Tag Archive: Peace


When i Grow Up

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 ∞

 

Your Beautiful Year

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

Sulfur Island

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

Folk Art

Gravity or intent
drives the hand
down

© Chagall 2016

Quiet

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

Opening Lines to Ode to Peace

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

Let There Be

The universe is staging
a trillion-photon march on creation
to show us how solidarity’s done

Anywhere that light is
that’s where you’ll find me

© Chagall 2016

Once Again, Battenkill

Morning atop a large rock, a stone lily pad
in the middle of the stream a team-span wide
while cold waters lap at the edges, one can ride dry
at the high round rump. I’m here in perfectly old,
tattered blue-wool pullover weighted right against the vigor
of this new day; how wonderful so much morning remains
to while away.

Dense clusters of small gnatty flyers dance in ancient patterns
in the rays of early sun, radiant light, pervasive heat
waves in mirage, they flutter there bursting from vernal pools.

Rainbows used to dance here, leave small wakes, glide on eddies,
do backstrokes, with no one watching; masterful puppeteer of lightweight test,
set dry flies still, perfectly still, with but the slightest tremor, concentric break of the surface, from the rainbow’s vantage, just enough to stir curiosity,
a sniff, a poke, enough to spring the snap.

Nothing sadder than a rainbow in mid-air, regretting prior impulse,
the change is sudden, inevitable, decisive.

Snow on Battenkill falls in crunches, bunches in feet to yards
high, the wisteria that bough low to the banks, shaggy warm under cold,
lilac tongues out panting, with winter body heat home to dead butterfly larvae;
dome holds the sound in, the sound out; you can walk anywhere,
the terrain is level, white and wet.

Though not witnessed by anyone or anything, I left footprints in November
in the carry along the north rise, that held their shape and depth,
through March.

I look forward to final frost, to clear and distinct birthing,
of all that is, there ever was; the future is merely supposition,
isn’t it? The ice, the same as the dew.

I would rather choke on the freezing waters filled with silt from the moving
running bottom, than trapped in the upper layers locked frozen in time.

Chagall 2016

Please see here for the original Battenkill

Not Just One

The world is soothed by soft refrains,
life’s lulling opioids amass to mask
all pain and sorrow

If you existed you’d know the same as I
in footsteps misted, feet of holy water
just barely enough to drown in

Chagall 2016

8 Billion Person March

To those who see
in infra-red
we are all
the same color

Chagall 2016

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