Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

Excerpt

Ken’s people were caribou people.
When the last of the caribou had passed, they dragged the fresh carcasses
to several large piles of rocks that they lifted to reveal deep pits
lined with more rocks. They lowered the meat into the pits and replaced
the rocks. The main danger to their food reserves was marauding wolverines.
By caching their meat under rocks too heavy for the wolverines to
move, they guaranteed a food supply for the season to come.
The days changed. The shiny green bearberry that covered the tundra
turned blood red and when Ken gazed across the land he saw a river of
crimson. One morning the snow geese flew across in the hundreds of
thousands. When they settled on the land a down blanket covered the
scarlet sea.
The days grew shorter and the temperature dipped dramatically. Ken
shivered in his sleeping bag and the old woman gave him two caribou
hides – one to put under his bag and one to cover it. He developed a new
understanding of the word “cold”. Cold was not simply a word here – it
was a palpable, physical thing, which assaulted every sense – it was the
god that controlled the land.
A few days after giving him the caribou hides, the old woman presented
him with a caribou parka lined with Arctic fox. Through her son,
she explained that this was to be worn without undergarments, next to
the skin. The parka was light, soft and astonishingly warm.
They continued to travel east until they came to a lake dotted with a
number of small islands, where they had left sleigh dogs that had whelped
in early summer. The animals were wild, ferocious, and pugnacious. They
took them back to the mainland where they pegged them to the ground,
placing the lead dog at the front of the pack. Once a day someone tossed
a frozen fish to each dog, which it consumed ravenously. The dogs were
born to pull sleighs and once in the traces would run across the ice until
they dropped from exhaustion.
With the dogs in tow, they continued trekking to the place the old
woman called home. She was a Netsielik, People of the Seal. Her husband,
who had died of TB, was People of the Caribou. TB had become epidemic
among the Inuit. Several people in the group had severe coughs and often
spit up bloody phlegm.
Snow began to stream across the land, blowing from the west in a million
little rivulets. The temperature, already chillingly cold, continued to
drop. The old woman gave Ken a pair of trousers made from caribou hide
and sewed a wolverine hide along the edge of the hood of Ken’s parka.
To the amusement of the Inuit, Ken sat on the frozen tundra in his new
clothes, watching the snow dance across the land. He felt fortunate. He
was living his childhood dreams. This was the Arctic he had envisioned –
the land of Francisco’s stories.

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

Chthonian Bodies

Scenario
Duty tendance devotion
your breath intake gills
expand contract create
fins order oclude dictate
direction depth or height
of shallow lake water
away from the fisher’s hook
yet let it be and
let you play with him
perhaps a light bite
a giggle of the tail
shiver runs through his
spine and the sun observes
movement of line
tip of the rod
vibration leela
laughter and agony for the one
that got away

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

Arrows

Excerpt

In the general direction of the enemy, Indian servants placed
forked poles to hold the muzzles of the heavy harquebuses. The
horses whinnied and stamped their hoofs, rustling the foliage as
they tugged at their halters. Somewhere farther away, I could hear
sheep bleating; closer the squealing of pigs.
Losada had mounted his black horse and was now whirling in
circles and bellowing orders, sword raised high over his head. I
glimpsed an Indian woman scampering into the bush with a toddler
on her back, suspended on a thick band hanging from her head. The
Indian servants scurried about, grabbing whatever they could and
herding the animals. All the riders mounted, and the dust cloud
thickened, forcing me to hold my breath. Gregorio ran past me,
balancing a harquebus in his hand.
“Don’t just stand there, hide!” he bellowed, his voice almost
drowned out by the racket.
“Where is she?” I yelled back.
But he was gone to join the harquebusiers gathering behind the
riders. I hunched into myself, rosary tight in my right hand. I came
upon the fire, blinking to clear the smoke from my eyes, and found
the last place I’d seen her. I stumbled over a basket and nearly fell. In
the name of all saints, I didn’t even know her name!
The servants had disappeared. I was the only idiot awaiting the
arrows. At the sound of grunting, I looked down to see a pig
careering into the heart-shaped leaves of a huge philodendron. I
followed the pig.
It took a moment for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dimness
in the jungle. I could discern crouching human silhouettes. Indian
women were huddled together on the ground, some crying, others
staring vacantly while frightened children clutched at them, some
finding oblivion at their mothers’ breasts. I made hushing sounds
and touched a shoulder here, another there, gesturing toward the
trunk of a big mahogany tree and mimicking the arrows falling

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

He Rode Tall

Excerpt

Tanya
The Circle H Ranch
Willow Springs, Montana
It had been a full week since he had been to a meeting, and Joel
was thinking that he needed one. Both he and Harry had
worked hard with the horses all week. Joel’s ankle had healed
after a couple of days; not enough that he was doing jumping
jacks, but enough that he was able to saddle up and ride. By now,
both Joel and Harry had all of the horses out riding in the hills
and he could tell that the animals really loved it. Buddy the Border
Collie was also getting a great workout accompanying the
horses on the rides. With things going as good as they were, Joel
figured that he and Harry could give the horses a day off. They
turned the horses out into the big meadow of flowing green grass
and declared the day a holiday.
Watching the horses lazily graze in the lush meadow, Joel
thought that, for the horses and for himself, this was probably as
close to heaven as he could be on this planet.Unlike the surrounding
harshness of the hill country that was parched from the constant
rays of the sun and the whipping of the winds, the meadow
was protected on two sides by some of the biggest trees Joel had
ever seen in this part of the world. Oaks, he thought. Flowing
through the heart of the meadow and contributing to its lush
appearance was Paradise Creek, with its headwaters in a spring
that was back in the hills. As he stood there and watched the
dozen three-year-olds make the most of their holiday, the shrill
call of a meadowlark serenaded Joel

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897955

Kariotakis-Poludouri, The Tragic Love Story

Doubt
The young man you expected
won’t come tonight.
What would you had told him? Why?
Let futility vanish
sever the unfortunate sprout.
Don’t let the endless
cunning desire
fool your heart
a secret sadness flows
over this spring evening.
Yet you don’t listen to advice
enchantment has strong hold on you
he’ll never come tonight
and tomorrow will turn
even more painful.
Absence will shine
light into his darkened eyes;
with reserved ardor
a secret grief
will kiss his awkward hands
that I shall see spread
timid in victory
sweet as if they can
caressing waves to pull me
like a pebble into the depth

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

Orange

Lass
Sorrowful night dew
between two legs
shameless moon splashed
emphatic nakedness
of the female youth: untouched
crisp, not bitten peach
spread under the light sheet
lonely like the barn owl or
cricket fighting gleam
of the night and
on the back of the chair,
her bra longed for daybreak
when it’ll embrace her little breasts
like a mother protecting
her two little daughters

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

Entropy

Workshop of Dreams
We hang between time and space
fleeting concepts
mysterious genomes of ecstasy
pathfinders of transformation we weave the chaos
of our origin
in the uteruses of life and death
nothing is saved and nothing dies
in the infinity, we build the revolution
of a prearranged dream

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

Constantine Cavafy – Poems

The Horses of Achilles
When they saw Patroklos dead,
who was so brave, and strong, and young,
the horses of Achilles began to cry;
their immortal nature was outraged
at the sight of this work of death.
They reared up, and tossed their long manes,
they stamped the ground with their hooves, and mourned
Patroklos, whom they felt was soulless—devastated—
lifeless flesh now—his spirit gone—
defenseless—without breath—
returned from life to the great Nothing.
Zeus saw the tears of the immortal
horses and felt sad. He said, “At the wedding of Peleus
I shouldn’t have acted so mindlessly;
it would have been better if we had not given you away,
my unhappy horses! What need did you have to be
down there among miserable humans, playthings of fate.
You whom death cannot ambush, who will never grow old,
you are still tormented by disaster. People
have entangled you in their suffering.”—But
for the endless calamity of death,
those two noble animals shed their tears.

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

Red in Black

Mission Accomplished


The huge banner fluttered
on the deck of the aircraft carrier
might of a nation on drugs
impresses the unimpressed peons
as the commander in chief
of the free western world stepped
on board, paroxysmal smile on his face
resembling his unnatural joy
Frankenstein’s bride before a mirror.

The huge banner fluttered
on the deck of the aircraft carrier
for the success of the free world
that freed the five thousand old
country of its devastated history
and stayed attention
as if paying their respect
to the thousands killed.
Mission accomplish

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

Beat Dinner

2.
I am one of you, seeking a path
between pleasure and decency,
voting for miracles,
hoping to be saved and by travelling,
sometimes on the road,
sometimes beside it…
I cast my vote for the first cross,
for God is dead, and who else could I
compare myself to? I have seen,
I have experienced fear,
the omnipotence that
blows your mind clear.
I cast my vote for the realm of scents,
for the fragrance that is followed by a smile,
for your gesture that implied
this journey is not over, yet
what is yours, you must get
pointing to those unparalleled constellations
where all theories are abolished
on existing or never existed creation,
illuminating the simplest of relation
we had never known before.
I cast my vote for my ancestors
forever on the road,
who stepped from the wet pavement
into the ever-changing afterlife,
preaching
the immediacy of history.
I cast my vote for the loneliness of cities,
where souls caged by four walls
pray for a hellish peace,
slipping away in ease,
leaving nothing behind,
from behind of a mirror they dream
of a touch or perhaps the touch
that might redeem
the never ending, monotonous sparks of weekends.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763742