Things to think about



My style



Welcome to the Website of poet Virgil Chabre.  Author of four books of poetry: Silhouettes, Images,and Faded Memories; The Night She Left and Other Poems; Column One (Poems 1982-1992); and Washington D. C. (2010)


Anyone interested in discussing poetry or sharing their poetry, please contact me.  All comments and responses are welcome and appreciated.



"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."

"The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it – basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them."

"We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us."

-Charles Bukowski



My style


Poetry is more than words spoken

Or words on paper

Poetry is more than life

Or death

It is jumping off a cliff

Not knowing there is water below

Or knowing there is water below

But you can’t swim

It is taking the wrong path in life

But finding the right destination

It is things you cannot tell your friends

So you hide them under your bed

And dream about them at night

You wake up with a headache

Trying to remember the dream

But it is just another lost poem

Lost poems are like ghosts

They can haunt you

They come back without using doors

Or windows

They are in the air that you breathe

Without poetry life

Would be silent



“Every human being is a raindrop. And when enough of the raindrops become clear and coherent they become the power of the storm.”

     -John Trudell

“He is not busy born, is busy dying”

“Even the President of the United States sometimes must stand naked”

     -Bob Dylan

“Take a walk on the wild side”

“There is a little bit of magic in everything,

And a little loss to even things out”

     -Lou Reed

“Three-fourths of philosophy and literature is the talk of people trying to convince themselves that they really like the cage they were tricked into entering”

     -Gary Snyder

“My teachers could have easily ridden with Jesse James for all the time they stole from me”

     -Richard Brautigan


My style

My style

My style


My poetry style is varied but consists mostly of free verse poems. I must commend some great teachers in my education process.  Arlene Wesswick was a great English teacher who never let up on pressing me to do better. I had the honor of having her for my teacher in both high school and college. Ronald Gaskill was a college instructor who gave me the push to keep writing poetry. His class was always unpredictable and a place where imagination was the most important thing to keep writing.  He left me so much to reflect upon. My quest for knowledge and writing are enhanced by the love I have for reading. Reading is the key to expanding your knowledge. My favorite authors are Herman Hesse, Richard Brautigan, Gary Snyder, Lyn Lifshin, Charles Bukowski and Robert Frost. I have also learned from listening to the music and lyrics of Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, and John Trudell. Life is a learning process that continues on and the journey is never completed.



Three Desks in a Row

For: Jeanine

It cannot escape my memory

So many things fade with time

Three desks in a row




Three touching souls

Centered around the special attitude

Of Jeanine

Solid as a oak

Not holding back

Or afraid of crossing boundaries

Chasing her dreams and schemes

I saw her years later

Three desks in a row 

Came to my mind

It could not escape me

A look in her eye

Told me she was still discovering herself

In her quest for the future

Which was unknown to her

It was all about the search

Looking for a dream tomorrow

Lost in a classroom yesterday

Coming back to reality

Three desks in a row



Virgil Chabre is the author of four books of poetry: Silhouettes,  Images,and Faded Memories; The Night She Left and Other Poems; Column  One (Poems 1982-1992); and Washington D. C. (2010)

Virgil Chabre has been influenced by Gary Snyder, Richard Brautigan, Lyn Lifshin, Javan, Lou Reed, John Trudell and Bob Dylan.


Mending Fences is a book that is hard to place in a particular category. It is a story that started with a poem. This story takes place in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming and Paris, France. It is about a cowboy, an artist, a very spiritual Native American and Gypsies. It displays the influences of Richard Brautigan, Gary Snyder, Lyn Lifshin and Bob Dylan. But most of all it is a love story.

Link to Mending Fences on Amazon:

Virgil Chabre's poems are about realistic events that happen to someone every day,  He puts words around everyday life.

He writes about Native American life and the history and challenges  that they faced and continue to face today.  




Lost Summer Days

Lost Summer Days

She said she was defeated
I said that it was only one battle
She said but the war goes on
All around me
I can’t stop it anymore
I have become part of the
It brings into my life

I said keep focused
And dream
She said there is no time for dreams
Dreams come from sleep
And I cannot close my eyes

The war goes on
I heard the sound of war
When I held her close
Her heartbeat
Was fast and out of control
The smell of sulfur in the air
I could taste the war
As we made our way
Through the darkness
And found a place to surrender

Lost Summer Days

Lost Summer Days

Lost Summer Days

 Life in Wyoming
Was not always
What it appeared to be
It was growing up
Under conditions that
created hard core souls
From a state
with a sparse population
More antelope than people

It was a world of confrontation
The battle between
The cattlemen and the sheep men
It was a Range War
There was no clear winner
Just hard feelings
That would drag on
As time went by

I remember Ridge Avenue
A place on a hill
Our backyard was an old cemetery
Leaving many ghosts behind
Always interrupting our life

A vacant lot next door
Told many stories
Of hidden treasures
Never found

Sandlot baseball
Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays
And many lost
Summer days


Lost Summer Days

Unique Individual

She was a stranger I saw
Out of the corner of my eye
She did not look like Lady Gaga
Or Marilyn Monroe
She was younger
With dark hair
And glasses

A photograph I could file away
In my mind

I did not realize
I must have been staring at her
As I tried to focus my eyes
On the curve of her lips
As she sat silently
Sipping upon a cola

But when I got up and left
And looked back
She blew me a kiss
A stranger I will never forget
Filed away forever
In my mind under
A kiss that slipped away from me

Unique Individual

She Wants to go to Wyoming

Unique Individual


For: Sam

She is a unique individual

A loner but not alone

She touches lives

By just being close by

She is caring beyond reason

She has an angel

Watching over her

It is a twist of fate

An angel watching over

An angel

She influences those

Around her

By just being herself

She has wisdom

Beyond her years

She has knowledge of where

She is going

Knows the future

Is filled with twist and turns

The road is not

Always smooth

But she realizes her destiny 

Awaits her

She has the fortitude

And confidence to succeed

She Wants to go to Wyoming

She Wants to go to Wyoming

She Wants to go to Wyoming

She wants to go to Wyoming
Experience the mountains
Where snow never melts
The wind blows strong
But hearts stay warm

I can see her now
Bundled up in four layers
Of clothing
Seeing the frost on her nose
Her breath in the cold air

Running through the snow
Making snow angels
A snowman
Or just sliding down a hill

Finding life away from the Arizona sun
That can melt your soul
And leave you cold inside
Unable to find a reason
To carry on in life

She understands life
Always chasing freedom
But in the Wyoming air
Freedom is chasing her

It is all a vision she sees
Reflected in the eyes
That tell many stories
And yet
Leaves many stories untold

Wyoming Miners

She Wants to go to Wyoming

She Wants to go to Wyoming

  When someone asks us
 Where we are from
 We smile and say
 We're from under Wyoming
 The land of our fathers
 And their fathers too
 It's in our blood
 The earth within us
 We're not happy in the sunshine
 We spend our days
 And nights in tunnels
 Where darkness is our friend
 The gophers and prairie dogs
 Live above us
 In tunnels of their own
 Sometimes they don't understand
 The sounds down below
 In the winter when they sleep
 They dream of metal monsters
 Digging in the earth below
 When spring comes
 Sometimes they are awakened early
 By the sound of fireworks
 Before the fourth of July
 We work the earth
 Like a farmer works the surface
 Following the steps
 Our fathers took
 They walk in our shadows
 Protecting us from the sun 

More poems

Coal Miner's Son

Coal Miner's Son

Coal Miner's Son

I was born

A coal miner’s son

Watching my father

Come home

Covered in black dust

When he was

Not breathing coal dust

He smoked cigarettes

I heard him wheezing

And coughing in the night

Unable to catch his breath

Black Lung they called it

The disease of coal miners

The black earth

Took away their ability

To breathe

As I witnessed him

Fighting to take

His last breath

I Cannot Answer

Coal Miner's Son

Coal Miner's Son

I cannot answer 

All of your questions

Or place meaning 

In the emptiness

That surrounds you

I can only give you

Some time

To think about today

And not worry about yesterday

Or have any fears

About tomorrow

Today is the memory

We will build upon

Without barriers

To provide a ray of light

That can be remembered

At the darkest time

We may face alone


Coal Miner's Son

Missing Things

For: Lori

She is a treasure

An angel

But she cannot fly

She does not have wings

Yet she is swift and smooth

On a racquetball court

Precise in every swing

She is a true caregiver

Her personality thrives on giving

To her life is not measured

By the ticking of a clock

Or the beating of a heart

But by the breath

That you take

Living life

One breath at a time

My father was a coal miner

He had Black Lung disease

Pneumoconiosis (CWP)

Coal dust hiding in his lungs

An oxygen cylinder by his side

It would have been positive 

To have someone like her

By his side

As He was fighting 

To take his last breath

Missing Things

Homeless People

Missing Things


The desert heat doesn’t bother me

Not the empty space across the horizon

Or the scorpion moving across the sand

What bothers me

Are the dreams I haven’t had

The hands I forgot to touch

The mystery in the eyes

I never solved

Or walking away

When I should have stayed a moment longer

So many things lost in life

Like the silence following a poem

I never read

Long Distance

Homeless People

Homeless People


We talk from long distance spaces

Where an echo can be heard between us

It works out so much better that way

If we get too close

We become lost in thoughts and phrases

As the words we speak

Get in the way of our relationship

So I’ll continue to say hello

From where I stand

And all you have to do is wave

And I’ll know

It does not mean


Homeless People

Homeless People

Homeless People


She said there

Are homeless people

But security

To calm your fears

But I do not fear

The homeless

I fear the men in suits

Working on Capital hill

Causing pain

Far deeper than a homeless person

Searching for shelter