Apology To Followers

I’ve discovered that a number of my replies
to your comments, are themselves comments
and are not linked properly back to yours

So for some of you, it might feel like you have been commenting into a black hole.

This makes me look uncaring
as you would not have received
my response to you
my thank you and my gratitude
– and my sometimes witty retort 🙂

There is one gentleman
I have inadvertently done this to
for every comment he’s made!

I will be better from this post on. I must remember to hit Reply
in my excitement to respond.

—– Carlos Chagall

Please get him away from the cable wire,
 seriously, the wire, he keeps jiggling idhaf thetd; fuc;ak vin; gwkdire,
 if I lodfase this connectl

Decorating Tip #1

I wonder if people
from across the way
can see me standing
here while I pee.

Perhaps these curtains
are just too sheer?

© Chicheme, 2013

Dear Follower,


I am not writing about you.
I am not writing about anyone, let alone anyone you might know.

I am vamping, riffing, making it up on the fly.
A matador working the cape, entangling the horns as they come.

I am a romantic, a raconteur, a fabulist.
I parry in rhythm and rhymes, in sound, guttural, enunciated.

I do not know you, dear follower. You do not know me.
I do not know me. If anything, I write about the people I know in flesh and blood.

I am inspired by those who have been at my side for my lifetime.
They are here with me now, living the day-to-day, the grind, with love and commitment.

We sweat, laugh, sometimes hysterically until we cry, aching good, chest to chest, cheek to cheek.
Your comments suggest you think I am alone on this planet; au contraire, my life is bohemian rich.

We gypsies take care of us gypsies. Our ladies take care of us very well, thank you.
We are surrounded by generations of love; we partake of sage offerings to make us wise and wired.

Trust me. If I have never met you except in passing here on WordPress, in this blogosphere,
then you are not my motivation. Please do not delude yourself otherwise.

I write for me. I write for her, and him.
I do not write for, nor about, you.

If by chance the words coming off of the page, speak to you very specifically,
convince you that they could only be meant for you, well then, welcome to Poetry.

Our music, like our poetry, is for us. Some of these tunes were written very long ago.
They are written with very specific people and places in mind.

Alas, you are not among those.
Reality check, please.


© Carlos Chagall, 2013

Top 10 …


… views of Lower Manhattan, glimpsed from an apartment window, a cab, or a stupor.
… romantic interludes where anything minty had a starring role.
… Saturdays of the top 10 years of my top 10 lives.
… best aerial views in dreams where I hover at low altitudes, lucid, just above treetops.
… lies I wield to convince you that I care.
… things I will say to cause you to regret our ever having met.
… ways I will subvert the very fabric of your culture.

© Carlos Chagall, April 2013

Earlier today posted: We are thinking of posting the final part of Paris as a soundcloud tune, but Sebastien has cold feet about it.  I told him to chill.  More as this story develops.

Update: Sebastien has agreed to a posting of Paris this evening, music set to poetry.  Debut at midnight tonight, here EST.  We are excited.  Hope you are too.  May not be everybody’s cup of tea (bourbon?), but hey, something to do on a Wednesday night.  Look for a post entitled Rue Chambiges.



We are thinking of posting the final part of Paris as a soundcloud tune, but Sebastien has cold feet about it.  I told him to chill.  More as this story develops.

Please Don’t Like This

It’s a sad life looking
for likers, approvers,
ascenters, thumbs-uppers,
yes sir-ers, yes ma’am-ers,
5 stars, atta boy, side kicks nodding,
who you no-bodies, way to go kidders.

Certifiers, ratifiers,
rapid fire follows
Formaldehyders. Come
out, come out, wherever you are!

Applause, acclaim, esteemers,
like clams,
esteem boat willie,
hot esteem from hissing pipes,
pressure on loose seams,
welds that don’t hold
exploding brass fittings
like shrapnel
across barren landscapes
marred with blue ribbons
and broken glass,
where the beats of the night
give way to the soft melodies of advent.

And ascension validates your existence,
gives you back the cup.

All will be fine,
all will be well,
all will be good,
assuredly, three times, ere the cock crows.

© Carlos Chagall, March 24, 2013

Haiku Redux

Haiku Redux is
not a bad name for a band.
Don't you think?  I do.

They'd play all their tunes
in seventeen four time, or
eighteen, but who's counting?

Chicheme, March 2013
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