I don’t think she would be insulted at all
if you likened her to a bowl of hot chowder –
just don’t say she went down like one
or something stupid like that,
instead focus on the nourishment
and the satiety.
© Chagall 2013
Tag Archive: poetry
My mouth probes yours
soft, dry daubs
pulls on Cupid’s Bow
the slow release
of the lower lip
a flue for fires
burned in softer centers
© Chagall 2013
Friday night, Autumn 1969 – Kitchen of a railroad flat, 12th St. off Avenue B, across from 12th St Park
Ruth’s aproned mom, tostones, hot oils, sopa de mondongo, floured curves.
© Chagall 2013
Of course it’s my field
where your horse stands
Snowflakes fry my frozen ground
chill me solely
though you are welcome to stay
if as you travel you recall
all that’s been lost
Time at the rock
and bread at the table
Crumbs at the card game
kissed away
Under blankets
and crisp sheets
Atop the lavender
beneath first snow
With Time
tense and tired
Till
Spring thaw then
Death is . . .
after all
© Chagall 2013
The story of her life,
how she flits
in and out?
Hold that thought,
she’ll be right back . . .
She’s got a thousand eyes
except for two, unlike Impressionists
who have just enough
dots in their shade
© Chagall 2013
She wears different faces for me, primal postures on black surround
a fan-dancer, angles arms and legs, in time she forms tomorrows
less certain than days gone by that certainly seemed more certain
As a human I pray but I’m open
if you think there’s a better way
She’s human too – I’m reminded, her heart beats to break, pink stars in brisk gravity
she’s crushed given time and grace, to love her is so precisely weightlessness
so we hold onto updrafts and breathe, waft about and soar in deep essing swoops
bank steep, Godspeed to the outskirts
cold air, lavender tinder, where the softest touch is all it takes
to let go
© Chagall 2013
Summer, 1963, 13th Street between Avenues A & B, across from the A&P
Old man scrapes cherry-lemon-chocolate ice, dime scoops, youth, starched white cups.
© Chagall 2013
Simple
and
deep
I
would
rather
be
versus the alternative of then otherwise having to be complex and shallow.
© Chagall 2013
She always comes and goes
Late at night, then early morning
Stays the shortest time she needs
A gasp, a sharp intake of breath
She holds, though I’ve never heard her release
© Chagall 2013
i knew a new writer
who blogged today
wordpress can’t keep up
with millions
from far and wee
who toggle
the like button fandango
ocherlicious delight
in the upper right
for edward estlin
cummings
i.e.
e.e.
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 