Jazz with Ella

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Excerpt

Jennifer had the feeling she’d been checkmated. He had not been concerned at all about her disappearance—he only wanted to ensure she did more than her part.
“Which students?”
“David needs to develop better written skills. This is a credit course for him, and right now I can’t give him a passing grade. And then there’s Lona. Don’t know what to make of her. She wants a grade for the course, too.” His voice descended to a hush. “I really don’t consider her a serious student.” He hesitated and Jennifer remembered that she was supposed to be finding out Lona’s agenda and reporting back to Chopyk. It didn’t seem very important to her.
They had reached her room, but under no circumstances was Jennifer inviting Chopyk in. “I’ll deal with the students, Professor,” she said abruptly. “Goodnight now.”
He harrumphed by way of comment, bowed, and left her. By the time her head hit the pillow she had already forgotten how irritating he was.
She dreamed a familiar dream. She was hovering over a lake or a pond—sometimes she was in the lake—but this time she floated above it. Her fingernails had unaccountably grown extra long like those of a Chinese mandarin, and she clawed the water searching for the face that she knew would be there. The eyes that stared up at her from among the water weeds were usually familiar eyes—her little brother—and she must save him. She alone could save him. But her outsize talons snarled in the weeds and she could not scoop up the boy. Water trickled through her fingers. And when she gazed into his eyes—now she was closer, inches above the water—she saw not her brother at all, only the blue grey eyes of the attractive stranger, sinking fast.

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

Swamped

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Excerpt

Asians, every kind of European and Latin American, Africans, and
of course the original First Nations people, the victims as Eteo considered
them. The First Nations people whom the ruthless Europeans
of two centuries ago, with their rifles and guns and chicken pox and
diphtheria and polio and alcohol, almost exterminated, slowly and
methodically. The Europeans who came with their tall ships ready to
carry out whatever barbarisms suited their purposes, all while proselytizing,
yes, the Europeans who wanted to turn the First Nations
people into good Christians such as themselves only to exterminate
them tribe after tribe, only to ostracize them clan after clan, only to
enclose them at the peripheries, closely guarded by the always repressive
word or sword, whichever worked best.
Eteo kept walking, now with a fire in his chest. His steps led him
to the familiar dock at the end of 22nd Street. He reached the edge
of the dock and leaned against the framed barrier, letting his gaze
travel over the shiny water. It at least reflected a natural balance, unlike
the human world, its natural balance permeating everything, part
of the balance cosmos has invented and into which even the unbalance
of people blends and gets absorbed. His eyes encompassed the
gleam of the water and the green background on the far side of English
Bay in the university neighbourhood, where more rich Vancouverites
lived, where houses sold in the millions and one wondered
why. Who had induced such lunacy in the housing market while
thousands in East Vancouver were homeless or paying half their meagre
incomes on rent? Whose game was being played in the Lower
Mainland housing market to favor one area against the other?
Eteo let his attention dive into the shallow water under the dock
where small crabs went about their business on the sea floor and the
small perch fed on the barnacles of the dock’s piles. A few starfish
decorated the sandy floor while seaweed floated left and right like
orchestra that a conductor directed its myriad violins in this naturally
balanced world beyond human influence, a balance suddenly interrupted
by his mobile phone. Yannis was ringing him.
“Hello, John.”
“Hi, how are you?” Yannis asked

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

Wheat Ears – Selected Poems

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Metaphors II

Sweet whisper of the grapevine

serene Monday twilight

treacle and cream cheese

impeccable homely blessings

granite and slate limbs of the glyph

in the endlessness of blue sky

yellow wheat fields

dry fallen pine needles, wish

for expected moist

innumerable city lights

the beggar’s empty cup

wind hitting the window shutters

bread hardened on the shelf

glaucous insubordinate sea, abundant

conches and seashells

reddish autumn leaves falling

teardrops of separation

wanderer of plains and hilltops

the darkened fate of innocence

I have been

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

Μαρία Πανούτσου, Το μπορντέλο

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Μαρία Πανούτσου, Το μπορντέλο

He Rode Tall

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Excerpt

6
was 8500 dollars and the average for geldings was 7300 dollars.
Seven stallions sold for an average of 11,000 dollars, with one
four-year-old stallion going for 35,000 dollars. Top seller for the
day was a twenty-one-year-old palomino mare sold by Joel
Hooper of Willow Springs, Montana, for 75,000 dollars. The
mare is an own daughter of the legendary Doc Bar out of a Peppy
San bred mare and she went to Bud Hankins of Salt Lake City,
Utah . . .”
Did he hear that right?
Did they say 75,000 dollars?
With caffeine-fueled lightening speed that surprised even Joel,
he sprang to his feet, raced for his wallet that he left sitting on the
coffee table and took out the check that he had folded and placed
there as he spoke with Cindy Jones the day before.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars” Joel mouthed to himself. Well
it wasn’t quite 75,000 dollars. Of course, there was the five-percent
commission that had been subtracted, but any way you
counted it the old mare was a 75,000-dollar blonde.
In a stunned zombie-like daze, Joel reached for his
sweat-stained Levi’s jacket and pulled on his Stetson. Calling for
Buddy the Border Collie, Joel headed out the door and up into the
solitude and serenity of the hills. Smiling to himself as he strode
across the yard he couldn’t help but think that with all of the
money he had spent on blondes in his life, the events of yesterday
probably had at least got him a little closer to breaking even.
Breaking even on the ranch and breaking even on blondes.

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

Savages and Beasts

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Excerpt

“Hey Dylan, after lunch come for your sweet,” George
addressed the old man.
Dylan agreed with a movement of his head and grabbing
a tray he showed to Anton it was time for them to pick their
serving of food.
“He’s a good man,” Dylan said while they were eating, “A
stroke of fate brought him here, like everyone else, I guess…”
“What brought you here Dylan?” Anton’s voice sounded
full of curiosity.
The old man turned his eyes in various directions, from left
to right, even above towards the ceiling before he decided to say, “I
was a fisherman once, back east, in Halifax, when my craziness told
me to go west, to come to the West Coast and go salmon fishing.”
“What happened? Did you ever do that?” Anton wondered.
“No I never made it to the coast…” his voice was interrupted
by the stern voice of the Sister Helen who was on duty
along with Father Thomas; one of them supervised the boys and
the other supervised the girls while they were eating.
“There are no seconds,” father Thomas said to a boy of
about fourteen years of age who looked very tall and skinny.
“But I’m hungry,” the youth protested.
“Stand up and pick your things,” the priest said to the
boy who got up and taking his tray was ready to start walking
towards the counter when father Thomas gave him a hard hit
with his strap. The leather strap hit the boy on the left shoulder;
he abruptly leaned a little to his left and turning toward the priest
one could see his anger on his clenched teeth and fiery eyes; he
was almost ready to hit the priest when the hand of the priest
swung again and the strap hit the arm of the youth once more.
His tray fell on the floor. Noise was heard by all the children who
turned to see what was going on.

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

Ithaca Series # 721

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Solitude

The solitude knocked at the door

to my room—number thirty-three.

The boredom entered my bed

like a big dull cloud—silently.

The sheets were blank pieces of paper.

No one was there to care about me.

I didn’t have a single person to call.

I was just a stranger in this country.

I asked my reflection in the mirror:

“Why do I need my lips and eyes

this long and beautiful hair

that nobody caresses and touches?”

ΜΟΝΑΞΙΑ

Η μοναξιά χτύπησε την πόρτα

του δωματίου μου, αριθμός 33.

Η πλήξη έπεσε στο κρεββάτι μου

σιωπηλά, σαν μεγάλο ανιαρό σύννεφο

Τα σεντόνια, άγραφτα κομμάτια χαρτί

κανείς δεν ήταν εκεί να με προσέξει.

Δεν είχα κανένα να καλέσω

ήμουν ξένος στη χώρα αυτή.

Ρώτησα το είδωλο μου στον καθρέφτη:

Γιατί να `χω χείλη και μάτια

κι αυτά τα μακριά ωραία μαλλιά

που κανείς πια δεν χαιδεύει;

Μετάφραση Μανώλη Αλυγιζάκη//translated by Manolis Aligizakis

Irma Kurti (Albania-Italy)

Βύρων Λεοντάρης, από την “Ψυχοστασία”

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Βύρων Λεοντάρης, από την “Ψυχοστασία”

Still Waters

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Excerpt

His face, which a moment before had been bright and expectant,
lost its glow. “Some other night then?”
“No Cam, I’m sorry I can’t.” She hesitated only briefly. “I have a
boyfriend back home. We’re practically engaged. It wouldn’t be right
for me to date anyone else.” Feeling remorseful when she saw his hurt
look, she added quickly, “Please understand, Cam.”
His smile was gentle, if regretful. “I do understand, Tyne. And it’s
all right, really. My loss.” He held out his hand. “I’m glad we met.
Who knows, someday we may find ourselves working in the same
hospital.”
Tyne had smiled and gripped his hand firmly. “You bet, that would
be great. Goodbye, Cam.”
As she opened the door to 215 on Friday afternoon, she prayed he
would not be in the room.
Arthur Tournquist, in his bathrobe, sat in an easy chair near the
window. Tyne saw immediately that he had a visitor, but not Cam.
The man who turned to face her as she walked through the door was
her father.
“Dad,” she gasped, “what are you doing here?”
He got to his feet and crossed the room to embrace her. “Surprised
you, didn’t I, daughter?” With his arm around her, he led her to the
window and sat down again across from Arthur.
“But I don’t understand,” Tyne said, glancing from one to the other.
“It’s simple enough,” Jeffery Milligan said, “I came to see my old
friend, of course.”
“Oh,” she said, still a little bewildered. She had not realized their
friendship merited a hospital visit from a distance of a hundred and
fifty miles. “But how did you know Mr. Tournquist was ill, Dad?”
“I called him, Miss Milligan. Not to inform him I was ill, particularly,
but to tell him I’d met his lovely daughter.”
Tyne looked at her patient and was surprised to see the mischief
glinting from his eyes – eyes so much like Cam’s.
“I had some business to discuss with my old friend here,” Jeff said,
“and I thought it would be a good chance to see you, too, Tyne. Arthur
tells me you have a day off tomorrow, which works out perfectly.”
Alarm bells immediately sounded in Tyne’s head. Business to discuss?
Had her dad seriously considered Mr. Tournquist’s offer of a job
on the Herald? Would he even consider leaving Emblem and the Echo?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

The Circle

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Excerpt

Silence takes their thoughts and the surrounding area like when you stop before
the blooming hyacinth and your eyes become teary, or when you stare at the
orange sun at dusk before the sea takes him into her watery embrace, like when
the little chick chirps in the nest and its mother tries to teach it how to grasp the
worm from her beak and your eyes become teary, and you don’t know the
reason. It’s like that. The disappointment is obvious in Hakim’s face.
“When did they find my parents and what did they do with them?”
“The next day when I found out about the bombing, I ordered the search.
They found your father and mother in the rubble, and you as well. Your parents
were buried according to tradition, and I took you into my home.”
“What else happened on those days? Please tell me more about my parents,
about their property, what happened to it, how did the Americans manage to
bomb our home instead of someone else’s.”
“War, my dear boy, is a terrible thing. It brings out the worst in people. It’s
incredible to imagine what people do in times of stress, in times of fear, in times of
desperation. That’s what war does: it affects people in the worst possible way. You
see a brother killing a brother, you see friends who suddenly become the worst of
enemies, all for what, you may wonder, and there is no answer. It is unbelievable
what a person can do in the stress of war, when they don’t have means of feeding
their family, or when they are afraid for their lives, when one finds a rifle thrown to
the side of the road and takes it in his arms. At that moment, he becomes an enemy
of someone else, a killer capable of taking a life. This is why you see civil wars
erupting in every country after an event like this. The whole system is gone—the
security, the police, the courts, the justice system, all the apparatus of the country is
gone. In our case, even today after all this time, there are bombings and suicide
bombers killing people in the hotels, the plazas, even in the mosques. This is what
war creates, my dear boy, and you can only hope war won’t come your way ever
again. As far as what happened to your parents’ house, it’s still there, uninhabited,
still standing half-way; one day we have to address the issue of what to do with it.”
Hakim remembers now what he wanted to ask his uncle since yesterday.
“My uncle, how have you come to know these people, the Admiral and
Jennifer’s father, Matthew?”
Ibrahim laughs lightly.
“When you reach my age,my dear boy, you’ll understand I know a lot of people,
because I have met so many over the years; it is as simple as that. To satisfy your
curiosity I met the Admiral in Baghdad when he was a young officer at the American
Embassy before the days of the first Gulf War and Saddam Hussein. Matthew I met
yesterday, but I know he works for Bevan, who is Matthew’s boss.”
“What job do they do?”

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