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The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

“Damn!” Finn said and rose slowly to retrieve the bottle that had come to rest against the granite hearth. “Damn, damn, damn,” he repeated, lifting the bottle to the light to see what was left. “Did you ever witness such a clumsy old fool?”
After a moment’s awkward silence, Padraig said, “You were talking about Caitlin.”
“I was, wasn’t I?”
“Is there really something between her and Michael?”
“I think so. It’s usually called love.”
Padraig failed to stop the thought before its shadow fell across his face. “She’s in love with Michael?”
“She appears to be. And I think she could do worse. Michael’s a good, steady, dependable lad. A farmer to the depth of his marrow. He’s one of the Carricks from Kildarragh. Thomas Carrick’s son, but as different from Thomas as a ripple from a tidal wave.”
“I’m glad.”
Finn smiled. “You’ve heard the stories about Thomas Carrick then.”
“As much as I want to hear.”
“You’ll hear worse, Padraig,” Finn said. “You’ll have to learn to accept life and people as somewhat lower creations than the idealized figments of your Christian imagination. But have no fears about Michael being Thomas Carrick’s son. I took Michael in on the recommendation of Seamus Slattery, Michael’s uncle. And it has worked out well for everyone: for Michael himself, for me, for Caitlin. Even for Jinnie who loves him like a son. As he appears about to become. He sneaks in here on his midnight adventures and thinks we don’t know.”
“On his what?” Padraig asked with surprise.
Finn smiled. His eyes had the faraway look of one who had dived deeply into the river of memory and was swimming joyfully. “His midnight adventures,” he repeated slowly, his attention not fully on what he was saying. “When he thinks I’m sound asleep he creeps like a thief to Caitlin’s room. Lusty young stallion.”
Padraig’s disbelief was genuine that a father could allow such conduct. But none of his prepared texts on the subject seemed appropriate to this man who had no idea of morality. How could he begin to reach through to the soul of one who denied God, despised chastity, and did not know the meaning of sin and salvation. “We change the soul, if we change it at all,” Clifford Hamilton had said that evening, “with words, thoughts, ideas…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Antony Fostieris – Selected Poems

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With Tender Wings
The devil flies with tender wings
he wears the fluffy coat of a bat
thickens the air around him
and walks on it.
“He will perform his little miracles again”
I think,
but he stops my hand
he lies on the papers again and pours out
all his black self
He empties all his ink
creating many stigmata.
When I investigate it
I find a dark hole
and sobbing Paganini at the far end.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763653

Vespers

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Archipelago
Under icy archipelago, krill
dance en masse like a curtain pleat
to the chorus of arctic
current searching for
direction and they mingle
and they grow just enough
to stay trapped inside
the baleen of leviathan
with teary eyes, with big
a heart keeping ahead of the
ocean in undulating breath
and inhospitable depth as
harsh temperature of winter
interlocks with short summer and perfect

balance of sunlight

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763033

Titos Patrikios – Selected Poems

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IV
At the edge of memory the sea ends
away from the windows the world begins
books get worn out in our hands
the books over which we spend hour after hour
the ones we discuss in the closed room.
Regret of the awkward deed
more tyrannical than the illegal act.
The wise cities of Europe are far away,
with their stooping roofs, chimneys
that don’t know the agony
of the illegal gathering.
A thousand paths lead to freedom.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08L1TJNNF

Neo-Hellene Poets, an Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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THE DREAM
Listen to my dream, my love,
my goddess of beauty.
I dreamed that one night
I walked out with you.
We sauntered together
in a beautiful garden
and in awe you gazed
at all the gleaming stars.
So I asked them, tell me,
oh stars, are any of you
up there as bright as
the eyes of my love?
Tell me if you’ve ever seen
such glorious hair,
or such a hand, or such a leg
such otherworldly beauty
which anyone who sees
at once demands to know
how such an angel can exist
on earth here, without wings.
With every kiss that night
you sweetly gave me, oh my love,
a new rose bloomed
in that garden of roses
and bloomed the whole night long
until the dawn light
discovered us together,
our faces pallid now.
My love, this was my dream.
It now depends on you
to keep me in your heart
until my dream becomes reality

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

The Qliphoth

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Excerpt

“It was your choice. I can remember those lights in the living room. Who
are you kidding? “
She stubs out her fag and composes herself. “You know, Lucas, if you were a
single working mother with a little boy—just like you—who was trying to sort
out her life after divorcing a very destructive man, and somebody offered you
some really useful money to tell your side of the story, to help other people, I
think that even you would kid yourself that it was worth a go.”
She watches him squat down on the circular rug, amid the scattered video
cassettes. It’s sometimes best to play it cool with Lucas. Although she’s still hot
and cold all over, in shock, a very nasty after-shock. After all these years the
dread vibrations won’t stop, the business of Nick goes on exhuming itself.
Now Lucas starts to shift mechanically through his overlapping
papers—the exam results slip, his college prospectuses, the list of phone calls
he hasn’t made—as if some emerging permutation of words will spell out the
secret knowledge he’s craving, or dreading. But he’s not going to give up.
“Surely as your only child I have a right to know . . .”
“Lucas, I’ve told you all you need to know. I’d like it to remain my problem,
please. ” She’s keeping extremely busy and business-like, tidying away the
half-empty bottles of red wine, Lucas’s scattered socks, last week’s Guardian
and the new work-scheme she hasn’t even started. She must assert her control,
no more tears, keep up the balancing act.
Neither of them look at the telly, which now seems to exist in its own isolated
space in the corner of the darkened room. The shimmering image of
Pauline is suspended there like a watery reflection of the moon. There’s an
odd tang in the air, not the freshness of summer rain, but a faint ammoniac
taint. The storm rumbles on.
Lucas wanders around the furniture in circles. He’s both unpredictable, and
relentless, like the weather. “All you’ve said, in effect, is ‘Your father’s been a
horrible embarrassment to everybody, especially his ex-wife, but if you’re ever
so good you’ll be able to visit him annually and watch him taking his big purple
pills and going gaga . . .’ That’s been the idea, hasn’t it? Containment. A
father-free zone. What’s this creature you’re protecting me from? ”
Last year that gaunt bespectacled figure in pajamas was too doped to do
anything except grin vacantly on a cue from beefy orderlies. It was all
stage-managed. “There’s your fine upstanding lad, Nick. How about a smile
for Lucas, then? ” After fifteen minutes of watching that empty grin, those
wandering eyes, Lucas couldn’t take any more, he was close to screaming. But
Dad could still slur mysteriously in his ear. Which made them fellow-conspirators.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

The Circle

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excerpt

BEVAN LONGHORN is in his office Monday morning, his desk covered in
paperwork that he has to get through before the day is over. His personnel have
just adjusted to Matthew Roberts’s absence and Bevan has been left with only two
middle managers to handle the work of three. He considers promoting one officer
to Matthew’s post, but there are twenty-odd people to choose from, all qualified for
the position. Bevan must give it more serious consideration.
He wants to make major changes to the structure of the office, but he has to
fight with the rest of the brass, particularly the ones well-connected with the
administration and the state department. He cannot put up any longer with the
way things are done and the way things they produce are used by the hawks in
higher places.
He has his own circle of people who would agree with him on certain
things; it would just be a matter of rallying the troops. His friend Jerry
Wolverton is the best example. He retired as a three- star general and left the
army seven years ago with pride and a sense of accomplishment after working
in Iraq for five and a half years, in charge of the reconstruction of public
projects that accommodated all Iraqi government personnel of various
departments. Jeremiah Wolverton got his extra star and a very good severance
package, and although retired, can still pull a lot of strings both in the state
department and within the ranks of the army.
Bevan decides to call him.
“Hello, Bevan, my old friend. Are you still in service?” Jerry jokes when he
hears who’s calling him.
“Of course I’m still in service. We cannot all retire at the same time; the army
wouldn’t know what to do without us”
“You’re right about that, my good, old friend; what makes you remember
me? Trouble?”
It’s Bevan’s turn to laugh at the general’s comment.
“No, no trouble at all; just the need to say hi to my good friend and see what
he’s up to these days.”
“Well, I’m doing okay. I play the odd golf game here and there, I walk a lot,
still take holidays with the old woman; other than that, nothing much.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

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

Poodie James

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excerpt

But gimme a shady jungle and a can of Mulligan stew.
There’s lots of sky and sunshine wherever I chance to roam,
But how are you going to see them, if you always stay at home?
The men in white coats were passing out cigars when darkness fell
and everyone vanished. The tail lights of the President’s car disappeared
down the track. Three men came out of the orchard, running
toward Poodie, swinging clubs. They knocked him to the
ground and began hitting him. He rolled and twisted. The clubs
came crashing down. He tried to get up and run, but the men
grabbed his arms and legs and ran with him toward the river. His
back banged against rocks and stumps. He could feel blood running
down his face as they threw him. They watched, laughing, as
the current swept him away. He tried to swim, but the water rolled
over him. He began to sink, and a whirlpool pulled him down,
down toward the bottom.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

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

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

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The Models
Let us never forget, he said, the good lessons we learned
from the Arts of the Hellenes. The Heavenly always next to
the everyday, next to man, to the animal to the thing —
a bracelet on the wrist of the naked goddess; a flower
fallen on the floor. Remember the beautiful presentations
on our clay urns — gods with birds and animals,
the lyre with them too, a hammer, an apple, the box, the pliers;
ah, and that poem where the god, after finishing his work,
takes his bellows from the fire, gathers his tools one by one
and places them in the silver chest, then, with a sponge, he wipes
his face, his hands, his nervous neck, his hairy chest. Thus,
clean, he goes out in the evening, as he does regularly, leaning
on the shoulders of golden ephebes — the works of his hands
which have strength and thought and voice — goes out to
the street, most majestic of all, the limping god, the worker

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9X3VPN4

Orange

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Autumn
Rustle of leaves
in tree branches
definition of fall
soft landing
under my soles
a game secretly played
grayish, foggy
October morning
prompts smile
anticipation
of fiery April
Easter eggs
resurrection
philosophy of leaves
exegesis
harmony
purpose

https://draft2digital.com/book/3746001

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