The world is soothed by soft refrains,
life’s lulling opioids amass to mask
all pain and sorrow
If you existed you’d know the same as I
in footsteps misted, feet of holy water
just barely enough to drown in
Chagall 2016
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The pigeon mumbler
on East 12th Street
released his flock
at the same time
Papo’s kite took flight
resulting in tangled
echelon high above New York,
while I
on my fire escape
midway through 100
sun salutations got
caught in the fray
toppling 7 stories
to hard cement, dead
but for a moment exactly
as per the prophecy
Chagall 2016
The shaman’s
a scam and
the sandman
knows it!
Chagall 2016
Here’s what we do
’cause we’ve got to get ready
Listen to propagandists less
for what they say and
more for what they don’t
They all purport a hale hello
but we all know
They really mean
goodbye
Chagall 2016
She waits.
Starlight
appears
now. Then
she cries
softly
alone.
Chagall 2016
Existence
is is-ism, isn’t
it?
Chagall 2016
I am
in awe
of all.
I name
it God.
Now I’ve
lost the
wonder.
Chagall 2016
Her soul
refrains the great
songs of her past lifetimes
she’ll rest complete, spent, the coda
a hush,
a poem
recited before the last fire,
upturned faces glowing
all fade away:
her time
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Low-intensity
red stars
around us
everywhere
dim and unseen
The brightest
are fewer
but we see them
no matter how
far away
Yes they’re the first
to burn then fade
flickers at the rim
of time
Since Creation
there’s not
a smaller M-type star
that’s yet died
Chagall 2016
She handed me an oar
pointing to the small dugout
there on the bank
Row briskly
downstream
warily
God is
real
Life is naught –
a dream
Chagall 2016
