It’s near quitting time
another day a dollar
life comes in small spurts
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Archive for September, 2013
To let life rush by
till the last day when you say
Now – oh! – I see it
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Were they private,
your reveries?
What makes a day
less perfect?
Was the tour
never whirlwind enough?
Enough time
for our echoes to fleet?
Finally, days
last.
By fire, wishes
grew warm, sometimes fond.
Regards were not always
best.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
She was different
would dally-dilly
skelter-helter
running there and here
fro and to
in the time of nick
she held me
in the heart of her beat
on a prayer and a wing
kisses and hugs
or hugs and kisses
it really didn’t
(didn’t really) matter
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I completely lost my vision
on the Avenue A bus today
the whole world went suddenly
totally dark
my optic nerve
just lost its groove
then light again
with varying focal lengths
competing
for my attention
myopia to Indiana
cornfield depth
that left me just
a little agog
cockeyed for sure
clearly uncertain
At my elbow
an elderly beautiful lady
bathed in radiant light
prisms of so many colors
asked me if I was feeling alright
and I said
I feel fine
thank you, and you?
but she just smiled and turned away
But not before
I could see that she once
had kaleidoscope eyes
and I asked
Hey, aren’t you Lucy?
She shifted to face me square
and exclaimed
My God, man! How did you know?
And I explained we’d met years ago
at a place called Junior’s Cave
You’re more wrinkled now
I told her
so much more wizened with age
I watched as she turned to pay the fare
for a couple just boarding the bus
Then she sprang up
too spry for her years and said
Got to go, this is my stop
keep the faith
rekindle the spirits
who used to linger here
when the world was no better off
but didn’t have the means to know
Seeing now quite clearly,
I watched her transform
into a tall and long-legged blonde hair back
in bell bottoms and flowing batik top
barefoot, skipping
into Tompkins Square Park
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
If September calls
tell her I’m still with Summer
stowing dreams away
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Drama queens seem
to come to their own
in Act 2 Scene 1
the plot thickens
like a stew or a jam
a brogue or a brick
thick I think
like that
run scales up and down
just to loosen the throat
shake their hands
get the willys out
stretch and bend
pointe and flex
prep
for that wondrous moment
the aria
the coup de grâce
Plié center stage
slit their throat
all the time plotting
how they’ll tell their friends
how unjust and unfair
the world is
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
The allure of her
is a purr and a tickle
my lines are longer
more graceful than hers
speaking bodies now,
not words
the enchanted dance
on rough floors
atop tables
in vain flamenco
my how she’s skilled
the art of castanet
hips like pistons
thrust like bayonets
in smoky rooms
silken powdered hands
draw tatted curtains
free from clinging
bodies static
electric
small sparks of blue
light in the dark
under covers
purr and allure
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
It’s colder now
than it was July
I’ve never been here
in the morning
in the air
just a little less magic
than the fine smoke
from the chimneys down there
where I’ve passed
through without cause to hover
or idle
or ever belong
but I breathe
and I know
the cold
tells me so
in steam
and labored pants
atop this hill
I watch the Main Line wake
break the day
in a prayer by the river
I will keep this fast
I will go down slow
I will revel
in my longing
© Carlos Chagall. 2013
Please see this related post Main Line PA
Overcast here on the beach
I blend
just another gray
in monochrome
thin silhouette of a girl
far away
but I know
she an others shadow
strata of land
and sea
and sky
and souls
spread thick and wide
in a charcoal sketch
I frame the scene
and whether to use
crayon or oil
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 