For Chloe
Original Composition
Carlos Chagall – Guitars
Sebastien Greco – Vocals
Dee Rivera – Bass
Babe Cuadrado – Drums
Latest Entries »
Have I been guilty since innocence died
or is it just a passing phase,
to turn a phrase faster than the other cheek
we turn, we dance in light yet received
here in passing glance from the corner of eyes
I’d ache for until I knew you once upon a
timeless place, this heap of abandoned garden
rusted gate and crooked walk, tears-soaked
cobblestone grout lines the words we didn’t say
except out loud to hide the knowing, to shield
them dusk till dawn freezes over, and over and done
again and yet no more or less than the sum
is greater than the parting of seas where we’re born
birthed to behold the saline state of our lives
we once walked upright, before the floods
until after the Eve of the mad dash
© Chagall 2014
Say you’ll stay
Don’t leave
Hello, you there?
© Chagall 2014
To summers that never came
I raise my glass
To lowered eyes
To think that we’d revere
to pass in our lives
To waters that still hold sway
but not here
To sand that holds
yet the body line
To the bi-plane pulling banners
To footprints on the walk
since disappeared
© Chagall 2014
In hallowed field
on sandy dune ‘neath waxing moon
till morning sun
She sings of loss
such sorrow sweet, radiant heat
lustrous new day
Her golden throat
arpeggios lost in throes
scales as heaven would
Grace notes flourish
the melody forever free
soul embellished
There is no song
she cannot sing, she’s everything
if only love
© Chagall 2014
For every scarf you make,
learn a new stitch.
© Chagall 2014
There are those who play on emotions
with sharpened cleats
What say we eject them
from the game?
Or better yet,
why don’t they take their balls
and go home?
© Chagall 2014
So many things that we can break
start with the letter B:
bad, your back, his balls
the bank and bread
© Chagall 2014
Like the caricature assailants they shoot up at ranges
I’m riddled with a grouping of golden pellets
right around my heart, a corona of dead-eye shots
unready, aimless, yet fired upon, hollow-head bullets
from your trusty sights, in the short cross-hairs
you are my assassin, the sniper in the tower
watching me downwind, larger than life
in your scope, just a gentle pull, a rat-a-tat
and I’m blown away
© Chagall 2014
The words will need to be perfect this time;
they tell me now there’s no room for error
or remorse. Calibrate all dials steady
to measure the distance between two hearts,
tolerance at zero, infinity
or somewhere in between. Apply precise
tone, gesture, histrionics on request,
build a bridge, bridge the gap, gap the spark, spark
to light the pathway with strong intention
to meld into darkness at the far end
where there’s another in wait – so they say –
but you can never be certain these days.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 