Art by Chip Ghigna

Quiet Days

On quiet days

when you are still

and listen with your heart

you can hear

a hush of sounds

and tell them all apart.

You can hear

in early fall

the echo of the owl’s call.

You can hear

up in the trees

the whisper of the autumn breeze.

You can hear

out in the dark

the endless plea of puppy’s bark.

You can hear

the distant train

racing through the evening rain.

You can hear

down by the shore

the thunder of the ocean roar.

You can hear

when passing by

the lonely seagull’s hungry cry.

You can hear

when winter blows

the silence of the falling snow.

You can hear

a hush of sounds

and tell them all apart

on quiet days

when you are still

and listen with your heart.

©Charles Ghigna

Iron Art

(Click to enlarge)

Look closely at this piece of slag.

See the figures climbing out of steel

like iron angels rising from Purgatory.

See the butterfly spread its wings. 

See the man with the bird under his arm.

See Mother Goose on her broom.

See the catfish.  The rose.  The cherub.

See the geese fighting over an apple.

See the mouse.  See the whale.

See the pig.  See the resting beast 

with his human face full of anguish.

See the Rorschach test made of iron.

©Charles Ghigna

Over Herd

This time it will be different.

This time we will not go

like our bovine brothers

one by one down the ramp,

headfirst through the chute

into the slaughterhouse,

into the waiting slug of night.

This time we will rouse the herd,

we will rise from our dung-

drenched funeral boards,

we will sway from side to side

in our heavy wave of defiance,

we will dance our rite to life,

we will rock and roll this cattle car

right off its clacking tracks.

©Charles Ghigna

Poem Thief

Word by word

Line by line

Help yourself

To what is mine

Every image

Every rhyme

Every rhythm

Every time

Take my muse

And metaphors

I write mine

To make them yours

©Charles Ghigna

Poetry for Adults

Here are some of my books for grownups.

Thanks to those of you who asked about them

and to all who have come here for a look.

Most of my books are for children.

These are for grownups.

(Click RED titles to see more about each book.)

Plastic Soup: Dream Poems

Returning to Earth

Speaking in Tongues: New and Selected Poems 1974-1994

Wings of Fire

Haiku: The Travelers of Eternity

Love Poems

The Best of Snickers

The Day I Spent the Night in the Shelby County Jail

"Beyond the Pale"

Oil on canvas,  24" x 30"

by Chip Ghigna

A Poet Isn’t Somebody

A poet isn’t somebody

who says the sky

is just another blue

holding down the ground

as though the ground

were on a hinge and could

flap up or maybe come off,

scalped by some Indian god.

A poet isn’t somebody

who goes hunting to kill

or the one who takes dogs

and guns and camouflaged hats.

He’s the one who takes off

his glove to touch the stream

the others cursed because it trickled

over their boot tops when they crossed it.

A poet isn’t somebody

who looks at clocks

before he sleeps

though he learns their

anxious call can eat

through walls, and dreams.

A poet isn’t somebody

who tells he’s a poet.

He’s somebody who asks

if he may hike your property

to follow where the moon

may rise tonight.

©Charles Ghigna

The Search for Center Ring

A funny band of sad clowns

we were with our tortoise

shell hats and rabbits’ feet

dangling in front of our red

noses like a track of gray

hounds running in circles,

running out of circles until

our luck ran with us in and out,

laughing at all we never said,

never did, never knew we could

when we were just a band of silly clowns

looking for a little laughter,

a little tent of pure attention.

©Charles Ghigna