Behind the lullaby
celestial harmonic
breathy reeds beyond
the expanse there
billows life in bubbles
the multiverse born
of placenta from nil
inverts as blown glass
to become life like diamonds
on black velvet and God’s
throaty voice is every tone
and angels are arpeggios
© Chagall 2014
I’m singing in the rain,
just singin’ in the rain,
it’s a glorious feeling
that no songwriter should
have the right
to friggin’ copyright.
Love,
© Chagallito 2014
Peace lies there just outside the window,
still they draw their blind.
© Chagall 2014
I ran to the border
and found no line
no visible boundary
between here and there
the others seemed
us
such an odd place
for division
like mimes we palmed
the imaginary wall
brick by brick
both we and they
occasionally brushing
fingers, such delightful
and forbidden tingle
he of the gray robe
I of the white
now
we both don blue
and stand guard
with pink erasers
© Chagall 2014
I scanned the headlines for the day’s losses
and found on page 3
3 dead in Sinai
horrendous surely.
But I thought it’s a big world
and less than 5
across the globe
is not bad – right?
Until I realized that what I originally thought
a sports story was actually driving
the count up exponentially
what with scores dead
in Nigeria.
We’ve such a long, long
way yet to go.
Blessings and peace
to all good sacred people.
© Chagall 2014
This is our moment:
when the light off our bodies
travels for eons
and is as far away as long ago,
those who reside there
yet to come
will know our triumph
through the energy of our waves
and the ecstatic angles
of our dance.
© Chagall 2014
We have so much to say,
any attempt will only fall short,
and so we say nothing at all,
but no more.
We are happy now to recite
prayers for your joy,
your health and bounty.
Our wishes for peaceful
starlit skies you can penetrate
with an ardent scan.
Warm fires against your back
to throw your shadows on the wall;
you float above your lover’s.
We close respectfully
with the heartfelt desire
for you to experience nothing.
Nothing but perfect days,
timeless days,
puffed sails,
and slow wet turquoise.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
(Originally posted on June 21, 2013 as A Quick Note Just To Let You Know. Rather than re-blog, I have chosen to revise, re-title, and re-issue as new.)
I’m afraid
we’re all out
of marches today
they say
there’s a shortage
of stanzas
not enough
to go around
too many jingos
out there
© Chagall 2013
This weekend there’s a deadly bombing
at a funeral for one who bombed
this more recent bomber
was killed in the act
by others who were killed
themselves in the course
of retaliation
friends and family
of the first bomber
deceased
but not before killing
at least twenty-one people
You following me?
Somebody please
cue Louis Armstrong!
. . . and I say to myself,
what a wonderful world . . .
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
All along failed walls
blue rope-bougainvillaea seams
to heal tangled worlds
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 