Tag Archive: Beat


Sand Dance

One day long
ago I lived
with a senorita
who scored
clave-shaker
duets for money

From the window
I shouted
It appears as if
snow is starting
to fall!

She whispered dryly
Then let’s let it

Chagall 2016

Resolution

All of the things
I seek to avoid
are wrapped up in
neat tidy bundles.

Chagall 2015

And Never Do I . . .

chagall backdrop

I always write better
with my green sneakers on.

Sometimes I look better
in a fez.

Often I chill
under stars.

Rarely do I miss
solar flare.

© Chagall 2013

The Piece

I play the theme real slow, straight through,
a series of quarter notes,
crotchets in queue, all in a row,
set ’em up, knock ’em down, repeat.

The piece evolves, arpeggios
cascade, delicate filigree,
ornament already ornate
lattice, lurking at the coda.

Here it comes, ten fingers attack,
thumbs and forefingers like talons,
grab major thirds, tight consonance,
up and down, back up the keyboard.

Twin small children in burlap bags,
moving in tandem across lawns
well-kept, cut to a perfect height,
in the fading light of summer.

I ride the swell past the curtains,
catch a small shimmer of breeze there,
that lifts and lilts like melody,
ancient airs, hummed, not often sung.

The motif ends, slowly concludes,
real slow, like it was at the start,
with one subtle twist, a quaver,
a seventh, for the romantics.

And then a ninth for the holy,
with a suspended fourth, for doubt,
questioning if the end will stick,
if all is as final as that.

The last strains linger a long time,
under my masterful pedal,
pressing hard against harmonies
pinned by hammers on the soundboard.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Poking in the pink, in an itty bitty shack,
measly isla, shock treatment,
seize her seizure, shutter stops,
caesura, palpitations,
shudders, slip it
up and down,
slit, flit around,
my back, your beat, this heat,
bric-a-brac,  paddywack,
chewing on a – stroking on a – smoking on a
bone, bong, boing.

Listen while she
glistens in the mist,
whiles away
in moisture, in the gist,
slide a willow ‘neath the wisp,
such a sucker, simple syrups,
succulicious, psychopathic, sycophantic;

twinkling in the twilight tight outside atop the T-Top
in a T-Shirt, out your tank top, tease me, tickle till you
just
can’t
stand
no
more.

Stuttering, shuttering, splattering, tittering, withering, wuthering heights,
stammering, hammering, glimmering, plummeting, mumbling, plumbing deep
numbing thrusts
slippery, tres y cuatro
cinco-pation
ooh!

dilation, drives you sideways, odd
meters, on the up-
beat, against
the up-
beat
again then
no
. . .
beat.

Keep you guessing, catch your breath
in your throat,
scratch an itch, sandy paper,
stairstep Slinkies sidling at ya,
eyes burn, on the verge,
on the turn, delight tingles,
daylight cravings, forelocks tangle,
smoke rings, pillow soft
halos steam sweat flex
triceps calves cut hard
dancers pole long gold
spotlight fades
black bass no trace
at the top no mo’
bottom face out smack
dab beyond the fray
cotton swabbing gently dabbing
at the lattice small concussions;

sneeze while you come, maybe thrice, three’s a charm
pick up steam, at the bridge,
out the closet, to the edge,
feeling dizzy just for kicks,
fat in front, grab the spot,
settle in, back on cruise,
back on Cruz,
straddling, standing O.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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