Fury of the Wind

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excerpt

“Quite right, my dear, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I wish
you would take that responsibility a little more seriously and keep
the things we hear in confidence to yourself.” Robert Carson folded
his hands, placed them on the desk in front of him, and smiled at
Emily as if to atone for the harshness of his words. “Having said
that,” he continued in a gentler tone, “I will tell you what Ben wanted.
You would have to know in a day or so, anyway. Ben’s getting
married on Friday.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. She had been about to take offence
at his inference that she was a gossip, but his last words erased every
other thought from her mind. And she certainly paid no heed to his
advice because, within five minutes, she was on the phone to Molly
Andrews, her best friend in Nimkus.
As in most small communities, a class system existed amongst
the residents of Nimkus. The town matrons would have denied it
but the divisions, although very subtle, did exist. There was no doctor
in town, no dentist and no lawyer. For services supplied by these
professionals one had to travel to the neighbouring larger town of
Bradshaw. With the absence of such elite families as these, the responsibility
of maintaining the position of upper crust fell to the
wives of the banker, the minister, the station agent, the town clerk,
the druggist … and on it went.
Had the principal of the three room school on the outskirts of
town been a man, his wife would certainly have been included in
this group. But the principal of Nimkus School happened to be,
and had been for some time, a single woman. Although well regarded
by the parents of the children she taught, Miss Donna Carrington
had no status in town because she had no husband. And a
single woman, no matter how brilliant and ambitious, was secretly
regarded as a nonentity by the town matrons.
Immediately following Ben Fielding’s visit to the vicar, Mrs. Carson
telephoned Mrs. Andrews. The station agent’s wife then called
Jean McKinnon, the banker’s wife. Mrs. McKinnon just happened
to be on her way to do her grocery shopping. And, of course, she let
slip the astounding news she had just heard as soon as she began
to give her grocery order to Mr. Stratton, the owner of Stratton’s…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073530

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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SPRING
It’s here, it has come.
Women, gather round,
let’s march to meet it,
let’s march to welcome it.
Here comes sweet spring
adorned in flowers,
riding a donkey,
sitting like a man
with herds of braying
donkeys close behind it,
ready all to copulate
ready to be lovers all.
They kick with all four legs
and bellow in their joy,
so wildly alive that you can see
the madness in their eyes
and braying all along
they bellow out spring’s beauty
and carry it abroad
for all the world to see
and spring, as it proceeds
and blazons its warm breath,
fills up the entrance way
of every house with heat.
The newly married maiden
feels hot in the cool air
and dresses in her
lightest cotton dress
and walks out to refresh herself
for all to see her passion
and the wind, if it can,
to cool her ardor.
Ah, spring, sweet spring,
companion of the young,
youth’s oestrus, comrade
equally to boys and girls
if you run out to the fields
even if you took away your steps
a myriad of followers
you will always find beside you
while all the long-lived men
who can no longer walk the fields
to meet you, stay behind
and envying, blame the young.
Ah spring, let us give
to others their fair share
without losing our good hold
on the reins of your donkey.
Look how the young girls
play and push each other.
Look how they fall and show
their secret lines to men.
Ah spring, stay steady
on the saddle
and hold more tightly
to your donkey’s reins.
Oh spring, oh my sweet spring,
companion of the young
youth’s oestrus, comrade
equally to boys and girls.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

Some adventure this is.” Atall turned to slash furiously at the bush he’d
been trimming.
Ari was gone. Atall called after him, “You should be helping us cut grass. Hjálmar’s
sailing first thing in the morning.”
Keallach and Ailan watched Ari drop down beside them. He put his finger to his
lips for silence then untied their bonds. They followed him up and over the side
into shallow water. Neither thought to ask why or where. Ari’s friendship with their
Brother Lorcan was all they needed to know. It was not until they reached a clearing
in the woods that they noticed his blood splattered tunic.
When Ari told them that the Little Warrior had been avenged and could rest in
peace, they were glad. Both Brothers at the same time said, “God forgive us.”
“Now we must find your Brothers.” Ari told them. “But we must be careful.
Searchers are out looking for Hrafen, Atall and Bjorn. Soon they will also be looking
for four escaped thralls and for me.”
The Brothers were ready to go but Ari cautioned them to remain in hiding.
“If I run into searchers, I will just be one of them. When I find your Brothers, I
will either bring them here or come back for you. Now, please lie low until I return.”
With that, Ari slipped into the night. All was quiet except for the hooting of an owl
and the scurry of tiny paws on the forest floor.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763106

Introspection

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Zeta
I paired my sigh with
the stirring of my heart,
the pleasure of the first penetration
with the apex of an orgasm and
the rain’s slow slap onto
the earth’s voluptuousness
I paired my lust with
undulation of her body with
its erotic rapture and
the longing for consummation
I paired the horse with its rider and
death with
the flower of life and
I said,
together they constitute
the meaning of transcendence
I paired the beggar’s plea with
the concern of the passerby and
I said,
together they fight
the common enemy called hunger,
the endless source of need
for equilibrium
the unhealed wound or
the bleeding scar
of the twentieth century
as always and

I said,
together they define
the meaningful schemata
of the swallow’s flight path
that slices the wind
caressing it with a winged shadow
together they formulate
the essence of the unexpected
soft pain and sweetness
together they constitute
the final, greatest monad

https://draft2digital.com/book/4118210#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763777

The Qliphoth

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excerpt

Lucas:
Grand Junction
The light filters through a drifting barrage of cloud, early evening mist blurs a
green froth of trees and Lucas doesn’t know anything any more. Now that he’s
walked out he feels uneasy about his paternal rescue mission. No one stops for
the lone hitcher. The B-road wanders everywhere and nowhere. All the signs
are overgrown.
He staggers into Abbotsburton railway station. At least he can dry out and
ponder. From the doorway of the deserted waiting-room, he studies the slant
of the rain. No way back to the motherland now. He gazes along a curve of single
track. Squat oaks crowd the edge of the trackbed. They bulge with
growths, puffs of whiteness.. The dankness of this landscape might dissolve
the sticky molecules of his identity.
The waiting room window is pointed, forming pseudo-gothic lancets with
small leaded panes. There’s a peculiar stained-glass armorial motif at the apex,
a stylised flash of green lightning bursting from blue-tinted clouds, with initials:
WGJR.
This must be the privately-owned ‘restored’ line, probably run by enthusiasts
in woolly hats and anoraks. Perhaps they’re hoping to reconnect
Abbotsburton with the local coastal resorts, miles away across the moorlands.
Yet their steam-age revival has apparently failed already. The cracked canopy
leaks, and this room is a sparsely furnished shed, offering a slatted wooden
bench, scarred with ancient rune-like graffiti. The faded adverts for
Brylcreem, Park Drive cigarettes and Philco Radio-Grams are the kind of
time-capsule memorabilia his father used to sell.
He is atomised, all his bits and pieces are in free fall. Best not to think too
hard about past, future, any time at all. Of course, he has left his bleeding
watch behind.
Lucas turns up the collar of his black bomber jacket and walks out to the far
end of the platform, where nettles split the asphalt. There’s no sign of a timetable
or platform staff. He scans the rusty rails. They curve in from the woods
and continue out into a steep cutting, between slopes of thick wet bushes.
On the far side of the track he can see a low windowless red-brick building,
overgrown with creepers. A derelict sub-station; or a wrecked trackside
memorial to some defunct moorland industry?

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Swamped

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excerpt

…awkwardly. “It’s about Frances.”
“What about her?” Eteo replied, smiling.
“She’s crazy about you, Dad,” Logan finally said. “She has asked
me twice now about what she can do to get you to go out with her.”
Eteo laughed. “I’m aware of Frances, son. I’ll approach her when
the time comes, don’t worry about her.”
“Be careful though, Dad. She sleeps around, you know.”
“I’ll be careful. No worries, son.”
When Logan went back to his desk, Eteo sighed and began to
make some calls. Yanni. Spiro. Angelo. Tom. Nick. It was time to update
them on their accounts and let them know what he had in mind
to do for them. As usual, they all said it was up to him to choose what
to get into and when to sell their accounts. Eteo felt his chest expanding.
He knew he would make some good money with these clients.
He always made the most with the ones who just said, “Do what you
think is best.” Clients like Ariana who had said exactly that when she
opened her account and deposited a hundred thousand dollars in it.
He dialed her number.
“Hello, sweet baby” he said when she answered.
“Hello, my love,” she replied. “How is your working day?”
“Pretty good, sweet Ariana. How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine, though she’s in her own world these days, I’m afraid.”
“Want to meet for lunch? When I’m done here, I mean. We could
go to the White Spot on Lonsdale or the one at the Royal Park mall.”
“I’d love to, my love. Either place. Just come and get me when
you can.”
“Soon as I’m done, then. I’ll be at your place no later than 1:45.”
“I’ll be ready, baby.”
At exactly 1:40, Eteo pressed Ariana’s buzzer. She came down at
once, and his day turned more pleasant just as quickly. He kissed her,
led her to his car, opened the door for her, and drove to the White
Spot at Lonsdale and 23rd. Ariana ordered their legendary hamburger
with fries and Eteo the equally famous Mediterranean chicken
salad. They shared a half liter of red wine, the house Shiraz, a respectable
Okanagan product, and laughed as they clinked their
glasses, enjoyed their unassuming meals, and talked of simple things…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WP3LMPX

Tasos Livaditis – Selected Poems

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Timeline
Often, when I was a child, I remember the adults talking
about my future. This usually happened at the dinner table.
But I didn’t pay attention to them as I listened to the birds
in the trees outside.
Perhaps for this, my future was delayed so much: there were
innumerable birds and trees.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562930

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763831

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume VI

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THE LIFT OPERATOR

However, he wants to talk, to finish what he left
half-done.
He listens to the talks around him and inside him
he wants to connect them.
If we could change, he said, (who said it?
To whom?) to change, in other words, to exchange
Give me, he said, your beautiful face, your youth
that I’ll be inside it, wearing your beautiful body,
in a union, my god, from within, melting in a union,
melting from the warmth of the union,
from the warmth of the spring, melting to the end.
And he was marked, since his birth, with a cross
on his forehead; marked by fate or his knowledge.
However, you move in your time and I in mine, and
it’s no one’s fault.
He said that and stopped talking. Who was he? You
couldn’t tell. People had lost their authentic blood,
not being able to discern their voice and their face
after so many chance encounters, tolerances,

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

Χρήστος Ντάλιας, Περιπλόμενος ΙΙ

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Χρήστος Ντάλιας: Περιπλόμενος (II)

The Sleigh-Drawing Horses

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An Epistle, Teaching Love
Bálint Balassi could have written to Sir Philip Sidney)
My lovely brother,
you were sent by the Creator
to the world in the same year,
like me. you began to try life
a good month after me.
I was a curly-haired,
brown boyster,
while you – in the typical
English style –
flower-faced (until your face
became ruined by the small-pox!)
and your hair reddish.
I have not too much right
to write all about this
things of intimacy,
but our almost twin-fate
(mortal wound of Zutphen
and of Esztergom!)
is much more strong,
than the demands of courtly behaviour:
let me be straightforward:
why wasn’t lashing you
a stronger desire,
ttan your cold
Astrophil-longing?
My dear Philip,
the half of Europe
was writing weaker
and stronger poems
upon your death,
while just a handful
of laments on mine.
But some fresh
lettuce-leaves,
and some sweet
strawberries of late May
was always good enough
for me to sing
the very essence of desire
into the viscers of my readers.
Shortly: if it could be possible,
here, on our emerald meadows,
by me, some lectures could have
been waiting for you,
(and around us plenty
of ladies to help!)
to teach you for
the real notes of Venus,
which was melting
the bones of dead and living ones.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676384X