Scent of wet
greenery and camomile
sting lush at night.
Tropical intoxication
brought to life by rain passed
and forgotten
Scent of Wet
Reply
The One Who Produces
The one who
divines and produces
Is king and queen
whether it’s
wheat in Egypt ,
seed, or anything
people need ,
desire ,
or must have,
even the open heart.
U Turn at Callender
U turn at Callender
Passion for the past
On Roncesvalles
the lights are on .
People walk the street
with shadows cast
Shalamar and Hugh’s
are on .
My life is new.
Dream Sequence
Dream Sequence
Misted evening
David on his terrace
watching two men .
one his soldier ,
the other friend ,
across and down the way
on neighbouring terrace .
Red wine drips
from both their lips
at a perverse table
of their words.
Suddenly Bathsheba
appears
naked In the thick
and sultry
air of night
only to quickly disappear.
He feels her nearer now.
The sickness in his loins
grows and sets
in his heart.
The sun
is tempted .
Further up the One
observes
and knows
the
outcome of it all .
Union Station
Union Station
Take me
to Union Station
It’s there we can be
joined
among the tunnels
trains and crowds
sequestered ,
connected and
conjoined ,
There we can travel
on line
together united.
Secret
Image
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
Return
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
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
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
Image
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 .
PWChaltas 