The hottest summer on record,
go-kart fuel and peppermint lip-gloss.
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: poetry
Her self-awareness makes her human,
in art, it’s her flaw.
A short wave I’ll ride
till a time when I can’t.
A fingertip at the waist
twirls us in.
My shoulder-blades touch the floor.
Momentum can take you
where air can’t.
She says that moments like these
are rarer.
Than what?
I will always kiss
you when you shrug.
When you stretch out
lean, en pointe or flex
I live to trace
your arcs.
© Chagall 2014
Mother and kid hawk in quiet soar
in tight and tightening circles, just morning,
don’t ever concede or succumb to those without passion,
would rather die.
© Chagall 2014
Lately I talk
more and more
to myself
finding I
enjoy my
own company
immensely
– been
beside myself
essentially
© Chagall 2014
A bird tonight in the garden broke pattern
and let wail with a phrase much like bebop – or maybe Philly soul,
to the mutual delight and chagrin of red-breasted, blue-feathered kin
stark naked and tucked away in the greenest canopy,
who attribute it all to seduction of starlight
© Chagall 2014
The moment you cease to dream
is.
© Chagall 2014
The night fills with different patterns,
strange constellations – certainly not mine.
Whose sky is this?
Breezes, sharp zephyrs in trees
and sprites on-hand blow hardest,
then fade, then die.
Too many times,
but once is too many
maybe.
And lights
go out.
In the firmament
and across the way,
chariots where once there were cradles.
Such a strange sky.
© Chagall 2014
And in that single exhale
eternal release
© Chagall 2014
In my dream it’s before the loss,
he’s that little boy in the flowers
running about me with a garden hose
soaking my blouse, he laughs crazily
happy, his short hair beaded
with sweat and water, and each of those
reflects the sun of a gone again
perfect day.
© Chagall 2014
I’m not certain why the garden slants that way
perhaps to accommodate some ancient root
by its steppe it dials in perfect light
follows the curve of the land
from rise to late when whistles blow
fleeting hours when day is long
Though you’re right
it does seem odd now
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 