I told Salvador under my breath that there was a cart waiting for us not too far away, and asked him whether he could walk. He couldn’t even talk. I took out a leather bag from under my robe, tinkling with coins. “Son! Come here,” I called the torturer who moved quickly at the sound of money. “You have such a hard life, and you have to eat, right?” He nodded his assent. “There are so many injustices in this life, and this is one of them. Look here, this is your lucky day.” I put the pouch of money into his hands. “It’s yours if you keep your mouth shut and take us to the nearest exit. Cry for help, and I’ll wring your soul out through your belly button.” The man opened his mouth and shut it again. “Let’s all get out of here, shall we?” I slapped him on the back to move him to action.
And the lingering poet, looks at the stones and wonders do they really exist between these erased lines, the edges, the hollows the contours do they really exist here where the rain’s passing meets with the wind and ravage they do exist, the movement of life, the shape of tenderness of those who faded out so strangely in our lives of those who remained as shadows of waves and thoughts in the endlessness of pelagos or perhaps no, nothing remains but the weight the nostalgia of the weight of an alive existence there where we remain unsubstantial bending like branches of the terrible willow tree piled in the continued despair while the yellow current slowly carries down rushes uprooted in the mud image of a form turned into stone by the sentence of an everlasting bitterness. The poet a void. The sun carrying a shield rose fighting and from depths of the cave a startled bat pierced the light like an arrow pierces a shield: ‘Ασίνην τε Ασίνην τε…’ As though it was him the king of Asini who we have so carefully searched for on this acropolis sometimes touching with our fingers his touch on the stones.
Required Attention Be careful when you go out; things look so distant, they almost vanish. The Naval Yard in the soft light, After the rain, perhaps it involves all your anticipation to return home without meeting in your way that empty ice cream cone that was rolled, slowly and carefully, by the white cane of the blind man.
The taste of her mouth aroused all his instincts, and he wanted to touch this girl all over. However, they heard the clearing of the proprietor’s throat and stopped. Hermes pulled back, and she gave him her best smile, showing a straight line of teeth and a hungry tongue. They stayed there for another half an hour, and then she wanted to go. “What would you like to do now? See a movie?” He looked at his watch; it was eight o’clock. “Where do you like to go?” She suggested they go to see the latest movie in a cinema close by, and he agreed. They walked to the cinema, and Hermes offered her his arm. She took the chance and leaned toward him a bit more, which Hermes loved. They got to the theatre and realized the place was almost full, so they made their way to the balcony, where they noticed that it was almost empty. They found two seats. He turned to look at her, and she took the courage and offered him a long and passionate kiss. His hunger for her body became evident. She took his hand and placed it between her legs, a move he took even further by sliding his hand up and touching her pubic hair. That made her go wild. He didn’t let go, and the rubbing of his hand inside her made her move her body left and right with such intensity that she had an orgasm in a matter of seconds. She then found his erection and played with him for a minute or two, but he wanted a lot more than that. “You like to go?” she asked. “Where could we go?” “I know a place.” He wondered where this place might be, surely not her parents’ house. “A friend of mine, she whispered, is out of town; I have the key to her place.”
“I’m glad to see you’re not hiding, Mr. Clarkson,” Pease said. Fred hoisted himself up on an elbow and regarded the young man. “Not hiding and still not talking about myself,” he said. “I thought perhaps you’d be willing to confirm what I found out about your background before we go with the story. It was fairly simple to trace you through the state bar association. You had an impressive career in the law.” “Now, why would anyone care about that, Mr. Pease? It’s ancient history.” “I suppose no one would care if you hadn’t made yourself a hero in the train rescue and come so eloquently to the defense of Poodie James at the council hearing.” Engine Fred indicated the captain’s chair. “Have a seat. I’ve been thinking of something that might interest your readers far more than anything you could write about this old hobo. Want to hear about it?” “Do I sense the offer of a deal?” Pease said. Fred’s eyebrows went up. “Does that offend your journalistic sensibilities?” “It depends on the nature of the deal and the quality of the information,” Pease said. Fred fell silent while he studied Pease’s schoolboy face, its earnestness, its shock of hair over the forehead, the glasses losing their struggle to stay in place. Pease returned his gaze without moving his eyes, without a flicker of expression. “Do you know the story of Poodie James being attacked and beaten shortly after he moved to this valley?” Fred said. “As of two days ago, I do,” Pease told him. “Winifred Stone told me about it shortly before the council hearing. She directed me to the clipping in our morgue. Sketchy story. Not much to go on. It’s interesting that someone was attacking hobos around the same time. 1927, a long time ago.” “Matter of perspective,” Engine Fred said. “Seems like yesterday. Still, it’s been sketchy for me, too, until recently.” Pease looked at Fred, saying nothing, waiting.
For Kariotakis The young men who came to the deserted island one night counted themselves and found you missing. They looked each other in the eyes and no wonder they shook their heads in sadness. Many nights they recalled that from your loneliness a sign of fire you would send and they knew the sad welcome of the abyss that lighted the roads and for this they stayed in their familiar places. Left in their grief, as if fatefully and sorrowfully hanging from the “rock” of danger. And when you said goodbye, you, the forever desperate, they sang a few verses of a traditional dirge. The young men arrive to the island every year and they search for the elegy of life in your vacant spot. In their eyes two tears they maintain for you and for the new Epoch you have established.
“Wish you the best” What does the lover mean? Most likely what’s best for him since the circumstances, those threatening monsters with the nine heads clench their teeth. Shamelessly since that water diluted soup of excuses boils better in slow fire, without nostalgia, as if one is to read a newspaper with his legs up on a chair he better undo his heavy boots that always remember. “I wish you the best” then. Would have been better if he wrote: “Sorry that I couldn’t?”
Climb We climb the narrow path above tree tops houses fade to invisible and distant shore changes to pewter sun reflecting hours as a lady bug in her red dress hops to the other side of my palm and my eyes fix on her glamor grand presence in minute scale an immense love springs from my river quenching the thirst of every tree every need
Poetry the Noble Grave Poetry offers a fine funeral to its beloved dead with official tunes and mythic splendor it buries them deep, salutes with music dedicates wreaths, a cold grave slab the endless procession behind the verse all the sepulchral History above them. The palms of angel seal their silence until their Second Coming when the dead will shake the gravestone and move the moist body to harvest our ripened life leaving behind the borderless homeland. Our dead hope to be resurrected and wrap their arms around our necks with their great strength and rigor. Avengers, tyrant killers will choke us.
…made and she could not take a chance on hurting them by refusing their generous offer. It was kind of them to even think of an engagement gift, but she wished they had decided on something less ostentatious. Oh well, maybe if it was a small, inexpensive car she wouldn’t feel so bad about accepting it. She had not told her parents. She did not want them to feel they had to give the newly engaged couple a gift. Such a thing had never entered her mind, and she hoped Cam did not expect it either. And anyway, her parents certainly could not afford anything as lavish as a car. Maybe I’m out of my league, Tyne thought. We’re just simple country people. I shouldn’t be marrying someone like Cam. This new revelation made her uneasy, taking the edge off the excitement she felt about returning to the city. She turned to look out the window onto the bleak winter landscape, but a little girl in the seat beside her suddenly caught her attention and offered a welcome diversion for her thoughts. The blond-haired child held up a story book and asked her a word. “That says hospital,” Tyne replied, smiling into the innocent face. Noting the pictures in the book, she asked, “Is your story about a nurse?” The child beamed. “Yeth. When I grow up, I’m going to be a nurth.” “Are you? That’s lovely. I’m a nurse, and I work in a hospital like that one in your picture book.” The little face turned up, the blue eyes wide and incredulous. “Oh … oh, you’re a nurth … oh.” Tyne laughed softly, and could not resist the urge to put her arm around the little one and hug her. Looking up, she saw the warm smile of a young woman sitting across from them. “You’ve made her day, thank you,” the woman said, smiling. “Are you her mother? Oh then, I’ll trade places with you so that you can sit with her.” “No, no,” the mother waved her hand. “She wouldn’t thank me for that.” Tyne laughed and turned back to the admiring child. Someday, would she and Cam have a little girl like this dear one? A girl who wanted, more than anything, to be a nurth?
Manolis Aligizakis 