Savages and Beasts

Excerpt

Absorbed in their work they faintly heard the recess
bell. Children walked out to the schoolyard again. They were
still timid and quiet like the sun behind the clouds that didn’t
dare show itself, same as the light breeze amid the tree leaves
that didn’t know whether to play and create its rustle or to keep
quiet like these hurt and intimidated kids. The savages, Anton
thought, were outside and the civilized and mighty remained
within the walls of this facility. And these civilized and wise
archons had their goal: to educate and make good law abiding
citizens of these brutes, to make them alike themselves so they
could one day go out there and subjugate others, they could one
day go out there and proselytize others to the good word or else.
Anton’s mind ran amok to things unpleasant and cruel,
things these kids were going through at their tender age and
suddenly he revolted at the cruelty of such a system and tears
started flowing down his eyes. He turned aside so Dylan wouldn’t
see him and wiping his eyes with his hand he took a deep breath
that didn’t go unnoticed by the old Irish man.
“What is it Anton?”
“I’m thinking of these kids and my mind went to the
rumors out there, things people talk about. Even the man who
lived under the same roof with you, old Simon, I often meet him
at the diner.”
“That drunkard? He’s of no good. He’s only good when
he prepares the traditional haggis during the Robby Burn’s day
annual festival. He’s no good for nothing else. He’s just a big
mouth that’s who he is, nothing more.”
“He sounded so convincing each time he spoke about these
kids in this school and the archons over them. He sounded so
convincing and he insisted of the cruel ways the church people go
after these children.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

He Rode Tall

Excerpt

the way that they were groomed, he guessed all of the stock in
this sale were show horses or show-horse prospects.
Rounding the corner of one aisle and starting up another to
continue his inspection, Joel saw a growing crowd of people forming
outside of the old mare’s stall. Joel was feeling pretty good
about this turn of events. With that kind of interest, he might
even get the three- or four-thousand dollars that Harry predicted
she would be able to attract. That was a lot of money for an old
mare, but darn, she was a real good looker. Joel wandered past the
group of admirers but wasn’t able to pick up on any of the
conversation.
Once the sale got started, time seemed to fly by. After reading
the rules and regulations of the sale, the auctioneer, a gravelly
voiced man in a big Stetson, rattled the numbers off. After a while
a pattern started to emerge. The auctioneer would call for a while
and then a man beside him in the auction booth would stop the
sale and take a few moments to go on about the breeding and performance
record of the horse in the sale ring. The auction would
then continue for maybe another minute or two, depending on
how the bidding was going, before the auctioneer would call out,
“Sold!” As the sold horse exited from one end of the ring another
horse would be led in from the other end and the process would
start all over again. But while the system remained consistent,
the prices didn’t. Joel could see that most of the horses were
going in the five- to ten-thousand-dollar range with the odd one
going over ten. This was encouraging to see, but these were
prized, well-bred show horses or talented show prospects of superior
breeding, and none of them were twenty-one-year-old mares.
In fact, other than the twenty-one-year-old mare, the next oldest
horse in the sale was twelve.
Even at the fast clip of the auctioneer and the efficiency of the
helpers moving the horses in and out, it was the end of the afternoon
when the crowd of 500 or so horse enthusiasts were reminded
that, despite what the catalogue said, there really was one more
horse. Number fifty-one, the old blonde mare was led in.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

IV

                        Argonauts

And the soul

if it is to know itself

must look

into its own soul

the stranger and the enemy, we have seen him in the mirror.

They were good boys, the comrades, they didn’t complain

about the tiredness or the thirst or the frost

they had the behaviour of the trees and the waves

that accept the wind and the rain

that accept the night and the sun

without changing in the middle of change.

They were good boys, for days on

they sweated at the oars with lowered eyes

breathing in rhythm

and their blood reddened a submissive skin.

Sometimes they sang, with lowered eyes

when we passed by the deserted island with the prickly pear trees

toward the west, beyond the cape of the dogs

that bark.

If it is to know itself, they said

it must look into its own soul, they said

and the oars struck the gold of the sea

in the sunset.

We passed by many capes, many islands, the sea

that brings another sea, gulls and seals.

Sometimes grieving women wept

lamenting their lost children

and others angrily sought Alexander the Great

and glories lost in the depths of Asia.

We moored on shores filled with night fragrances

with bird chirps, with waters that left on our hands

memory of a great happiness.

But the voyages did not end.

Their souls became one with the oars and the oarlocks

with the solemn face of the prow

with the rudder’s wake

with the water that shattered their image.

The comrades died one by one

with lowered eyes. Their oars

point to the place where they sleep on the shore.

No one remembers them. Justice.

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

Θαλερός Κώστας, Στο χείλος αδειασμένου φλιτζανιού