Though they cover my eyes with the fold, spin me around, and drop me where up is down and here is there, I still find my way back home Michael 2022
Tag Archive: faith
Faster than Peter,
past acacia and carob,
I ran to the tomb.
We sang, we danced,
embraced and wept,
jumped up and down, cried out.
Our voices echoed:
the chamber there was empty
past the low doorway.
Alone in the damp,
except for our friend’s garments;
his scent was still there.
I ran past Mary,
leaving the rich man’s garden;
Arimathean
sweet hawthorn kindled
the fires of Golgotha,
from the day before.
Past olive, almond,
apricot, pine, turpentine,
I ran to tell them.
© Carlos Chagall, Easter Sunday, 2013
The crescendo of cicadas
Morning is hotter
than yesterday’s noon
A nonchalant wind imbued with the scent
of a distant ocean I’ll never see
blows by
(inspired by Celestine’s work at https://readinpleasure.wordpress.com/ )
© Chagall ∞
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 ∞
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 ∞
With moral north poles pointing everywhere
I instead choose to fold inward along the
outline of every petal of my being.
© Chagall ∞
I sharpen my ellipsis
as I’ve got only one
expecting any sudden
opportunity to use it
as I please
Purposeful interposition of
space between
periods
to purport
more is
to come
Perhaps
I am
the ellipsis
Chagall 2016
She’s serving her country
since she’s young she has
shitty maintenance shifts
hours till dawn on the tarmac
guys give her crap all night
makes her long for home plus
she’s trying to finish up on-line
credits just shy of her bachelors
she was smart they all said
lately she’s been feeling
that way again with so much hope
for new starts going around
these days she prays more than wishes
she’ll find home again
Chagall 2016
A whisper in a storm
hums poetic
melody for the deaf
astounding blind artists
who speak till silenced who
no longer levitate for fractures
to wings heal slowly you know
what freedom feels like –
remember?
Clear mind. Vibrant life.
Hope. Opportunity. Beautiful oxygen.
Chagall 2016
how often I found her
tucked up in hollows
nestled in whorls
amid swirls
she spun
a pinwheel crazed
in gale wind
alighting where she pleased
now she is upright
safe in fluted forms
amid her friends
secure and alee
Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 