I scanned the headlines for the day’s losses
and found on page 3
3 dead in Sinai
horrendous surely.
But I thought it’s a big world
and less than 5
across the globe
is not bad – right?
Until I realized that what I originally thought
a sports story was actually driving
the count up exponentially
what with scores dead
in Nigeria.
We’ve such a long, long
way yet to go.
Blessings and peace
to all good sacred people.
© Chagall 2014
I embraced your arrival
so I will hold you as well
when you perish, you will taper
and disappear to leave behind
an asterisk, the ripple
of a damselfly on the lake
pure crystal tone
© Chagall 2014
Tatted lace about the heart
of the secretly admired
is over time tattered.
Let’s not unveil our eyes,
not yet.
The spun world
welcomes lovers,
you’ve heard
the old song say.
It all comes undone,
your hair, your belt,
your inner peace,
when this reddest heart’s
at bay.
I will cherish
your innocence
until I won’t,
so sadly.
Farewell love,
time will have
no need to heal
this time.
Starched white tatting
hold sway, this Happy
St. Valentines Day.
© Chagall 2014
In hallowed field
on sandy dune ‘neath waxing moon
till morning sun
She sings of loss
such sorrow sweet, radiant heat
lustrous new day
Her golden throat
arpeggios lost in throes
scales as heaven would
Grace notes flourish
the melody forever free
soul embellished
There is no song
she cannot sing, she’s everything
if only love
© Chagall 2014
Like the caricature assailants they shoot up at ranges
I’m riddled with a grouping of golden pellets
right around my heart, a corona of dead-eye shots
unready, aimless, yet fired upon, hollow-head bullets
from your trusty sights, in the short cross-hairs
you are my assassin, the sniper in the tower
watching me downwind, larger than life
in your scope, just a gentle pull, a rat-a-tat
and I’m blown away
© Chagall 2014
Those who love love-lost
slowly drown glub-glub
mouth-to-mouth
kisses can
resuscitate
Clear!
© Chagall 2014
White noise
not a little but
a lot of static
a yard of broken glass, where old hearts
lie as bases for games
we play and we slide
into home where we sleep
unaware that we sleep, in any sense
of the word we vow
to uphold the word
and the world is no better for having spun
its yarns
strangle
but keep us warm where there’s need
to sleep with one, two, three eyes
open, dear one
dearest one, the purest
of pure form aspire
to one day inspire, be
all of the days
we settle for less
no more
© Chagall 2014
I miss my mother
young memories of her eyes
my first creation
© Chagall 2014
I’m sorry I have not paid a call
the weather’s been harsh and what with
time on the march
and all
All send their love
as they did that last day
Days we set out
in search of the heart,
so much good in the world, we’d thought
Expect we will see each other
soon
After all, dear Sara
is far too long
© Chagall 2014
My neighbor’s light shines through the dense trees
between us, feathery pine branches diffract the beam
so holy such that there in the woods,
revealed now and then by the wind,
the star of Bethlehem floats,
a cross blurred gold casts frigid glow
across fields of ice, cold-blue
in the wane of yesterday’s moonlight.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 