Thrown rocks at wind chimes
strike up the band let loose belles
now the ball’s dropping!
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Tag Archive: love lost
Her homemade bookmark
tucked sandy where she’ll leave it
this day on the beach
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Things don’t fall
so much as the world rushes up
to meet them where they float
everything’s falling
so nothing moves
apparently
my heart drops
dips on a steep rise
when I see you these
skittish palpitations
slow loping
gravity hang-glides
free-fall
alighting gently
touchdown running
on the soles of my feet
so solid this ground
curves under me
perfectly bouncing
I’m buoyant
on ground sponge
baked in rain
still falling
on planets
big rocks
in mid-air
as a failed aerialist
I know the last fall’s hardest
to mistime
to lose heart
to miss the palm of the hand
outstretched in mid flight
people don’t fall
so much as the ground rushes up
to meet them
everyone’s falling
apparently
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Most make a cross
then bisect the diagonals
with an X
voila – l’asterisk
She did that
but then added
another set of lines
intersecting those
doubling the number of angles
It took her a while to render
her precise tight asterisks.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Her soaps were simple
incense and olive
I keep those she’s left behind
Carved small shavings from each
Stranded curls
Melt in water
I coax her out from the shore
To here
Deep enough
Just barely really on all counts
So many droplets
Swing from her exits
With so much grace
Her wet footsteps
Along the walk
Maybe one’s not
Yet misted away
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Claire de Lune cleaves a spirit’s gap in me,
a place for the melody to revolve,
for the light to gain in intensity.
Stella by Starlight leaves me on rooftops,
to overlook lit but distant bridges,
that lead to grand and eloquent dreamers.
The memory of you is deceiving,
provides me a choice, front-row-center seat,
to a symphony that’s best unwritten.
© Carlos Chagall
A ten-finger bundle of oregano,
freshly harvested, tied in coarse twine,
hangs from a drying ring,
just below the wind chimes.
Unusually strong winds for such a hot day,
tousle the bushy-head lavender.
That scent is Sara,
in starched white smock
and little else,
visible until she descends
down the overlook.
I run to follow her,
slowed by the stuck porch door,
to finally gaze at her from the ridge,
for a while, unobserved,
she dances about the calypso orchids.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
A tear wells
– hangs –
falls
rides a cheekbone
down
to
the
chin
falls again
in mid-air
to rest finally
on soft pile
for a moment
then gone
in thin air
just a little bit
of salt
remains
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
You said you were my friend
Sang that it’s really true
I found out though today
It wasn’t so. Surprise!
I write ballads for you
Now that you’re underground
You’ve become my target
Poetic obsession
Lorelei asks for you
Remembers better days
Still wears bells and flowers
Lives with Hope at the fair
Riding the tilt-a-whirl
Biting candy apples
Sweet red crust sticks to teeth
Tastes like sugar berries
Maybe just one more chance
I realize that’s crazy
It gets harder to find
Than to lose nowadays
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
I am becoming more intrigued with form,
yesterday, jazzy verse just suit me fine.
I’m slow now, I take patience with the line,
take time to build, weather better the storm.
The word deluge that had become my norm,
drowned me, submersed my head in a sound brine,
lacked any meaning, for lack of trying.
My madness now will be more uniform.
I’ve never embraced you in silhouette,
though we once were both bathed in indigo.
Your every movement is a pirouette.
I cling to the rock face, cold vertigo,
like that time I felt on the parapet.
Now I’m ready to leap, if you say so.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 