Tag Archive: Food


Snackin’

The rosemary toast so crisp and
the fig jam so delicious, the sound of
my own chewing inside my head –
I didn’t even hear you come in!

Chagall 2019

Crack for the Hummingbird

hummingbird teasing nectar
zips to the lowest pine-bough
and back, can’t keep a secret
there’s two now, one on the perch
the other flapping, fearful to alight
emitting signals that attract
even butterflies

hummingbird versus a cicada-killer wasp
mid-flight, left it bent at the ankles
exponentially faster, oh how it giggled
poof! gone in a puff, already in the canopy
a quick celebration, that nectar rush

hummingbird back, but first a diversion
for those who might be watching too closely
atop the green post in the garden where the asparagus ferns have lengthened,
one mississippi, two missi…

back to the feeder
blessed sugar water

I’m a Blackhawk baby, I’m a whirlybird,
I’m a space invader, I am elevator Wonka
next-stop, the Pines

© Chagall ∞

Eat a Sheet Daily

She had tucked the onion matzoh up high and away,
in its own cellophane inside a ziploc, back in the box.

So much for easy snackin’.

© Chagall ∞

To My Favorite Dish

Please know that I will wipe your rim clean
for each time I plate you.

© Chagall ∞

The Devil is in The Chocolate

Sometime when I go to steal away
yet another piece of banana cake,
I find that one precedes me and
leaves behind a healthy half-slab.
I chase each bite with a small palmful
of dark chocolate bits. I feel theobromine
envelop my being. Look out world, I’m in love!

© Chagall 2017

A Hug And A Dollar

In this more recent age
of high-tech thievery and thuggery
I find myself more and more
missing my grandma, simpler days.

Chagall 2015

A Study in Weight

I have maintaining and gaining down pat
Got a 65 on my orals

Chagall 2015

We all know what healthy tastes and feels like.
Stop being a chubby bastard and do the right thing.

$25.99 at better bookstores.

Chagall 2015

Perfect Days

I eat roasted peanuts on the porch,
watch you through the door
prepare papaya salsa there,
chiles, cumin, brown sugar, agave,
lime and red onion.

The grill gives off toasting hickory smell,
radiates heat in small waves of mirage;
I sip white liquors and tonics,
beyond ice cold and bracing,
intoxicating quinine.

At this moment, all things are possible,
the frosting of salt on oiled peppers,
fresh clean sprays of water
to raise steam off of the smoking woods,
you in the kitchen humming ancient lullabies.

White smoke rises in fantail wisps,
disappears into the day’s air, as does the day,
commemorates life’s rituals,
protects the perimeter from evil.

As stars appear,
I trace constellations older than man,
and imagine that I am among the first
to gaze upward, and to recognize pattern.

We lie on the night grass,
warm and dry on a frilled blanket
that I keep in the trunk of my car,
cleaned regularly, especially for moments like these,
when a person or two, needs a view
prone face-up to heaven.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Poem For A Lost Brother

She got her brother his own bag,
of assorted chocolate truffles.
He opened those that Christmas day.

“So you won’t sneak into my room
anymore and take mine.”

“You take dese ones, the boo wappers.”
They both smiled at his largesse.

She left him that following year
for college, while he stayed behind.

And when mom and pop passed away,
they saw each other less and less,
except here and there, now and then.

And when he leaves, she finds small gifts,
tucked in odd corners: nonpareils,
cherries and bittersweet sandies.

 

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

 

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