Alphabet City

I read a poem tonight that could have
stopped at its first line, powerful and poignant.
Nine lines later – halfway through – I exited.

Chagall 2018

I tell myself to relax,
that we will get around
to those things.

Chagall 2018

With my skull in place, I thank God for
the eyes’ orbits, the gravity of the brain.

My ears adhere to sound, my touch to your skin,
lips to lips, buried in the loam of you.

How do you taste? Honey and almond, agave and goji;
earthy, salty, a drink of ocean.

We have knelt facing, our thighs parallel,
our hands pressed as if we were mirrors.

Forward without falling,
suspended in a space of our making.

The world, a spotlight,
fades to pinpoint, traces down our seam.

We are stencils
in time.

An image from
light years ago.

Chagall 2018

I’m doing the best that I can
with the soil and the seeds that I’ve got.

Sun, wind, rain, bring me fortunes from the sky,
I am beholden.

My eyes focus on horizons far away,
except when I see you near.

The lush gold ambers of Autumn
mean less in the face of coming Spring.

But crochet somber patchquilt around
a silenced final snow.

Chagall 2018

The praying mantis, a walking stick,
an incredible sentient being with swivel head,
arms that search like ours,
able to stick, bend, and pray from any position,
horizontally vertical in genuflect,
genuine with reflective eyes that follow – the plot at large,
disrupted by early autumn mowers from otherwise everyday mantis things.

Chagall 2018

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