I cherished
those youngest days
so lush, wet with life,
implicate order and hope.
Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: youth
How I cherished those youngest days
so lush, wet with life,
implicate order and hope.
Chagall 2015
Down from Stuyvesant Town
a little bit up from the Boys Club
Where the bus lets you off
at Eleventh & A
About thirty feet above ground
my soul hangs suspended
I hover there to watch life pass
sweetly through a window frameless
A point of view timeless
as before is coincident now
Old city brick woven
in fire escapes
We’re once young stealing kisses
miles away at the southern tip
There the island goes dark
where two rivers meet
Alone at the point
amid too many crosswinds
Lean flat
lie back into the wall
Chagall 2015
Quickly before the fire dies
leaving us in darkness
I need to see your face
the round of your cheek
soft lash holding
a bead of tear
Chagall 2015
Your majesty, let this be writ today
Cineri gloria sera est
Glory paid to ashes comes too late
In waltz
cotton parasols like white petals
pirouette on open bud
spun this swaying lady
In tango curvy, nay brilliant
bryllyg and slythy
a perfect silhouette
A fantail shuffle
a slide-step past the moonlight
your finest top-shelf anything really
may your night be forever early
Chagall 2015
In this more recent age
of high-tech thievery and thuggery
I find myself more and more
missing my grandma, simpler days.
Chagall 2015
I will kiss your face
while you try not to giggle.
Who’s game?
Chagall 2015
She said it’s just a snowdrop anemone
a phantasm that I use to transform
materialize in a split-second wink of an eye
I steal kisses, beware!
I am peppermint patty in a fun-house light
pernicious and witty and bright and I pity
any lassie who isn’t me tonight
I am ten years old
again in a tent that I pitched at my uncle’s
one summer night incredibly long ago
ice and flame, the stars
beckoned throughout the night
I needed to see the stars all night
so I left the mesh-flap open
to let in light from so far long away ago
on warm local winds that carried the voice of cicadas
I haven’t slept since in awe of the world
once I’d slept on the ground in the beautiful light of stars
I now allow myself to float airily up
without inhibition nor gravity
intercedes
hoping
our
fall
is
a
small
one
Chagall 2015
Late autumn hot
unique humid
sea breezes in-land
colors still ablaze
I a burnt copper
in setting gold sun
reflections, perfect blues.
Chagall 2015
Comatose except perhaps in trances
I’m obliged to amble – a somnambulist I am
the wisp’s own will, a fleeting glimpse
As a flitter upon a cheek’s a lash
the softest breeze that wind can muster
flutters by
I’m lost in your shallow breathing
in a warm cocoon spun of chestnut tendril
sweet oily aromatique
It takes but a moment to finally cease
I wait just a beat, then you’ll know
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 