If you follow a butterfly's flight intently, hold it unswerving in the palm of your eye, trace every turn, each subtle winged gesture, emboss on your mind her cursive persuasion... ultimately she will alight on you Chagall 2020
Tag Archive: friendship
I remember (once) stringing my Strat with nylon
Then I turned the twin reverb on:
no magnetics, no sound
but great action
My friend Pete played so loud
we bought him a number 11 jersey
Vovo would pan for seeds down
inclined album covers
Sara would flick ashes onto her jeans
and rub it in to add wear
And Bob Smith (true name)
stole my Sunn concert lead amp-head and
my Zimgar conga shells
that I bought from Benitez
in the early ’70s; old-Robby
one morning vacated the house we
used for practice
S**thead couldn’t even keep a beat
Chagall 2019
I sometimes forget
who I am
supposed to be
until a prized wind
raises the scent of rain
off of mossy rock to me
©∞Chagall 2017
Please know that every cherita I will ever write
will be inspired by Celestine @ Reading Pleasure
Alas, so very few of my cheritae will ever be as good as hers. 🙂
Love & Peace —CC
One more morning
I’ll write. Gray,
sure. Air with the
same scent and feel
as that day, you bet.
The need – the ache –
to hold onto anything
that doesn’t slip away.
Perhaps the living is
easy and the writing
tougher.
Sound attests
to the existence of time
as sure as motion does
yet so much timelessness
in the rustle, the whisper
of leaves on canopy branches
high among the zephyrs. I
grow dizzy to imagine myself
there at the top looking down.
Maybe I’ll feel more today and
write less about it, pull in
the shutters, the sash.
Still, here on the inside
I fashion small chips
of graphite into pencil
an essential element
to build strong bones.
With enough sun and love
a stand of kindred spirits
can endure forever.
© Chagall ∞
I leap for the net with big holes
hoping I’ll miss and fall through
to be a mastermind I dress the part,
strip down
the cement is just for weight dear
look who’s back in town!
once I fell
and bounced
only to fall again
and one time
I soared
rooflines ascending
the light on the bridge
a star and
a sky carpet
race
only
to lose
to time
somewhere
it’s rain
rivulets
lap over dappled gray rock
pondering whether
to ripple
this life is
a crazy puddle
I say thank you
in primary colors
each rung
I reach to
awash
eternal
somewhere
it’s storm
© Chagall ∞
Eternal bright light
Her soliloquy honey
Evergreen deep rain
© Chagall ∞
Peculiar droplets
Promise me that you’ll grow strong
The pour of spring rain
© Chagall ∞
Another year and the war would end
but on the day my friend Johnny died
the triangle of his flag hung looking
over the city from his mom’s window.
The summer we were ten he stands in a sprinkler,
in his boxers (not really a swimsuit) with
the biggest grin because it’s vacation and
life is good and the ice man is coming and
we’ve got a dollar to share.
© Chagall 2106
Small letters alight on her lashes, tiny poetry about her eyes
Kisses of ancient rhythm, a pucker for a flame stoked
Each blink the turn of a page reveals whole worlds
Every breath has meaning, those lighter than air defy gravity
Limericks line her brow when she laughs
When she sighs I trace my lips along the long volta of her neckline
Where her sonnets turn around
Down her arms flow three-letter words, we are kids again
Awash in primary colors, hands waving wildly at tickles
Dancing about in a spray, we drink water from a hose
There are symbols dangling from her ears that I do not recognize
Baubles of mystery; I linger there eschewing translation.
© Chagall 2016
The lights are going out,
not forever – just for now.
We have coffee and tea,
we can make bread if need be,
sing, play cards …
Only for a little while,
only just for now.
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 