Tag Archive: sentience


Canopy Five

I've been practicing a lot of bebop lately
playing heads and I'm running riffs and I
notice the birds in the trees 'round my way 
are trilling and stretching out more on their chorus

cc: Chagall 2021

Throughout Light

reflect the imperceptible
flutter of butterfly

shadow the slow
fade of the lash

backlight the winged
convocation of eagle

way above
the canopy

at the base of the blade
of scented grass

linger the day's
closing rays

cc: Chagall 2021

Requiem

on my way inside
I pass a furry bee
busy by the screen door

she is beautiful
in sunlight

I say 
Take care of things
out here while I'm gone!

cc: Chagall 2021

Full Circle

to be 
post-modern 
when the modern age 
hasn't yet ended

behind in these times
so gratefully, gracefully

a gull over water 
arcs in a breeze
deep deafened hurtle 
to drown head-first

in life

one foot 
in front of some other
one-at-a-time
once 

upon a time,
this silent oath:
I am

cc: Chagall 2021



But Where Did You Go?

This morning a butterfly sleeps
on the screen of my porch with antennae
lightly cupping the mesh

I stare deep into her round compound eye
and blow gently along her abdomen

She stirs, lifts off in flight then vanishes

Chagall 2017

Conflicted

I started to write a poem then shifted
to write a song

Chagall 2017

Butterfly 2.0

if you and i were hummingbirds
you would never alight at the feeder
but instead would draw nectar pulsing midair wildly
frenetic and i would simply perch, sip, occasionally peek
over our shoulders

to the jet stream, my dear?

© Chagall ∞

Warm Rivulets Between Rills

You remind me of someone you were, how you do that
so perfectly effortless

Evoke the we that we were
cue the salty sea air

Everything about then is beach-washed
designs, that’s how I remember

How could it be otherwise, the
other times we would soar

Just a little
bit more

We remind us
of then

Join me. Inhale – long –
and hold it gently.

© Chagall ∞

Everything is television so be certain to retain an outlet,
a way to get off the air.

© Chagall ∞

 

Preamble

One more morning
I’ll write. Gray,
sure. Air with the
same scent and feel
as that day, you bet.

The need – the ache –
to hold onto anything
that doesn’t slip away.

Perhaps the living is
easy and the writing
tougher.

Sound attests
to the existence of time
as sure as motion does
yet so much timelessness
in the rustle, the whisper
of leaves on canopy branches
high among the zephyrs. I
grow dizzy to imagine myself
there at the top looking down.

Maybe I’ll feel more today and
write less about it, pull in
the shutters, the sash.
Still, here on the inside
I fashion small chips
of graphite into pencil
an essential element
to build strong bones.

With enough sun and love
a stand of kindred spirits
can endure forever.

© Chagall ∞

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