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

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