The Circle

Excerpt

IT’S A CLOUDY TUESDAY morning in Washington D.C. as Matthew Roberts
arrives at his office. The night shift has gone home and he hears the sound of
vacuum cleaners as they do their work. Matthew is early as usual. He had no
reason to remain in bed longer. Where was his Emily to warm him? However, he
likes to be in the office before the others to get organized, which gives him an
advantage for addressing the day’s challenges.
This morning he has to work on the Balkan file, a review he promised Bevan
he’d look into but never found the time for. For a long time now, the attention of
the United States has been focused on that side of the globe, and more so since
the collapse of the Soviet Union, especially since the administration felt they
were losing some of their grip there. After the Bosnia fiasco and the Croatian
genocide they turned their attention to the country of The Former Republic of
Macedonia (FYROM) a small country wanting to call itself Macedonia against
the wishes of Greece and her northern province, Macedonia. FYROM’s
ambitions of joining the European Union, has changed the dynamics by sending
soldiers to Iraq, along with the United States, thus vying for clout when standing
up to Greece. Similarly, Turkey has ambitions of joining the European Union
with the support of the U.S., although the Europeans view the Turks with a
different eye.
Matthew’s attention today is on this file, and he has to come up with
solutions to suit the government’s goals before turning it over to his superior
Bevan Longhorn. A marine and one-star admiral, Bevan oversees the work of
120 people in the office, although Matthew and two mid-level supervisors take
on the majority of his responsibilities. This leaves ‘the old man’, as they call him,
with time on his hands to enjoy the odd game of golf.
Mathew reads his messages from the receptionist’s desk, takes the file from
his briefcase, and spends the next two hours working on it.
At 9:15 the receptionist calls to tell him Bevan Longhorn wants to see him.
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
He wonders to himself, what now?, gets his notepad, and walks into the
boss’s office.

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

Water in the Wilderness

Excerpt

As she entered, she could see the night staff hurrying along the corridor which stretched out before her. They were in the midst of morning care, preparing the patients for breakfast. She picked up her pace as she headed to an alcove to leave her handbag and retrieve her nurses’ cap.
After pinning the cap in place in front of the one small mirror in the cubbyhole that passed as a staff cloakroom, she returned to the corridor and hurried to the nurses’ station where report would be given to the day staff in less than five minutes. She saw Inge Larson, the matron, walking towards her with a grim look on her usually pleasant features.
“Mrs. Cresswell,” Miss Larson said quietly when she reached Tyne, “I would like to see you in my office. Never mind report. You can catch up later.” She turned and led the way.
Tyne’s heartbeat quickened as she followed. What have I done wrong? Did I do something on my last night shift? Frantically, she tried to recall exactly what she had done that night, and which patients had been ill enough to require extra attention. Had she messed up? She remembered that she had been preoccupied with thoughts of Morley alone with the children, and Bobby’s fretting at bedtime. She also remembered she couldn’t wait to get off duty so that she could go home.
“Please close the door, Tyne, and sit down,” the matron said as she seated herself at her desk.
Tyne found some reassurance in the friendly tone, and the fact that Miss Larson had called her by her first name. She sat in a chair facing the desk, and waited.
Inge Larson placed her arms on the desk top and folded her hands which Tyne could see were not entirely relaxed. “Tyne, I have bad news, shocking news really.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “Lydia Conrad died last night.”
Tyne did not know how long she sat in stunned silence, staring at the woman who seemed to recede into a fog in front of her eyes. Finally, she choked out the words, “Why? How? What happened? Oh, dear God, no.”

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

Unfulfilled

12
It’s true when you’re tired
It’s true when you sleep
It’s true when you’re smiling
It’s true when you weep
It’s true when you’re happy
It’s true when you’re sad
It’s true when you cheat me
If you ever have
Was true when it wasn’t
But of course it was true
The last line, the dozenth
Will read: I love you
Shivers
I said „sweet love”, and felt the shivers
Right when I thought of you
I said it twice, saw this delivers
Most shivers hitherto
I said it thrice, to test the feeling,
But when the deed was done
I realized I forgot believing
And shivers are now gone

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

Γιώργος Δρίτσας, Ανθρώπινοι πυρσοί

Still Carried (a poem)

Jazz with Ella

Excerpt

Jennifer swallowed her protest and asked instead, “Is it my teaching ability that’s a problem?”
“Honestly speaking, Mrs. White, though you lack the rigor necessary for academic research, your teaching ability is sound. Hoefert said as much to me just today.”
Chopyk fiddled with his glasses for a few seconds. He was a small man, not quite her lanky height and seemed dwarfed behind the antique oak desk. She willed herself to wait patiently.
“How shall I put it? I’m a bachelor, as I think you know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in marriage vows.” Already she had an uneasy feeling where this monologue was heading. “Since the advent of the pill,” he shot her a quick look, “young women, even married women, have so much more freedom.”
“Well, we’re not kept chained in the kitchen,” she responded pertly.
He appeared not to have heard her but went on, eyes on the ceiling. “Just, please—if you’re going to share leadership of this trip—remember you are a mature woman and a professional academic.”
Mature woman? She was about to turn 30. She wasn’t ready for the old folks’ home yet. “I would always act with professionalism, if that’s what you mean…Has there been some suggestion that I haven’t?”
“It pains me to mention this”—though he didn’t look pained—“but word of your marriage break-up and consequent separation has circulated within the department with some vigour.”
“That’s my personal business,” she murmured.
“Not if we’re travelling together with a gaggle of adolescent students. Do you understand? You must be an example to them.”
At least the interview had cleared the air on that score. After that, while trip preparations got under way, there had been an uneasy truce between them, and she found she was looking forward to the opportunity to teach as much as she was looking forward to the Soviet Union.

As the plane bucked and rolled, Jennifer’s ears popped, and she recalled reading how dangerous it was for a plane to land during an electrical storm. Where were the emergency exits? One passenger, a sombre man who had embarked at Paris, appeared to be praying. Paul had closed his eyes though she was comforted to see that he was still smiling.

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

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

Praise under the Rain
I
let us give something to the Theresia of Jesus Christ
let us give something to the great poet
let us give something to Pablo Picasso
but let us give nothing
to the black mouths of water wells
to the worthy of tears Bactrian camels
to the dark clocks of war

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

Excerpt

Ken put his pencil down and slowly came back to the room. “Come
and take a look,” he said.
She stood beside him and silently gazed at the picture. “I wish I could
do that,” she whispered. Then she placed a hand on his head, “My god,
you’re soaking,” she said. Ken’s hair was as wet as if he had come in from
a spring shower. His shirt clung to his body in damp folds.
Still gloriously naked, Jessica sat beside him on the couch and told him
what it was like to be an Indian. She and her sister had been fortunate.
They had escaped much of the pain that so many of her race had lived
through. The girls had attended a public school but Patrick had been sent
to a residential school and refused to talk about those years.
The Indians had been chased from their land again and again. She expressed
no anger or resentment. Her voice remained gentle and soft –
that gentleness fanned the flames of Ken’s anger. Wars had been fought in
Europe over territory and land. Why had the Indians not fought back?
“It’s not in our nature to lash out and hurt others,” she said. “When we
get hurt, we hurt ourselves. It seems to be something that is rooted deeply
in our cultural background.”
She said that she and Patrick and her sister belonged nowhere. They
were not white and yet by Indian standards, they were not natives either.
They belonged to no tribe and did not live on a reservation. They were
completely free and had no wish to be involved in any part of the political
or racial battle. “We’ve managed to make a very good life for ourselves,”
she said. “We work together, we are partners and we help each other.”
Jessica was describing the life he wished to live. His story was different
but it was also the same. He too had no desire to be categorized or pigeonholed.
He too wanted to unfold and allow life to happen rather than
force any particular direction.
Jessica turned down the lights, leaving one kerosene lamp glowing in
the dark. Then she took Ken’s hand and led him into her bedroom. Like
everything else about her, her room was also unexpected. It was as spare
and sparse as her manner. To still his turmoil, Ken forced all his concentration
on studying his new surroundings. He slipped under the goose
down cover and Jessica lay opposite him, her face cradled in her hand, her
eyes unblinking, gazing deeply into his. “I’ve never slept with a man,” she
said. “I’ll bet you can’t say that.”
“Actually I can,” he said grinning.
“You know what I mean,” she smiled back at him.
“Yes, I do.”
She waited and when he didn’t reach for her, she asked, “Is there something
about me? Maybe, you don’t like me?”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

O Mother Gaia. The World of Gary Snyder

Swamped

Excerpt

On a Wednesday morning, a few days after his afternoon with Frances, Mario called to inform Eteo that the prospectus for Nostra Ventures had been filed and that they should hear from the regulators in three to four weeks. Eteo congratulated Mario for the speedy job he had done, and around noon, Mitch arrived with an equally positive update on the prospectus papers for Alexa Ventures. These were ready, too, and Mitch was taking them personally to the corporate guy upstairs.

Eteo called Cameron and asked him to take care of the new filing as soon as it came in, which he promised to do. A few colleagues from the back office and accounting called Eteo to ask if they could have some shares in Nostra Ventures. Susan was one of them, and Eteo promised a thousand shares to each. He advised them to contact their respective brokers, who would be the ones to write the actual orders. Then he put aside shares for Frances, as he had promised her, and another fifty thousand for John, the head trader, for allocating to a few of his buddies. Finally he reserved ten thousand shares for each of the dozen junior brokers Bradley had suggested to him.

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