on days when my mom gave me a dollar bill - for spending, and a tissue - for blowing into (just in case), she'd also advise not to put them both into the same pocket I once heard my grandfather posit that a friendly rival of his should be buried standing up, a prayer - I guess - for eternal cramping of the calves? my grandmother made everything germinate on her windowsill, even apricot stones and pineapple tops my mom's younger brother, my Uncle, learned to run between raindrops while aboard ship in the Navy he could light a Zippo in full headwind he was on the water looking into Iwo Jima while my Dad was face-down in its black volcanic sand spearhead battalions Marines atop aquatic vehicles if not for 2 older sisters and a miscarried boy, who would have been my older brother, but not the oldest, I would not be here meaning there was incentive for my parents to give it one more try - have a boy keep at it my father's father came to my mother in a dream, he died a month before she gave birth to me, and said You will have the boy, and Millie will have the girl as if some prophecy were coming to bear on the world once my Dad threw a rubber ball into the sky, so high and it hung there for moments, the most beautiful pink against blue cc: Chagall 2021
Category: Poetry
So motivated was I to see my granddaughter and her offspring grow old, that I resolved to live for two hundred years, setting my mind, my heart, and my spirit goals, on a specific - albeit distant - day in the future. A daily, if not hourly, reaffirmation of this - live, live a long time - advises the cells of the proper pace with which to advance, slow down, we've got a ways yet to go You must set the proper expectation for yourself, for example: Once upon a time, I aspired to live to be 100 years old. I was born in 1957, and so I targeted 2057 as my horizon. Then one day, after considering my granddaughter and wanting to see her as an 80-year old, and her children, I realized that living to 100 would be inadequate to accomplish that. I picked 2100 as my new horizon. Everyday, every hour, I acknowledge 2100 as the target Psychologically it readies me and makes cohesive all of my subconscious and unconscious systems the we that is me are all pulling in line to make 2100 happen A 60-year old with a life expectation of 100 is 60% of the way there, while a 60-year old intending to party at 143, is only 42% along. So we consider our self less than halfway there Our telomeres will oblige us, I am certain you'll see cc: Chagall 2021
I find that the blue dream only takes me so far cc: Chagall 2021
There's no story really one day, it was just cold in the band room, and I yelled out turn up the the heat, let's get warm, let's rock and we all sort of looked at each other and we tuned up and that's pretty much how the song was born cc: Chagall 2021
Ironically, she was unequivocally of two minds cc: Chagall 2021
Thank you, so much, the marigolds are lovely, they fill me with joy - their promise of what Seasons bring They remind me of that day, the heat of the beach - the evening hours, cooling under moonlight, we emanated, throbbed the day really, and marigolds were everywhere It's funny how you'd confused wax and wane, the light versus the darkness sweeping across the moon, until we talked that night Now, even I am not so certain, things are not so plain, meaning is lost, line to line, for want of a misplaced breath Eyes glaze over when stars craze distant lovers, so much magic in the rising mist, still to this day My howls to the night are angled such they will ricochet to you off celestial objects, my yearning travels farther as the air grows colder, time descends faster I question should I jump, will I land softly Will I jump, shall I ? It's better not to know and to brace less My father used to say soft hands to keep those from breaking during a fall cc: Chagall 2021
a tear will fall and shatter, a bead in flight - with the same gesture upon impact as hands emanating from the navel a there expressed to the world as a splay, a flourish, a fantail of cards tada! I keep myself entertained with a lot more facial hair today than I used to have I wear black and blue and black again - often My jawbone and eye sockets feel the same settling in as they do standing up In bolder relief than now, I came upon the world once, I laughed and danced mostly, certainly more than now And you? cc: Chagall 2021
I think my Mom was a dreamer who was never quite sure whether she was to wake up or to lie down to rustle softly as if in a breeze, where I see her there still in a picture window, golden and deep red leaves in shadows of tinted glass the sun at the end of day an inch from hot, so beautiful in its endless stretch of light made evident as rays by other light, colored pink and ocher cc: Chagall 2021
it made more sense to me to learn what you couldn't do - what wouldn't sound right - as there was less of that and so that would be easier that's what I would say if I was a jazz hipster shooting it from the hip during my interview after having been questioned about my approach and I wouldn't be lying if all the colors are going to work, essentially then to what degree will they not? if any "you" will do, then when will you not? when must it be just you, only these colors, this light, this tune surrounding us, this time... this dance - this grand waltz - these lace veils flowing, this stairs, this golden case, this spiral rail; these elegant steps we walk with graceful assurance in bows tied just right - tight at the waist and Adam's apple, just enough wear on the soles and the heels, we dance without care, no fear of slipping or falling down can be a long way, or a long time coming, on paper - and in real life - the arrow will appear to point up I once likened it to digging oneself out of an avalanche, only to find that one had been upside down all along, and a reader commented that she freaked out over the thought, and she got me freaked out over it, so here I re-conceive the concept to get it out of our heads it is like thinking that one is fully in love, only to find that continuing to fall more in love backward and under, there are even greater cushions - billows of feathery down - upon which to fall, these caress you, and kiss your cheek, bring warm palms to soothe your back and hold your head above the spring grass, delectable morning dew and a welcome sear of heat from an early sun, raring to go as we... and somewhere a climber dances in an ice castle upside down in a world where light dims thin, songs sound the same though and such a fine echo should not go so under-sung so many unrung rafter to rafter and high hopes ring better as a chorus than a soliloquy for one, unless of course it's in refrain or part of the overture I once wrote that I'd often been so sure, I wrote about it - hell, I even telegraphed it, here's my interjection on my internet connection: we have convection because the hotter airs rise and cooler minds stay lower so low like a crystal marionette dangling from a stalagmite, ballet atop a tight frozen wire angelic pirouettes are no longer in fashion, alas my love had an Uncle who was a seamstress specialized in ballet shoes he brought a very tough love and care to the durability and the functionality of the shoe for the dancer material that was always fresh on the feet with superior glide and grip you could turn on like a foot brake I am not certain that he himself was ever a dancer, but he did play various string instruments, and was surrounded by music - it appears - growing up my point, I guess, is that angels require a fine shoe with which to execute the turns and leaps that we have grown to expect from them and the dancing cherubim ...the angelic hierarchy...a hierarchy and a history, by the way, that we do NOT understand Uncle Rocco had a small seamstress space where he custom-tailored exquisite dancing shoes for the finest dancers: pointe shoes, ballerina flats, beautiful bindings and split soles, ribboned and pleated in shades of sky and clouds blushed by the light of the day as it passes from morning on through to stars it is a wonderful thing when the anatomy of the shoe meets the anatomy of the dancer Aunt Senita - she pronounced it as Santa, as would Claus - made wedding gowns to order, with heavenly lacing, full tulle or flowy chiffon, a bodice of intricate beading, Senita's gowns flowed seeking the long lines of the same graceful angelic dancers as Rocco Aunt Senita was not married to Uncle Rocco, by the way, two separate stories, one flow - her workspace and his share similarities, in my mind, ditto their natural talents, as does their love for their work and for their customer in that way they are one if you get this far buballah, gimme me a shout out below, be sure to have bialys added to your spell-check along with coffee no milk nor sugar perhaps, some 2% froth, and that small spoon of cinnamon choice of cake something with flaky yellow crumbs yum oh my God - is there frosting too? she says in slow motion, drawing the sheet to her shoulders, but now higher up her knees dimples and freckles everywhere! and I am lost and I am found in every song that is played, with lovers in mind, in every afternoon that was to be saved some photographs hold so much light from the moment they capture, these serve their time well, this response to a triggered finger on film, light through time through glass, to the eye and the heart once again there in time in my stillness the moment lives distinctly - not ill-patterned, avoiding the things that don't work, the 20% effort that gets you 80% of the way there the chain around my neck begins to float to the ceiling, at least what I thought was the ceiling just a moment ago cc: Chagall 2021
I would cry more in lilac, pine less in lavender, yearn greater on the ride over and off the Sad Bridge this time should there be a next time I will feel more over the bumps surely for if only and only once a finer young fern-green and a more tickle-yellow is a shock of spring in the gray and she is the meadow - I have come to frolic, to play on the heather, in the haystacks, the heat of the closing day, leaves to cool the eaves of the taller barns her eyes catch two separate colors, in late-day light slants pink and I am awash in the oncoming amber bathe cc: Chagall 2021
