By the time you blink
now – before you grasp it’s gone
life conceals itself
Two real eyes gaze out
emit light with no body
life intoxicates
Seemingly demur
but then a seductive grin
blows a kiss my way
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
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Fukushima plant
radioactivity
we must awaken
Central Africa
dead Banguese children on streets
awaken we must
Fort Hood massacre
psychotics fronting for God
must we awaken?
Libyan militia
ambassadors dead for votes
awaken – must we?
Iran and the nukes
are our new dukes of hazard
must awaken We
Iraq, Pakistan
shoppers and soccer fans dead
we must awaken
Ambush in Kashmir
fire cannons blast the crowd
awaken we must
U.S. denounces
Vietnam’s clampdown on Tweets
must we awaken?
BP at the gulf
mutant shrimp ponder the brine
awaken – must we?
Who you think’s richer
UBS or B of A?
must awaken We
Governors, mayors
bribing – sexting – on the take
we must awaken
American dream
owning a home gets harder
awaken we must
Gunfire at town hall
evicted who take revenge
must we awaken?
Alabama’s po’
dang, ain’t as obese no mo’
awaken – must we?
Manson, Arts, page 1
Verdi’s Falstaff, page 7
must awaken We
Dopers at the plate
tainted horsehide flies so far
awaken we must
Must we awaken?
Evil is barely contained
shrouded in its grin
Exposed long lean legs
wrapped around your hips and face
undulating tongues
It knows what to do
ego strokes your libido
it’s power and sex
Alienation
it’s dehumanization
lost in the garden
Must awaken We
I’m sure We’d hate to miss it
being the last show
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
It is better late
for never’s too long a time
my apology
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
So delicately
tentatively propped on top
steady back don’t breathe
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
We all get smaller
as the universe expands
the world fades both ends
Life’s center looms large
dimmed creation’s fire is quenched
where no sighs exist
Long still reckoned pause
deep rumble, ground gears, next shift
gentle momentum
Young girls with flourish
fan pleated flower bouquets
start us up again
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Branca knew it too
the written moment unleashed
his was history
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Found an old roll of film in a worn bag
I used to carry traveling summers:
tight-wound canister, stills undeveloped,
Kodachrome, color, one-twenty, twelve-shot.
Long gone light, maybe the time when we smiled
that August day, wind-streaked, of the ocean
waters that churn yet somewhere, but not here.
Sand grains caught in the uptake spool,
on the bottom of the leather duffel,
brushed perhaps from your hands, your face,
the nape of your neck, at the end of day.
Tanned children trot with kites along the shore
their voices trailing faint but still alive
arabesques of laughter atop the waves
where young swimmers start journeys to Europe,
or Asia, or just to the buoy and back.
Bi-plane pulls a banner
across graying skies, says All you can dream!
Bare bulbs light the boardwalk,
the tick-a-tee spin-down of Fortune’s Wheel
stops here. Does the sand still hold your body?
And when autumn came I left the bag packed,
amazing how things can keep when untouched.
The film? The labs have all closed down,
there’s no place left on earth to develop,
to bring to life the life that was that day –
Kodachrome is now just a curio.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Long
ago
I foresaw
this next moment
clear as day, that night
imagined me older
recalling the younger me,
in time aligned, eclipsed, we weep
the self thinking one thinking of self,
both of us knowing it is meant to be
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
In time You will know
the self you intend to be
they say three’s a crowd
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Midnight
it’s time to leave
the Lama said just jump
shift gravity rings, float away
find peace
weightless
know your own insignificance
that’s the secret of flight
Nagarjuna
taught us
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
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Alphabet City 