Month: November 2025

Still Waters

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excerpt

continuing negative press.”
Tyne smiled knowingly as she sat down. “Then I take it Dad hasn’t
changed his mind about a hospital in Emblem.”
“Not one iota. If anything, he’s more adamant than ever.”
“You … you said you saw Morley at a society meeting. Is he taking
an active part then?”
Millie chuckled. “Very active. He’s been elected chairman of the
promotions committee so he’s responsible for making us all get out
and put the idea across to the public.”
“Oh my ….”
“I shouldn’t say this but I’m sure that’s one of the reasons your dad
is digging in his heels about it.”
Tyne’s eyes widened. “Because of Morley?”
Millie shrugged. “He’s still afraid the two of you will get back together.
So, on that principle, he can’t abide Morley Cresswell. And
that is Jeff Milligan’s loss,” she added with conviction.
And mine, Tyne thought. If things had been different, Morley and
I would still be together, probably planning our wedding. Now wait,
Tyne, were you willing to give up your faith for him? Were you willing
to make sacrifices for him?
No, she thought, I’m afraid I was not. So it wasn’t all Dad’s fault
after all.
Millie put her cup on the coffee table and looked into her niece’s
face. “I hate to see you unhappy, darling.”
“But I’m not unhappy, Aunt Millie.”
“No? Well, I’m glad. I should probably have said that I hate to see
you still grieving over Morley. It seems a hard thing for you now, but
I’d like you to consider what Joseph told his brothers years after they
sold him into slavery in Egypt – ‘God meant it unto good.’ The Lord
has a plan for you too, Tyne honey. Just trust. And I’ll never stop
praying for you.”
With sobs suddenly choking her, Tyne scrambled to her feet and
fell into Aunt Millie’s comforting embrace.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

Ken Kirkby, Warrior Painter

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excerpt

To have the warmth and companionship fade away now that he had time
to devote to her in the pursuit of her dreams seemed to be nothing short of
cruel. Whatever it took to appease Karen would be done.
~~
Now, in Bowser, Ken was faced with the sudden realisation that he had
been living life on autopilot. It was a severe jolt for the man who prided
himself on being attentive at all times to what was going on, both within
himself and in the world surrounding him. As a quicksilver dawn slipped
above the scattering of islands offshore, Ken made a fresh pot of coffee and
realized he’d made a breakthrough. It had been a long night coming to grips
with the situation. Self-awareness was a fundamental state of mind for him,
but as he replayed the recent years, he could identify countless occurrences
that had ultimately reduced him to this astonishing loss of control.
His elusive mind was stubborn in its refusal to follow an orderly chain
of thoughts, and he became aware that for months, perhaps even years,
his overloaded brain had taken refuge in the distractions provided by an
intelligent mind. No matter how vigorously he attempted to discipline it to
the process, it slid sideways into something less conflicting.
The act of thinking had become busy work, necessary in order to avoid
the bleak despair that filled him, most especially intensified when Karen had
withdrawn. But he now recognised it was an escape mechanism that needed
to be meticulously managed. For the first time in a long while, he was
looking with a clear eye at the core of his anguish rather than retreating from
it. Gradually he was being filled with certainty that, with this awakening, he
was exactly where he should be.
My real job now was to be painstaking in programming my healing,
much as I did in Portugal when my dad turned the problem of beating
my recurring childhood illness over to me.
Ken was frequently ill in his early years. Although no medical expense
was spared, the ailment remained unnamed. He had grown weaker, thinner
and yet more tired following relocation from Britain to Spain. However,
in his mother’s Spanish culture, weakness—whether physical or mental—
was never to be acknowledged. It was only after the family rejoined Ken’s
dad in Parede, Portugal that the six-year-old was permitted to articulate…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB8W4CG

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562902

Kariotakis-Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

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Almond Tree
And I haven’t yet understood
how a woman who’s loved can die
An almond tree has grown in my garden
just breathing most tenderly and
because each morning makes it wilt
it won’t give me the joy of its blossom
and alas I love it so
every morning I walk and kneel before it
and with tears and water I water it
the almond tree grown in my garden.
Oh, the lie of its little life will end
and all its still hanging leaves will fall
its branches will turn into dry wood
spring of its blossom it won’t give me
and I, the poorest, have loved it tenderly.

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

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562951

Red in Black

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Requiem
Th
e explosion
back then, vivid image forever
stilled on his retina
bodies scattered in the scrapes
pieces of sky tumbling
fogged flash of light
eyes flooded my moment’s end
darkness awaited
to capture absolution
his arm raised the knife
that came down fiercely
violating flesh
fogged darkness flooding
in and out of his psyche
once twice thrice
thesis antithesis synthesis
now a tear flows down silently
slowly repeating the end concept
darkness, darkness, darkness

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

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562962

The Circle

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excerpt

“Yes, he spent so many years earning blood money, Bevan. I know; you’re
right. The agency is the first and foremost concern for all of you. The agency, no
matter what the result, no matter what the human cost,” Emily says, angrily.
Bevan knows this feeling of helplessness, this feeling of betrayal, and this
feeling of loss, particularly when the loss is for something you don’t agree with.
He knows all this because he feels that way most of the time himself.
“Yet, there is a reason why everything happens as it happens, my dear Emily,”
he says, as a way of inserting a sense of justice into something gone wrong.
“Also, don’t forget the police lieutenant mentioned that you told him, as you
told me, that Matthew was cleaning his service pistol that morning. After you
left, the accident took place.”
“Yes, Bevan, the accident took place while I was out with Cathy,” she repeats
monotonously.

The devastation is impossible to describe and the words are so humble and poor, trying
to explain to the flawless mind the inconceivable, the disappearance of logic, and
the return of mass mania for the slavery of feelings in the thirst for blood. The blood is
someone’s, anyone’s, as long as blood is shed and it paints the roads and the cobblestone
streets of this desolate place in red, this place that belongs to people who know
well the hunger and thirst for life.
The houses are mostly demolished; one cannot tell the wall of one from the yard
of the other—the doors, windows, gates, all destroyed. The roofs have collapsed and
walls lean on other walls as injured people try to hang onto one another in order to
stand. They resemble people trying to stay on their feet as others struggle to walk
uphill on crutches.
People shyly and full of fear come out of one hole or another, one by one, like
rodents in the fields popping their heads out to see the devastated condition of the
land and the devastated condition of the human race whose advanced technology
has enabled them to create so much destruction. People come out of their holes to
witness whether death has surpassed them, whether he went to the neighbor’s
house or took some unknown person; after all, Hades is here to take. They come out
of their holes to see whether Hades is still around in the form of a bullet from the
rifle of the soldier from the foreign land. The older ones have seen this before and
know well the pain and anger, but the children, for the first time, taste the loss of a
mother or a father who has died under the cement of their collapsed house, or the
loss of a brother or a dear friend killed by the non-discriminating bombs that fall
from the arms of the sky. The children run out into the desolate backyards and
behind the armored cars of the soldiers. They try to steal something of value…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume V

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Unfamiliar Place
Peter emigrated to the Orient, and Alex to the West.
We haven’t heard how they have been doing. We stayed
here at this crossroads. We took care of the place,
put up signs and wrote names. Then the wind blew
down the signs. Men pass with carriages loaded with
apples, grapes, or oranges. They ask: “Is this the way
to Sparta? Is this the way to Argos?” We shake our heads
as if saying “yes” so we won’t point out that we’ve forgotten
over the years, we blow our smoke through our nostrils
as if we burn inside, what fire and what knowledge?
Yet we survive we even manage to get by; sometimes
we even smile or clean our front teeth with our nails,
and we look as if we know something we never knew.
And perhaps what we didn’t disclose keeps us still
waiting for the hour of disclosure.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763726

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562980

Unfulfilled

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Alice
„Don’t push me!
It is a trap!
A rabbit hole!”
But you realised that
And even shut the door
Becoming
It seems to me
That when I start
To speak to you
Through worlds apart
With words becoming poetry
Love is still true

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763688

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

VOLGA RIVER, JULY 17, 1974
“She’s madder than a hornet, and she’s calling for your blood,” teased Marty. He ducked out of Hank’s way. It was lunch time on the morning after Hank had found Lona’s mysterious black book. “I guess she tortured your waitress friend until she confessed.”
“I’ll go find her,” Hank muttered. “I don’t want Chopyk or Jennifer to find out. Don’t say anything, okay?”
He didn’t have far to look. They smacked into one another at the door to the dining room.
“You…creep,” Lona growled at Hank, her usual Cheshire cat smile missing. “Now, give me back my book!”
He couldn’t resist one last stand. “Uh…whatcha talking about?” She was about to raise her voice again, when he hustled her down the hall, one hand firmly on her back, until they were out of earshot of the passengers.
“Okay, so I took it. It was a stupid thing to do, but I wanted to know why you’re on this trip—and don’t give me that line about being a student.”
Lona drew herself up to her full height and bristled like an alley cat prepared to do battle. She thrust out her hand imperiously. “It’s none of your business, you thief. I want my book back right now!”
Hank knew when he was licked. “I just …heck, I’d still like to know. I’ll get it for you.” He walked her to his cabin, and she waited at the door, tapping her toe, until he placed the worn black book in her hand. “Come on, Lona. I just wanted to get to know you. Maybe we could still be friends.”
In fact, the book had been a big disappointment—besides a list of Russian names and addresses there were only a few other notes on icons

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

Marginal

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II
Your hair floating, waving
ruffled by the wind
sunshine reflects
in your irises
exquisitely as you stand
idol of an ancient goddess
undefined bubbling
ethereal model of a painter
motionless and undulating
with erotic lines
that momentarily define
my awe as I stare at
the statue of a goddess
who I don’t touch

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

https://draft2digital.com/book/3747032

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

it a new coat of paint, I might spend some nights here…I might
be able to witness certain things.”
Mary smiled at the thought, “when you might spend some
nights here, you’d be very close to me, all night long…” she said
with joyous way.
Anton looked in her eyes before he said, “I’d love to spend
my nights with you in my arms, baby.”
“Soon,” she said with joyous voice.
The funeral finished; everyone went inside; Anton and
Mary too. Anton to his basement work place and Mary back to
her desk.
The day crawled as if didn’t want to pass and afternoon came.
The kids were in class, the cooks and their helpers had cleaned the
kitchen and were now sitting and having their break when Anton
went for an afternoon coffee and found George the Hellene cook
with Tyson in the eating area. He grabbed his coffee and sat with
them; they were obviously debating something or arguing about
something because their voices were loud and their hand mannerisms
showed they could start a fist fight any moment now.
“What is it with you two?” Anton asked them.
“This pig,” George said referring to Tyson “is trying to
make fun of the way I talk again,” then turning to Tyson he said
sarcastically, “what? What? Stick your stupid what you know
where,” he added as his attention was on Tyson. Then turning
to Anton he carried on, “These brutes, Anglos, what one could
expect of them? They forget that when we the Cretans created
civilizations four thousand years ago they still existed in the form
of specs in the testicles of the bears and the monkeys; now all of
a sudden they have become the upper class and all us who have
come here from other places are the second,” George insisted in
utter disgust.

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