I’ll not write another
for it forces the last
off the page.
Chagall 2018
Archive for September, 2018
My mom – rest her soul – loved her son-in-law,
deemed him a good egg.
Chagall 2018
I have a hundred songs that you haven’t yet heard,
such is the lack of our intimacy.
Chagall 2018
The end of season is nigh,
harvest is sparse, I
put away three of each handful
– seed for the coming year.
Chagall 2018
Barring invasive species,
plants will work together
to make the most effective
and efficient use of the
resources allotted. Heads
intertwine to create diverse
canopies, while stems sacrifice
leafy runs to enable the nestling
of neighbors’ branches, and they
in turn their stems, and so on.
The heavy soak of apocryphal rain
brings a florid melange of nutrient.
Roots intermingle, with fungi forms
mycorrhizal, to shuttle about the
essential elements of life. This all
takes place in the yellowest of sunlight,
in the winds that blow eternity steady.
Chagall 2018
The breadcrumbs I drop today
help me to find my way home
many years from now.
Chagall 2018
Tiniest spider inside the bud,
a mite – no more than that,
scurrying about atop my palm,
a partially stoned arachnid.
Chagall 2018
A quiet place, this long hall,
a proscenium, this pleated space
before the blank page, the curtain arch
ahead of acts, beyond the music,
below the loge, on stage: soliloquy
Set about pinholes of stars,
golden ages peek through a vast sky adorned
in cold-air, brushed blue, velvet night unwritten,
each moment implicate order, now
implying then, such is light
I can dance but I’m better in rain,
shake my shoulders and stomp, puddles
erupt to wash slow waterfalls
away
I love my galoshes, twirling topsy like a
dervish gone turvy, along slick walks I slide
I waltz in warm rain –
One-two-three SPLASH!-two-three!
With face upturned, the storm runs over me,
the seep of the Holy Ghost runs as a warm shock
from the top of my head down my spine to my toes
Aqueous, I am reborn in the moment yet to come,
the then
Chagall 2018
Her poetry is a ransom note,
an invite to an egg hunt
Obstacles in course while
she’s outside harm’s way
Her language is elliptical hedgerow
I sidle along, groping for opening
A search for gulps of air,
oblige me
I’ve got to come up
when I sink
Afloat I yearn
to dive down
My time is in the hold,
the capacity of lungs underwater
My capricious whim:
to let go and breathe
Chagall 2018
assumed poignant,
after all she’d written it
this one conceived
in evening dress
it was her
to don black tie
I loved her best
sans anything
without time
or place
easy
in orbit
sleek along
sharp lines
Chagall 2018
Alphabet City 