Tag Archive: existence


Trigger

I’m exploring why this one particular
poem of my own makes me cry.

© Chagall ∞

The Final Wave

In an instant the sound of the ocean ceased
and in that vacuum nothing remained
save the din of human voices.

© 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 ∞

When i Grow Up

I will cash in on thespian knowledge
So I really must know how to act
Or make a fortune while foretelling karma
Still I’d owe way too much deep in debt
So I’ll seek to reap riches from relating tales
About life being grand at the edge
Where only sweet water flows across miles
Evanescent, effervescent, ever long

© Chagall ∞

 

Weeping Skies for the First Time

The tapping whisper of rain,
Gulls soar, serifs against the long stretch
Of sky and land, the mosaic face of water,
Morning air, thin and cold, early day
Mist envelops always, hope is desire
To release, to touch the atmosphere,
To mean the words yet to find tongues,
Tone recedes into tones receding, the far edge
Where filaments unravel into the empty, void
Unless stamped otherwise, a puddle to stomp,
A bright yellow-slicker, the tapping whisper
of rain.

© Chagall ∞

My Life

Everyday I write
a novel backwards.

© Chagall ∞

Überblick

Each sense has a cache of
residual reality
attention!
not memory at-work at all,
just dimming glows, we filter
the actual,
we choreograph the quintet,
low-capacity volatility,
mosaic,
iconic,
saccadic.

© Chagall ∞

Proof of Others

At the core of my existence I am certain
that poets exist on beautiful celestial orbs
other than earth

© Chagall 2017

 

But O’ How She Tried

She never was able to conceive
how two halves can make a whole.

© 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

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