One of us


One of us

One of us

Who will send you flowers
When One of us has gone ?
Who will pass the hours
with you when
One of us has gone ?
My songs are meant
for you
And only meant for you .
Ever will you hear them
Even after times
that One of us
has gone .

Haven’t Been


Haven’t  Been

I haven’t been

where you have been.

I don’t know

the things you know

but as sure,

as surely,

as you have been

and known the places

and the things

that you have seen ,

I will journey there


and on my own

and will return

after I have

been and seen

and known ,

the places where

you’ve been.

And we shall then


to be,

those who live within

each other

and within

the very one


the one within

ourselves .

From “A Matter of 4” by PWChaltas

Van Gogh Watches Volleyball



Van Gogh Watches Volleyball

Van Gogh
Is lounging at
his waterside table
drinking beer
a Mickey mouse tattoo
set on his shoulder.
The piercing stare
of his green eyes
turned blue
focuses on the
volleyball game
playing out
before him .
The water is
a deep, deep blue
his eyes .
His tantrum
tank top is
a delirious ultramarine
as if squeezed out
in a rounded
sharp edged
from a artist’s tube
on to his palette .
He seems quite sane
all in all
as he moves his head
only slightly
to the music,
and enjoys the game.

No crows are flying here.
He’s just intense,
Perhaps looking
for ear lopping
companionship .
He stares at passing girls.
His eyes are burning
with an intense
cool blue flame .
His short hair
and tight cropped beard
off a look that
brands him,
the tortured genius.
He reminds me of my
cousin ,
long departed.
He too
alone at times
loved by children,
in awe of nature,
seeking companionship
and kinship .

A talented painter
in pastels and in oils
of ancient Greek warriors,
some times Spartacus,
or landscapes ,
his eyes often said:
Old man look
at my life.
He died a much
too young
like Van Gogh.

Van Gogh reminds
me too
of Kirk Douglas
in the movie
Spartacus .
Douglas was a man
of incalculable
passion and
intense verve .
Van Gogh could
have been a
Spartacus in the
Arles arena
had be been born
and in the circumstances of
a Gladiator,
rather than a painter .
He would have
and lopped off ears
in shows of mercy
to win his freedom.
Van Gogh
has now suddenly
into the thin nostalgic air.
He must have dashed
out madly.
His table with empty
Heineken bottle is
left blank,
as an empty
white canvas .
in his absence
left behind
is black,
black as the crows
that devoured him
so long ago.

From “The Black and other Base Elements” by PWChaltas

Van Gogh


Van Gogh

Van Gogh

Van Gogh
looked at the sky
and the world
through water.
He painted
night or day,
self portraits of
swirling blue
by the eddies
of wind on water .
His work,
like star light
on the water ,
the flowing liquid
of his eyes
and soul . .

From “Eyes of the Artist” by PWChaltas

Endymion Song


Moon Lust

Endymion Song

The moon
is a group
of bright white
cross hatched
chevrons in blackened water,
like the shine
of sweat
that glistens
a woman’s
A finger print
sings to me
In pure white.
it greets me
and comes
ever closer,
entreats me,
to look past
the milky glow
on the water’s
naked, dark
and navy flesh,
far past the horizon,
up to the
pendant laughing
in the evening sky ..

From “No Subject Here Just Light” by PWChaltas

Child Behind the Curtains Watching Rain


Child Behind the Curtains Watching Rain

Photo credit :

Child Behind the Curtains
Watching Rain

A small child
In a double breasted
velvet vest
with four
mother of pearl buttons
and in shorts,
Is eating almonds
behind the curtain.
He leans his
chin on the window sill.
He watches the
rain falling from the sky
landing In shiny
wet and dancing greyness
in hopping drops
and ringlets
on the surface of the asphalt
and in tiny bubbles
siting on
the blades of grass.
all so wonderful
and new .
He knows that
just a short walk away
there is a whole lake
of this stuff,
much bigger than
the puddles
forming in the street ..
He cracks the almonds
In his mouth vertically
at their seams in two
as the smooth surface
of their polished
marble insides
slide and fall down
either side of his tongue
to be crushed
into delicious ground
almond paste
that he swallows.
Why does it rain he thought.
It’s so beautiful and so sad
and I love to
watch it from this window.

The clouds part,
the sun comes out
and the child’s
tall thin Mother
with her falling
raven tresses
comes to part
the curtains
In her long
and shining
silver robe.
She finds him there .
He smiles and laughs
and looks up
at his mother.
The round orb
of the sun reflects
on the clear
and shining glass
In the rectangular
that’s now full
of new lines
and gradations
of other
outside reflections,
As the room fills up
with bright 60’s sunlight,
the child knows
the solitude,
the almonds,
and the rain
are now
all gone away .

The Book

The Book

He spoke from within his sadness and regret .Was it too late? His wisdom could not save himas his father’s Faith and Humility had .After all his father had known glory but also knew blood and death .His father had been humbled and suffered torments and regret earlier in his life .He had been betrayed and judged by men and women ,even friends and servants .He suffered greatly and clung to his faith to save himself from drowning in his own tears .His father’s plate was a constant battle sustained by faith ,repentance and humility .The son knew now of himself,
that he had been imperfectly born .He had lived his life in glory, building, with little suffering. He had judged many, and now late in life realized that he had been lead astray by ease and wealth , by so many different perfumed charms and whispers. Defeated and weakened by his own power he realizes those few first stray steps have lead him so far away, and that it is such a long journey back now, in light that has grown very dim . He speaks pearls of wisdom for willing ears :
“Remove from me vanity and lies. Give me neither poverty or riches
Feed me with food convenient for me lest I be full and say: ” Who is the Lord ” or lest I be poor and steal and take the name of the Lord in vain” ****
“A good name Is better than precious ointment ; And the day of death is better than the day of oneʼs birth . It is better to go to the house of mourning , than to go to the house of feasting :
for that is the end of all and the living will lay it to heart . Sorrow is better than laughter: for by sadness of the countenance the heart is made better . The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth” ***
***Ecclesiates 7 2/4 ****Proverbs 30 8/9