Sinbad the Sailor
My soul is often
a side street in Mykonos
in the twilight
and women start
putting down on the street,
quite erotically and
in triangular, monotonous shapes
blue glasses
blue plates
blue carafes
blue lust
violins
flowers
pebbles
all in blue colour
away from the sun
on the soil
in the street
where the sun passed
besides
it won’t pass again
then exactly then
is the time
when I
pass my hand
softly
over my cranium
and I press it
deep
Ashes
When people told you to be strong
You knew some things had to collapse
After things turned worse than wrong
Burned down into bare ashes
Before the ashes, souls ascended
There was just dust after them
But ashes started fluorescing
When souls have arrived in heaven
Tragic as things turned out to be
As its nature, time has passed
From the ashes, their wings spreading,
Arose two beautiful phoenixes
Leaving birdwatchers astounded,
Shortly after being reborn
The creatures would not remain grounded
They lifted off, and they have flown
Two birds of fire now light the world,
The sky is theirs, but don’t forget
Their miraculous rebirth
Was from that fluorescent ash
Excerpt
He gets the Admiral a beer and, for Ibrahim, a glass of water as he requested.
Emily is obviously surprised with the arrival of Hakim’s uncle, as she had
thought only Bevan was coming. Bevan’s was the first invitation she sent out.
“I decided to surprise you with an extra guest. This is a very good friend of
mine from the old days. I met Ibrahim in Baghdad many years ago,” Bevan says
to Emily.
Hakim takes his uncle aside because he needs to be with him for a few
minutes alone. Jennifer catches them as they walk away.
“Hi honey, are you going to introduce me to your uncle?” she asks.
Hakim smiles and introduces them. His uncle takes Jennifer’s hand and, the
same as with her mother, kisses it politely.
“I’m quite happy to meet you, Jennifer. I see my nephew has made a very
good choice.”
“I’m very happy to meet you, too, sir,” she replies. Her cheeks blush.
The three stroll around the yard for a few minutes. Hakim is eager to
know more about his uncle’s health, but he knows it will be hard to find out
surrounded by people at a party, that will carry on for the next few hours. He
goes along with the old man who wants to sit down for a while. Jennifer
brings a chair for him from inside the house and places it in the shade of the
big maple.
Ibrahim smiles at her and Hakim, and says, “Young lady, you are an angel,
thank you kindly.”
She smiles back at him and takes Hakim’s hand. He doesn’t object and all
three sit by the big maple tree talking about the non-serious things that keep
this world going around without getting bored. The ever-watchful eyes of the
maple keep them company, and before the feelings of revenge that enter and
exit Hakim’s mind became a thorn on the stem of a beautiful rose, the
watchful eyes of the maple turn and the tender sight of Ibrahim softens his
thoughts. The pleasant, warm afternoon, and a light breeze coming from the
Southeastern horizon, along with the flowers’ scent from the beds of the
garden complements the area around the guests with the fragrance of lilac and
honeysuckle.
Ibrahim turns to Hakim.
“How is your work going, my son? Are you happy here? Would you like to try
something different? There are ways, you know.”
For the second time, he’s caught unprepared for this questioning, as if his
uncle knows things that are happening or are about to happen, of which Hakim is
not yet aware.
“Why are you asking me this, my uncle?”
Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards
Inglorious End
I had to reach that point fast; my fate was at risk,
the slightest delay would perhaps cost me my life or
even something more serious. However, I couldn’t
find my path, I was lost in the labyrinth of wet,
mouldy backyards. “My God, I have to get out”,
I said, and I saw the woman. Her face had a green
reflection, as if it had grown moss; she stood motionless
before the mirror, fixing her hair. “Please tell me how
I get out of here”, but she didn’t answer and then
I noticed she was a statue; the real woman sat further up
on a rocking chair. “How could I get out of here?” I asked
again. She smiled with spite. “I too, wished that some
years ago,” she said. Then my face reappeared next
to the statue of the woman; my face started to grow
moss as time went by, while I, sitting on a chair,
also smiled spitefully at the one who came to ask
about his path.
Excerpt
“Grab a coffee and shut the door,” the manager said. When he was sure
no one could hear, he said, “I’ll hire you.”
“Sure,” Ken said. “That’s fine, but let’s sort this out first. I’ll keep your
offer as an ace in the hole.”
Later that day a small plane landed at the airstrip, disgorging the owner
of the company and his entourage, who commandeered an office and
closed the door. Ken slammed the door open and strode into the room.
One man jumped to his feet and tried to usher Ken out. “No,” he said,
shaking the man off. “If this is about me, I’m going to have my say. You
don’t hire an engineer. You don’t have one on the job, but you expect the
job to get done. I’ve learned how to do it. I’m doing it and what’s more,
ask yourself, is there any single thing wrong in the information provided?
Show me one thing that is incorrect – just one! I know you can’t. The
other question I have, is why am I doing the job of four to five men and
getting paid for one? I’m glad I’m fired. It feels good. Have a nice time!”
Ken slammed out of the room, as boldly as he had entered, got in the
truck, and drove back to Jessica’s house. He was nearing the gate when
he spotted the camp manager in his rear view mirror. Ken stopped and
waited for him to pull alongside.
“Are you fired?” he asked.
“I haven’t a damned clue and I don’t care. I’m having a good time.”
“Let me know immediately,” he said. “I’ll get you on the payroll right
away.”
“How much?” Ken asked.
“What are you making now?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Well what do you want?”
“When I know what I want I’ll tell you. Right now I don’t want anything.”
Late that evening John came to the log house with the news that the
entire issue had been smoothed over. He had told the owner that he was
the one who had taught Ken how to use a slide rule, and that everything
had been done correctly. They had screwed up in head office, not Ken.
The camp manager had also spoken on his behalf. In fact, John said, it
was a lovefest. “Everyone’s in love with you. And the owner of the company
looks like a dummy. Of course, he’s not – he’s a smart guy but he had
no idea what was going on. He has a lot of other companies to look after.
But this is a big project with a lot of contracts. No one wants to look like
an idiot. But, everybody’s happy now!”
“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” Ken said. “I’m not happy!”
“But it’s okay – you’re supposed to come back,” John said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ken said. “I’ve been fired.”
“So what do we do?”
LUCK
If it doesn’t want to
by no means
make it be scared,
embarrass it,
squeeze it between the doors.
And if it still doesn’t want to,
shoot it with the slingshot
to make it yours.
Luck loves
if it is forced,
if it is seek after.
Search for it
in the heart of the glaciers.
If it exists,
let it exist for you, too!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C7KT7ZFV
Excerpt
Molly had seen a lot in this diner which had become the center
of the latest news like a dispatch office, a center for controlling
the disease that eats their forest timber and the viscera of men,
she had seen a lot and she had heard a lot, Molly, and her eyes
and ears were always focused and tuned to anything worthy of
retaining in this small city of the British Columbia interior where
the famous Indian Residential School was located.
Anton looked at her. Their eyes said it all. She knew, there
at that moment, she knew of the tempest that was pounding his
mind and heart, but she also knew they had to be smart and
practical if they ever discovered something about the School and
what would be their best approach to the issue on hand: their goal
was to find out detailed info about the ins and outs of the School
and why these children don’t ever behave like children who like
to run around and play and enjoy their days in school.
“Thank you, Molly,” he uttered slowly.
The old man, next to Anton, was sipping his coffee and
enjoying his smoke. He smiled as his glance caught Molly’s hand
playing with Anton’s.
“Youth, the forever youth,” he thought to himself; then
he addressed Anton, “I gather you spent your first day at the
School?”
“Yea.”
“How’s my old pal?”
“He’s good.”
“There were times, back then, when Dylan wouldn’t bother
coming home at night; does he still sleep there sometimes?”
“Yes, even today he said he didn’t feel like going home and
he stayed at the school.”
“Where does he sleep?” Simon asked.
Excerpt
Sister had warned the staff this morning to be careful what they
said in the hearing of their patients, especially this couple. Yesterday,
as his wife was being admitted, Guy Aubert had overheard the nurses
at the desk.
“The patient going into 224 is a threatened abortion,” one of them
said.
“This is not an abortion,” Guy Aubert yelled, his French accent
becoming more pronounced with the level of his outrage. “We do
not do such a thing as this. We are Catholic, and the church does not
allow …”
It had taken Sister several minutes to calm the young man down,
and explain what she meant by the medical term. Tyne cautioned
herself not to refer to her patient’s condition as anything but a
threatened miscarriage. Her heart ached for the couple and the obvious
distress they felt at the possible loss of this first baby they wanted
so much.
Shortly before three o’clock, Tyne made the final rounds of her patients
to assure herself that all was in order for the oncoming evening
shift. The young boy with the ruptured appendix seemed to be doing
nicely. His anxious parents had not left his bedside. The middle-aged
man, who had been admitted two days earlier with a heart attack,
slept peacefully. There was nothing more to do at the moment for
the bowel surgery in 216. His wife sat quietly by his bedside, and
smiled at Tyne as she bid them good night.
Jeannette Aubert was alone in her room, still lying on her back,
still clutching her rosary. Tyne could see where the tears had dried
on her cheeks.
She covered her patient’s hands with her own, and said gently,
“Shall I give you a back rub, Jeannette? You’ve been lying in this position
for most of the day. We don’t want you to get a bed sore.”
Tyne knew that, unlike her elderly patients, young healthy skin did
not develop pressure sores so readily, but a back rub would afford
her the chance to talk to the young woman alone. It might also help
Jeannette relax, and take her mind off the baby for a few minutes.
Manolis Aligizakis 