A LESSON OF NIGHT

     In memory of Joseph Haydn (1732-1809)

     Because there were no electronic recorders,
     Haydn taught a parakeet to sing back his melodies...



Deep in the shadows of your room
where even the moon was a stranger,
you played your perfect flute
in front of the gilded cage.

In the silent depths of night
your senses stood still as memory,
your patterned breath, as piercing as light,
taught a captured bird a human tune.

Your breathless woodwind waited,
a feathered song took flight
soaring higher than man or bird
had ever dreamed, or heard.


©Charles Ghigna

"Golden Moon"
Acrylic on canvas
60" x 60"



The Burning Question

I wonder if I’ll ever learn
To write a poem that will burn
Into the minds and hearts of men
That when reread will burn again.


©Charles Ghigna

Honest Lies


"In Your Face II"
Acrylic & polymer on wood, 12" x 1"



Honest Lies

Does she speak true
Or does she jest?
Does she mean maybe,
No, or yes?

She spins words
Like webs of fire.
She makes Truth
An honest liar.

©Charles Ghigna




Cap Nap

"Janice" by Chip Ghigna
One-line ink drawing on paper

Cat Nap

Love sat
in my lap
like a cat
in a nap

and it was fun
to slowly run
my fingers there
and everywhere

to pet her fur
to hear her purr
to give her cream
inside my dream


©Charles Ghigna





Birmin'ham

"Magic City"
Oil on Canvas, 30" x 40"

Birmin'ham

There’s a magic town down in Alabam’
Goes by the name of Birmin’ham.


Lives in the valley where the iron ore lies,
A shinin' city with crimson skies.

Up on the mountain there’s a steel-made man,
Sixty-feet tall with a torch in his hand.

He casts his spell of magic that keeps the city strong,
Like an old-time gospel singin' of Alabama's song.

Birmin'ham, Birmin'ham,
The magic city in Alabam'
No better city in all the land,
The magic city called Birmin'ham

©Charles Ghigna




Artists Are Children


Artists Are Children

Artists are children
Naive as a pup;
Artists are children
Who never grew up.


©Charles Ghigna



Hands That See



Hands That See

          for Chip

Your hands see
your eyes feel
fantasies
beyond the real

clouds of blue
skies of white
painting color
into light

dreams awake
the sleeping mind
break the bonds
that keep us blind

you see life  
in grains of sand 
you hold light
within your hand


©Charles Ghigna