Are you contributing value
or merely yapping?
Chagall 2017
Archive for August, 2017
To undo writers’ block
write about your writer’s block
Interject
a compelling thought
Choose from:
a. Submit to the block, go cook, play guitar, kiss or slide into third (wink)
(Question to Self: will Dear Reader understand the preceding allusion?)
b. Go around, far-away and aslant of the block. Need I say more?
(Note to Self: probably will need to say more)
c. Crash through the block like a modern-day avenger: Fuck you, Block!
And there you have it.
Best regards for an incredible Friday!
—CC
What is there
after you’ve flown?
Where are you
once you touched down?
Careful there on the ledge,
perhaps you’ll not fly again.
How sad to have flown
for the last time.
When up is down
to fall is to fly.
How joyous to have
flown at all.
I’d have thought
clouds to be harder.
I invert when I fly
for I am the sky.
So inwardly
I fall.
Alight on soft pockets
of air.
Dust
on air.
I pray while
I fall.
The whole planet
is falling.
We spin and we turn and
we tilt and we yaw.
The earth rushes to us
once befallen.
© Chagall ∞
I grow weary of the couplet, such a shame
as it’s how I halve my quatrains
Soon I’ll offer nary
more than a letter
Welcome dear reader
to “name that thought”
© Chagall ∞
I live above a couple
farming bamboo in their flat,
I pray they’re not successful.
Rapidly growing aggressive members of
tribe Bambuseae are known to impale from below.
The fastest can grow nearly three feet a day
(that’s 90 cm for you smarter people).
My bed is low, my mattress is thin,
the odds – they shift daily.
© Chagall ∞
She said
I will miss you when you go
expecting I’d respond
And I you
because then she would know
So instead I said
You’re nuts, you know?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
if you and i were hummingbirds
you would never alight at the feeder
but instead would draw nectar pulsing midair wildly
frenetic and i would simply perch, sip, occasionally peek
over our shoulders
to the jet stream, my dear?
© Chagall ∞
You remind me of someone you were, how you do that
so perfectly effortless
Evoke the we that we were
cue the salty sea air
Everything about then is beach-washed
designs, that’s how I remember
How could it be otherwise, the
other times we would soar
Just a little
bit more
We remind us
of then
Join me. Inhale – long –
and hold it gently.
© Chagall ∞
Though I have more than I had
as a kid growing up,
I am poorer
now than ever.
It appears
the world
disappears
to leave
harsh seams.
I wonder:
How many lives ago?
My future builds
affixed to itself
sans blueprint
but the past collects
by design.
Despair to look back
to revel in excitement
one once had to look forward.
I sense
a mosaic of sound and color
forms at the edge.
Behind me or ahead
I’m uncertain,
purely as a matter
of principle.
© Chagall 2013
I will kiss your face
while you try not to giggle.
Who’s game?
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 