Swamped

excerpt

“I’m in, Mario … but on my terms.”
“Thank you, Eteo. I knew I could count on you … and yes, your
terms”
They clinked glasses and sipped their wine in silence.
“What prospectus would you like, Eteo?” Mario asked.
“How much do you need for your program?”
“Three hundred thousand. Some working capital for a year, minimum
things. I have no other obligations or debts.”
“Okay, let’s say a million and a half shares at fifty. Give me eight
cents commission and my warrants, which you’ll take out at a good
profit, say fifty cents?”
“Hey Eteo, that’s too much. I’ll cross them out at eighty,” Mario
interjected.
“You’ll cross them out at ninety, nothing less, and as early as possible.
If it starts running, I’m not pushing it down,” Eteo insisted.
“Deal,” Mario replied. “I’ll take care of the details, and I’ll have
the prospectus on your desk by the day after tomorrow.”
Mario took another sip of his wine, then asked, “By the way,
how’s Logan doing these days?”
“Learning the ropes, just like anybody else, Mario.”
“That’s great. I hear good things about him.”
“Thank you, Mario. How’s your family, the girls and Lynda?”
“They are all good, Eteo”
“Are you still living in Caulfield?”
“Yes, I’ve always like it there. I see Jimmy the carpenter quite
often.”
“Good old Jimmy. Well, say hello to Lynda for me. Don’t forget,
okay?”
“Of course.” Mario stood up. “Thank you, Eteo.” He shook Eteo’s
hand and kept it in his for a few extra seconds. “I hope we’ll see each
other more often from now on.”
“We shall, Mario. By the way, I like your jacket. From Georgio’s,
I suppose.”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562976

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

Katerina Anghelaki Rooke – Selected Poems

Total Destruction of the ego
…and instead of despairing
for your ravaged skin
drowning in the deluge of his memory
as you face in distress
the barren field of your future,
while you often mention the word tomorrow out of habit
instead of the internal end of the world
the egoistic hope
that some meaning may hide in your life,
you feel an unexpected strong pain
seeing images of nature’s destruction
the one which, in reality, was
the consolation of your soul
that you would live forever under the roots of its children
that you would feel leaves stirring under the soil
and that birds would perch on branches and rest for a moment.
Yet the horror before the darkest destruction
that encircles the forests
the horror you feel when you listen
to the predictions of the useless experts
that perhaps the tree tops
will never caress the sky on these mountain peaks
the horror strangely mixes with elation
in the roots of your heart
that you finally escaped from the prison of ego
which often with meaningless details
annulled your share of compassion.
You don’t hang from the railings
of your unimportance anymore
you compare it to the eternal meaning
of germination
and you bestow your body unto it.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562965

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763521

Arrows

excerpt

The roof was right above his head. Without warning they dropped
him and stopped him abruptly before reaching the floor. I heard
his shoulders pop. He fainted.
I talked to the Inquisitor, keeping my hood on and my voice low.
He had never seen me before, but Salvador and I were very alike.
He argued with me. I had to find the way to make him leave.
“Cut his tongue. If he doesn’t wish to speak, he shall never speak
again,” the Inquisitor said to one of the torturers, who took out his
knife and went to obey the order.
“Señor Inquisitor,” I said, “how do you suppose he’ll ever confess
if you have his tongue cut out?”
“This man hasn’t talked in a year, Señor Guardian,” he said to me.
“We have been merciful and understanding. Haven’t I seen you
before?”
“I don’t recall having the pleasure, my son.” I said.
“I never forget a face,” the Inquisitor said, and then he went on to
tell me that I looked familiar. I asked his permission to convince
the prisoner to confess. I could see Salvador struggling to keep the
torturer from prying his mouth open. I threatened the Inquisitor.
“The king, my lord,” I said, “will be most pleased to hear about
your Christian duty so much like his own. I was hoping to assure
him of your concern about the salvation of souls this afternoon
during the audience His Majesty has so graciously granted me.”
That did it.
“Of course,” said the bastard, “that is always of the utmost…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

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

Small Change

excerpt

His ears were still ringing with Christian’s wizardry when the
insistent clap of the brass knocker on the front door broke his concentration.
He was paralyzed for a moment, not knowing whether he should answer
the door or let whoever it was think that no one was home. While he was
considering this, he heard the door open. He turned off the Victrola and
made his way to the living room. His mother stood in the open door, her
arms crossed, her head tilted to one side, looking him over.
“So? What are you doing home? I thought you had choir practice
today.”
“I got out early.”
“How come?”
“Sister Rose…” he broke off and looked away.
“What about Sister Rose?”
He made a face.
“She said I wasn’t paying attention.”
Andrea watched him. He looked upset, resentful. She wanted to
know what was going on.
“So, were you?”
“Was I what?
“Paying attention.”
“Well, sure, kinda… “
She arched an eyebrow, surprised by his answer. It sounded
uncharacteristically inarticulate, evasive.
“Kinda?”
“Well, yeah. I knew what was going on.” He paused, peeked up at
her. “I was looking at the stained glass windows.
The light was coming
through them, they were real bright. Then I was looking at that new statue
of the Negro saint.”
“Hmm. I thought you liked choir.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. The singing part. But they’re so slow. They
can’t read and it takes them forever to learn one measly song.”
“Did you talk to Sister about it?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“Yeah. I guess. She knows already though. She just wants…
everybody to be the same, and we’re not.”
“Would you like me to talk with her?” Andrea was Vice-President…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

Maturity
Doubtfully, he says, vague, dark; I can’t make anything
out of them. The grass stirs. Old women shake off big,
black bed-sheets out of the windows. The milkman
urinates on the sidewalk. The limping man sharpens
his knife on the stone. Suddenly they lower the flags
from the embrasures. Big drums roll down the hillside.
The guards run away. “He’s crazy, they yell, crazy, crazy,
don’t believe him”. He runs, they chase him. “He was
drumming the cauldrons during the night”. The spears
gleam. Women raise their dresses, close their eyes. “Don’t
believe him”. And you don’t know whether they laugh or cry.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763815

Cloe and Alexandra

“Wish you the best”
What does the lover mean?
Most likely what’s best for him
since the circumstances,
those threatening monsters with the nine heads
clench their teeth.
Shamelessly
since that water diluted soup of excuses boils
better in slow fire,
without nostalgia,
as if one is to read a newspaper
with his legs up on a chair
he better undo his heavy
boots that always remember.
“I wish you the best” then.
Would have been better if he wrote:
“Sorry that I couldn’t?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562908

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FPRGYMQ

Impulses

Unstoppable
Dutiful and without pause
he fights to shape
the undefined
tries to paint the achroous in
velvet azure and decrypt
what won’t conform to borders
childlike eyes
a pedestal holding up past glory
all perished dreams
but why the sculptor
creates a huge statue bronze
why he makes his hands
so large is he to embrace the
whole world and his legs why
so large is he to straddle the universe
and his genitals why so impressive?

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744513#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073565

Antony Fostieris – Selected Poems

Ghosts
No watchmaker
trusts his watch
not concerned with
any metaphysics
though the chronic
fears of his profession
become the ghosts of his night.
Has the axle moved off its place?
Are the teeth of the wheel inaccurate?
Are the unimportant tiny screws loosened?
Is an abrupt stop of the battery imminent?
While the whole
future
will be nailed
on the second hand.

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

Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

CLOUD OF SORROW
Why does our joy, our little joy,
to sadness only lead us?
A cloud of sorrow covers us
and we lean our heads aside.
Sweet sister, now I perish,
compassion only saves me now.
The storks, gray-feathered, fly away
and take with them the swallows.
Why does our joy, our little joy,
to sadness only lead us?
Another winter we have spent
in darkness in a foreign land.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

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

Wheat Ears

Whispers
Whispers
their song silking through
maiden pubic hair
their lust searching for
tender vulva
Whispers
rhythmic resonance
in kiss of fingers
and their excitable hunt for
youthful consummation
Whispers
movement of legs
under the light bed sheet
impelling space between
a raised leg and the angled one

https://draft2digital.com/book/3748127#print

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