as a pointillist I dabble in implication, you infer sky and water from dots I render the eyes' sweet surrender to that which is not I touch the blue by the sky inside you, provoke the memory of dappled green whorls of afternoon sun diffract lazily off the pond reflecting nearby reindeer lichen you the viewer are yourself once again twice stippled cc: Carlos 2021
Tag Archive: poetry
I got no salt on my egg no sugar in my coffee or butter on my bread but I don't give a damn ...'cause I a'int a'int got you cc: Chagall 2021
Come with me! I know a place where there are updrafts still You can catch your wings and soar Icy blue winds near the edge of horizons Very thin air so easy to breathe So little remaining cc: Chagall 2021
now and then I end up in this timeless morning where memory and hope reconcile to define me I yearn for that which I already have longing for just a moment longer I am best when I am in stark relief against the world I am the figure or the ground timeless life is art cc: Chagall 2021
there it is, that distinct aroma a wind of the past a breeze of the gone a flash of laughter once, now lost somewhere in the deluge, somewhere in the design supine on the detritus a back-float on time ethereal buoyant, I fall from a rooftop farewell, receding sky welcome home whispers the blue cc: Chagall 2021
My love poem to you has been translated
by one from your land and language. It says:
My major organs leap from their confines to enable
coexisting in the same ethereal space as your exultations.
Clearly the word was intended to be “exhalations.”
© Chagall ∞
At the core of my existence I am certain
that poets exist on beautiful celestial orbs
other than earth
© Chagall 2017
I cry nowadays
At the drop of a hat
All about me
Berets and fedoras
©Chagall 2016
I came across
my draft of a poem
started a while back
It reads as if
we’d been interrupted
for all it says is
She
Chagall 2016
Have you considered recently
refurbishing your haberdashery
or buying a brand-new commode, maybe armoire?
Some words must be paired
as fine wines vis-à-vis
fish or chicken.
Grassy, picked too young –
this one’s a hint of chocolate.
Barring any unforeseen outcomes
I’ll bet the barista falls madly in love
long before we reach five stanzas.
Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 