Month: October 2025

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

Liam Dooley was thirty-eight, going on thirty-nine. His fair, wavy hair was receding alarmingly at the temples. He believed a baldness was spreading at the back of his head also, like a threadbare elbow in an old jacket, but he could not see for sure in the mirror and he would have been embarrassed to ask. There was no one he could have asked in any case without feeling foolish. His parents were dead; his sister, after her twenty-first birthday, had moved to Belfast to marry the father of her daughter; and Liam lived alone in two rooms, a kitchen and a living-bedroom that the Church had built onto the back of the new school as accommodation for the teacher, but which could be converted to additional classrooms when the growing number of pupils made the extension necessary. Liam’s baldness and his forties were both approaching rapidly. Both inexorable. He could always have lied about his age to strangers who did not know him but he could not pass himself off as twenty-eight or twenty-nine when his hairline was almost as far back as his ears and threatening to meet up with the circle of skin he felt was spreading at his crown. He had to face facts. Liam Dooley’s youth was irretrievably lost. Lost, not squandered. Liam was no profligate. He was no philanderer. His intimacy with women extended only to walking one or two of them home from church. Once he went as far as holding Molly Noonan’s hand as they strolled home from a choir practice but he could not bring himself to embrace her, nor to give her a kiss as he left her at her door. He wanted to. He wanted to very much. But he was timorous and hesitant. Fearful of rejection, he held back. Molly did not ask him in for tea. Nor did she ever walk home with him again. Sean O’Sullivan, a tenor with large, yellowing teeth, escorted her home after that. Then Molly got pregnant, and she and Sean ran away to Belfast and were never seen again.
Liam often thought of Molly Noonan, of the pert looks she flicked his way, of the teasing scent from her red hair as he stood behind her in the choir, of the smiles she gave him when he entered Lizzie Martin’s shop where she worked. He remembered the late spring evening when they had last walked home together. They had paused where Killeenagh Burn trips down

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Poodie James

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excerpt

He spoke at service club meetings. He lectured at
the college. He played golf as he always had, seldom and badly. It
was a way of socializing; he detested the game.
Sam restrained himself from meddling in the affairs of Winter
and Franklin; he promised his partner and his wife that he would
keep hands off the firm. Despite his efforts to stay busy, the boredom
of retirement began to overtake him. Pete Torgerson’s predecessor
as mayor asked Sam to fill the unexpired term of a full-time
municipal court judge who died. The term had less than a year to
run. When Sam told her about it, Liza was reluctant and then, the
more she thought about it, relieved. Sam accepted the judgeship.
On the bench and in chambers, he discovered in himself gravity
and patience, qualities that during his years of arguing before
judges he never imagined he had. He enjoyed the work. Before the
term ended, he announced himself a candidate for a superior court
seat. The bar association endorsed him. He won easily and was
nearing the end of his second term.
There was nothing official about it, but Sam Winter had
become a sort of guardian to Poodie. In 1934 when the bank foreclosed
on the Thorps, Jeremy Stone asked him to come up with a
legal guarantee that no one would throw Poodie off the property.
On Sam’s advice, the bank gave Poodie a life estate in the cabin.
That’s where he was now, reading, no doubt, Sam thought. The
little man came to the door in his shorts and sandals, grinning,
holding Breasted’s History of Egypt, a book the judge had always
meant to get around to.
“Listen, Poodie” Sam began.
Poodie’s grin expanded. He cupped his hand behind his ear and
cocked his head, eyes intent on Sam’s face.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Sorry, Poodie. I mean, we have to discuss
something. It’s about the mayor.”
The grin diminished. Poodie spoke a couple of sentences. Sam
hunched his shoulders and spread his hands.
“Better get your pad and pencil,” he said.
Poodie invited the judge inside.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Wheat Ears

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Zeus
when Zeus promised my return
again to face the loathly
teeth of the abyss daring
at the elliptical hour
of a hot June day as the cicadas’
cantos wake up the high noon
with sweet lullabies
olive tree leaves sieve
sunlight and the loaf
allotted to me
was kneed without yeast
swirls of anger and pictures of people
familiar and bearded old beasts
of my kin who
softly sprang up
from the earth’s bottom
to release me
from the commitment
of eternal return
sails of caiques plastered on the horizon
ambience and nostalgia when
I felt my primeval fear
reignited
nothing but a warning for
my true passing through
the narrow Symplegades

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Constantine Cavafy – Poems

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Alexandrian Kings
The Alexandrians gathered
to see Cleopatra’s children,
Caesarion and his little brothers
Alexander and Ptolemy, who they
took for the first time to the Gymnasium
to proclaim them kings,
in front of the brilliant array of the soldiers.
They proclaimed Alexander king
of Armenia, Media, and of Parthia.
Ptolemy—they proclaimed king
of Cilicia, Syria, and Phoenicia.
Caesarion was standing more to the front,
dressed in a rose colored silk,
on his breast a bouquet of hyacinths,
his belt with a double row of sapphires and amethysts,
his shoes tied with white ribbons
embroidered with dawn pink pearls.
Him they proclaimed higher than the younger ones,
they called him King of Kings.
The Alexandrians knew perfectly well
that these were just theatrical words.
But the day was warm and poetic,
the sky was a vast light blue,
the Alexandrian Gymnasium a
triumphant artistic achievement,
the splendor of the courtiers superb,
Caesarion all grace and beauty
(son of Cleopatra, blood of the Lagidae);
and so the Alexandrians ran to the feast,
and they got enthusiastic and they cheered,
in Greek, and in Egyptian, and some in Hebrew,
captivated by the nice show—
knowing very well what all this meant,
what empty words these kingships were.

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

Red in Black

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Heatwave
Th
e news announcer mentioned
the heatwave that came from Sahara
over the seas
to reach our island which
thrown on the blue sea
resembled a natural marvel
when seen from above
and I lean over your body
eternal fleshy sensation
when a drop of sweat falls
on your sculptured beauty
exactly on your right breast
that unexpectedly reacted
with a shiver that released
its orgasm and its lust
as I said
yours, my bright little star
and you said
always yours, my beloved husband

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771713208

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

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The Hand
For Andreas Embirikos
beautiful net
that the girl weaved
the girl-master
as she
stood by the window in Nafplion
beautiful net
hospitable
like benevolent god
strong
like the white piano keys
of joy
beautiful net
she painted
with the colour of her eyes
and scented
with the aroma of her long hair
the girl that stood
by the window of Nafplion
beautiful net
beautiful girl
a beautiful window that shone
in the Nafplion night
a beautiful window that cried out
a beautiful girl who lighted
beautiful among the colours
of Nafplion
a beautiful net
around
my neck
was
girl
with your beautiful hair
as you comped it
by the window
in the light
beautiful night
in your glance
was the girl
we loved
crazy in love
naked, naked
crazy in love
in the net
of Nafplion

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

in the far corner of the bed. Her breath spent, Rachael grew still, and Lyssa released her wrists. Without a word she turned away, walked quietly around the bed and, falling to the floor, gathered the doll into her arms. There she sat and rocked back and forth until both cousins quieted and lay still.
Her grief too deep for tears, Rachael lay down on the cold floor. And with the mutilated doll clasped tightly against her chest, she silently made her plans.
“It’s been a good Christmas, sweetie,” Tyne said as she snuggled against Morley on their way home from his parents’ farm. “Our first one as an old married couple. Imagine that.”
Morley chuckled and took his right hand off the steering wheel to put his arm around her shoulders. “Who’s old? Do you feel old?”
Tyne smiled in the darkness. “Not with you around, husband.”
For several minutes they drove in silence, a deep peace enveloping Tyne as she relived the highlights of the day. Her first Christmas off duty for several years was in itself cause enough for rejoicing. But the best part had been her dad’s hospitality towards Morley. She had first noticed his change in attitude when the family had gathered at the farm for dinner in the fall, and she silently thanked God for bringing it about. Jeff Milligan had sat with Morley and Jeremy in the living room on Maple Avenue today, and willingly joined in the conversation.
In the kitchen, she had been helping her mother and Aunt Millie clean up the remains of breakfast and begin preparations for dinner. She smiled now, remembering how her aunt, dishtowel in hand, had stood by the door to the living room and listened for a few moments to the amiable conversation between the three men. Returning to the counter, Millie had picked up a plate and said to her sister-in-law, “I don’t know what you’re putting in my brother’s tea, Emily, but whatever it is, please keep on doing it.”
Tyne’s mother had stifled a laugh, and said in her usual reserved way, “Now, now, Millie ….”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/192676319X

Chthonian Bodies

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Hypnotic
My sacred pebbles
I sacrifice and
my golden sand
I offer you, oh, Great Spirit
of man and beast who
make their nights
peaceful and grace
their days with struggle
trying to define
their passing
through this life until
they come again to mark
my sand with their soles and
use their pebbles
to skip onto my surface

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763424

Swamped

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excerpt


Today is one of those times. After school, the two sides gather in
the school yard and make all the customary arrangements: putting
goal “posts” in place, deciding who will play what positions, and
drawing straws to see who has the ball first. Then the game commences.
On this day, they play for half an hour and are tied two goals
apiece before all hell breaks loose when Nicolas scores a goal the
other side calls “out,” and Nicolas and his team insist it was a fair goal
and the other team shouts in unison, “Asshole,” which is all the trigger
Nicolas needs to land a couple of good blows with his fists on the two
nearest kids on the other team, and then they all take part in their ritual and fight, and not even a sudden shower of rain can stop the
upper village kids fighting their age mates from the lower village until
three or four from each side have bleeding noses and bruised arms
and faces. Nicolas of course is the keenest fighter on the upper village
side, and he manages to inflict most of the damage on the enemy
until everyone has had enough of fighting and the two teams go their
separate ways
They may be tired of fighting, but their blood is still boiling, and
this is why, when far away from the school grounds, the upper village
kids turn at the side of the hill, from where they cannot be seen from
the school anymore, take off their shoes and socks, lie down on the
wet soil, and give the lower village kids their open hands and toes.
This is their fiercest act of defiance. It is the height of ridicule in this
part of the world to be shown the open palm of another and especially
when even the toes and soles of the feet take part in the insult.
Afterwards, in their respective houses, the children from both
sides have to contend with their mothers’ angry questions: “what has
happened to you?” and “who have you been fighting?” and “why have
you got into another fight?” and “how many times have I told you
not to do this?” These are questions they have all heard many times
but that never stop them from repeating their ritual.
On another day the boys go hunting, all geared up and ready. It
is the middle of July, as hot on Crete as it is every July, and they leave

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

How Ridiculous and How Strange

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How Ridiculous And How Strange