Archive for March, 2018

I awoke suddenly under the stars
soundlessly streaking across the sky,
and yelled out to Lawson that the other
dog was gone. Then she nuzzled my hand
and I told him to never mind.

Chagall 2018

Faster than Peter,
past acacia and carob,
I ran to the tomb.

We sang, we danced,
embraced and wept,
jumped up and down, cried out.

Our voices echoed:
the chamber there was empty
past the low doorway.

Alone in the damp,
except for our friend’s garments;
his scent was still there.

I ran past Mary,
leaving the rich man’s garden;

sweet hawthorn kindled
the fires of Golgotha,
from the day before.

Past olive, almond,
apricot, pine, turpentine,
I ran to tell them.

© Carlos Chagall, Easter Sunday, 2013

The Chagall Cheer

(with spunk and zany abandonment)
Chag – Chag – Chagallito baby
Chag – Chag – Chagallita baja

Chagall 2018

Haiku for Presence in Form

Godspeed is lightspeed
We see until we are blind
Not invisible

Chagall 2018

Cardamom Noir

I remember she smelled of Wella Balsam,
an eggnog fresh out of the shower,
creamy and delicious.

Chagall 2018

Chess Rocks!

Major avenues of access appear
with the sacrifice of the Bishop,
exposing the Queen awaiting on the diagonal,
a carved oaken femme-fatale
pinning the position, a smirk
from ear-to-ear despite
her inanimate nature.

Love, Carlos
For an old wordpress friend with green eyes

The melody haunts
on the offbeat,
my heart-pulse.

Sad, but
maybe hopeful.

The fuzzy reeds,
breath through tenors,
piano and bass
both upright shake
sand-castles loose
at the turrets.

Doubtful brushes swirl on snares
precise in ambiguous beat,
more color than anything electric.

A young girl
neon-green bikini
samba prone on her lounger
under earbuds to her own muse
or maybe disposable pop.

Surf rolls,
hear that oh-so-soft brush on cymbal?

Grab it, hold on
till fade.

Chicheme, March 2013
Chagall 2018

  • Written March 21, 2013, poolside under headset,
    listening to Miles Davis Kind of Blue, vibing with its drummer, Jimmy Cobb.

P.S. I called myself Chicheme back then.   🙂


The bird’s song is beautifully composed,
trilled variations of a theme, in long
cycles repeating, sometimes days

Articulate in the use
of punctuating silence, rhythmic quiet
where she cedes the world meter to answer

Her call to join-in singing

Chagall 2018

Coyotes eat oats, antelopes cantaloupes,
and big old bears barf barley, while a wolf
would wolf-down a waffle, maybe two.

Chagall 2018

My 100th

It will be the greatest party you shall ever attend.
I’ll probably have a pool by then and skinny-dipping
will be allowed.

Chagall 2018

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