Archive for September, 2013


Heights

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September 16, 2013

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Drums
syncopated bass
crazy trills
somewhere
in-between the beat

Hitting heights
beyond the wuthering

Let me rub you
up and down
my Cathy

We race downhill
hyper-ventilate
along the moors

never breathed air
so cold
so pure
so crisp
alive in a moment
that’s framed
in amber

did I mention
I love you
for all eternity?

the look on my face
is stoic
perhaps

but it’s truly
timeless

let me end here
in casual
arabesque

can I phrase it
any simpler?

Fog rolls in
and I’m confident
that tomorrow
brings the sun

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Babe, Are You there?

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Gonna roll
with the alcohol

did you miss me?

crisp, rolling
greens
I stumble down stairs
so gracefully

and catch you in
a sun-swept stairwell

deep kisses
right before our shift

I will taste you
all day long

you make my day
all day long

never been a woman
looked so good
in an escapade

aroma about your hair
like the sweetness of
new cut lawn

and your sex
burnt marshmallow
on the tips
of my being

I could just stop here
and make the poem complete

but I hate to call it
a night

are you with me babe?
press like if you feel me

Sunday
end of summer
2013
earth
first
and only
time around

would a soul kiss
really hurt
anybody?

Is there a lady out there
ready to bare
her cyber soul?

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Intimacy

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Get close
get ear tight
cheek to cheek
my sweet

Can I kiss you?

Do you feel the life
the moment
the now?

God
an electric wire

Ride with me
on the mainline

don’t look back
keep the faith
and the flow

even when it’s over
it’s not

it’s really just
beginning

let’s both make it
alive

no room for slips
into anything
other
than the edge

all night long
don’t let the day

catch you crying

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Love You All

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Three sheets to the wind
and shooting for four
let the games begin
me hearties!

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Limbo

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September 15, 2013

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They all looked so rejuvenated
really quite sublime

in their top hats, tails, and evening gowns
organdy – I’m sure

a cut above the rest on parade
humble, not haughty

bewildered, they wonder what happened
so detached from life

now that they’ve passed through the final stage
await decisions

left, right, up, down, in, out, heaven, hell
the envelope please

and the award for best life goes to . . .

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Bright Blessed Days, Dark Sacred Nights

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This weekend there’s a deadly bombing
at a funeral for one who bombed

this more recent bomber
was killed in the act
by others who were killed
themselves in the course
of retaliation

friends and family
of the first bomber
deceased

but not before killing
at least twenty-one people

You following me?

Somebody please
cue Louis Armstrong!

. . . and I say to myself,
what a wonderful world . . .

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Bubbles Floating Up From My Box

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Folks need
to learn
punctuation.

There’s rarely (never?) a comma
after a question-marks the spot.

And what’s so hard
about opening and closing
quotes? Again,
it’s only a comma
or its cousin.

Some people
have carts pulling
horses.

It’s sort of OK
if you’re not from here,
though I think
this is universal –
no?

And I’m not talking
about license where you
disregard with style
the rules
to flaunt ambiguous
enjambement
for the sake
of poetic
enchantment
or some crazy
one-of-a-kind
thing

I’m talking fundamentals,
basics, just the rite
of entry.

Yeah – you!
Do I stutter?

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Swung On And Missed

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I told her I wanted
to buy a swing
like the one I had
as a kid

A backless cold metal
slab on two chains
at each end
symmetrical A-frames

Momentum
slow gravity
arcs at first
and then perpetual motion

in space I rise
and then I fall
the plunge
just makes me go higher

a shallow curve blossoms
I carve a path
like a Maestro’s arms
to beckon crescendo

I look down at the ground
at the sky back to ground
on the back-swing
back to the sky

at the highest point
of my youth I felt

I would probably live
forever

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Pater Noster

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The priest this morning said
Let us call to mind
our sins

and I did

there’s mainly two
recurring

in a year I think
I can halve that

the other
I just don’t know

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Breath Mist

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The weather’s changed
there’s a chill in the air
feels like a chukka boot day

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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