Let’s all do this once more with feeling,
avoid the sidesteps askew to the point.
I don’t yet have automata down pat
quite enough to divert my mind away.
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: celebrate life
On the boat ride here
we were young, unwashed,
and filled with hope
of soaring graceful years
to come built on freedom
hard work and undying
unconditional love
for one another, never once
anticipating the sociopathy
of the current age
© Chagall 2014
Under pale blue sky
I sense the holy
in gilded leaf,
stained glass amber,
muted green cool shade,
amazed to find
a cathedral even here
© Chagall 2014
How odd the stars that burn so hot
can wink, demure, so cold
I am warmed by the faces
of so many moons
More real than the lights
of jet planes
These nights I find
I slow down seeking free fall
Up, so I float
without need to ever
look down
© Chagall 2014
She recalls a time, the glen ran through her
rendered her in two exposed to the world
splendid in candor, baked in yellow sun
until it dimmed, left her alone unlit,
retracted its thrust, she yearns for that.
© Chagall 2014
I don’t talk about it;
if I did I would drown.
© Chagall 2014
Winter is busy, transitions the year. Odd though, the night is warm
enough to stir loamy aroma, sings to summer gone, woeful melody.
In harmony twice, in song with the wind I’m chimes, a tubular bell,
a partner in gleeful percussion, emitting nothing but round humble tones.
© Chagall 2014
I think the bus ride made it more deadbeat,
or maybe the air brakes provided downbeat each stop –
each time someone tripped the ripcord and let go the ring
and the driver would pull his lever to release the doors to allow the exit
late in the evenings when day was just about done save for the last strong glow
of orange sun atop rooftops and spires, where the harsher shadows would never dare
to alight, where early dreamers could already be seen floating on air
souls akimbo bathing in aqueducts of cool breeze, brisk wind really
whipping about, inverting – sault-somering freefall
down to the street below to the windshields
of city buses toting us home to the love.
© Chagall 2014
It wasn’t so much the wind
as it was the touch of the wind;
you might think they’re the same
but they’re not.
Perfectly tuned to my skin,
just warm enough – no more,
pushing and pulling
like the turn of a wheel.
I could lie-out and stay aloft,
trust like a back-float,
but instead I choose to lean.
© Chagall 2014
Melissa in the mirror,
small as she appears,
is larger than that
in real life despite
any grandiose scheme
of silver and glass
to reduce her.
I watch her as
I pull away
in the rear-view,
and notice through tears
that she’s crying,
despite the brave wave.
I will miss you
I think then say out loud
then scream till I strain
at the turn when she’s gone,
and I pray she’s not doing
the same.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 