Category: Poetry

Long Lusty Waves

the curve of her body
reclined on the settee
late morning light

the sharp intake of breath that incites
reason to live

Chagall 2019

My Squiggly Knowing

without light
to help us discern
shape and design

we perish
believing ourselves
to be amorphous being

without boundary:
all feel

Chagall 2020

We are ensnarled in a foldaway bed
once again head upside-down in the wall
flat and dark, dank, claustrophobic for sure

We’ve nothing to push against, hold onto,
no fulcrum or lever, only God now

Look down, point your ear our way

Hear our prayer

Chagall 2020

Table for One

I have lunch everyday
on the last remaining
Blue Ridge plate from
the set, apples on a
stem – I remember when
they were all brand new,
un-chipped, unused, so
much life still ahead.

Chagall 2020


I said, “Babe, could you make fresh coffee please?”
He said, “There’s still some leftover in the thermos from the morning.”
I said, “Okay, thanks. I’ll go wring out some shit and drink that instead.”

He laughed. I laughed.

Siri laughed.

Chagall 2020


Betelgeuse dims,
Orion’s bold imprint against the night lessens

When the star burns out
the face of heaven will change

Moments we miss for not looking up
where stars die every day

There is more empty space,
less matter than appears
(she is more distant)
to be

We perish once
every lifetime

With infinite stars it is likely
one dies each tick of time

Constellations adapt to new sky,
radiance catches up over the years

People change

Chagall – 2020

Rise, Smell the Coffee

egyptologists have scraped
from inside old urns
four thousand
five hundred
year old
from which they’ve baked bread,
crusty and tasty as an ancient jadda

Chagall 2020

Crisp Brisk Air

my music appears
to delight the birds

the winter cardinals especially
perk up in earnest

a soundtrack to backdrop
their colder notes

a single breath-trilled phrase
mingles in icy snowfall

quieter these days

song exits the woods
through a hole in the refrain

I chance to breathe

to partake of that
into which I am born

Chagall 2020

For Ralph

this weekend while away I dreamed I could fly
but only through windows with sashes pulled down,
dimmed blue sky

sometimes frantically caught in corridors
gasping for air, seeking egress

and I awake – I believe –
to return home to find
a sparrow barely breathing
behind the porch screen

did I dream your dream last night?

searching for you out of windows
drawn down to nothing but sky forever twilit

somewhere between Ochre and Indigo

Chagall 2020

What’s Not To Love?

I said
While our styles differ,
you, the earthly sublime,
I, the absurdly surreal…

she finished
…we ultimately say the same thing

Chagall 2019

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