You once danced in perfect dark,
with no eye to discern the grace of form,
nothing shone on passion for Terpsichore,
your body yearned, stark figure on ground, unseen aloft
in space for no one but you, in wait to unveil the inward glow,
before the birth of sight and no one was, there was promenade and cabriole.
© Chagall 2013
We are troubadours, vamps,
poets and scamps,
Shakespeares, Anaïs Nins
Ginsbergs, Plaths, Nerudas
oh my!
Oh my goodness, another idea, quickly
My blog, new post . . .
Let it flow,
convey the sounds, the rhythms
that beat inside
Deliver me;
bring me
the head
of an avatar
© Chagall 2013
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.)
In the field before us
there are no trees nor chimney smoke,
though it’s cold and white, nor snow about
Under freezing light
we harden, crumble
our detritus mars the scape
© Chagall 2013
That we have Blue Moons at all, suggests that something’s wrong:
the way we box our time, is not what really is.
© Chagall 2013
It startled me to discover that you had killed the seedlings,
one by one, as each grew true leaves, the curves of frail stems lost,
they in the first throes, reaching for light, you in the final throes
of darkness, your roots tapped too deep in a compost of spite;
like so many little big bangs, what we’d sown sprung lively
from vermiculite and moss, small ruptures at the surface,
the promise of new days, the void giving birth to actuality,
the way it always was, heirloom beauty, thoroughbreds at the gate,
until you proved your point; I heard each and every one scream,
did you?
© Chagall 2013
I’ve a desire to walk aslant
gyro nimbly into new realm
suck in my breath till I am half-an-inch deep
so I can squeeze through the hairline
black seam of the door that’s cracked, leads
to behind what we believe is visible
now you see me, now you don’t, now you see me
now you might: inter-dimensional jitterbug
© Chagall 2013
Rather than a free pour
I prefer a measured shot
I take a calibrated approach
to inebriation
© Chagall 2013
Life blows gently and steady
to winnow you from my soul.
© Chagall 2013
I stare up at the sky as you’d look down
at an inlet from the top of a cliff; my toes
grip the edge, I imagine rotations, paths I’ll need
to execute perfect spirals.
I swing, to and fro, once, twice, and again to build up momentum,
calves, thighs, I’m ready, spring-dive, I release, I fall or I float,
it’s hard to distinguish which when One is topsy-turvily challenged,
gravitationally advantaged, determined and faith-rich.
I know I’m there when I brush a cloud, so I open my eyes a moment,
a peek, great falls from here; boats above and planes below,
eagles, balloons, schools and gaggles, canopies, reefs, eddies and updrafts,
earth light falls on night break, I ascend, so excited, I’m the girl in the moon.
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 