Raindrops
It was daybreak when we turned
our eyes toward the dark
spot of the horizon
our fate stood, windless
inexplicable, inaccessible
shamelessly challenging us
though only the man with
the severed arm, sighted and
turned back to the house
where he sat on his chair
such calmness on his face
as if he had solved
all the problems of the world
while we kept our hands
extended so the heavy drops
of the first autumn rain
would fall onto our palms

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763750

Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

Faces furrowed by time and sickness

faces cracked by hunger and the work related accidents

faces swollen, dirty, hairy,

faces stretched by the pliers of an unnatural smile

big faces like mothers’ breasts

tough faces like anvils.

A woman uncovers her breast to feed a yellow baby

the wind mixes the clouds

clouds mix with the flags

death, wearing a general’s mask, inspects the world

women cry as they wash their black cloths

people cry in the front steps of houses, at the corners,

             in the fields

they cry in the trenches, hospitals, outside

             the unemployment offices

tears, tears

our eyes will survive beyond our death

in order to cry

it blows

The wind mixes the voices, years, electric cables,

the teeth of the tobacco factory worker with the bayonets

it can’t tell apart the minister from the black dog

it mixes the breast of the nursing woman with

the dome of the neighborhood church

it blows

The window panes of the big cities are foggy, dirtied

             by our bad breaths

as we bury our dead with their mouths opened

they’re hungry

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

The Ides of March
Beware of grandeur, oh soul.
And if you can not overcome your ambitions,
pursue them with hesitant precaution.
And the more you go forward, the more
inquiring and careful you must be.
And when you reach your zenith, as a Caesar at last;
when you take on the role of such a famous man,
then most of all be careful when you go out on the street,
like any famous master with your entourage,
if by chance some Artemidoros approaches
out of the crowd, bringing you a letter,
and says in a hurry “Read this at once,
these are serious matters that concern you,”
don’t fail to stop; don’t fail to postpone
every speech or task; don’t fail to turn away
the various people who greet you and bow to you
(you can see them later); let even the Senate wait,
for you must consider at once
the serious writings of Artemidoros.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1723961833

Idol
Between your eyes
the idol in the mirror
stares at you
words float
as if above a boiling pot
in shapes of dreams
brimming steam
adds your love
for the outcast
your emotional battle
between blackness
and nabobism
that breaks your heart
fingers feel the cold glass
balancing your heart’s jest
with the meaning of the unfathomable

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771715987

When Midnight Comes,

Jef, the Great Automaton …
Est-ce quelque dedale ou ta raison perdue
ne se retrouve pas?
Fr. De Malherbe

When midnight comes, Jef, the great automaton proudly says the words, eternal words and deceptive and futile, yet so advantageous for the satin eyes we loved, remember? Do you remember or would you rather try to tame them into a siren’s voice in the nets of their hair, which mercilessly ploughed the knitted and turned-off lamps of the flowing water…the flowing voices…the imagination…of the great erotic beds. Nothing of all these? Nothing. Then, the heights are meant for us. We must focus on the heights. Like the nihilist, who sprouts up in the air like a live flower. And as we must come down from the heights, let us do so. But, then again, with flowers, like flowers, with palaces, with spring music, with words of love and eyes of love. Set aside, be joyous, with your big eyebrows and open the big eyelids of the cloud. Look: the metal flutes are in a straight line over the carpet of dew. Here is what we call joy. Yes, this is known as the tender touch of a beloved woman. This is the law of life, the frontman of the sun, the sun of silence. Pay attention to these words. They have many obvious and hidden meanings. They are words full of metaphysical concepts, they are the depths of bitterness and mountains of joy. They are words life says, words the noisy piano key of love says, the bronze echo of love, Jef, the midnight great automaton.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

68

Second Canto
As the new language of despair
formulates new gothic phrases
I start painting my canvas with dark
red carts carrying cadavers and
lonely crosses toward the mountain peak
remainder of her flattened breast
perches firmly disassembled in the
shadow of magnolia leaves
the orphan sound of a lyre’s suffering
scolds dawn when quiet
amplifies the petty and stingy Where
in hell is a grand goal to be followed?
Where in hell is a maimed soldier
to be consoled? Who the devil will keep a
black-veiled widow company
through dark hours of her
soul’s nightmare? Nothing reveals
a snip of shredded light other than
indifference of the neighbor who
trims junipers with a deep
satisfaction of sedentary life stitched
on his t-shirt’s nonsense logo then
what’s left for old Death to do
but toy with the
ladybug on His hand and enjoy
a disjointed farce of the eminent
teen who thinks He knows
everything? Are they not all alike?
The last hurrah comes from hedging
trees and withering hibiscus asserting:
We can do better

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763092

Καίσαρ Εμμανουήλ, Νυχτερινή φαντασίωση

III
Oh dark shivering in the root and on the leaves!
Appear sleepless stature in the crowded silence
raise your head from your cupped hands
let your wish be done and tell me again
the words that touched and mixed in a bosom’s blood
and let your desire bend like a deep walnut shade
and let your hair’s grace flood us
from the down of the kiss to the leaves of the heart.
You lowered your eyes and you had the smile
that master painters of bygone days humbly painted
Forgotten reading from an ancient gospel
your words breathed and your soft voice:
“The passing of time is gentle and unworldly
and pain rows softly in my soul
down incising the sky, dream remains unsinkable
and it is as though fragrant shrubs pass by.
With the eye’s startling, with the body’s blushing
flocks of doves awaken and descend
their low circular fluttering encompasses me
the stars a human touch on my breast.
The distant and indescribable lament of the world
I hear as in a conch mixed by the adversary’s buzz
only for moments that vanish and the thought
of my two pronged desire reigns alone.
As though I had risen naked in a captured recollection
when you came familiar and foreign, my precious
to grant me bowing the endless deliverance
that I seek from the wind’s swift sistrum…”
The broken sundown faded and vanished
as it seemed a fallacy to ask for the gifts of heaven.
Your eyes were lowered. The moon’s thorn
sprouted and you feared the mountain shadows.
…How our love diminishes in the mirror
dreams in our sleep, school of forgetfulness
in the depths of time, how our hearts turn narrow
and vanish in the rocking of a foreign embrace…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096TTS37J