Tag Archive: Art


Conflicted

I started to write a poem then shifted
to write a song

Chagall 2017

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Ideate

A thin line separates
thought from written word.

© Chagall ∞

(Inspired by a comments exchange with Celestine @  Reading Pleasure)

Or

I did not think I would write today,
living life had more allure until
I reached too far, I felt too
deeply, I fell ever so gently
from such a short height,
that’s all it took
to be here.

© Chagall ∞

The Medium

My drafts hold nothing of interest, some nonsense I scribbled
in a vain attempt to infer Sara from the existence of stars,
some ambiguous mumbo (tiny, not jumbo) plus
a line about life in the canopy over
fields at the apex of gloaming.

Nothing of value to work with here
so I turn to birdsong to quell
my ache for expression.

© Chagall ∞

15 Seconds

With only the ordinary
we shape new lie to the land,
extraordinary contour upon which
to dwell and to set our roots
at odd angles to the rise that marks
the divide no longer,

the apropos
no longer becoming rather been,
is seemingly all the rage these days
or are you missing the drift? The rift is
the riff, like the rose was once.

Look at me I’m streaming!

A
lilt,
a
lull-
a-
bye.

© Chagall ∞

Wholly Holy Black Hole

I will write free verse
of the universe, letters as galaxies,
implied points clear as constellations,
stars appear closer than they seem
when seen from light years away across
the paragraphs. I invert my event horizon
to search within and strew about the detritus
of my being, hence this ramble, these lines,
served up on the tines of synapse.

© Chagall ∞

Calliope for Satie

She is comprised solely
of essential oils, lovely
silken flow, pistons in valve
lubricant, stamens on pistil,
pollen swollen anthers, she wills
the will of the wisp to do
her bidding, she calls sweetly
through the nightbird, coopts
its thin coiled chord to vocalize,
to trill appoggiatura.

I relax limb and tenon about her,
promenade on wrists and knees:
gymnopédie as it was meant to be,
arched, pointed, and flexed.

© Chagall ∞

Dion singing about runaway girls,
makes me want to pull my heart
tighter around the years, they pass.

Kisses fade into scents of lilac
where lavender used to be, where
there will never be roses.

I couldn’t bear apologies from
so tender a spirit, especially
for naught, such was her challenge.

I etch the horizon precisely where neon should be,
pretending there are bridges and stars hanging
in thin city air.

I’ve imagined myself as a silhouette on rooftops
blending with balustrades and fire escapes, in shadow
descending quietly.

To find her alone on Belmont Avenue, under streetlight,
in gentle snowfall, in warm rain, wherever her life
turned inclement.

And time is like an arrow struck from the quiver
of a rosined bow, approaching its acme.

…ask any fool that she ever knew …

© Chagall ∞

Aqua Respire

Water bead grass bayonets cut tongues,
steely dew, fondant of morning rain.

How I love to lie eye-level to ground
to look up at tall blades against the sky.

I have an itch on my cheek that only closely
coiffed tightly tufted turf can scratch.

I mistake her smile for mist or soft rain,
so similar they are in drizzle pattern.

There’s a run of slatted fence traces hillsides,
hugs the rise and the run of the land as a tribute to time.

Eyes beguile but only if you let them, don’t you let them, don’t they say?
Sometimes the wax can be saved to create brand new candles to burn.

Eye-level to ground the flames from above
cast my outline as an amber cold hollow.

That which is me which does not pass light
rests immortalized sunk into shadow.

With morning comes water nourishing.
The eye adjusts to blue. Rain sugars dew.

© Chagall ∞

A Wry Rise

Light will guide me back
To ascension, a view from above,
Lofty gray weightlessness,
Ethereal suspension among birds
Of distinction, marked no longer
By petty ways, now only grand schemes
To return one again to a state of grace,
To engulf my self, to imbibe as well
The liquid of life, thus to hang in the balance,
Neither here nor there as it should be, to be
Either actually is a penchant unchained still linked
To time, once blinded I sensed the fence surrounding
Me so I blinked and clicked my heels, an attempt to awaken,
To rise, to ascend, score a view from above in the lofty gray.

Weightless.

© Chagall ∞

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