Sometimes I try
to jam a lifetime's regret
into a single evening
Make a list of the actions I'll take
to catch up on all the delinquency,
make all my outstanding to-dos
stand down
to get back to Day 0
ground 0's
dust still on the black lug soles
I wore that day
under my sleeve
yet branded
I hallucinate
the airline seat
in the yard we can see
from alan's lobby
there on the promenade
small tug boats chugging to and fro
atilt, washing water onto the esplanade
confetti fell, ash like a midnight snowstorm
stopped, then again confetti fell
on that september morning, two lunar parades within one hour
then perfect blue sky
no clouds, except for those gathered in my mind
I deferred life despite the rain, moisture-rich air made for cloudbursts,
kept me tentative, decidedly askew without boxes left to tick
flightless yet on the wing, never to touch down, eternally alit
two candles
remember the rumble, the ground-shake, the cotton masks fashioned
from the center's tablecloths and napkins, the large shears
I dusted off a man I did not know, who was covered in powdered sugar,
I tasted the sweetness of many lives
life interrupted
oh, to recommence
we have yet to return
to our regularly scheduled...
the end of our broadcast day
till 'morrow when all is righted again
cc: MCS, CC, 2022
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The nubs left behind by the splintered branches, make it easy to cling to the tree, fashioned to hold in the talons' hollows, unwavering they perch in the northeast wind, above the grain fields, beyond the walls, below the misted echelon A world turned upside down, reversed without correction from any brain "The self-aggrandizing pricks doth protest too much, methinks," I rage, after being shaken and speared, as I go ungentle into that good night They await those who will await, to while away the time without song or whistle, no lilt, just lift in the updraft, where to feast is heavenly, to digest and shit divine a squadron of bottom feeders twerking their way to the top cc: CC 2022
This poem was written in the quiet room, words are not uttered, nor ideas harmed, no symbols convey the shapeless whisper, observe the poet's lips here incarnate, the flicker in your eye is her stutter, your blink...her babble, your tear...her sadness, what you see is the soul, her reckoning, her requiem fixed on the final line cc: CC 2020
The clouds have all gone away, so fair-weather friend - come out, let's play! Until the dark skies fill my head, the dreaded times Where are you now? We can still be chums under covers, cuddled, withstanding wind and rain Until the next ray of sunshine, friend, till then cc: CC 2022
ACT I She said trees cry I yelled, raised the ax Demanded bear fruit or else Amid tears I hear a faint yes You speak on their behalf? I ask To which she begets her first leaves ACT II I once chopped down a pear tree, and from its wood, ripped planks for a floor Over time the floor took root in the earth, grew to bear fruit, fine pears all around From the one tree grew seven ACT III She writes the eggs with ancient designs, amulets on shells, and hangs one on each branch, of each tree ACT IV She checks the covered pot of cream and sees that the spider she placed there has built a web, a good omen, so she calls the place Home ACT V With the yellow flowers of early spring, she weaves garlands as headdress for all the horned animals, and parades them about as a harbinger for all good things cc: Michael 2022
Stars are formed in clouds Of gas and dust, nebulae Nuclear at core The eddies mist cold Lavender melts under snow Bleeds purple on white Stars provide enough Energy brightly for years The exact lifetime Silence glistens here Chilled pools beckon promising Reflection under We are born of stars So proud until we pulsar When fusion ceases Among all two find A sense of having been there Empathetic eyes Eons erase hope What once would light forever Turns to gamma ray Shall never lose me Shouts beyond the din recede To vast empty stretch Pridefully suns sear Hot too fast, too self-consumed No cheeks yet to burn Circular water Too near the edge of the falls The promise to drown Godspeed is lightspeed We see until we are blind Not invisible Holding fast they plunge In momentary freefall Defying the crush We are dark matter More of us than meets the eye Feel our gravity Two plummet headfirst Upturned soles to God’s heaven The tickle of love Ripped seams in space-time Blessed beings emerge headfirst The dead prefer breach Plumes of graceful froth Envelop twin beating hearts Up until the sere Nothing left to burn Suns die everyday out here To leave voids of love Suddenly without Love’s denouement sings sadly Still ache crescendos Massive cores collapse Passages to yesterday Bridges to Other Melody solo Lost, searching harmonically Hearts rapt atonal When stars burn cooler Life has opportunity Everywhere blue worlds Shall never find me Resounds off wet chamber walls Where echos loiter The scent of Goddess Permeates all creation Sweet salinity A flickering flame Somewhere a flue, air to breathe Pinpoint light quite dim Life is atmosphere Creatures born to see the light Watercolorists Ascension too fast Lungs explode before tongues meld Alive once again Fine pointillism Clarity from a distance Planets at the edge Shout hallelujah Frenzied oxygenation Salt water on lips Accelerating Behind us time looms ahead Wrapped implicitly Love again refrains Adrift on sunny sandbars Palm fruits, dates, acai We are young again Stellate beings thrice reborn Twice kissed we are alone Two swimmers azure Water beaded sky blues hope Refracted visions Before words we were Nothing, pointed subtlety Essentially stars Will never lose me Mouthed indistinguishably There underwater cc: Chagall 2022
History does not repeat itself,
instead it reemphasizes its points
Even if dust be reassembled,
remolded to beget the people and
the rooms where laughter once pealed,
it would not be long before they'd again crumble
Release the voices stuck in the corners where
walls meet ceilings,
stairways meet rooftops,
lovers eye stars that die eons ago, like them just
moments ago,
all of time is yet here,
behind our closed eyes
Once upon that time, the wind entered me, danced upon
my vocal cords, vibrations of me in the airstream,
I emanated sounds like those of creation, to pulse
magically, ametrically, sympathetically with all the created
The uncertainty of whether I am the core or the outskirt,
the beginning or the end,
the reveler or the laughter,
the ceiling or the sky,
the edge of the dome or heaven,
the earth or the mycorrhizae,
the magma or the igneous mantle,
merely me again at the core
If entropy be the gradual decline into disorder, perhaps
the dead can once again live, for death, as I see it now,
is the more orderly state of our being
To be or not to be, was never the question,
rather to love or not
cc: Chagall 2022
If my son comes home with a girl or a boy, and tells me they are in love, I will give them my blessing and assist them all I can. People fall in love with a soul, and those are everywhere. But when my daughter gets beat by 4 laps in a swim meet by a person who 2 years ago was ejaculating to old Playboy centerfolds, I lose my fucking mind. Love, Chagall
Am I too late to till the land, to fill the furrows with life-giving grain, tubers to store to be eaten in Winter, gourds to nourish us through to Spring, in Summer I will allow the long beans to dry, take time in Autumn to cry over what used to be, hand pump my well without electricity, rue the abundance of wood too wet to kindle, save for old papers' headlines decrying the outrage, before the brightest light came, ere the outage, outside but more so within, empty vessels, hollowed - nay hallowed - vassals, ships set sail, round-trip to nowhere Am I too late to take my own life into my own hands? cc: Michael 2022
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originally posted August 9, 2018 thin altitude high in eastern europe atop caucasus peaks abundant cultivars plenty of plums stone fruits what the italians call cocomilia we survive on these plus native grain and wild yeast until the years are passed cc: Michael 2022, Chagall 2018
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