From tiny clinging tendrils of truth
we are leafs like nodes of illusion.
I feel the veining that buoys me,
a sail in the wind that I keep
on course to a true line.
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: life
Like a toe into water
the word pushes onto the page
testing . . . no, that’s not quite right
Paris morning, chill of the starry night
warmed by copper . . . nix
I inhale deeply and shape my mouth to her’s
at right angles, I gently exhale
her cheeks bellow, her eyes open
and our heart begins to beat . . . maybe
© Chagall 2014
I’m sure
the oak is
certain
© Chagall 2014
This poem is unlike the others.
It tells no tale of twin souls,
makes no attempt to pinpoint
the space between here and there,
the real and not. This poem flies
at a level that can be deemed neither
high nor low. Arrhythmic at best,
to say the least, sans discernible
-ameter. The point is all ways shifting
in time, like the bouncing ball of olde,
prompts us to sing-along, for past times’
sake, for those who’ve gone before us,
and wait. If I hold this poem up to the sky
once printed on thick opaque bond,
it can serve to shield the eyes
on days eclipsed by celestial objects
aligning their orbital sine-waves. Folded
as a fan, this poem can cool, or can serve
proxy for one’s hand to wave goodbye,
to a stranger or soul-mate or exiting goddess.
Yes, this poem is not like the rest.
© Chagall 2014
I shake baby bees
Heavy laden with pollen
From the pistils
Of flowers I’ve picked
Brought inside
While she assumes
Infinite pose
On the warm, wood slats
© Chagall 2014
Sometimes the path through the land is clear
and we merely have to traverse it
with words and delicate pen reciting
curves, contours, and lies
While other times the wood is dense
thicket, entanglements abound
barring the way to cool waters that flow
there in the snippets of life below
So carefully pace the mosaic
and choose the tiles you’ll land upon
with the greatest of care
You only get
one roll
© Chagall 2014
I discover the orb gapes
just enough to tease
me forward another
inch, I consider
myself lucky somedays
biding my time
till the seers relax
enough to forget me
when I’ll make my dash
in time’s nick to avoid
the jaw and the chomp
of the pincers
© Chagall 2014
The roar is great
at the top of the falls
and there is no end
to the drop so sound
doesn’t carry
up
I remember nothing
of the fury before
the flood here after
the mad dash
Even though to know
it signifies nothing
really
doesn’t stop my flame
from the puff
© Chagall 2014
The brace of the long-stemmed flowers
this morning, though gentle winds
they are taxed beyond their delicate
reason for being, tendrils of early frost
splayed about petals and stamen, dreams
perhaps that warmer days might come again
© Chagall 2014
Used to be so lovely
now they say I’m only
lucky just to be alive
Daybreak on the water
lighting up the harbor
drowning’s just a state of mind
Episodes happen, everybody has some
get them while you’re staring
up the frown
Pleasure is a feeling
cracks along your ceiling
hoped once that I’d fall
on through and down
Pardon me a moment
need to find an exit
jotting down a parting
line or two
Episodes happen
everybody has them
even when you stand
atop the world
Used to be so lonely
now they say I’m lucky
Simply try to stay alive
Daybreak on the water
lighting up the harbor
drowning doesn’t take much time
It’s just a state
of mind
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 