Tag Archive: Jazz


Almost Pardon

I’m so sorry you misunderstood,
I came back to meet you merely halfway.

© Chagall 2016

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Downtown Uptown Friday Night!

Shirt out
a lot o’rolls
tucked in
different but better
rolls go away
now just a matter of
contour

Chagall 2016

Lookin’ Up

It’s slow
sometimes cinnamon
can seem like syrup
jazzy like cymbals
symbols streak my brain
maybe just my ears
an especially clear day weekend
overhead everywhere bi-planes!

Chagall 2015

Haiku For Translated Elegies

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I’m learning new words
Such beautiful languages
All my friends have spoke

© Chagall 2015

Zoot!

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Odd
everyone rhyming tonight
in similar patois and pattern

must be effects
of the local blend

© Chagall 2015

Yeah Baby, Give Me Some Skin

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they say they play jazz – or so they say; more kenny g, not Bird who’s soaring,
’cause that’s what they heard; in pink silks, in morning mist, at daybreak, all splendor,
at twilight, in indigo, round and round, I go so deep in a dizzy, and now She’s saying
with Her back turned, all this and heaven; primally perfect – all this Jazz.

© Chagall 2015

Then Again

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I can’t break away from this burning desire
to feel – to touch anything – to stay immersed in color and sound.

I can hold it
but then . . .

I slip,
something slips
gears, such a drag
to always be in retrospect.

© Chagall 2014

Pitter Patois

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When you realize you’re style
the rest comes easy.

Then it’s just you
being you.

How not to upset
the apricot.

Or burn one bridge
before she’s been crossed.

I smile, blow kisses from twilight
whenever there’s love.

© Chagall 2014

Memorial

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Morning bells at this odd hour
I fear another has fallen

Hasn’t really left us
so much as we remain

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Sandy Jazz

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The melody haunts
on the offbeat,
my heart's pulse.  

Sad, but hopeful,
maybe.

The fuzzy reeds,
breath through tenors, 
piano and bass 
both upright shake
sand castles loose 
at the turrets.

Doubtful brushes swirl on snares,
precise in ambiguous beat,
more color,
than anything electric.

A young girl,
neon green bikini, 
samba prone on her lounger 
under ear 
buds, to her own muse, 
or maybe disposable pop.

Surf rolls.
Hear that oh
so soft brush on cymbal?

Grab it, now hold it, 
now fade.

Chicheme, March 2013
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