Arrows

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excerpt

And so I prayed.
To deny myself at that point meant quelling the abhorrence I felt
toward my countrymen and replacing it with love. I needed to clean
the crystal ofmysoul of all intention, so that the pure light of God could
shine through me, like the sun through a window into a dark room.
I tried, I really did. But when I descended into the valley, carrying
my little medicine chest under my arm, in case I should find a
moribund Christian to whom I could offer spiritual comfort, the
expanse of unnecessary death and pain sickened me.
“Are you a Christian?” I asked of those who could still talk,
mostly Indians.
A few spat at me, others looked beyond me. I was amazed to find
only two Spaniards, two harquebusiers who must have fallen
during the first round of arrows.
It pained me to simply pass by most men, but my desire to help
someone and offer him absolution of his sins before he died kept
me going, though I was sadly aware of all the souls that would not
be saved.
“Are you a Christian?” I kept asking. I found a young native man
whom I recognized as one of our party. He had received several
blows from macanas: his head was cracked open and his entrails had
spilled onto the ground. Iridescent flies feasted on the pool of gore
underneath him.
He nodded, shivering and bathed in sweat. “Are you? Good,” I
said, regretting the word ‘good’ as soon as it left my mouth. My
hands trembled as I opened the chest and extracted the ampulla
containing the oleum infirmorum. “Can you talk?”
He nodded and moaned horribly, his eyes wandering aimlessly.
He made a convulsive attempt at confession, and I absolved him
forthwith, giving him the viaticum and anointing his eyelids,
saying, “Through this holy unction and His own most tender mercy may
the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed by sight,”
and repeating it with his ears, nostrils, lips, hands, feet and loins.
I raised my head and saw Pánfilo checking on the dead with his
harquebus hanging from his shoulder and his dagger at the ready.

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

While he studied, he periodically found himself distracted by the
thought of the one art gallery in Vancouver he had not approached with
his paintings – the Alex Fraser Gallery. Stories of Alex Fraser, and his
treatment of artists in his London and Vancouver galleries, had circulated
through the art community for years. Ken was angry with himself. He
was rarely afraid of anyone and had met no one in Canada yet who had
intimidated him. Alex Fraser’s reputation did.
He had heard that the man was irascible – so what? He had heard he
was powerful. Was it in his power to judge his work? What if he found it
wanting?
The only thing worse than his fear was the prospect of his disappointment
in himself if he refused to face it, so one day he screwed up his
courage, loaded his truck with paintings, and drove to 41st Avenue near
Boulevard in Kerrisdale.
He walked into the gallery, where an attractive middle-aged woman
asked if she could help him.
“Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Fraser if he’s about.”
“Mr. Fraser doesn’t see people without an appointment.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m here and I have some paintings. Please, can
you ask if he’ll see me?”
She smiled and walked into a back room. A few minutes later, a small
man with slicked-back hair and icy, blue-green eyes walked out. He was
dressed in a perfectly fitted gray pinstriped suit, with knife pleats in the
trousers and shoes that shone like mirrors.
Exhaling a great puff of smoke, he lowered himself into a big armchair,
and placed two packages of Players unfiltered cigarettes and an ashtray
on the little gate-legged table beside it. Taking a fresh cigarette from one
of the packages, he lit it from the one in his yellowed fingers, and crushed
the stub in the ashtray.
Turning to the woman who had followed him out of the back room he
called, “Doreen! Doreen, I want you to tell the young man about manners.
Ask him does he understand the meaning of manners?”
“Mr. Fraser would like to know if you understand the meaning of manners,”
she said, turning to Ken.
“Indeed I do,” Ken said. “And I apologize for coming in without an appointment
but I was nervous and I managed to screw up all my courage
to come in – and here I am.”
“Doreen! Doreen, tell him he is quite right to be nervous in approaching
me. Ask him what it is that he wants.”
“I have some paintings and would like to show them to Mr. Fraser.”
“Tell the young man that I can’t bloody see his paintings, anywhere.
Where are his paintings?”

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

Opera Bufa

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Midnight
Incessantly I define beauty within
a boy’s missing tooth or a girl’s laughter
painted on a canvas of miracles
staring far to the horizon where
epochs originated in blue and
the twelfth hour resurrects
lascivious intensity rocks in
a delicate sway
of palm tree sympathies
dwelling in the center
of its valley murmurs vanishing
as some lustful night mesmerizes
with imagined touch of orchid lips
whipping the back of a bearded youth
and I hammer the lone nail on the wall
for the expected frame of this painting
that I hope to finish standing on a promontory
though He pretends to aspire to something
as He throws down the next
unwanted flattened breast of
the old woman and the wilting
penis of the old man to complement
the stamina of luscious hours
between a war and an unwanted
peace the absurdity of orphaned limbs
crying and staring into the gleam
of my sunlit verses or their sharpened blades
naked melody of two notes
or two deflated breasts as
a limp penis turns asking
‘why?’ and the chanting Eucharist
irreverent and spiteful
seethes: who cares?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763092

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

He needed to dismantle the walls that kept others out. He
needed to use words to heal rather than hurt. If he was able to
accomplish these three objectives the new Joel Hooper would
appear, he thought; or, maybe the real Joel Hooper would surface
for the first time. Whatever it was, it would be quite a
transformation.
After a light lunch and some very thorough horse grooming,
Tanya and Joel saddled up their mounts and led them to the
warm-up arena. Over the last few months, Joel had been
reminded that saddling up was much more than simply throwing
a saddle on the back of the horse. First, Joel brushed the buckskin.
For the show, Tanya had told him to pay special attention
to brushing the gorgeous black mane and tail of the buckskin
gelding. Then, he placed a riding pad on the horse’s backs, and
over that, a show blanket. It was only then that the saddle was
placed on the horse’s back. Next came the boots, not Joel’s but
the horse’s. First, Joel placed the bell boots on the front feet of the
horse to protect the coronary band, just above the hoof. Then he
added the splint boots above each of the bell boots. Splints boots
were intended to protect the area between the knee and the
ankle. Moving to the rear of the gelding, Joel fastened the skid
boots to protect the horse’s fetlocks from burning as they come in
contact with the ground during the sliding stops. It was only once
that the pads, blankets, boots, and saddles were in place that Joel
loosened the halter and gently positioned the bit in the buckskin’s
mouth and quietly moved the bridle into position.
Joel had been wearing his spurs for most of the morning. He
had come to love the sound of the rowels jingling as he walked.
Despite his early years on the ranch, Joel had adopted an urban
attitude toward spurs, seeing them as something that was harsh
and unnecessary. It was once he had returned to the ranch and
worked the horses with Harry that he quickly came around to the
reality that spurs weren’t the weapons as others had seen them.
Rather than weapons, the spurs were tools, and the last thing he
would want to do was aggressively spur a horse.

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

Kariotakis-Polydouri, The Tragic Love Story

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It Was a Beuatiful Night
The beautiful night reflected in your eyes
and in your songs, that sweet night
in your old songs
night full of stars, exotic night.
The only love in your loneliness
so beautiful so evocative
became passion in your heart
in the loneliness of your heart.
Ah, your old songs which sobbed
ineffably sweet
modestly hid they talked of it.
Ah, your old songs sad
like secrets of love
like sad silent flowers.

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

Medusa

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Hallway
Seemingly dim hallway
indiscernible time
at the far side of darkness
the clock
screams something
you don’t hear
meaninglessness
vague faith
you carry
as if to guide your steps
to the light
though you only need
to open your eyes wide
and face it
which will be
your greatest achievement

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769

Still Waters

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excerpt

Tyne held her hand and coached her to breathe through the spasm.
Before the contraction was over, the student returned with a middle-
aged nurse Tyne recognized from her time on Obstetrics. Miss
McMurtry immediately took charge. She lifted Jeannette’s gown and
gently placed the fetascope on her protruding abdomen. No one
spoke or moved while she listened intently to the baby’s heartbeat.
When Miss McMurtry raised her head, Tyne detected a glimmer
of concern in her eyes. Jeannette must have sensed something, too.
“Is my baby all right, Nurse?” She gripped Tyne’s hand. “I want my
husband. Oh, Tyne, can’t you get him? Where’s Dr. Kendall, Nurse?
Is he here?” The words tumbled out of the distraught young woman,
her eyes darting back and forth between the three nurses in the room.
With her free hand, Tyne stroked Jeannette’s forehead. The skin
felt hot and feverish. She tried to keep her own voice calm, but her
heart was thudding in her throat. “It’s all right, Jeannette, it’s all right.
I’ll go see if Guy is on his way. You’re in good hands.” She glanced at
Miss McMurtry and could tell from the expression on her face that
something was wrong.
“Dr. Kendall is on his way, Mrs. Aubert. He’ll be here any minute.”
Miss McMurtry nodded to the student, who began moving the bedside
table and chair out of the way. “We’re just going to wheel you
into the delivery room. It won’t be long now, dear.”
Tyne gently freed her hand from Jeannette’s grasp, and watched as
the two nurses moved the bed towards the door that led into the case
room. She took the opportunity to slip out to the nurses’ station.
After ascertaining that Guy Aubert had been notified that his wife
was in labour and almost ready to deliver, Tyne spoke privately to
the head nurse to obtain her permission to be with Jeannette in the
delivery room.
“Yes, Miss Milligan, I’ll give you permission to stay with your
friend because I understand you are now a graduate. Congratulations.”
The young, attractive head nurse smiled at her.
“Thank you, Mrs. McLean.” As she turned to leave the desk, she
noticed someone walking towards her. A young woman, so much
like Jeannette Aubert that they could be taken for twins, approached
timidly.
“Excuse me; I overheard someone call you Miss Milligan. Are you
Tyne?”

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

Red in Black

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Rustle
Rustle of the lemon-tree leaves
as you passed
under them
and the flowers shivered
touched by your hair
which stirred the wind
a conqueror among them
and I followed you
taking of their fragrance
and yours
that challenged
the lemon tree flowers
and I couldn’t tell apart
the fragrance of your body
from the aroma of the lemon tree buds

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

Hours of the Stars

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Argo
Ship weaved
on the abyss of our hands
ship lost
in the angelic sound of two hasty arms.
The North wind engaged
when we emigrated to the shores of the universe
holding in our arms the Epitaphios and
the Athesterean.*
Who with his finger showed us
the royal manner of the horizon?

*Month of flowers

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763408

Liquid Labyrinth

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In a male voice
férfihangon
The charm of the poem is sung in a voice of a male,
you can play the strict rules out,
if the outlaw’s honor allows your name
to populate the high ground.
You search above the world, looking for your own reins,
my million formulas are falling into space, dizzyingly –
between verses, only your DNA remains
and my signature in the lumber room, eventually.
Your magic spell, your master phrase’s gone away,

  • slide into the world with your sweet lap,
    don’t confuse today and yesterday,
    you grow in the shadow of tomorrow’s gap.
    Magnetic charges in the old stars’ brim,
    wildly, between the rules they are driving
    you only notice the softness of my skin
    when my generous pleasure is backbiting.
    I multiply my charms,
    vigil must be kept over the deathbed worn,
    my eyes deteriorate between two hugs, in my arms
    and you will be nothing but my prey by dawn.
    I burn the stamp of fools on my skin,
    the twitching of the heart is often a lethal waddle,
    DNA has washed away its new code name pin,
    although you were a born titular, a role model.