she said
To make the bread, you shape the boule
like you’re kneading my breast in your hands
And when should I stop, let go?
I asked.
she replied
Release at the first sign of rise
Spongy, pliable, warm doughy life,
long healthy life for all
Chagall ∞
1
If God were a dance
she would be a sarabande
2
Lust for life is more than
a ticklish loin
3
“Carlos, how come you don’t
hashtag me too?”
Stay healthy my blog-world friends
Chagall 2020
Last name?
Wrong.
First name?
Seldom.
Chagall 2020
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. Mike McGuire – where are you?
The worlds you meet
on the way up,
on the way down
will present their dark sides
Find the right ring and orbit
Chagall 2020
damselflies
mystify
very rarely
frighten
electric-blue
fluorescent green
goggled friends
on rocks
while I seed
my garden’s rows
spry tiny copters
fanning my compost heap
aspiring to be hummingbirds
Chagall 2020
Long away and far ago
she wakes me to ask
Shall you still keep dreaming?
Drowsily turning to face her, I say
I’m fine who I am
but please, that shouldn’t stop you
Chagall 2020
Her breasts are large and my arms are long
so we are able to maintain the requisite meter between us
Chagall 2020
This virus! I just wash my hands of the whole thing.
Chagall 2020
in space, the almost-sterile vacuum, amid cosmic radiation,
we multiply, we travel, we pass through
we the probes appear like virus, penetrate, reside for a while,
scan, inventory the planet life, one by one, and then we are gone
a small data set, less than a moment’s send
over light to the tab quartz crystals
over the eons few stand out as outliers, save One,
part of the three, when your world numbered merely 300 million
such a spike is rarely seen, save again some 500 years later,
a blink for us, generations for you, essentially the same story
the data says dine on whatsoever hath fins and scales in the waters,
enjoy Ajwah dates for dessert, and so restore the covenant of the pieces
faith is to speculation as truth is to fact
Chagall 2020
