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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

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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

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

Fugitive
Shortly before the meeting, Esther Rhodes swallowed two sedatives.
– I’ve got a lot of appointments today, said Lois Daniels, the social
worker, sliding the papers across the kitchen table. Is he in his room?
According to the re-telling—Mom was present by request, a legal
witness to the proceedings—Mrs. Rhodes glared at the social worker
before attaching a signature to the consent form.
– Well, asked Dad. Was he?
My mother lost her train of thought spooning macaroni and wieners
onto four plates. As always, the largest share, to satiate the neediest
stomach, went to our father.
– Do I have to do everything? she snapped. Somebody get the
ketchup!
Once seated, she asked of no one: Now . . . who was what?
– The ’tard, my brother reminded her. Was he in his room?
Mom waved a butter knife in Burt’s face.
– Use that word one more time, buster . . .
Mrs. Rhodes was on Mom’s bowling team, the Renfrew Heights
All-Stars. Her son Fender was what people these days refer to as mentally
challenged. Back then he was called other things. The papers Mrs.
Rhodes signed that morning, the reason for the pills, turned temporary
guardianship of her only living offspring over to the Department of
Social Services. A spot had opened up in a group home. Mom
explained that if Mrs. Rhodes wanted Fender to partake in a program
that taught self-sufficiency, she had little choice.
– Don’t blame me, Lois Daniels had said. It’s the system.
The Rhodes had been our neighbours since the development—the
Renfrew Heights Housing Project for War Veterans…

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00731WSPE

Savages and Beasts

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excerpt

schedule from the wall and placed it on the desk; he’d like to give
a fresh coat of paint to the place.
Evening came as an August surprise; cool air blew from
the northeast horizon gracing Kamloops with a soft feathery
touch, people’s faces rejoiced in the soft reprieve of the twilight;
muffled chirps of birds were still heard coming from the bushes
and trees, the odd owl call was heard from a deserted barn or
the top of the huge oak trees or the wild chestnuts. Anton had
cleaned his beddings and had placed them on the bed, he had
finished all the drying of children’s clothes for the day and had
them in bins ready to get to the maids in both the boys’ and girls’
quarters; He sat for a minute to recall the events of the day and
closed his eyes in satisfaction that the day was as productive and
busy as it should had been; after a couple of minutes of meditative
recollection he got up and one by one he pushed the loaded bins
two to the boys’ sleeping quarters and two to the girls’. Maids
took them from there and did their side of work.
He was getting ready to leave for the day when Mary
rushed in his domain. Her face gleamed with joy to come and
see him; she closed the door before she fell in his arms. They
kissed. They touched each other. They wanted each other. Eros
took over their moments and before one could imagine it Mary
and Anton were under his clean bed-sheets. Lust commanded
their bodies to join, there where the earth smelled of endlessness
where time didn’t matter nor existed and moments passed fast
like their pulse that galloped at the demands of lust and nothing
was reserved, nothing was held back. Only their muffled moans
were heard for a good length of time until the consummation
overpowered everything and relaxation followed.
Later that evening, after Anton went home and had the
family supper he went to his room to reflect on today’s events

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

Rodica Marian – Poems

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A HYPOTHESIS
Look, for the first time I see the grass
I tread on every day,
The flagstones crossing the two yards
And all of a sudden there are a thousand gardens,
The woodland strawberries whose leaves have jagged edges
I myself grew them some time ago,
Like the strangely amazed child
Who left home for the first time, I see
The daffodils covering all the graves,
The shape of the moments goes down into the grass, into the stalks
And the wild lilac rising to the sky
Rocks small drops of a blue sun
And calls me out,
“We shall resurrect, we shall resurrect, we shall resurrect!”

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

Water in the Wilderness

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excerpt

“They’re missing, Tyne. They’ve run away. Ruby and Bill thought they might be here.”
She fell into the chair by the desk. “Dear Mother of God, no,” she blurted. “Where … how long?”
“They were gone this morning when the family got up. I don’t know what time that was, but the kids must have left in the dark. At least there’s one piece of good news … the eldest boy, Ronald, is probably with them.”
Tyne’s relief was short-lived when she realized the boy was probably not yet twelve years old. And the weather … oh, dear God in heaven, no. Even strong, adult men had been known to lose their way from barn to house in a blizzard.
“Morley, the weather … how bad is it?” She choked on a sob. “It looks like a blizzard from here.”
“Tyne… honey, try not to upset yourself. I know it looks bad, but they’re probably with a neighbor, or someone who saw them and took them in. Ronald’s old enough to know to go for help when the weather turned bad.”
“I know, Morley.” She drew in a calming breath. “Please, take care of yourself. I wish I could be there to help you at the barn, and make your dinner.”
“I’ll be fine. And listen, Tyne, I don’t want you to leave the hospital. Please tell me you’ll stay there. There must be somewhere you can sleep.”
Tyne stifled a sob. She didn’t want Morley to know how scared she felt – scared for the children and scared for him alone on the farm with animals to look after. She gave herself a mental shake and set her mind to gain control of her emotions.
“Tyne, the first thing I’d like you to do is call your parents and Aunt Millie to tell them about the kids. Ask them to alert people in their area. Oh wait, is there any possibility they could have gone to your mom’s? You’ve taken them there a few times. Maybe Rachael remembered the way.”
“No, I don’t think so. If they had gone there, Mom would have called either you or me.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He sounded deflated.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562884

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

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

of his report to Department Chairman Hoefert, so it was important to convey just the right tone. For example, he would make much of the fact that this particular tour of western students had been allowed in to the philological library at the State Institute in Leningrad—a great honour usually requiring a permit from the Ministry of Education. He, Professor Chopyk, was actually allowed right into the stacks, to be surrounded by a rich storehouse of scholarly literature. So much for Professor Hoefert and his boast that he had been allowed into the stacks at the Lenin Library. This was a feather in Chopyk’s cap. Of course, he would not include in the notes that he had bribed the lowly assistant librarian (American dollars), the attendant (bottle of brandy) and even the security guard (flattery and a Cadbury’s bar) to allow him the brief two hours in the library’s inner sanctum. And that those two hours were ones in which the chief librarian was on her extended lunch hour or he would have stood no chance at all.
He set his pen down for a moment to relish the memory once more. The porthole was open a crack and a fresh morning breeze played across his face. Other wonderful events had crowded in since his time in the library: touring the art treasures of the Hermitage, attending the Kirov ballet, seeing the monumental statue of Mother Russia at the former Stalingrad, and cruising a stretch of the Volga where no other westerners had been allowed. Russia—no, the Soviet Union—was full of such grand experiences, though none could compare with those two hours spent among the ancient tomes of his linguistic mentors. The journal was filling up.
He supposed he would have to write something about the progress of the students—they would receive a grade, after all—and something about the leadership qualities of his second in command, Jennifer White. Chopyk frowned. It was difficult to write about Jennifer. On the one hand, she had done a miraculous job in bringing some of the younger students up to scratch with their Russian. Their verbal abilities had improved greatly during the trip. Of course, total immersion always did that. But they seemed to have more facility with the language, more interest in it. Their written skills had improved, too, if he could believe the mini-essays that Jennifer was assigning them. Even Linda Appleton, whose grammar was superb but who couldn’t string together a simple sentence, had improved. Last night she had actually delivered a brief oral report in Russian on the subject of architecture.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892#ebook

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

Wheat Ears

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Hephaestus
Hephaestus laughed at my demand
for a new armour as
I reverted into my inheritance
subject of a former sound
another era’s reward
I the indisputable heir
of the Aegean Sea
truly nothing else
was as abstract
as the lips of the virgin which
I kissed under the sun’s guidance
when without warning
spring arrived as pure as
the indiscreet announcement
of deeds I was destined
to accomplish:
a cross to hang
around my neck
the lone sea anemone to lean on
and catching the meaning of duty
I had to be worthy of:
sea urchins
with spikes,
rose bushes
by the main entrance of my dwelling
beloved words spoken
by lips cracked and aged like
the lemon tree I never watered
tears on my pillow which
I held tightly
in my arms hoping
to wake up like a laughter of sunshine
in the cows’ watering trough

https://draft2digital.com/book/3748127

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