Archive for February, 2021

Knowing Full Well

She screamed out to save the babies,
so I threw myself upon the world,
to shield them from the concussive blow

cc: Chagall 2021

Double Negative Blues

I got no salt on my egg
no sugar in my coffee
or butter on my bread
but I don't give a damn
...'cause I a'int a'int got you

cc: Chagall 2021

In Echelon

Come with me!

I know a place where
there are updrafts still

You can catch your wings
and soar

Icy blue winds
near the edge of horizons

Very thin air
so easy to breathe

So little remaining

cc: Chagall 2021

Full Tones

now and then I end up
in this timeless morning
where memory and hope
reconcile to define me

I yearn for that
which I already have

longing for just a moment longer

I am best 
when I am
in stark relief 
against the world

I am the figure 
or the ground

timeless life is art

cc: Chagall 2021

Manipuler Avec Soin

not even the weather,
is non-manipulable

cc: Chagall 2021

It’s A Cursive Font

against a backdrop of nothing
the wind is less lonesome

quiet brings empathy

silence brings furtive kisses
once reserved for glances

hair is aroma on a curve,
a neck of deep meaning

a reckoning at the throat,
soft offhand tickles at the heart

let me skip into your eyes
to frolic there 

toss petals 
to the same green pastures you see

ice dams break all around us now
too jagged to float

impaled, better abandoned
on a deserted isle

just us and a lone palm tree

burnished rock buried 
in beautiful emblazoned sand

what a fine grip for toes,
and backs, for hot treading

for standing firm in Mother Earth,
upon her maiden voyage

from afar She glides,
a Blue Pearl in a tunnel of silent freefall

a young Dame giddy from carousel turns 
and sweet soft candies

the most gentle kiss at the wrist

cc: Chagall 2021

Amid Dusty Light

And in the afternoon,
toast with maple syrup,
a handful of almonds,
and tea lightly touched
by bergamot.

cc: Chagall 2021

Instead of coffee,
I made her sweet froth

cc: Chagall 2021

Timely Line

I remain truly yours
to the cause of the heart

to the matter at hand
here and now

split as
a fine-hair V

a moment prior 
to then

one foot 
still ago

in the eye-shift
lost in the indigo

on the gaze
from here to there

cc: Chagall 2021

In A Word

There's nowhere to run but forward
when your very own buttocks
are chasing after you

I look up; the view of my forehead escapes me,
I have trouble tasting my own tongue

I have gazed into eyes,
though I've never heard a word 
from the ear 

despite listening intently
(somewhere once  I heard that 
gerunds are bad)

maybe all words 
are bad

the imperfection of the green bottle
is more precise than the words that attempt 
to describe it

the contents of the bottle shake,
underground tremors

but not enough to make waves,
albeit how tiny

I can throw thoughts like darts,
from my bullseye out to any
errant arc

aren't we the pair?

I stroke the umbilical cord,
coaxing it gently to relax,
to collapse into a coil,
to reel you in

to feel you
in total darkness
to discern shapes
any form
will do
to exit the nil
nipping at wet organisms
that threaten - nay promise - 
to engulf

we ride the tide home
in free-fall akimbo

asleep back-to-back,
we have nowhere to go
but forward

cc: Chagall 2021

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