Tag Archive: sound


Cushiony Beach Feet

I am the samba that remains unwritten
For the space between sand and sea
The dance upon rocks polished by time
Made smooth by deep-water indigo
Bluer than wet waves, sails settle thusly at dusk
On horizons beneath sunlight ceased to fall
To fail to bring light, a blow to grace
A jab to faith, a tinker’s blow to pierce
The armored scowl, the incalculable wonder of eyes
The ponderous pout, beget and be gone
Forgotten, nay a fadeaway dappled in corduroy
Supplicants or another vicarious agenda, indigenous
More than formulaic, naturalized to exist right there
As it must in a flow of energy besieging my optic nerve
I exist to impart everything, I defy thrombosis for I bore
Deeper than the vein of inflammation, the zone of wizened trespass
Thank you for the bodies receptors, for warm city nights
For carousels and the songs that they play, the march of grand horses
Somewhere glasses touch, each a soft mallet upon the other to rub gently
Searching for the warm tone, the sensual rub of globes
I am that samba that snaps you back to the beach
In cool day, in bright coveted morning
Amid constant pressure despite inclination toward shade
Over-anxious more than unctuous or ingratiating
A tip of the hat coincident with the wink is elementary sparkle
The samba that returns like the surf does
Though sometimes it stops
It’s true, so samba through
To the space between sand and sea
Samba, there is where I want to be
Samba, gesticulate, a cuba libre
Leaning out over the rail of the balcony overlooking sand and surf
A small fox at dusk darts furtively through the rough sandy brush
The backs of houses along the dunes along the beach along the ocean
Darkness settles on salted breezes aromatic with land crabs
Less fearful to exit their holes this time of day just before night
When the number of stars and wan atmosphere rival the majesty, the ocean’s roar
In pitch blackness, the world of the blind
The roar of sound dominates the ear
And so goes the body, I am the waves you hear
Of this there’s no denying
I am the song of the samba receding

© Chagall ∞

Haiku for Sara Remarked

Eternal bright light
Her soliloquy honey
Evergreen deep rain

© Chagall ∞

 

Ta-Da!

My enjambement is intended to make
make you stutter, step a-
round stuff, leap …
stick
the landing.

© Chagall ∞

To A Tee, Baby!

I have certainly been less legato of late,
still I’m not quite yet pizzicato.

© Chagall 2017

Friday Warmup

Verbally conjugating verbs
during conjugal visits

Possible draconian measures
by the benevolent order of Sisters

The jiggling of the cord was
no cause for ellipsis

Precisely varicose veins
judge not the eclipse

Druids draw fluids nervously
surmising bang for the buck

F&@k!
(hard stop)

(big finish)
And that’s what it’s all about!

© Chagall 2016

Nothing But a Space-Time Thing

I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.

Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.

© Chagall 2016

Ice Chips

The night is crisp, autumnal.
Bourbon sweeter.
My son and his petite amie
at a friend’s cabin while they’re away.
With them, a bag of sweet potatoes
I grew and cured, for roasting
over the wood fire they’ll make.

Life is good.
Peepers sing earlier
than usual tonight. Harmonics from breezes
to trees to shape the glass arc of our ears
to blow gently in them.
I am yellow aged orange inflamed
dared to go red before withering.

I pray to the last gold ray of sun
there in the tall eastern trees
that refuses to say die to another day.

© Chagall 2016

Big Finish

The gaze paints a portrait of
you, lilac and oceanic.

Room-light a dying candle
– the last flame licked, wisps of smoke … the wick –
flutters then dies in evening wind.

The house is dark
save pinholes of stars
where once were windows.

I float here easy as I do
sand or water. Dancing
blue-white as moonlight on snow.

And everywhere, everybody, everything
seems to hum
om.

© Chagall 2016

Incoming Zoo Shipment

arid
dry
rhinos
landed
today

oh
that’s
what
that
smell
is!

Chagall 2016

Chatting In The Drift

I am intrigued by how blizzard snow removes reverb from the world
how your voice carries urgent presence atop cold flat air

Chagall 2016

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