Tag Archive: light

Throughout Light

reflect the imperceptible
flutter of butterfly

shadow the slow
fade of the lash

backlight the winged
convocation of eagle

way above
the canopy

at the base of the blade
of scented grass

linger the day's
closing rays

cc: Chagall 2021

Nine Tenths

In my backyard, the sunlight that shines there
is mine.

© Chagall ∞

The Long Tickle

My vices are tinted
chartreuse, emerald, and puce.

© Chagall ∞


From atop the altar, a humming sound,
the sweet scent of imminent grace,
morning light imbues stained glass
with timeless palpitation, what is old
is new once, ancient olive wood
balustrades provide steady ascent.

What’s that hovering o’er the assembled?
My soul resonates with the dissonant voicing
of the towering pipe-organ.

Chant, all you chanters.
Mais oui, absolument, chanté!

The good news is that
good news is

From here atop the land-mound
I sing to the sun gods,
I reflect light back
To The Others on the land-mounds
Below Me, and They to Those
Below Them and on

We are One upon rich green rope,
buttery young olives.

© Chagall ∞

From This Time

Lately I’ve insight into the timeless,
so subtle, perception of beauty of light,
of truth, of love, needing not yesterday
nor tomorrow to be, the clearest field
of space for mind to dwell, to frolic –
indeed to play and touch, weightless.

Light engenders objects with the characteristics
of the timeless, yet I’m certain the blind
sense forever, they can stop their day
as you and I can.

I shall not believe that those with five senses
are nearer to God than those of us with just one.

I believe sight is possible without eyes,
as music is sans ears, a sigh without a heart.

We are immersion-in-sensuality regardless
of the state of our senses.

It is night, only she by the ocean
where moonlight bathes in her hair,
the luster of shadow along sand
invites her to lie and rest.

In morning sunlight she arises
refreshed and timeless.

© Chagall ∞

All In A Ray Of Sunshine

The kids outside are playing their version of fear factor,
lying down in lavender amid dozens of lazily fuzzy bees.

© Chagall ∞

Not Bergamot

No word is as lavender, in scent or color, is in life,
as a film is longer than a poem or a sigh is,
pointillists revel in innuendo, a pout once hidden
behind a shoulder, turns as time turns, twice bitten,
nipped on by lips and a tongue most tender in touch as in life
as a year is longer when newer as younger was a smile
awash in sun that clouds had hidden
away behind serious-nimble strata
upon cheeks

rained down like kisses, a softer sense, what’s ahead within
dappled then mottled, the shadows of waving leaves, offstage: the sun,
adept, persistent, a beacon perhaps, a sentry, a guard on the nod,
a star

There is no creation more possible than this one
she flies laughing-deflating, a wisp of her vanishing self,
a balloon losing air, she is ground around figure once was,
and no one is she, in blood nor marrow, as in life
as a day is longer than a poem or a sigh was.

© Chagall ∞


Here at the center of all creation, light must pass
through me to arrive on the other side

© Chagall ∞

Dearest Gaia

I pour water into the earth to watch it dissipate and percolate,
wondering where does the time go. The backs of my beach shoes

worn flat from my habit of not slipping in all the way,
my bare feet on warmed wood slats tell me I’m more alive now,

the sun underfoot, I am square, balanced atop the regolith,
a planet that spins and falls amid a din that I no longer hear,

the world that I see

as I follow the fan of my hand, implies all that there is
or nothing, depending solely on who I am, or no one.

© Chagall ∞


I cup strawberries in my hand under a stream of freezing water
The sun’s heat, stubborn at first, relents and leaves the fruit

© Chagall ∞

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