Tag Archive: poetry


My Terms

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Conceived this time of a timeless place
I dispense with what I once thought indispensable
making long strides and good time across heavy wood
where the tensed remains of the slaughter
anticipate rebirth, revenge: dormant, latent, and underfoot

I walk on air a step at a time
to scale the canopy, to climb to richer vantage

I observe as I hover, as I sow I pray
to be blessed with bounty

I am spared heartbreak of mythical size
humbly seeking no lesson or lasting sorrows

My joy need be your joy and you shall stoke
a flame if I ask

© Chagall 2014

Hello Dark

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In the first still of the evening
when branches hold their last light
and the dying day looks back and deems itself good,
when nothing moves – even birds on a limb
and sound travels in short waves

fireflies rehearse their lines
they stutter in quirky hover
oh what to say to the dark, kisses or whispers
small blue pilot flames throughout the trees
blink once since they like what they saw

and every now and then
a rousing wind that sweeps it all
clean, accelerates clouds through violet skies

the transition comes quick, deadly serious
day turns to night, the food chain resets
ancient hunters and petite nymphs begin to grace
the heavens in jeweled patterns conceived as
perforations, star paths which one tears
to recollect segments of sky

© Chagall 2014

Saving Early Spuds

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I grabbed her off the vine
this Colorado Potato Beetle
and immediately considered
crushing her in two or three.

The damage she had wrought
was absolute, death warranted.

But I decided to send a message
to the others out there hovering.

I held her by her stupid shell
and dangled her high there
above the earth covered with
dead blossoms and barren leaves.

I brought my face to hers and
I told her very distinctly:
Stay away from my Yukon Golds
if you want to live – you get me?

And tell the others to do the same.
I squeezed so she’d get the point
then released my fingers and watched
her fly away, a tiny ball of copper.

© Chagall 2014

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I start with a notion of myself
from which all else grows

my cheek sinks into a cold pillow
and I heave a sigh for having never felt
this good

under a spell –
a concussion, under water

harmonic
metallic dinghies

upside down in waves along an island sporting
a solitary palm tree

rarely have I backstroked
this long or so well

just like my mother,
I’m buoyant

© Chagall 2014

Too Fleet

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I laugh joyously
amid tears and soft rains
breathing in warm pulse
how lavish our bodies tickle

I relish the musk
of morning and dread
the steady advance of noon

© Chagall 2014

The Lilt

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She’d hold me and sing
minted breath and curls of auburn
the darkness holds green swirls
there against the black negative
tension at the hollow of her neckline
ghosted images along the perimeter
her voice nary a whisper in perfect pitch
till she fades and succumbs to the mist

© Chagall 2014

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Summer samba
drifting to the
hotel window
where curtains blow
so softly

Standing here in
salted air on
barefoot toes
I stretch and reach
for stars not there

And yet so real
so real, so real

© Chagall 2014

The Frolic Of Fonder Hearts

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In silence
I hear the choirs,
taste the sweet abundance
of the fast

My body surrenders
to engage the energy
behind closed eyes
of swirling fractal beauty

From the pocket of my mind, loose change empties
as I spring up to plant a handstand

© Chagall 2014

Maha Kalpa

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The rare earth halides used in premiere Gaia
those crystalline lattice parameters
formed fused stars and nano-stripes
in homage to magnetic electrons

The angstroms were close
but ever so slightly off
so we started again
on the next day of Brahma
around the time of the birth
of Kali

The rest, as they say
is Her story

© Chagall 2014

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In morning sun I bend down low
to pick the ready berries
spreading through the patch

To reach those in the middle and back
I lie down prone and support myself
hovering over the berries in a modified pushup
one tensed hand planted in a plant-free zone
while I detach the small red fruits with my other

The hairy tendrils of the running vines tickle my belly
exposed there at the hem of my cutoff while cupped soft white flowers
pucker gently at my breasts

In surrender I lower myself onto the patch
and feel the spongy root mounds
mold my pelvic area

The earth holds me aloft in this never-ending free fall
I have never felt more solidly buoyed
or tethered to the Mother

I breathe in the moss
and my heat rises
I ache and reel in the scent of loam,
my own sweat, and a waft of lavender
hovering close to the ground, sweet on a warm zephyr

I am the goddess of the morning
as I turn to face the sky, lie on my back
and palpitate sexually under the heavens

I throb while the sun traces me
highlights my form
and pronounces me real

© Chagall 2014