spider web hangs like a static wisp of smoke
in the corner up high, left of the screen door
bi-plane buzzes overhead, pulls a sign says
welcome to the new day
everywhere bells
greet suns
freshly birthed
Chagall 2019
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Want to be a good gardener?
Listen to the plant:
it will scream and point,
…please cut me here.
Chagall 2019
The lake is dark and placid,
the dock across the way is lined
with red and blue lights
shifting patterns reflected
on the water, reminds me
of far-away, and I am alone
wondering where all of you
have gone, those who stayed-
up all night, buzzed, filled
with thought and talk, excited
to be, alive, anticipation,
the next throb, the heart,
the soft touch of lips inverting
the mind and time, I yearn for
the endless night that was,
alone here alongside the water.
Chagall 2019
I’d performed more than half my routine
long before mid-morning, and still she hadn’t left.
Chagall 2019
I wondered
if there was
anything
I was
to omit
focused on
the small things
so big things
weren’t real
the soothed buzz
of an open field
sun drenches
acres
the emanation
of light
consumes me
until
is me
pin-pricked
water balloon
inside releases
and now no need
for finer details
no no-more
any more
Chagall 2019
She said
At the count of three
I will snap my fingers
and you will awake
At 2, she was struck dead.
Chagall 2019
Watermelon never so sweet as
the drink I make of her
Chagall 2019
Balance on a beam,
a palmful of light tossed aside
for ballast, I’m steady and fast
on the rail
With chin upturned
I pirouette on-toe,
en pointe I stretch
luxuriously long in-line with the length of the bar
Sun-rays bake my neck and back,
I’m a shadow against the wood-plank floor,
sprawling unwieldy without form,
but sharp – distinct – in the cool shadow of profile
Time does more than merely etch my being
against the ground of all that is,
it renders me a tear
The melody forever ascends
in broader intervals,
amid greater interims;
I anticipate the caress of each new lilt
Duet up the beach plays Jobim
Chagall 2019
I refuse to look at the sky tonight –
same old story – planes, dead stars, pitted moons,
motivates me to write timeworn tunes to the lovelorn,
pines how the heart takes flight
metaphysical, dark versus light,
sometimes fare about babes and June
frolics among flowers, the springtime bloom,
even angels on high, lost souls burning brightly
Instead this evening I plan to ascend,
arise from the planet when bells whisper midnight,
leave earth behind (I will miss you old friend)
my direction is up, two lefts…
then right when you ponder the sky this eve
you’ll see the newest constellation called Chagallus –
know that it’s me
© Carlos Chagall, 2013, 2019
Goodbye
my old friend,
will I see you
the next time around?
Chagall 2019
