Worlds emerge from here
sulfur, steam, primal creatures
all hope still intact
© Chagall 2014
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14th St & Avenue A, LL train on its way to Brooklyn
Rat jumps platform, rasta blows joint, oblivious rush hour crowds – My stop!
© Chagall 2014
This one’s too religious,
this one’s selling stuff,
this one’s in a language
that I don’t parlay enough.
That one’s background’s way too dark,
can hardly read the text,
while that one . . .
well, not too sure where the poetry is,
so I move on to the next.
Some are just too wordy,
and some are downright trite,
so I continue searching
for the one that feels
more right.
At last there’s those so perfect,
the voice of souls who yearn,
who let it out to let you in,
whisperers above the din.
© Chagall 2014
The lost verse – added March 16, 2020:
Some are way too sexy,
there’s nothing wrong with that,
I just can’t spend my evenings
with my lap beneath my hat
Chagall 2020
P.S. I miss you Mike!
The beat of the plumes of the fantail wizards
takes my breath away.
© Chagall 2014
When she sleeps on the couch
it’s much more easy
to make the bed
in the morning.
Pull, snap, smooth,
and tuck.
© Chagall 2014
Sky like a luau skirt
against starched duck-white
of rough linen clouds
© Chagall 2014
Gray old lady,
new blue day.
© Chagall 2014
To still find Grace after all of these years;
delicate flows and indelible lines
convey precisely what’s meant to be said,
no words nor syllables needlessly spent
to elaborate on the meaningless.
My mind’s tight-ruled paper,
I pace and etch a rhyme
to unite ear and heart;
neurons, mighty like swords,
spongy as black felt pens,
fire away,
classic two-step,
short couplets paired
illuminate
profound nothings.
We’re blessed,
able
to write
of life
we love.
Grace
is
where
I’ll
find
her.
© Chagall 2014
One by one, I crush them,
the fears that hold me back;
wholly eliminate
all my stress and worry.
Just like that, they are gone,
as quickly as they came,
an outcome of the will
to live unencumbered.
In their place, a garden,
pure, clean serenity,
where I am the seasons
for sowing and reaping.
Where all is possible
through focused assertion
of intended outcomes
I wish to come to pass.
© Chagall 2014
As a kid we had the five-second rule:
if you dropped something, especially food,
you had that much time before germs settled in.
Though I did favor more a three-second version
depending on the drop’s locale.
Forty percent less likelihood for foreign biology to hitch a ride
should a sandwich or a lover’s heart ever touch cobblestone.
Beware the violent rip on the lower back
as you plunge in time
to retrieve
your item.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 