Archive for March, 2018

A Peculiar Pattern of Synapse

We are all just a thought away
from unbounded universal joy

Chagall 2018


A hail of sun spots
spews photons for new life
pinholes appear
persist to reveal gaping
stars inverted ex utero

at its birth
we tickle the sole of the universe

it responds
with less than a perfect Apgar score

but we grade on a curve
so consider this creation
inspected and officially
suitable for life

(please leave the envelope
under the big blue rock)

© Chagall 2014/2018

I would swear she just said
philo-phis-ophical surpise-isses

Chagall 2018


About the Thing

I project the softest of thoughts into the weathered image,
appropriately round to resemble the heather edge.

I mute my colors – a darkened frame,
the rustic ground on which I lie.

The smell is a cave’s wet mildew, dark cool echoes,
an intensely exciting sense of something about to happen.

To pause now is good – to cease perhaps profound.

I escape what I see, elide its impression so that
it’s seen like a fallen tree having made no sound,
felled and silent, without remnant of trespass.

The day adorns itself with spectacular patches of sunlight
here and there, now and then niched in a place I know,
almost but not quite forgotten.

Away to windows lovers will fly like flashes to see starlight
tonight before clouds roll in.

The day turns to a dark powder, a granular graphite that is
oddly breathable and invigorating.  I inhale deeply.

Chagall 2018


The Heart of the Matter

A young african-american child on a plateau in full-sun sings angelically – operatically

(Not sure if it is a boy or a girl – is that relevant?
That the child is african-american is probably not needed either)

So a child – a young human being –
a being?

innocence really – from atop this majestic plain

rears its head and in clarion voice
exalts the heavens

Chagall 2018


Concentric rainbows
Not merely arcs of color
Full vibrant spirals
Violet, blue, indigo
These soothe unlike the others

Chagall 2018


The Collector

I haven’t seen many philatelists lately
with their square tongues and perforated bubbly saliva
affixing stamps in neat little pages of boxes

Prizes from all over the world and times
of yore, tiny vignettes of who we are and
who we have been in square-inches

Marked in currencies frankly no longer around
in denominations too small to matter any longer
but I knew a girl from there once

To convey ones thoughts at one time was much dearer

As a child I would send self-addressed unstamped envelopes
in envelopes addressed to the government (stamped of course)
requesting first-day-of-issue stamps

Pristine inaugurations in thumbnail landscape
postmarked to commemorate the christening event,
a landmark in posterity – oh, a new stamp!

The idea that we have ideas to convey
to others that we would pay to have delivered
in good faith by others

But now
feeling un-affixed and postage due
I upload this onto my pressed wordblog for you

Chagall 2018


I shall start quite arbitrarily
thousands of pages in
with To Wordsworth
P.B. Shelley
and read
up until
the end.

Chagall 2018


The other side breathes
Eulogies in haiku verse
Exhales into God

The other side breathes
Creating equilibrium
The ledger righted

Indistinct voices
Eulogies in haiku verse
Enchanted mantra

Sound astounds the air
The earth stirs when resonant
Exhales into God

Chagall 2018
Revises and extends earlier posting of same name


The other side breathes
Eulogy in haiku verse
Exhale into God

Chagall 2018

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