Hear that?
The woeful harmony of the cognitively dissonant.
Chagall 2020
Archive for May, 2020
one needn’t be brave
to die a death of a thousand kisses
…once there was a heart,
there! I said sharply, jabbing
her breast with my finger
repeatedly, there!
that was where love once was…
is my sorrow for your future
the same as love?
love is in the eyes that lift skyward
the esteem of newfound hope
for those trodden down
the thought of sharing the road
– the sun-bleached endless morning road –
hand-in-hand, with so much day still ahead,
with you
with all the days still ahead,
though the first few in the queue
are all that are ever ours
a whirling eddy
of faces and feeling,
fleet until fled
life without us goes on,
a snow-globe we shake
then observe from afar
like an Escher hand we curve
about ourselves to hold ourselves:
we are nought but paradox
a pair of hearts we call our own
but never quite control
fully
nor understand
wholly
at the moment when your lips last part,
you will tell me if one need be brave
Chagall 2020
I need that the lilacs not die this year,
I need that the lilacs don’t die,
I need them at bloom throughout the year,
I need that the lilacs not die
I need that the full moons don’t fade away,
I need that the full moons not fade,
I them them to light up the sky each night,
I need that the full moons don’t fade
I need that the seasons spin long this year,
I need them to spin ’round and long,
I need to know earth continues to live,
I need that the seasons spin long
I need that our loved ones not die this year,
I need that our loved ones don’t fade,
I need that our loved ones spin long happy years…
I need that our loved ones stay here
Chagall 2020
She had asked about love,
what it was, how’d you know,
and I replied did she know about color,
specifically blue, and also the absence of color,
like black and white – though I never quite understood myself
how things so stark could be absent anything, let alone color,
left alone one feels the gravity of bodies in orbit more acutely,
understands perfectly the missing piece of another alongside, a lover, a duet,
a partner to say …maybe the blue sweater then?
so I said forget about color, that was long ago
when eyes could see out, unlike now peering
only in, once there was a heart,
there! I said sharply, jabbing
her breast with my finger
repeatedly, there!
there was where
love once was
Chagall 2020
I talk to myself of late,
Hey you kids, get out of that yard
I scream
Little do I know that I am the one here to frolic,
to ramble among the emerging marigolds
There are no words to describe this sun
on dewy grass, the sense of timeless morning
Time to idle, to while away, to bask…luxuriate!…
to immerse myself as if breathing underwater,
I swallow passing moments like amniotic droplets,
the sensual tug of the cord coaxes, connects me to knowing
I’m warning you, get out of that garden!
In peace I bring the old man a bouquet,
small trumpets of bougainvillea and tatted breath of babies,
the lace of Queen Anne twined about a sprig of evergreen,
a tad of the flutter of damselfly wing
In peace I come,
soon I shall take my leave
Chagall 2020
Hawks perish mid-air
Eyes wide open, brisk descent
Tracers in blue sky
© Chagall 2014
Conspiracy theories?
Please! Where’s your imagination?
Pretend you are a villainous leader,
let your mind go wild. The diabolical plots
conceived are not fiction – they are real.
Ask Machiavelli – if you can get him to stop laughing in his grave.
Chagall 2020
Act One
I exchange birdcalls with a tiny wren at perch on my fence post,
and I realize that even an approximation of the song in response
is enough to affirm our mutual existence.
Act Two
The perlite, wet from the hose water, shines bright white under the sun,
as I poke holes in the grow mix with the narrow end of an old chopstick,
to receive the roots of seedlings I transplant.
Act Three
The lilac near the porch is at full fragrance and pink-bud-color;
I am transfigured, intoxicated by this world that accommodates such aroma
and visual beauty; sadly this sensuality will dissipate and then disappear
before the week is over.
Chagall 2020
small words escape with least breath,
ride a wave of exhalation, carry
over the air to tickle the cilia
within your ear, and you hear
the intent, their meaning
resonance,
the ability to vibrate
sympathetically,
hypothetically
empathetic
big words,
long drawn breaths
that capture ideas,
a stream flows
between two minds
obfuscation,
the ability to blur
communication,
words gobbling words,
lexical cannibalization
a kiss, a touch,
a moment pure
in silence,
a single meaning
in the coupling
clarity,
the ability to love,
life, people peopling,
the world at large
so small
in the face of creation,
small words hint,
imply intent,
infer why we are
at all
Chagall 2020
I have read that if you fold a piece of paper 103 times
that its thickness will exceed the size of the known universe,
93 billion light years.
So, assuming great care is taken – precision folds, impeccable creases, etc –
one should theoretically be able to use a single sheet of toilet paper
to wipe their ass for an entire lifetime.
Chagall 2020 “…where the sun don’t shine…”
Alphabet City 