alight
make truer yet
the glow of our skins
we are all
beautiful people
in sunset
tomorrows
wax deliciously
like sunrise – all new days
that’s what hope
looks like blind
faith keeps coming
long the day after
angle me so
I can watch
the last fade
of the light
Chagall 2016
As a child I could project myself to the tops of tall trees
I would search out the highest point of the canopy and imagine
The world from that vantage
My wings would ache
To fly down to me
Looking up
Instead I’d turn
My sideways glance
To the sky
As a bird I would project myself to the lowest clouds
I would search out the thinnest white line and imagine
The heavens from that vantage
My wings still ache
From ascension
Chagall ∞
To the birds outside my window today
I am the object behind the screen
Chagall ∞
An enthusiastic reader of blogs attempts to engage with the blogger
via comments, fills the space with her wisdom,
cites resonance with the themes, probes,
intellectually touches potential hot spots,
only to be responded to with a trite
Thank you for sharing
Shoot the load, one and done.
© Chagall ∞
Alphabet City 