Meaningless treaties
In the end the blast kills all
Butterflies rejoice
Chagall 2019
I don’t care if you are left or right – both sides suck.
Tag Archive: Peace
The bird on the holly bush
Low to the ground singing
to elders in alder branches
From your vantage, do you see hope?
Show me then, where to fly
Pray, please guide me
Chagall 2017
beyond the horizon
approaching machines
© Chagall ∞
Creatures of the kingdom appear to have homing instinct,
still I feel deep sadness for those who succeed to be lost.
© Chagall ∞
I will cash in on thespian knowledge
So I really must know how to act
Or make a fortune while foretelling karma
Still I’d owe way too much deep in debt
So I’ll seek to reap riches from relating tales
About life being grand at the edge
Where only sweet water flows across miles
Evanescent, effervescent, ever long
© Chagall ∞
Snow, an extended heaven-sent sigh
expresses its passion as a function
of the angle of its fall; precipitation
begat and chilled by the wind, a fluttery
jitterbug afoot overhead. My scarf wraps
twice to warm me, beguiled amid words that
form between flakes, they speak you know –
to warn me there just ahead is a hand
reaches out to embrace but the space between,
the chasm divide is too great, still we blow,
still we fall to the ground, a powder, a mist
slowly wisps away in time, nestled deep in the throes,
in our throwaway wraparound world we propel ourselves
deeper each time we fall, backwards off-stage I trust
you’ll catch me never let me fall,
I would break along dotted lines …
snow from afar
each little star
is snow.
© Chagall 2017
For my Dad, 5th Marines, Spearhead Division, Iwo Jima,
who lived through events that I cannot even fathom.
My dad said
just before landing
they handed out shots of
pure grain alcohol 180 proof
courage at 9 knots moving in
Higgins boats toward the island
when the bow ramp dropped the Marines in front
went face-down quickly into the ocean while the others
ran by to stake positions on the red volcanic sand surrounding the prize
Mount Suribachi
© Chagall 2016
Gravity or intent
drives the hand
down
© Chagall 2016
Still here.
I and the air are
still here.
Faint hum,
a seashore … a dynamo
maybe.
Tickles:
inside my head.
A hushed voice speaks
of a hushed voice
who speaks.
I command them both
to shush.
© Chagall 2016
There at the end of
the garden are all of
the seasons’ lessons
to be learned
So let’s Us harvest
– for unless we harvest …
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 