Let’s Walk Together

 Let’s Walk Together



Let’s walk together


you and I


so we can find


a road


that gives peace


to both our souls.


Just yesterday


I spoke of you,




and my heart requested


that we walk together


on that white


and ancient  road ,


that will surely


calm and ease us.


Come now if you can




So we can walk together




on a road that has no forks


or  parting of the ways,


where we can talk


and walk together always.


Let’s walk together




so that we inherit wings


both you and I ,


to fly


with all our steps


and prayers




into heaven.

 From “Free Verse in Useless Times” by PWChaltas




moment of simultaneity.

Goods whispering

to teased appetites.

Breakwater division

of works.

Barefoot on the hot wart

of parched earth,

the dust of steaming

fish eyes and bloated belly .


impartial disdain of regret.

Cremation of care.

Impure ash of a

callous burning,

smelling fetid in the air.

Leprous literati

with falling fingers

screaming online

they sat.

Political attacks of immaturity

Sunlight cold in the shade .

Black eyed , close cropped kid


making a whale sound

that sounds like a cat .

From “Persephone’s Call” by PWChaltas

Beach on Infinity

There’s a secret beach I travel to along the shores of Lake Ontario in the course of my frequent walks. It is a somewhat secluded spot tucked away in the trees at the end of long winding paths. I call it “my beach” although it is not mine. It is a destination that I share, at times with a few other souls, adults, children but mostly with nature alone.  It’s secluded, especially in the fall and winter. A place of contemplation and beauty, here the water is often beautifully luminous, translucent, although never static. It’s colour, clarity, form change and often dramatically. The horizon and sky seem endless here. The crescent shaped beach of fine sand, multi-coloured pebbles, and scattered trees, is mostly full of flat slabs rocks of recycled brick, asphalt, worn down by nature to resemble their original states before they were processed or touched  by human hands. Blanched deadwood litters the shore like snakes, and lying nudes. The beach becomes transformed by wind, water, and light by the season, by the hour, most strikingly at 4pm and just before sunset. These are the times when light hits the rock, water, and clouds at certain angles casting long shadows that transform it into another world.

Beach on Infinity

And we walked along

the guarded path

where the pygmy loves

could not tread,

to the sands of my sacred beach

on a sea of infinity,

to that place in the sand

where the setting sun

froze and

stood still as a pearl.

And our dreams crystallized

into cast

grains of salt

all around us.

There with our feet

grounded In the sand

of a cosmos

of a million realities,

we became

a knife in a bleeding heart.

Our tears became bubbles

that rose upwards

and burst into the air

that was thick

with the moment

of a golden light,

and with a fleeting


quickly melting

into a night of stars.

From “Free Verse in Useless Times” by PWChaltas

Tribute to Irving Layton


Tribute to Irving Layton


I just read your verse.
Where are you
composing now?
Your words remain
and echo on the page .
What fine voice,
and what fine mind,
and what a heart
worthy of a
pharaoh or a king .
That fine voice,
that fine mind,
and the passion
In your heart,
with all its’ many lovers,
resided in
an old age home,
in a mental haze,
In your final days .
I can only hope
you had a garden
In the sun
there .

From “Ruminations of the Dead” by PWChaltas

One of Irving Layton’s Most Moving Poems-“Senile, My Sister Sings”

Senile, My Sister Sings

By Irving Layton

Senile my sister sings. She sings

the same snatch of song over and over

in a quivering voice, her lips trembling

when she tries for the high notes. Her white

hair close cropped like a prisoner’s

and her unobstructed tongue lolling,

over her furrowed lip while her dentures

grin at us through a glass of water,

my sister is some kind of vocal chicken ,

especially when her small raisin eyes dart

from visitor to visitor  as though about

to pluck worms out of their garments .

My heart breaks , remembering her beauty

and wit , the full mouth with a tale in it

she finally exploded our ears .

Is this my sister so frail and emaciated,

whose valour and go were family legends ,

her smiles so dazzling they made the roaches

leisurely roaming the walls of our kitchen

scurry behind the torn wallpaper

to hide there till the incandescence had passed?

Sing, my dear sister, sing

though your trembling lips break my heart

and I turn away from you to sob

and let the tears course down my cheeks ,

my grief held back by pride and even a kind

of exultance. You do not mourn or whimper,

you do not grovel before the Holy Butcher

and beg Him to spare your days ; or rock

silently like the other white haired biddies

waiting to be plucked from their stoops. No

though His emissary ominously flaps his wings

to enfold you in their darkness, you sing.

Your high-pitched notes must rile him

more than rage or defiance. You sing him

no welcome and if your voice trembles

it’s not fear or resignation he hears

but the crack voice of the elan vitale

whose loudest chorister you are , abashing Death

and making him skulk in his own shadow .






The wind rose

gradually steadily

to a storm.


it came in

off the coast

and it shook the

chandeliers in buildings,


and signs off of their posts.

And in it’s force of gust

It took a young

woman from among us

while she was


not far from home .

And in it’s force of gust

It took a wizened willow

from amongst a grove of

wizened willows

by the lake.

It cracked the thick limbs

of its trunk,

clean in two,


leaves and branches by

the lake besides,

the severed dark limbs

that sat split on grass

opened to their

pale and white insides .

The heartbreak for the woman :

that she

she was so young

and so alive

The heartbreak for the willow:

that it was

so old,

snapped , pale

and white inside.

Both died ,

and so did a part

of everyone who heard 

or saw the outcome

of the furious gust

of wind 

that left

all other things around them,

as they were,


and unscathed .


                            After Sandy  Oct 29/12







Persephone’s Call

Persephone’s  Call

you call out ,
for scythes
to save you ,
to razor slit hell
with crystalline precision .
Your not yet ripened beauty picked
In cockle shell despair
traverses  convoluted
acres  of ash
in satin stride .
Dark loins
are thrown into you ,
in a moment’s drop
of translucent
and prosaic dementia.


The events of the recent months, all the brutal travesties and tragedies of sexual violence and rape , in the news have disturbingly etched themselves into my mind. This poem came into existence  from those events . WE should never allow modern humanity to slip and fall so far and so low again. There must no place in the modern world for abduction , rape, or sexual violence . it should be relegated only to the past and to the myths of the past , not to the present or to the future .- PWC