Here.
Is.
The end.
Chagall 2016
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Here.
Is.
The end.
Chagall 2016
I hold my head
I move my hands
sculpted fingers
In poised asymmetry
I trace rotations
about my core
I am the orbits
of moon around earth
around sun
I am
polyrhythm
Chagall 2015
here where there
is no
rip cord
nor zip line
i howl full bore
lost at the timberline
here where the air
is thin unseen
creatures scurry
i can
hear where they’re
hidden
lit towns
below me beckon
there where her
heart lies
there where there’s
no rest for the weary no
rest for the weary
no rest i remain
here where there’s
dark where i am the heir
apparent to invisible matter
Chagall 2016
Delicate is
perhaps
too indelicate
a word for what
i have in mind
it’s much more
misted
nuanced
unveiled
expelled air
barely emerged
ex nihilo
create
state
change
transition
the question:
who you are?
Chagall 2016
For those poets who need to dance more. You know who you are! 🙂 —Chagall
A midnight bolero on the beach,
upright bass, piano, congero,
dos Latinas sing harmony
of lost loves, what could-have-been,
good and bad.
We shuffle our feet bare
through the sand
finding the beat
in the center of our soles
weighty and balanced.
How can one woman
smell and taste so good?
I carry your flavor,
exhale your scent.
We swing, sway
as one, navel
to navel, thigh
to thigh.
On barren shore, in silhouette,
palm to cheek, lips to the long
vein of your throat.
On the downbeat,
small light kisses.
Latinas in minor thirds,
so sad.
The rhythm of the trio
finds the upbeat to its liking
imparts a feel of flight,
of never letting go,
to search but not to find
release.
We are grooved deep in sand,
perfectly slotted, orbits
from millions of eternities,
beneath stars that burn hot
but not away.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
For…
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. . . let all the children boogie
I picked her up 8 PM
As she locked the front door
I stood aside breathing in deeply
the cold winter sky
Where are we off to?
she asked excitedly
Pointing up I blurted
Orion Nebula, a star-forming region
below Rigel and Betelgeuse
there’s some folks I’d like you to meet
After staring at me long and hard, she said
Wait here a moment, let me grab my gloves
Chagall 2015
I’ve had it for the night
The club is smoky, the vibe less tight
Than certainly I would have crafted
She is boring, probably bored
Hasn’t heard me the first time
So I shout over the music
The tune is called
Monosyllables Affirm The Humdrum
To which she says Oh
and nods
Chagall 2016
I write at a desk
with a window behind me
When my screen goes dark
it reflects the sky
that spans there
over my shoulder
Where a red-tailed hawk
on air currents glides
circling my login prompt
Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 