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An Honest Magician

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June 16, 2013

With my finger aside my nose and a quick nod,
aside the chimney I remain,
no ascent.

I flail my fingers,
like octopi tentacles,
Svengali-like, to mesmerize,
but nothing changes, all remains.

I tap my wand three times,
fan my cape over the magic box,
but nothing disappears,
nor appears, for that matter.

I reach up my sleeve,
and draw no ace,
so I dare not attempt
to saw you in half!

I get tongue-tied
with sleight of hand,
I lose track of all those fingers.

I can, however,
honestly, truly,
levitate, for real,
on cue.

I cherish this ability,
allows me to escape,
whenever I need to.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Cloudhanger

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June 15, 2013

Somebody’s cut the line –
damn it, I dozed!

I’m rising way too fast,
this is not good.

I have no rudder to steer,
no weight to hold me to earth.

Wild careen across cloudscape,
sideways then up then sideways and up.

A monstrous downdraft deals a concussive blow,
stops the ascent dead in its rise,

propels me for a moment into the envelope of the balloon,
barely missing the flames.

My crown-lines appear staked to nearby clouds,
but I know that can’t be.

I stabilize with open jets of whisper burners,
aglow in night-blue sky.

I have no way back down,
except to plummet, finally fall.

But instead, I simply dangle,
cautious not to breathe.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Short Easy Flight

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Throwing out ballast to rise, near dusk,
light air and low flame,
up-draft we go!

Nice little buckle, a trade-wind slap,
but we straight right-up, real fast or we topple.

In the vertical slow chugging puff,
on low winds, poooffft we slow down,

the gondola pendulums,
aerial inertia.

Sometimes I just hold sway,
drop anchors, tie a taut-line,
buoyant, and hover there over
forever, where you are.

Pretty much every day.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Yes, Of Course They Kiss

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I promise to be good no more, my ulterior motive, my alter-ego,
boundless, shaken loose as altar palsy,
would rock the Casbah on the organ in the apse.

Starry-eyed?
I’d sleep one-eye open, if I were you.

Too many ellipses, methinks,
too many bombardiers, outweigh the troubadours;

I’ve reckoned it’s important
to protect the flank without disturbing the garden?

Eat, drink, be merry, with others as well as your own.
do not harm each other, or be concerned with things;
love the earth.

There’s full moons tonight all over the worlds,
everywhere lovers heave sighs,  look up,
to where you are,  just far away,
in the light from old stars, open-lipped and breathless.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

 

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It’s Just Me, Friday Night

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June 14, 2013

I really can’t be more polite than this,
but I think I can be more direct.

Do what you do,
don’t stop now.

Those electric blue dragonflies
appear to be following.

Cascade baby,
whiz by your chin like a high fade.

Zip the mitt,
pop-pop the web.

Two and ohnooooo!

Sometimes I crack myself – pour and flow, keep my sunny side – up.

Slow riders on quick dreamscapes
flutter-by like Ali in Zaire.

Tight wire, but a thick rope,
looks like somebody knew their knots.

Love you, blow you kisses,
bring you moons, safe harbor-lights.

I love the spaces you carve when you dance,
a little shoulder shake.

Birds singing over Harlem, in free-fall,
like a lullaby.

We’re going bye-bye baby,
dress nice, smell something good,
and I’ll do the same, pressed tight,
stinging like a-bee-a-back-beat-jab,
simple cymbals, rope-a-dopamine,
to calm the jitters, feet
all tangled up but then . . .

I glide –
oh yes!
and then I slide –
tada!

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Haiku For New Day

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Lilac window-box,
an old man hoses the street,
in morning sunshine.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Vishnu Purana

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कल्प

Tomorrow, in retrospect,
wasn’t even the case.

You got all caught up on the eve
and then caved in.

It was supposed to flow
to where it turns back on itself.

That’s what we said;
we agreed to a point.

A kalpa only,
not a moment longer.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Interactive Poetry

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There’s a combination of words, somewhere in here,
if I get ’em right, they’ll light up there;

maybe come in at an odd angle,
find the flow, outskirts in,

a beeline
to the heart of it,

maybe bounce on that, for a while from the inside-out.

Where are you, words who make it plain?
Come out, come out!

Low ceilings, flat echoes,
big halls, round sounds swell,
sway like water balloons on branches
the girth of your wrists.

I kiss the backs of your hands,
small sweeps of warm lips
on that spot where you’d balance the world.

Lean in and listen, I just got to say,
somethings gotta give, I just feel it,
you know what I mean?

I don’t splash in all the puddles,
I try to leave the best for the rest to enjoy.

I’m a time traveler,
I’m a space invader,
I’m a mocha chocolate chippy for you.

Word combos, ballroom letter mambos,
OYE PEOPLE CONGA LINE!

from here to
(touch the middle of your forehead)

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Life Pearls

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Darkness.

The air is cool,
a powder-blue spot
soaks the black
with hush.

The sharp rap of heels
across the stage,
picked up by the mic as I near.

No one.

The hall is empty,
save the light-man
and me.

Dance.

Arms and legs cross,
I carve graceful lines,
pirouette.

And rest.

Darkness,
the air is cool . . .

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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Simple Like When

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June 13, 2013

chagall backdrop

So much to do,
to get to you.

Think, write,
speak, then wait
for you.

Air carries
me, my sound
to your drum.

Ticklish cilia
let you
hear me.

Pheromones moan,
how silly, mon petite amie.

I’m upside-down,
there in your head;
eyes right me up!

Kisses happen
the moment before
you realize.

But my heart
persists on a tight-wire,
your same pulse.

Beating quantum
at the synapse,
the heat we share.

Your name
is your aroma,
the things I know you by.

The feel of an eyelash,
open, close,
on a cheek.

A tear’s last moment,
at the jaw line,
just before the drop.

Never felt
so weightless
before.

Or
ever
since
after.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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