I am very proud to post here a collaboration between two talented poets: David ben Alexander and Michael Simonelli. Their poem "GMT+2, or: In the Mean Time" is in the form of a Chagallian loku. David & Michael, thank you for your support. ---CC GMT+2, or: In the Mean Time Jerusalem taupe, winter khamsin northward streams dark sands through our glass, one sand pebble left in the clock’s tapered shadow, sere wind breaks our wing somewhere now where God rests dunes caress with downy fill, eternal grains here, graceful echelon, mosaics carved, rarefied stars align to coasts the world from the clouds, squiggly fractal boundaries in between people, morning groggy-eyed sunrise through stretched acrylic grounded in promise directional signs, herd animals jostle on, can’t forget baggage, travelators scoot well past the red-eye's runway, each with life in tow sandstorm rocks taxi, clouds all that is visible, the expectant shift, meter stops running, zero beats to the measure, vantage no longer family concern, guests gather at synagogue, Tel Aviv sunset, the anxious await break of accident reports, frozen winter dreams Eilat in winter: warm honeymoon on Red Sea, chilly salt water waves, oceanic time curves around large bodies at scale, we’re smallest rare snowfall settles, Israeli children cheer, sheer slush by morning cold rains bring green, sprouts, plants, blooms, before springtime warmth, allergy triggers spring still comes each year, rebirth, salted brine-gray fog, pied balloons aloft David ben Alexander & Michael Simonelli, 2022
Category: Poetry
From the dark of my window I stare out at the night, down the road to a streetlamp, its warm yellow umbra a funnel faded to checkered black, alone, still timeless awaiting day through the hours, wearily beasts emerge from the wetlands, their trails passing under, beyond the fall of the light cc: Chagall 2022
As she lowers herself, I am engulfed, lost in the heady scent of bayberry, invigorating wintergreen cypress, her eyes are the same color as her song, both melodies lilt timeless intervals, eternity comes in thrusts and parries, strands of hair curl down the backs of dancers, there where palms lie, in the small near the nape, above the slight dimple, below the heart, there where the part is forever removed cc: Chagall 2022
Her name was Melisa (That's Melissa with two esses) Marianne (Actually, MaryAnn, capital M, Mary, no space capital A, Ann) We all called her Eve cc: Chagall 2022
Times Square Station, a Wednesday in time, 8:30 AM So sad, no one naps on the subways nowadays. cc: Chagall 2022
I wish I had underlined all the great ideas I'd encountered in all the books I read over the years cc: Chagall 2022
I'd like to go on record, state today that I am not as chubby as these two shirts make it appear, and even if I was, like my Mom used to say She's not too fat to fly cc: Chagall 2022
I asked the poinsettia do you like it here, do you want to live here all year round on that ledge surrounded by the resurrected orchids? cc: Chagall 2022
The year she mentioned was so long ago that when she asked how old I'd been then, it was easier to count up from my birth date, but not so young that I had to count backwards cc: Chagall 2022
After having taken multiple handfuls, I am now skilled in shaking the green container that holds the golden candy caramel popcorn, such that the kernels fluff-up in volume, covering my tracks cc: Chagall 2022
Alphabet City 