Tag Archive: Writing


2 to 1 to 0 to 1 to 2

I search for the source, a vantage point
over which I hover to resonate, in order
to speak with alacrity, honored to be
the medium, the clarion voice,
le trompettiste; I flow and so
I’m a flower, a steady stream
of warm words awash in your ear,
the storm before the quell,
not merely a silent hour,
an end to separation,
a prelude to the loss
of the throb.

© Chagall ∞

Written, Love Uncertain

I’m not sure
to trust in
my ear or my heart,
impatient
to convey, to commune, to go with
the rhythm already,
shunning sidestep,
when I breathe
the wax is eloquent,
each pause
brings new delight
in asides,
innuendo
more than any tryst
captured
a lover’s imagination,
a wink in due time,
and I am merely a waif
combed in elusive fashion.

© Chagall ∞

Two Per Week

52 weeks in a year, 26 letters in the alphabet
… merely coincidence?

Time is money and money is naught and so
thought is time. I keep looking for a word
to rhyme.

She just didn’t happen upon circumstance
or the circumference of the happenstance.

Far from it.
Far be it for me to opine from afar. I’m
fairly sure that that of which I speak is uncertain.

Hold your tongue, I’ll hold mine
or yours if you prefer.

Oh,
how I’d
hold it

Right up front, before I begin, a preface to what
I’m about to say, a few opening remarks. But first …

I need to know,
how easy is it
to maintain that glow,
that wonderful charm,
that sense of the moon
while dancing

© Chagall ∞

Can a couplet convey an altering jolt similar to an epic?
How many gods does it take to screw-in a tree?

© Chagall ∞

FYI: FU2

An enthusiastic reader of blogs attempts to engage with the blogger
via comments, fills the space with her wisdom,
cites resonance with the themes, probes,
intellectually touches potential hot spots,
only to be responded to with a trite
Thank you for sharing

Shoot the load, one and done.

© Chagall ∞

She, the Zephyr

I am intrigued by her etcetera,
the ellipsis she dangles without
modifier, the comma of her petulant
being, the subtle contour of her fonts,
the page she splays open while she sings
hymns to the bare branch, the storm
she incites with mere thought. She needs
no blessing nor permission to spin
maniacally as she pleases, a dervish,
a twirl.

© Chagall ∞

I will write free verse
of the universe, letters as galaxies,
implied points clear as constellations,
stars appear closer than they seem
when seen from light years away across
the paragraphs. I invert my event horizon
to search within and strew about the detritus
of my being, hence this ramble, these lines,
served up on the tines of synapse.

© Chagall ∞

Casting Couch

Thinking of writing a screenplay for a latina
biker-type detective, call it and the character
Blue Agave

Thoughts?

© Chagall ∞

Aqua Respire

Water bead grass bayonets cut tongues,
steely dew, fondant of morning rain.

How I love to lie eye-level to ground
to look up at tall blades against the sky.

I have an itch on my cheek that only closely
coiffed tightly tufted turf can scratch.

I mistake her smile for mist or soft rain,
so similar they are in drizzle pattern.

There’s a run of slatted fence traces hillsides,
hugs the rise and the run of the land as a tribute to time.

Eyes beguile but only if you let them, don’t you let them, don’t they say?
Sometimes the wax can be saved to create brand new candles to burn.

Eye-level to ground the flames from above
cast my outline as an amber cold hollow.

That which is me which does not pass light
rests immortalized sunk into shadow.

With morning comes water nourishing.
The eye adjusts to blue. Rain sugars dew.

© Chagall ∞

When i Grow Up

I will cash in on thespian knowledge
So I really must know how to act
Or make a fortune while foretelling karma
Still I’d owe way too much deep in debt
So I’ll seek to reap riches from relating tales
About life being grand at the edge
Where only sweet water flows across miles
Evanescent, effervescent, ever long

© Chagall ∞

 

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