Swamped

Excerpt

With that, the meeting was over. Eteo walked back to his office and called Mario at once to propose that Pacific Trends keep all the offering in house. On return he promised to give the guy at Wolverton something else in the future, or even get him in on this after the broker’s warrants were out. That sealed the deal. Mario agreed, and Eteo went back to watching his screen. Platinum Properties was doing great, Golden Veins the opposite. He called Richard Walden.

“Have you heard anything?” Eteo asked him

“No, nothing so far,” Richard admitted.

“When did you call last?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I guess they must still be working on it.”

“I wouldn’t assume that. I don’t like this at all. Why don’t you take a quick flight down there and check things out for yourself?”

“Go to Texas?” Richard’s voice sounded alarmed.

“Why not? It’s your money they’re spending.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the other end of the line before Richard said, hesitantly, “I’m actually not that fond of airplanes and flying.”

“Okay, send one of your directors.”

“There must be another way,” Richard replied. “Let me call the finder, the man who brought me this deal. I’ll talk to him.”

“All right, but let me know what you find out. Who is it anyway? Do I know him?”

“It’s Walter Cooper.”

“I know Walter. I could talk to him. Yes, it might be better that way. Leave it to me. I’ll call him and get back to you,” Eteo said and put the phone down. He noticed he was breathing fast. It upset him.

Then he saw the big trades of Platinum stock, big chunks all bought by Nomura. He smiled and relaxed. The market looked clean even beyond the three dollar mark. He had hit a good one, he knew, and if Mario’s Nostra is agreed on by this group, he had better keep as much stock as he could for his accounts and give lots of it to his key people, the ones who did most of his business. Eteo had a large number of accounts, but only about fifteen percent of them traded often. Those were the clients he needed to reward when a good issue came along. Mario’s Nostra Ventures was beginning to look like it could be one of them.

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

Rodica Marian – Poems

THE FRAIL GAME OF
EFFERVESCENCE
My childhood, not at all vagrant, stubborn,
Is watching me,
Like the dolls from the fairs,
Detached, but fiercely lively ―
Giving me the shivers
Like the wolves’ hunger on a wintry night.
The other day I dreamt it was talking to me
With its freshly arrogant lips
And I just wanted to touch it shyly
Admiring the arch of its mouth’s corners,
When the round sap of its lips drew back
Under its thick eyelashes
And among them,
A huge, humid eye
Was watching me wondering
Like a dragon that had just returned from the sky.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763696

Entropy

Flowing Narratives
It’s strange that still
after so many things I listened to
flowing narratives that the others don’t hear
my eternity fights and dies
broken chord shaking like flowers,
the flowing thoughts, the impassable
immortality I left all the doors open
to the purifying wind
so that I wouldn’t grow roots as
I floated over the events.
And now that we two are left
I and you in the unsaid
what else do you see besides
the completion of Eros
in the innermost depth of the emotions
the foolishness of immortality?
The road and the colony are one
evergreen daydream eternal breath
destiny of men in its exhale
ovules of a new breath
what do you see through the open window
I don’t want to leave before the day’s end
to the vague depth of the cove
traces of dark memories
stare deep in our eyes
this is the time
schemata of immenseness on the horizon
then let me know what you see.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPCRLJC6

Γρηγόρης Σακαλής, Αναγέννηση

Chthonian Bodies

Polysynthesis
Polysyllabic verse of white caps
tree tops obey the wind
abreast of the evening’s vesper
just before bedtime
in the peaceful wilderness
of the painter’s mind
that conceives war and peace
mind that ascends
to the abode of the Great Spirit
monocotyledon
no need for plural in the world
of the creative Monad crafting
colors and rocky bases
short islandic footsteps
of the Almighty who often laughs
at the little and grand
as they cling to their egomanias
no need for liturgy bells chiming

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

Water in the Wilderness

Excerpt

Maureen and Ken Hall arrived at the Cresswell farm just before 6 o’clock. Tyne saw their older model Ford car enter the yard, heralded by Sparky’s excited announcement. Dropping her paring knife onto the counter where she had been preparing dinner, she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and raced from the house to meet them. Moe, scarcely waiting for Ken to stop the car, jumped out and sprinted up the path towards the house. She reached the house before Tyne had managed to clear the back steps. For a moment they clung together, then pulled away and regarded each other with wide smiles.
“You look wonderful, Moe, you’re practically blooming ….”
“Hey, kiddo, how’re you doing? You look ….”
Both broke into laughter. Ken, coming up behind his wife with a grin, held out his hand to Tyne. “Good to see you, Tyne.”
But Tyne ignored his outstretched hand, and grabbed the big man and hugged him, too. “No formalities, friend,” she said laughing. “Do you both realize that we haven’t seen each other since our wedding? Too long.”
“Much too long,” Moe agreed as Tyne ushered her up the steps to the house. Ken excused himself and headed for the barn to find Morley.
“Don’t fall in anything nasty,” Moe called after him, and he half turned and waved at her.
In the kitchen Tyne continued with dinner preparations as Moe leaned on the counter and talked. How good to be together again. Three years sharing a room in the nurses’ residence at the Holy Cross Hospital, and another sixteen months in a small apartment, had cemented a relationship that had been an amiable one from the start.

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

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

Grimace

And without any further delay

I accepted the unnatural grimace

of the deaf and I struggled to express

my sorrow as if it was all mine

while the rustle under my soles

detected the soft autumn whisper

circular tempestuous attitude 

aroused to the point of aloofness

where the flower unfolded

its exquisite beauty

primal beginning recommencing

a floral, innocent concept

martyr on the front line, defining

the traitor who justifiably existed

life was meaningless without me

and again, as cleansed as the song

of my angel, I stood before my Fate

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

Alan Sillitoe – Ή να είσαι επαναστάτης ή να μην είσαι

He Rode Tall

Excerpt

Not many came to the funeral. Some said it was because
of the time of the year—calving and all. Others recognized that it
was because not many really knew Edward Hooper. He would
have turned ninety later that summer and the reality was that
there just weren’t that many ninety-year-olds around this country
any more. It was almost as if he was the last man standing.
Maybe he was, in this part of the country anyways.
A few of the nieces and nephews from the city came for the
funeral—not that the old man would have recognized any of
them unless they had introduced themselves, and that certainly
wasn’t happening that day. And there were a few Native American
riders who had worked for him on and off over the years,
especially in the early years when he had more cattle and actually
needed cowboys for something other than just company. It
was a small group of maybe a dozen or so who congregated on
that lonesome knoll to pay their respects and say goodbye to
Edward Hooper.
And that is why Joel Hooper was making his way on horseback
through the lush pasture this beautiful morning—to pay his
respects to the man he knew as his father. Their lives together
had been both brief and hard. Especially hard. It was difficult for
Joel to even see the man as his dad. As Joel rode along the ridges
to the corner of the pasture where the family graveyard stood, he
knew that he was just as much going there to pay his respects out
of his concern as he was for what others would say if he didn’t.
The way word traveled in the hills, sooner or later someone
would hear that he hadn’t visited his father’s grave. Then what
would they think of him? And who were they anyways?
Eventually, Joel arrived at the family plot—a small knoll set
back in the hills sheltered on the backside by the even higher hills
and with an open view to the vast valley floor far below. After dismounting
the orange gelding and being unable to find a place to
tie the horse, Joel realized that he could simply drop the reins;

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B006QG9MOM

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

Excerpt

“It’s true.” Francisco explained that she had fallen ill while visiting her
family in the north. She paid no attention to her illness, and by the time
she returned and went to the hospital, it was too late.
Ken tore out of the shack and ran to the hospital, Francisco following.
If he talked to the doctor, surely he would confirm that Miloo was alive.
Someone had made a terrible mistake.
The doctor explained that Miloo’s appendix had burst and she had
died of acute peritonitis.
At that moment, Ken’s world ended. He staggered to his feet and
opened the door to the corridor. Francisco was waiting for him. He took
a few stumbling steps and a nurse rushed up to him. “You bastard,” she
hissed. “You killed her.”
Francisco grabbed Ken’s arm and began to push past her.
“What do you mean?” Ken asked.
“She was pregnant!”
Ken’s legs wobbled. He turned, braced himself against the wall and
groped his way back to the doctor’s office. “She was pregnant?” he asked.
“Yes, she was,” he said. “But in the very early stages of pregnancy.”
“How early?”
“Perhaps a month.”
“Was this the cause of her death?”
“Absolutely not.”
“How can I be sure of that?”
“You can consult any doctor you wish and he will tell you that. Her
pregnancy just happened to coincide with this.”
The days and nights blended into one another. Ken wouldn’t talk and
he couldn’t eat or sit still. He could not bear to be inside his own body –
a body with an enormous empty, echoing cavern where a heart used to
be. He walked, pacing endlessly up and down the beach, on the village
streets, and on the sidewalks of Lisbon.
The emptiness of his body lay on him like a massive stone. He could not
swallow past the obstruction in his throat. It blocked the emptiness where
there used to be a stomach, lungs, kidneys – there was nothing left inside
him and since he felt nothing, he thought about ending his own life.
One minute he was numb and then a wrenching sadness swept over
him, threatening to drown him in its endless ocean. A minute later white-hot

anger engulfed him and flared into a murderous rage.
When the stone moved from his throat long enough to let air through,
he talked to Francisco but even that led to despair. He knew that nothing
Francisco could say could ever bring her back.

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