I had such a clear falsetto once,
soared the musical scale high above
any notes that mere mortals dared
to defy. I’ve lost it since the
childhood innocence is gone, left
alone, this humble baritone, no longer
a tenured tenor, soon to hit rock bottom,
a baseless bass who dreams of being in love
fully soprano.
© Chagall 2016 – oops! – 2017
I’m an ukulélé by an open window and
I’m hoping that you’ll pick me up to pluck
Sing a song about three lovers near the water
Lala lala lala la aloha-oe
© Chagall 2016
I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.
Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.
© Chagall 2016
The lights are going out,
not forever – just for now.
We have coffee and tea,
we can make bread if need be,
sing, play cards …
Only for a little while,
only just for now.
© Chagall 2016
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
I’ve had it for the night
The club is smoky, the vibe less tight
Than certainly I would have crafted
She is boring, probably bored
Hasn’t heard me the first time
So I shout over the music
The tune is called
Monosyllables Affirm The Humdrum
To which she says Oh
and nods
Chagall 2016
Peepers are still out this time of year
though their song comes earlier in the eve these days,
fragile, almost not there; easy to listen beyond and miss them.
The foreground caw of a big bird, the bark of a dog
on my backstage, panned far left, a flashing beep
of some truck backing up, overhead gaggles honk and recede.
In echelon wildly, we ride the updraft, dip and soar,
aerialists cum acrobats, spun but poised nonpareil, sans apparatus,
relying solely on wingspan and pin-sharp charisma.
The V is impressed with its own formation, looks down and spies itself
in the placid face of the water; a solemn unified beat of blood-pumped wings
cuts swaths in mid-air, affirms partisans aloft in the primeval current.
So many songs harmonize around me, twelve-tone hymns and patterns,
colors in sound, or maybe more like touch – the voices about and within,
caress me more than paint me; ephemeral sounds, timeless embossing of our hearts.
© Chagall 2014
I can step anytime
from this beam of light
expelled, exposed to the void
float largo
in star-dark tunnels
but how I would miss
allegro sky
illumined and floating
on air with you
© Chagall 2014
Our music will always exist while remnant
of us ever having played it mightn’t
No photograph in black and white coarse-grained
in the morning coffee and the light of new day
coming through the window
A voice, a life captured
in a vinyl groove, we dig it out
with diamond styli
Trapped in overtone
due to expire, reliving
the last time touched
Sere earth in rapture over the horizon
lines recited in subtle gesture atop
fallen and graceful wonders
The music’s more than bulbous slanted dots on stave
windblown rests and italicized Italian
We are intended
to be sung
© Chagall 2014
C. Chagall – Guitars
Sebastien Greco – Vocals
Bambino Cuadrado – Percussion
DD Rivera – Bass, Synth
Alphabet City 