Thieves In Mind
Crying she describes
how burglars wrecked the house
the wretches took her jewellery and
raped
old women values.
Isn’t she happy?
It’s been years since any thief
set foot in my house
even for coffee.
I deliberately leave the pot unlocked.
On returning each time I pray
to find the door’s canines broken
the lights shaking as if just having
knocked
against a tall earthquake’s head
to see the burial gifts stolen
from the mirror’s mummy kingdoms
as if someone had shaved in the
bathroom
and whiskers had sprouted on my
beardless touch
their refutation bound hand and foot
on the floor
and, coming at its leisure from the
kitchen, steam
from warm footprints with lots of
cinnamon on top.
Titos Patrikios
Latest News
Dead chimneys, smokeless
mouths emptied of laughter,
hearts that won and died-
we must bridge the lips of the abyss.
Humans, above all humans,
persistent, restless, shameless,
without doubt,
hiding nothing,
let's spill out in the streets again
to build life once again,
to build life first.
A sky full of voices
and overturned clouds
that were executed this noon-
the newspapers got this bit of news
just as they went to print.
Not one of them wrote of the fountains
that opened upon their tortured bodies.
Dead chimneys, smokeless
mouths emptied of laughter,
hearts that won and died-
we must bridge the lips of the abyss.
Humans, above all humans,
persistent, restless, shameless,
without doubt,
hiding nothing,
let's spill out in the streets again
to build life once again,
to build life first.
A sky full of voices
and overturned clouds
that were executed this noon-
the newspapers got this bit of news
just as they went to print.
Not one of them wrote of the fountains
that opened upon their tortured bodies.
Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke
Exodus
Leaving Lipiu behind
I understood that I had lost my orientation
towards something with real smell
towards the wrist's tender skin with the lovely pulse.
I took a walk around myself
and though heading for the boat
ended up in front of a store all shut up.
Behind the windowpane black with dust
a tragic jacket stood, no one
would ever want its warmth.
The sun had set
and all the streets began
to howl in unison. "No thoroughfare."
I left. Cupping my hands
as though holding the final breath
of a frozen bird,
I protected the final handshake.
Leaving Lipiu behind
I understood that I had lost my orientation
towards something with real smell
towards the wrist's tender skin with the lovely pulse.
I took a walk around myself
and though heading for the boat
ended up in front of a store all shut up.
Behind the windowpane black with dust
a tragic jacket stood, no one
would ever want its warmth.
The sun had set
and all the streets began
to howl in unison. "No thoroughfare."
I left. Cupping my hands
as though holding the final breath
of a frozen bird,
I protected the final handshake.
Larry Cool
Only Eyes
My body, the heating stove, the bed
Softly sway in the universe
Bright fire-balls pass through.
A baby - myself
Dangles above the table
Through his diaphanous body birds fly
Civilisations rise and fall
- "All the worlds break cover from my cry
All the stitches you will write, are here"
He says and he offers to me an ink bottle
- "No" I answer
And dousing the pen into the night, I write:
"The world and I never existed".
The ink climb on my fingers
Spreads out and I disappear step by step
In the place two eyes remains.
My body, the heating stove, the bed
Softly sway in the universe
Bright fire-balls pass through.
A baby - myself
Dangles above the table
Through his diaphanous body birds fly
Civilisations rise and fall
- "All the worlds break cover from my cry
All the stitches you will write, are here"
He says and he offers to me an ink bottle
- "No" I answer
And dousing the pen into the night, I write:
"The world and I never existed".
The ink climb on my fingers
Spreads out and I disappear step by step
In the place two eyes remains.
Dimitris P. Kraniotis
The "Don'ts" And "Zeros"
The night
that strangled
the endless moments
I had wished
to live,
passed by
without my lighting up
the candle
I had longed
to warm up
all the "don'ts" and "zeros".
The night
that strangled
the endless moments
I had wished
to live,
passed by
without my lighting up
the candle
I had longed
to warm up
all the "don'ts" and "zeros".
Sotirios Pastakas
Nocturnal Readiness
Dreams of abandoned order keep me company
each night. The unfinished novel
of married life, the endless harping
on the same thing, passion and its painful
consequences: ready now, and in all concience,
I must settle old scores,
get my own back, even though the digit clock
shows only 3.43: the present, I say, is
an illusion of a well-arranged past.
And yet, when I get up to sever
with my word the sinister plot, I wear
my slippers back to front, and the last few
drops always fall outside the bowl.
Dreams of abandoned order keep me company
each night. The unfinished novel
of married life, the endless harping
on the same thing, passion and its painful
consequences: ready now, and in all concience,
I must settle old scores,
get my own back, even though the digit clock
shows only 3.43: the present, I say, is
an illusion of a well-arranged past.
And yet, when I get up to sever
with my word the sinister plot, I wear
my slippers back to front, and the last few
drops always fall outside the bowl.
Nicoletta A. Poulakida
The Difficulty Of Dreaminess
Closing my eyes
after a large glass of beer,
in the shadow of the night
I listen to the song of a cicada;
and the hour is marked by its
instructive intermissions.
When it rests, I try to rest too.
The cicada starts again;
its high-pitched drone urges me
to learn about myself.
Yet another pause.
Somebody is coming; I toughen,
resisting the flutter of my eyelids,
and won’t open my eyes, no, not yet.
But restlessness prevails;
my concentration rustles
in the sound of footsteps.
It is difficult to keep my eyes shut
and keep on dreaming of
being its relaxed student.
Closing my eyes
after a large glass of beer,
in the shadow of the night
I listen to the song of a cicada;
and the hour is marked by its
instructive intermissions.
When it rests, I try to rest too.
The cicada starts again;
its high-pitched drone urges me
to learn about myself.
Yet another pause.
Somebody is coming; I toughen,
resisting the flutter of my eyelids,
and won’t open my eyes, no, not yet.
But restlessness prevails;
my concentration rustles
in the sound of footsteps.
It is difficult to keep my eyes shut
and keep on dreaming of
being its relaxed student.
Dinos Siotis
Sea Nocturne
Night comes
to the little island of Tinos
at the edge of time's flow
where the Aegean meets the Mediterranean
Fresh stars climb up the sky
a stealthy cloud
sends greetings to a breeze
searching for the ancient paean
A boat with no lights
has made friends with Orpheus
Some fishermen need a ride home
and the dolphins offer their backs
The moon has a hole
though which I can see
the missing sleep of your thighs
Night comes
to the little island of Tinos
at the edge of time's flow
where the Aegean meets the Mediterranean
Fresh stars climb up the sky
a stealthy cloud
sends greetings to a breeze
searching for the ancient paean
A boat with no lights
has made friends with Orpheus
Some fishermen need a ride home
and the dolphins offer their backs
The moon has a hole
though which I can see
the missing sleep of your thighs
Yorgos Veis
Nostalgia For Flute In The Cherry Garden
Your hair is the night's notion
I’ll tell you half the truth again,
light will spring where you came, let
the stars burn, passion is not spent,
nor the music's silver on the grass;
nothing will change, images, colours, half-words
it will be as if you came back to the same stripped place
with its red pines, the moon at the road’s edge
the half - burnt houses not touching the ground
the dust a book, the breeze a dark opera -
let the animals come near you, quietly
nature wants to enter your sleep
and if it rains, we have strong dreams
our name is created from diamonds.
Your hair is the night's notion
I’ll tell you half the truth again,
light will spring where you came, let
the stars burn, passion is not spent,
nor the music's silver on the grass;
nothing will change, images, colours, half-words
it will be as if you came back to the same stripped place
with its red pines, the moon at the road’s edge
the half - burnt houses not touching the ground
the dust a book, the breeze a dark opera -
let the animals come near you, quietly
nature wants to enter your sleep
and if it rains, we have strong dreams
our name is created from diamonds.
Maria Psoma
Wintertime
There comes a time of a cold, heavy winter
You, walking alone on the bright white snow
With none ahead and none behind
Grey blur, transparent figure
Moving uncertain in the fog
Hearing phrases of fear around you
Cracking sounds and threats
Then is the time of deep soul secrets
To reveal from the darkness
Sadness and sorrow whirl,
Regrets dance around like imminent shadows
All nightmares return!
This is the time of a long, endless winter
Lonely, frozen, with all roads closed
But you keep on walking
Breathless, tired, and lost
Haunted by memories, your future well-known
From now on there is no other season
For you to live upon
You are growing old! You are growing old!
There comes a time of a cold, heavy winter
You, walking alone on the bright white snow
With none ahead and none behind
Grey blur, transparent figure
Moving uncertain in the fog
Hearing phrases of fear around you
Cracking sounds and threats
Then is the time of deep soul secrets
To reveal from the darkness
Sadness and sorrow whirl,
Regrets dance around like imminent shadows
All nightmares return!
This is the time of a long, endless winter
Lonely, frozen, with all roads closed
But you keep on walking
Breathless, tired, and lost
Haunted by memories, your future well-known
From now on there is no other season
For you to live upon
You are growing old! You are growing old!
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