Somewhere in time
there’s a Mister Softee truck
pulling up alongside my curb
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: poetry
It was when he told me that
his lucky number was nine because
nine was the first prime number,
that I started to view him
differently.
© Chagall 2014
Forget about frocks and sacraments, if you would
for a moment shake the vestments, the wafers, martyrs and saints
and rejoice instead on the preponderance of we who would ponder,
who know that simply to ponder is a privilege pervaded by what constitutes God.
© Chagall 2014
She said there appeared to be
far too many, more than she’d ever
imagined there would be.
And whether she spoke of souls or stars,
we’ve agreed to be not certain.
Our pact proclaims that the exclamation
in and of itself
is enough.
In free fall
she the poet loses
her punctuation –
sublimely, she surrenders
a pliable palladium who drops her guard
to sweeter moments, rocks away slowly – certainly slower
when she’s asked to hesitate and think on the upbeat prior the bar.
And baby
still smokes.
© Chagall 2014
I loved her like
a first-cousin air kiss
such a sweet miss on a
Saturday, powdery puffed
in pink, no less, and certainly no more chatter
please . . .
she’d pout, then pucker –
we’d tucker, eventually.
Just a jiggle, a wink
and a sigh.
© Chagall 2014
I don’t aspire so much as I dream
about life once lived and twice when wonderful
sparks spirited us away; just a loll, a roll across water
on our backs and bellies sliding, free-wheeling and side-winding.
Pressed for time
all the time
it seemed.
Eternal weighs us from too far off, unfulfilled not a good place to fall, these tow-away zones
are paved to hurt, no shade here or there nor
anywhere for that matter.
What will be befitting your final embellishment?
Adjustable tonal flora becomes you, as you fade away
and become it.
It’s only rock ‘n’ roll –
right?
© Chagall 2014
At each turn
nothing but unearthed arrowheads
point the way.
It lurks –
simply put.
Does one not breathe?
Or maybe all too well,
finally.
I stare down,
I’ve seen these feet before.
Tiptoes,
usually
graceful
exits.
Sometimes I click,
flitter and sputter.
Just so long
that you saw
is enough.
© Chagall 2014
Wish you were here
to help me
harden the plants.
© Chagall 2014
It might not be a gateway
but o’ don’t it make
you curious?
© Chagall 2014
Life’s a mist
I can not gather
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 