The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

“It’s like I told the police, Ignatius,” Liam replied. “It was early morning. And I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I did see someone running from the church, but he was disappearing over the ridge in the direction of Lisnaglass.”
“Just one man?” Sweeney asked.
“I saw only one,” Liam told him.
“Lisnaglass is full of Unionist louts,” someone observed. “So you didn’t see who it was?”
“No, I didn’t.” Liam was almost certain that the culprit he had seen running from the church was Michael Carrick, but he saw no reason why Michael, of all people, would have given Father Padraig so severe a beating and carried out such vandalism in the church. By the time the police interviewed him he had convinced himself that he had been mistaken. He had also decided that even if it had been Michael, he could not have informed against him. Michael Carrick, everyone knew, was going to marry Caitlin MacLir, and Liam could do nothing that would destroy the happiness of a woman he hopelessly fawned on, like a devoted pup.
“You weren’t at the burying, Padraig,” Sweeney remarked.
“No, in all conscience I felt that I was unable to be there, Ignatius,” Padraig replied. “The burying, as you called it, was not a Christian one. And the graveyard at Killyshannagh is no longer consecrated ground. As a priest I felt that I could not honestly take part. However much I loved Finn MacLir. It was not the way I wanted to see him go.” A feeling of having been cheated by God Himself strengthened insuppressibly in Padraig’s breast. “But it was Finn’s own wish.”
Padraig’s words were like rocks tied to his ankles that sunk the priest in Sweeney’s estimation.
You could have put on a suit, Sweeney thought, forgot you were a priest for a few hours, and come to the funeral of the man who rescued you, raised you, paid for your education. You’re a sanctimonious hypocrite, Father Padraig. You deserved that hiding. I’d love to give you one myself. Sweeney walked away, disappointed and disgusted.
The general conversation in the MacLir house splintered, as those present addressed their neighbours rather than the group at large. Jim Patterson, finding himself with no one to talk to, caught the eye of Clifford Hamilton in the far corner of the dining room. Clifford, in a tailored black suit and white shirt, was leaning against the wall between the window and the bookcase. Jim Patterson crossed the crowded room and joined him. “How are you, Clifford?”
“Can’t complain, Jim. How’s yourself?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Swamped

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excerpt

Then remembering his encounter with Frankie, he added,
“Oh, and just to remind you about Wheaton, we’ve been picking up
steadily there too, as you might have noticed. That’s the next one, I’m
sure of it. Don’t let it go without getting in.”
“I have my eyes on it, Eteo. Thanks. You’ve always followed
Frankie, I know.”
“Nothing but success with him, John, you know that.”
“Too true there,” John agreed. “I’ll clue in some people I know
to it.”
“Everyone who gets in early will make a good profit if they play
it right. I wouldn’t be surprised to see it in multiple dollars in a year
or so,” Eteo said. “That’s my gut feeling.”
“I’ll remember this, Eteo,” John replied, and with that he excused
himself to walk to the washroom. Eteo headed back to his office, but
before he reached it, Bradley Connors stopped him in the hallway.
“I didn’t see you at the dog and pony yesterday,” Bradley said.
“I had another meeting, but I sent Logan in my place. He has already
briefed me on it,” Eteo lied.
“I saw your son, but your presence would have been appreciated.
I wanted your input on this new company.”
“And as soon as I’ve studied the prospectus, you’ll have it,” Eteo
promised. “By the way, stay tuned to Wheaton, Frankie’s new deal. I
can only see it climbing.”
“I’ve heard that from others as well. Thank you, Eteo,” he said
and strolled off, looking pleased with himself.
Eteo hadn’t been back in his office for more than a minute when
Mario Messini called.
“Want to grab a bite later?” he asked. “My treat.”
“Sure,” Eteo replied. “What time?” Eteo tried to sound nonchalant,
but he was surprised.
“Da Carlo’s, noonish?”
“See you there at noon,” Eteo confirmed, then he added, “Just us
or more?”
“Just us Eteo, like old times,” Mario said and cracked a laugh.
At exactly twelve o’clock Eteo walked into Da Carlo’s. There was
no sign of Mario, so he took a table and ordered a glass of red wine.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

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

Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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PORTRAIT
In the street where people run incuriously
indifferent to beauty, you sauntered
looking as if the breeze was raising you,
as if you never hated anyone.
Your step was soft, a revelation,
your face snow-white, a lily,
and as your shining glance alighted on me
that tranquil smile appeared.
Like the priest of some fantastic faith
or someone painted by Velasquez’s holy brush
an Andalusian lord
you peeked out from behind the sea of people.
Once I’d met you in a noisy street,
a serene ghost, fleshless, holy,
you stayed on in my soul like
an ethereal idol and I your fanciful believer.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

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

Medusa

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Silence
Unbound silence and dignified indignation balance the void between death and the softness of your lips, the endless desire I felt in our last erotic interlude
—Come, help me fold these bed sheets; leave the computer for a second, it won’t cry over it
Heartless Hades stabbed my heart. Arrows of banality shade my dream, and I stand alone under the doorway, arms crossed as if nothing I can say
—I talk to you, and nothing registers: what’s wrong with you?
High poplars conquer the last sunray before the dusk’s glowing silver face of the moon hangs over my anticipation for our erotic zenith, ripping our garments in two, flowing garlands, my hands I can’t control
—Stop staring at that screen forever, you hear me?
Velvety skin, your touch on my palms, and deep inside you, the mystery of darkness and the shadow of a spent man; the early hour of the evening that swirls around your soft bosom, and I embrace your hot body as if for the first time when Eros triumphed
—Told you once, told you twice, get off your chair and help me clean the kitchen

https://draft2digital.com/book/3745982#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769

Prairie Roots

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excerpt

…whether he had a few or a few too many. Nevertheless, the horses
were always taken care of first, brushed down, watered and fed,
while the groceries and supplies were being removed, before we
sought the comfort of the stove and the supper table.
As time went on the farmers began building sled cutters which
were completely enclosed and in which they installed a small
wood-burning stove. These were marvelous units, gaily painted
and creatively streamlined, providing the farmers and their families
with a relative degree of comfort during the long treks into
town to pick up supplies, medicine, groceries and mail. On those
rare occasions when she accompanied him into town or when
they visited with friends or relatives Mother enjoyed the opportunity
to travel in the cutter that father designed and built. Modern
travel had invaded the Saskatchewan outback and now only the
horses had to suffer through the winter weather.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

Blood, Feathers and Holy Men

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excerpt

The brothers replied: “Ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.” To God, Who
giveth joy to my youth.
Brown Bear strolled alone to the bluff overlooking the bay. High above green
waters and the multicoloured maples and birch on the far islands, he saw the first
arrowheads of honking geese. Three generations of large white birds announced the
coming snow and stirred the arrowhead of pain in Brown Bear’s heart. “My little
Namid, do you fly with Grandmother Snow Goose to the land of warm breezes? Or
does your spirit dance among your sister stars? My beautiful daughter, your father’s
heart still boils with anger for those who took you from your home and snatched
away your mother’s joy. It’s time, I know, my little Star Dancer, to take your bundle
to the resting place of our ancestors. But we cannot take you there until your brother,
Running Deer, and I make peace in our hearts, or else our anger will be carried with
your bones. We will not be long, my little one. Fly safely on. We will not be long.”
Though Brown Bear, Corn Mother and Running Deer had supported one another
as a bereaved family, Brown Bear needed to renew his own energy and that of
his family, within a village healing circle. As Sachem, White Eagle would organize a
cleansing sweat lodge, erected new for the occasion. The sweat lodge would be built
close to the stream, dammed to create a cooling pool. This work and the organizing
of a healing feast would be done by the women of the tribe.
All those who wished to join the circle knew they must make their intentions
known to White Eagle well ahead of time and prepare for the ceremony with fasting
and sitting apart in the forest. Brown Bear invited his friend White Bear, and
Running Deer invited Mountain Thrush. Kiche, Sky Spirit, also was invited out of
respect for his position among the newcomers. But Father Finten declined the invitation
when he learned to his horror the ceremony would take place in pagan nudity.
He forbade Brother Rordan to attend, but Mountain Thrush chose not to obey his
priest’s command.
Although she never attended the prayers of her companion Brothers, Ula felt
drawn to the Native spirituality and asked if she could be included. She wanted to
be closer to Corn Mother who had been so good to her when she was ill. Ula asked
White Eagle’s permission to be part of the healing circle.
Bjorn and Rordan knew that they represented the evil men who had brought pain
to Brown Bear and his family and to Grey Wolf for the loss of his ear and the pride
of his first kill. Now they’d listen and share with respect and truth and love, and help
in the healing of their new brothers and sisters.
In the days leading up to the healing circle, Bjorn, Rordan and Ula spent full days
sitting beneath single trees in the forest until they each came to know the individual
characteristics of their tree and how it was different from every other one in the
forest. The day before the circle, White Bear, Mountain Thrush, and Una, were honoured
with an invitation to the sweat lodge.
Drums announced the sweat lodge healing ceremony. The circular lodge, big
enough for thirty or more people, was built low into the ground with a framework
of twelve sturdy saplings and covered with woven reed mats and fallen leaves. The
tiny door, also covered with a mat, faced east, the source of life, power and wisdom.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562826

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

Kariotakis-Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

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How Can I Say It to You
How can I say it to you? I want you fresh as buds and braves
now that my heart expands
calm and serene, with no shadows, diaphanous and clear
calling inside it your beautiful reflections.
Heartwarming joy when each of you lean your heads
unsuspecting towards my heart, when
you’re flooded by fairies and their ephemeral beauty
with the secret peaceful light of my dream.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763459

Troglodytes

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Millennia
Millennia go by like fleeting moments
incising lines in the wings of eternity
like sounds morphing cacophony
while nature’s green garment gets
intoxicated by the aroma of a lilac
and spreads its infinite smile
to the moon dipped in your tears.
The troglodyte stands in front
of the pompous high altar
he still trembles in fear, while
the modern shaman’s imposing
figure with the glittering tiara
always commands him to kneel,
his slavery is a smooth curse
he cannot escape.
The troglodyte still commanded
by the four Golden Gates of Heaven
holding him prisoner of the image.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186583

Small Change

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excerpt

“Do you think Nonno and Nonna will let me borrow the… ukelele sometimes?”
“I think so, yes. But you’ll have to ask them.”
When he talks with his grandparents the next morning, Rick can feel that his question has made them sad. Something that doesn’t need to be said passes between them. Then Nonno Arsenio puts his thick, strong arm around Rick’s shoulders.
“We have give you Enrico’s name, caro. He would be glad you want to make music like him. Many years we save it, to keep him here, with us, but now we see, also, why. We don’t know all that time, but it was for you, too, that we save it. Maybe you play for us when you learn. Tomaso can teach you.”
For the rest of the summer, for a few hours almost every day, he sits with his father in the big front room, learning where to put his fingers, the chords, and the keys. In the fall, he takes it back with him to the city.
Year after year, through the long hot summers, cars come in from the city and park on the grass outside the fieldstone gateposts. Guests with smiling faces bring in their roasts and flowers and bottles of wine. There are hugs and handshakes, kisses, chatter and raillery and laughter.
In the shade of the swamp willow that leans from a corner of the guest bungalow, long trellis tables are set up and covered with white cloth. People in shirt sleeves and suit-pants, in summer dresses and bathing suits with pink, sun-warmed faces renew old intimacies, drink pineapple and cream soda punch or red wine spritzers with ice from frosty, sweating pitchers cruised by flies, smoking, exchanging gossipy tidbits, arguing politics or points of law, flirting outrageously, trading friendly insults, sharing stories and the latest jokes. Theresa, large and gregarious, cooks in the outdoor kitchen, or talks to everyone at once as she pours narrow glasses of homemade Strega, asking after the numerous god-children she mid-wifed into the world, making real estate deals; and Arsenio, round faced, red with exertion and sheer enjoyment, picks lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers, cicoria, dandelion leaves, cucumbers, and onions for the evening salad.
After the children are in bed, those who will stay overnight say good bye to those who are leaving and everyone moves to the arbour of grape leaves near the peach and cherry trees behind the big house.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Dennis was a top student, the school rep at the Science Fair.
Afternoons he skinned cats.
– Whatcha watching?
– Show about bugs, replied young Ronnie. Fucking stupid.
Dennis whispered, Got any smoke?
Mrs. Stinson appeared, a towel around her head. Beads of hair
colouring sluiced across her forehead.
– Burt still not going to Aunt Peggy’s? she asked.
The only way the Stinsons could have known about Burt’s recalcitrance
was if someone had told them. Someone like Mom.
Times like that I’d get these pictures in my head. I could see Al
Stinson disguising his voice and mumbling threats into a telephone,
the three conspirators having a good laugh afterwards. My brother
knew about my visions. He figured I had psychic powers.
Aunt Peggy was waiting for us at the bus station. With her was Bud,
the latest boyfriend, and Mark, our cousin.
Bud walked bull-legged and sucked on a toothpick. Mark was an
awkward 12-year-old with eyes the colour of blue marbles. Aunt
Peggy said he wore his cub uniform everywhere.
– Are you a Sixer yet? asked Burt. Before developing other interests,
my brother had been a pack leader himself.
– I need one more badge, Mark said. Knots.
The five of us squeezed into the cab of Bud’s pickup. Mark and his
dripping Popsicle sat on my lap.
Bud said, Don’t blink, fellas, you’ll miss the highlights.
The town of Coppermine was divided by the Similkameen River,
a marauding deluge of glacier-cold aqua roaring through a steep
gorge. Mountains loomed on all sides, leaving the few thousand residents
in shade for all but a couple of hours a day. The mountains
also blocked TV reception.
A bridge joined the wealthier west side of town with the poorer
east. The narrow wooden span was a popular meeting spot for teens.
A resentful congregation dissolved at our crossing.
– That road there, said Aunt Peggy, indicating a gap in the trees,
leads to the Cherry Creek Indian Reserve. They say all this land
belongs to them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971