Irrepressible
This urge to keep on breathing
Yet another day
© Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: existence
Soon will be our turn
Grieving mothers in darkness
Suns die everyday
© Chagall 2015
I do so want to tell you something,
that will make you reach out
across the light, the page plus the miles,
you’ll recall the moment we felt
despite never meeting, truth is the same time
yet a different face for two people
from the same orb rounding the same star,
or do we just fall steady? I forget
which gravitation I’m in on this go-around,
while you’re about me I twirl in wonder, more
turvy than topsy, surely I will find you somewhere
firmly on ground with a strong sudden urge to take flight.
© Chagall 2014
I’m sure
the oak is
certain
© Chagall 2014
When I’m small I am the speck
looking out at angels
On the other hand it’s Me
peering down
© Chagall 2014
Although your time upon this orb is brief
there is still the chance to make it worthy
filled with the stuff that legends are made from
or maybe you prefer the quiet roads
shaded, wooded, dappled with brilliant sun
every now and then, every other step
can lead to anywhere, choose it or not,
want it or not, so much wanting, your choice
is your point of view, behold and release,
embrace and let go, the pulse of living
throbs at the neck of existence then fades
to a slow indiscernible rhythm,
empties into the space that surrounds us
and dies away, still fading, but dreaming
Dear one, the haze does lift, you’ll start again
though your time upon the orb will be brief . . .
© Chagall 2014
I was running on all cylinders, excited about life
and prospects, then I thought about the situation
perhaps a bit too much, the bottom fell out and I
lost all enthusiasm, found myself jumping from one
item to another, to find something to stick, to assert
itself as worth doing, worth living for, something compelling,
impelling, organic and all-consuming, energy about, throughout
and within, a lever to miracles, something essentially me,
and that’s where you came in.
© Chagall 2014
She comes across grace, the way that she flows
in gowns, down stairs, through life,
utterly in love with fascination of love.
Minor chords fade to dissonant
whispers that barely touch nothing
at the end where time goes silent;
a puff of black.
I would rather she fade
to indigo.
© Chagall 2014
Clearly
opaque
odd
even
distant
touching
apparently
real
I’m
not
are
you?
© Chagall 2014
Summer samba
drifting to the
hotel window
where curtains blow
so softly
Standing here in
salted air on
barefoot toes
I stretch and reach
for stars not there
And yet so real
so real, so real
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 