Tag Archive: age


Beautiful Rotation

The heathered pink and blue of
this dying winter's day, reminds me
joy is tinged with sadness, 
while love and sorrow be
a singularity

How the trees' wood turns golden 
in the gloaming!

We of the canopy there
in the dying light, hereby...

Stripped branches like veins
reach to the indigo, 
as much above ground now
as rooted below

Stars be our blanket,
protect us from the wind
till dewy 'morrow

cc: Chagall 2022 

For Hon’

I helped an old lady -
planed her stuck-door,
enables her to come and go
as she pleases

To finish the job where the plane does not travel
(at the door-bottom) I needed a rat-bastard file

she knew what they were - 
My late husband called them dose rat bastids
- and where his were

love to 
las abuelas

cc: Chagall 2021

From the Rocking Chair

Lavender amulets tattooed on her legs, release their scent, tender zeal,
a vernal pool. Approach me my melancholy rockabye baby, cuddle up,
never turn blue.

© Chagall ∞

O’ What a Pair

I have an odd dynamic with my father-in-law:
He is a 90 year old man but a very new soul, whereas
I am merely half his age but my soul has traveled twice
by thrice his. Our interplays are often quite quirky.

© Chagall 2017

Fire Escapes Covered in Snow

Christmas Morning on the Lower East Side when I was five
I awoke to find a tiny white baby grand piano alongside
the tree that crowded the front room of our railroad apartment.
Not quite a toy, it was a real instrument crafted to stand
not two feet high. On the beautiful bench sat a card in script
that simply said Love Dad.

This year, for what would be his 100th Christmas, I will place
my hands on the keyboard again to wish him peace in silent night.

© Chagall 2016

Jab To The Plexus

Dear Sara – I was deeply saddened today to realize it will take less time to attain your parents’ age than has transpired since we first met. Desperately breathing irregularly. Love, Carlos

© Chagall 2016

Nothing But a Space-Time Thing

I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.

Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.

© Chagall 2016

October

Ripe things are
getting harder to find
nowadays.

© Chagall 2016

Ice Chips

The night is crisp, autumnal.
Bourbon sweeter.
My son and his petite amie
at a friend’s cabin while they’re away.
With them, a bag of sweet potatoes
I grew and cured, for roasting
over the wood fire they’ll make.

Life is good.
Peepers sing earlier
than usual tonight. Harmonics from breezes
to trees to shape the glass arc of our ears
to blow gently in them.
I am yellow aged orange inflamed
dared to go red before withering.

I pray to the last gold ray of sun
there in the tall eastern trees
that refuses to say die to another day.

© Chagall 2016

Pine

I retrace the line of
her handwritten note
to make me feel
she’s still here

Chagall 2016

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