Secret
Every man
and every woman
has a secret
that they keep
locked away
deep down
Inside .
Some give it up
while still alive.
Others wait
for the angels
or the demons
to arrive .
From “Ruminations of the Dead” by PWChaltas
Thank you for
this return
high up
on towers
so much
like Lorcan song
where the soul
can soar,
fly free,
and be
certain
of a never-ending
love kept
warm and close
For you
for me
made three.
The Journeys Of Peter
These
are the journeys
of Peter
through the darkness
and the night.
Living off the
the fat of his dreams,
and who by imperfect light
sits purifying
himself alone
late at night.
from the black ,
by reading Cavafy
and Layton,
considering Merciful books
of Cohen
surfing the lines
of Seferis,
empathizing with
the plight of Plath,
and considering
the weight
of Pound .
Oh how they made
him suffer
carefully not making him
a Martyr
and ensuring
he couldn’t keep up
or current
with the fight,
while old age,
and decay
did the rest and
put the final stop
on his pipes
and his kindness.
The thought
strikes fear
in his heart .
In the night.
These are the
Journeys of Peter
blind as a bat
he still sees
in the dark
The voice tells him,
just where to go,
exploring emotions
and the general plight
of his kind .
These are the journeys
of Peter flying
blind
through the darkness,
late at night .
From “No Subject Here Just Light” by PWChaltas
The Travellers
Each one of us
is a traveller
and often a wastrel,
with a soul like
a feather in the wind.
Winds blow it
mercilessly hard and cold
in furious storms without meaning
into thankless death.
Lead our souls like a feather in the wind
like a sheep and like a naïve lamb
led by a loving hand .
Its such a long way to go,
over the waters .
Thalassa, thalassa,
the wind blows ,
and we travel far
from the gentle start
in the morning.
We all have a choice to make
as we go .
“You have come down
now visible ,
Infinite and Eternal one
to conceal yourself
as the manifest force of nature
and to allow evil to have free reign
and to exist in this world ,
only to raise us high
and to test us to reveal ,
through your blowing
and changing winds ,
the traits of leadership
that you have given us,
and placed quietly within.
In your eternal will,
you wait patiently
to spring out
and fulfill . “ * *Kabbalistic Prayer
From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas
Scarborough
By the Shrine of the Little
Flower ,
near the crumbling cliffs of clay
on the sky, sand, and blue water ,
I stopped with
a few words to say.
Where a cross sword
set in stone stands
on the expressway island
tall
and stone statue
in white flowing robe,
all sooted with grey,
kneels and clasps hands
in eternity of night and day .
Under the green and rising dome ,
a remembrance of those in the past
who struggled in the times
and lands far away.
By the home where
both the children
and the young men
once use to play,
there I stopped to catch
my final breath at last ,
and quietly drift away .
Infinity
Your mouth
Speaks infinity
to harlots
and love
Forehead of blood ,
all dried
the colour of love
in your hair .
You whose life
snuffed out
was a hammered mettle
on sanguine wood ,
Waiting for a Sign
He knew her beauty
He knew her dreams
He knew she came apart
at certain seams
So he was gentle
and he was kind
but he was also
partly blind
He waited calmly
and patiently for the sign
but she left him
one grey October
afternoon
to travel on a journey ,
endless abandon
with kind and tribe .
He was torn
once more alone
but now he knew
not only blind
but also
a fool
for love .
And yet
he never stopped
living her .
