Today
like no other
is starting
now
are you ready?
according to the catalog
it’s going to be a doozy
not much fanfare
but a great deal
of exultation
despite your waning effort
while we’re here
let’s look up tomorrow . . .
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Rains wash over me
nature falls a spent lover
her wet camisole
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Going to sit here a while
let the drizzle pass
looks like nothing but blues skies
blowing in
Rain
smatterings of
aqua strokes
bristle wet
on my skin
do they fall
or suspend
there
and there . . . ?
curtains of light
visible with the sun
at the cloud edge
like stringed beads
billions of strands
the path of each photon
distinct
a harp of light
that interleaves darkness
this choral day
now that the rain has stopped
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Original Composition
written by Carlos Chagall and Eric Greco
Vocals: Sebastien Eric Greco, Ruth “Luz” Rodriguez
Guitars: Carlos Chagall
Bass and Electronic Drum: Dede Rivera
Headphones, if you’ve got ’em.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I seek the promise of April
when August comes to end
hope’s resigned
run its course
hand in hand in hand
bygone sunlit trio
children grow old
falter
return to earth
they do
overgrown paths
we walk
yet traces
of old stones
still visible
errant trails
that once led straight
and wide
we were spry katydids
weren’t we?
spring in our heels
will-o’-the-wisps
the last season’s
hardest
now hand in hand
two lonesome
break
harder ground
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
She said
It feels like one of those
fat bastard, got nothing to live for,
eat all the cookies,
sort of nights
And I agreed
whole hog
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Dear Reader – Please know that Carlos Chagall and crew do NOT endorse eating one’s emotions, unless absolutely necessary, and the morsel in question is homemade and delicious. —–Chagall
What we hope to achieve
exceeds our time
and so we stress,
feel the tug
– or is it the push? –
down the stairs.
Planets and radio
beams surround
the naive heads-down
in day-to-day dabbling
and babbling.
Bubble up!
Rise to the occasion
(at least occasionally).
You’ve nothing to prove,
that’s what the pudding said.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Life is the most
interactive game
I know.
Sit back, relax,
enjoy.
Observer or observed?
Who knows –
why care?
Plug in.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I’ve thought of becoming
a satellite
that orbits around
your space
send you news
and weather of the heart
just a 10-second
delay on a live feed
as long as it takes
to recover
from sunlight
and dips in the road
in order to see
in dark rooms
and to find one’s
stomach again.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Can one ever really write
a poem?
One that will soar
through the glen of the heart
at just the right speed
and just the right height,
an arm’s span from the edge,
so close to falling
through the shadows of tall pines
that crest the run of the glade besides.
I wonder,
can that be done?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 