…Albeit, a short one!
Chagall 2017
Archive for August, 2017
…Albeit, a short one!
Chagall 2017
Everything I write suggests you fly away
or will you have flown?
Who would resist that you are leaving
and why you’ll be gone?
Simply put is
where I stay
Not really
solid ground
You’re so lucky to be lyrical
meant to be sung
La tra lala, is all I will ever breathe
Chagall 2017
I brood the nighttime fantastic while
she plays castanets for after all it is her fandango.
Out back there is a circle of trees that funnels
moonlight down to the ground. A place to lull
ancient hymns amid crickets after twi-star.
This is where we twirl, the reason why we dance –
trip the light. Slap palm slaps to palm to keep pace,
so many tambourinists! She is my dervish by constellate light,
I know more than merely her big stars, I’ve combed eons that sketch
her mythology, made fine pencil drawings on empty sky.
Clouds enshroud the light enshrouding the garden, we are on
the shadows reflected there as moonlight on rain, so far
removed, right here.
The softest feather of far away thunder rumbles soothingly in my brain,
a grainy living presence there in my ears and mind.
Chagall 2017
I told her I was pretty sure it was stop and shop
because you drive there, you stop and then you shop.
She said not her, she walked there, shopped, stopped
on her way out to pay, went home and started dinner.
I told her then she was right, it should be called
shop and stop!
Good night, Mom. Good night, Carlos.
Wherever we are.
Chagall 2017
In the presence of the timeless
I weep openly
Chagall 2017
I’ve become quite skilled
in unspoken word
biting my own tongue
regrets of omission rather
than ruing the things I’ve said
l’esprit de l’escalier?
my retorts are always timely
mine’s the sound of one voice
a monologue
so I’m never wrong
in my mind there are no lips
so cursing is not as pleasant
I miss furling my lip while hurling air
at that back-throat k
my mind’s in the guttural sounds it makes
down along the curb
my silence is the good fence
that makes good neighbors
so they say
I sing out loud ancient hymns
they resonate inside my head
reverberate in cool chambers
in the crypts below the abbey
you will never know just how I feel
about you my friend
until the very end
know me by my epitaph
it will read
. . .
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
The bird on the holly bush
Low to the ground singing
to elders in alder branches
From your vantage, do you see hope?
Show me then, where to fly
Pray, please guide me
Chagall 2017
i return to my device and the word application asks
want to save? implying my previous work unsaved,
i reply Yes for i trust my earlier self enough
to have made some excellent changes
Chagall 2017
sometimes I re-read things i once wrote and at first
thought they are grammatically wrong until i realize what it was i meant
Chagall 2017
The birds around my home are slower than norm
There is less urgency because of the love and abundance of riches here
Chagall 2017
Alphabet City 