Words, metaphors for knowing, less rapid than thought, brought on by a need to convey the inside, out enters as a lion, preys, succumbs to lams and exits, what's been and what will be, a present rapt in bows, under the tree when the bough breaks, I will catch baby or I will catch hell from those who art forbidden in heaven, from whence the kingdom came, undone will here, this time, this earth, hidden within the good word cc: Chagall 2022
Category: Poetry
Greetings to you, our family, from Ukraine. The roses growing in the garden sway with the wind. Do you recall who is writing to you? I write this while I sit on the Oak Bench. When you were small, many, many years ago, we sat there. My letter comes to you, now as a guest to you, our Family. I pray one day we see each other again. cc: Chagall 2022
Passed writers, the detritus of dead avatars puffs without link to any works, their site is no longer, a short path to the point on carbon tip, the electrocution of ideas leaves behind the smell of burnt hair, a single wisp of smoke, a cowlick God's spit and thumb smooths down, poets, though messiahs at heart, remain inert long beyond the third day cc: Chagall 2022
snow heavy atop branches of leyland cypress, until the mass collapses, falls in slow motion, reveals deep green, fresh, renewed, vibrant with crisp hope, all the canopy's a stage, snowflakes - mere actors - enter the world in cold, nourished by the colder, affinity with the coldest up to the thaw, spring is a dream we dream from under the tundra, trapped in an avalanche, who knows which way is up cc: Chagall 2020
A few years back, Amaya Engleking (Gospel Isoceles) surprised me, made my day - nay, my year! - by integrating a verse I had written, into a wonderfully composed poster, seen above. I strongly recommend her work, if you have not already discovered it, here at her site cc: Chagall 2020
Those who take pride in telling it like it is, and letting you know that they’re the sort who tell it like it is, and of whom others refer as those who like to tell it like it is, rarely – if ever – like to be told what it’s like cc: Chagall 2022
(found written on the back of a bierhaus receipt, from the Final Archives, where History repeats itself unbeknownst to Anybody) Memo: re the Shop Floor We own the factory they labor within low quality ideas and people will come off the line this time quality spikes our score not yet six sigma cc: Chagall 2022
The photo distinctly showed fifteen cookies on the plate. When they asked me what happened to the other three, all I could say was, "Fhoock oohf I no." cc: Chagall 2022 Please know that Carlos Chagall does not advocate talking when one's mouth is full.
The cyclopetrist today told me I needed trifocals, which is cool as I have been developing a third eye cc: Chagall 2022
Anna had said she would call us all by name, but the list was removed and she had nowhere else to look Listen here cc: Chagall 2022
Alphabet City 