Alphabet City

The light is perfect here

color soaks the moment
I see small dots of life
everywhere there is lavender
the brush is more patient than I
to render its impression
of God and time
I am immersed in Peace
despite profound disturbance
in the pointillism
the fabric must be mended
that bears the barbarism –
humanity and sane gentle minds
must once again conceive the canvas
we must wake up and smell the carbon
inhale the stars as one people we exhale
a single cry that is our lot
vis-à-vis the vast endless other
rather one another
warm, musky Friday nights
amour all around as it should be amour
lights, everywhere lights
gypsy jazz and a pack of gitanes
I am jean paul belmondo I scream from the water
startled bouquinistes and Dominique
et tout le monde est triste et ils me manquent
but my english is pretty good, just like your french, she said
I love you all – I once rode a carousel, the town square of Dijon
while an elderly couple sipped frothed coffee from lacquered cups
I watched the world gallop from atop an ancient horse
smelling the wind of the region in the cold turns
cakes and parfum, a calliope piping an old folk tune
Paris is a city of long horizons architected essentially such
I pray for peace, love, longevity, once again eternal lights
romance beneath an arch, a kiss along the Seine
an end to sorrow and hate –

yes the light is perfect here, I will paint so that nothing mars the light
the light is all that is essential, somehow I must grab the light and apply it
to the canvas, it comes in dots small points of hundreds of millions of color beads
that combine to give us all meaning all life it’s just color we’re all in the end merely light

Chagall 2015

So sad to hear that Paul Lenzi passed earlier this year,
I thought he was perhaps taking a break from his writing,
to account for the lack of daily posts.

I will continue to think that. Paul is only away for
a brief respite. I look forward to hearing from him again.

Paul’s work can be found here.

Rest in peace.

Chagall 2018

Act 1
I hold a young pepper up to the sunlight,
to see its placenta, gland, and seeds, capillaries
wrapped in green; the light does not illuminate
my own inner works so clearly.

Act 2
The tiniest emerald leaves erupt late season
atop tomato plants, begat by wizened
gold stems; the new arrivals will
mature partially then wither on
the severed vines of November.

Act 3
Blue princess holly has regularly set
red berries since that season the blue prince died.

Chagall 2018

Mission: to evolve
cooperative plots, arable land
across the face of Gaia; to
elevate the feminine.

Chagall 2018

on real film

particles of light
reside in the silver
transfer to image
freezing time

on the trek from end to end

your smile, that day
your eyes sharply focused
the horizon stretched

on forever

without touch, a photo
fails to convey

the full effect on our hearts
love had had

Chagall 2018

I’ll not write another
for it forces the last
off the page.

Chagall 2018

My mom – rest her soul – loved her son-in-law,
deemed him a good egg.

Chagall 2018

I have a hundred songs that you haven’t yet heard,
such is the lack of our intimacy.

Chagall 2018

The end of season is nigh,
harvest is sparse, I
put away three of each handful
– seed for the coming year.

Chagall 2018

Barring invasive species,
plants will work together
to make the most effective
and efficient use of the
resources allotted. Heads
intertwine to create diverse
canopies, while stems sacrifice
leafy runs to enable the nestling
of neighbors’ branches, and they
in turn their stems, and so on.
The heavy soak of apocryphal rain
brings a florid melange of nutrient.
Roots intermingle, with fungi forms
mycorrhizal, to shuttle about the
essential elements of life. This all
takes place in the yellowest of sunlight,
in the winds that blow eternity steady.

Chagall 2018