On the boat ride here
we were young, unwashed,
and filled with hope
of soaring graceful years
to come built on freedom
hard work and undying
unconditional love
for one another, never once
anticipating the sociopathy
of the current age
© Chagall 2014
I discover the orb gapes
just enough to tease
me forward another
inch, I consider
myself lucky somedays
biding my time
till the seers relax
enough to forget me
when I’ll make my dash
in time’s nick to avoid
the jaw and the chomp
of the pincers
© Chagall 2014
Geese vee overhead
atonement in echelon
cold blue communion
© Chagall 2013
Search out the tyrants,
for the sake of the union.
Why not start right here?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I remember when Zimmerman passed you
on the way up to apartment 4D.
“Man, a hard rain’s a-gonna fall,” he said,
“I ain’t heard nobody sing it like you.”
We felt back then like we were almost gone,
like motherless children, long ways from home.
I’m crying now, Rich, I miss you so much.
Freedom’s another word for all to lose.
Pizza on the street, outside the Fillmore,
blowing smoke at the Why Not?, the Fat Cat,
retuning my axe, every time you played,
in open E, open D, what the fuh! 🙂
’cause you had those funky fingers, my friend.
We sent boys away, like Handsome Johnny,
and back in the day at Max Yasgur’s place,
you brought it home Richie, minstrel from Gault.
You kicked it off, that long ago new age.
Songbirds in Bedford-Stuy mourn your passing.
With you gone, there’s one less Gospel Singer,
one less voice to recite what it was like,
back then, back there, a long, cold way from home.
© Carlos Chagall, April 23, 2013
Alphabet City 