Tag: fantasy

Missa Bestialis

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The World I Have Arrived From
from dusk to dawn
from dawn to dusk
the same thing I’ve heard on all radio stations
I could no longer stop the device
to interrupt myself I could not do it –
my angry eyes flash
I look around
at the slattern world where
such as my ancestors’ sins
humbly I’ve tried to feel at home
hatred was boiling within me:
in tin pots pooped diapers
trapped the boar thrust its fangs
in its own body
sympathetic and in amazement
speechless
in pubs beautiful boar trophies
stared at me forcing me
that again through their eyes
I look at myself
his fiery sword in paradise
obliged me in the heat of the hangover
he thought of the taste of the apple
what else could be more delicious
than drained pressed guaranteed
lower prices
and only the spoiled God knows
a sickened face and which sin
they caught the fly webbed in honey
the chill of terror
accompanied me out of
the mazy ruin of upsets
where even the dead-end streets have exits
until I struggled with my
unknotted shoelaces
and the last guest bid farewell
slurping the last drop of alcohol off huckleberries
from glasses filthy with fingerprints
I hated them
that with all my might against the wall
I hit my head
I abandoned my body weakened of pain
I ran off and
once more I sat on the cliff tilted toward the valley
I waited
for the phantom to come closer but I couldn’t see it
magnificent the sunset
on the canvas of my sights and mane’s aura
dragging silky doilies
came toward me and
with my eyes goggling
I stared but I could not discern its features
although familiar
I’ve tried to remember and
more impatiently I was waiting
for the date
I stood up
then sat down
I rubbed my hands
and bit my lips
and when the vivid red jelly of the dusk
came closer to me
it sank on the dark falling curtain
only onesmiling star coldly shone
I shivered in the thin coat
and to rest I receded
in fact I converted myself
although peace was not eager to settle
but unleashed monsters
that greeted us
emerging from the unfathomable
mist of the matter and
I had already run among houses
under the heavy silence
and I tried to scream
over sleepy towns
but I’d forgotten the words
that in such occasions were appropriate
I yelped like a newborn puppy
tardy passers-by
eyed me with compassion
hurriedly going before me
to their homes or someone else’s
the night turned colder
I grabbed my Chinese agenda
I searched a familiar name
a number I could dial
strangers were moving at the other
end of the line ( ) the laugh of nothingness
God frowning looked at me
from the menacing tower
high above me He yelped
that even the vagabond cats hissed
their tails between their legs
jumped and disappeared in their dark
nooks and the world I have arrived from
after closing time, the world
I searched for was
a place where ________

Poodie James

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excerpt

back into the bay, “we ought to try a power gurdy. I don’t know if it
would control the lines any better, but it would speed things up.”
“I don’t trust them. The hand gurdy is fine.”
“But, Dad…..”
“Peter. I said the hand gurdy will do for us.”
“Look, I’ll pay for it. If you don’t like it, it goes, and it doesn’t
cost you anything.”
“No. I said no.” The steel of stubborness was in the old man’s
voice. “That’s the end of it.”
Evenings when the boat was in port, Peter rarely had supper
with his folks. He roamed. After midnight, they heard his quiet
steps on the stairs to his room.
“You must say something to him, Ivar,” his mother said. “He’s
going to find trouble.”
“He’s a grown man, Hilda.”
Then, after a few weeks back on the boat and more suggestions,
Pete argued with Ivar about how to do the work, occasionally at first,
and after a couple of years nearly without ceasing. The change in his
son troubled Ivar Torgerson. A scowl seemed engraved on the face of
the young man. Eagerness for work transmuted into a flow of resentment
and quarreling. He swore at people who got in his way when he
walked on the dock. Ivar heard reports of Peter picking fights in bars
and tormenting drunken Indians on the waterfront in Seattle. He
heard worse too, things he would not listen to, about Peter and sailors,
about the kinds of things some sailors do. At Christy’s Tavern, he
knocked Hans Karlson flat when Karlson began to tell him what he’d
heard. Ivar never asked his son where he went on his nights out alone.
He could not bring himself to mention what he knew Karlson and the
others whispered about.
On a Sunday evening, Ivar and Hilda strolled down the hill
toward the bay, relishing the softness of the springtime air and the
quietness of the streets. They looked in store windows, admired
flower beds, ambled along the dock.
“Ivar, you’re headed toward the boat. This is Sunday. Come on,
we’re turning around right now.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Arrows

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excerpt

Worry over everybody’s salvation overwhelmed me. At the
moment, my own salvation seemed too big a task. I relaxed in the
current and let my body drift as I focused on an old Christmas
anthem. Humming, I sunk my head until only my face broke the
surface, and relished in the gurgling of the water below and the
expanse of mottled sky above framed by brilliant green trees.
Some time later, I pulled myself toward shore, with the water
under my chin. There was no doubt in my mind where I had left my
clothes, but they were not there.
A small monkey darted from one bush to another with my frock
trailing behind him. I scrambled out of the water and picked up the
rosary where I had left it hanging from a branch. I found my
undergarments and shoulder cape muddied near the bushes. I put
on my pants, and, just as I tied the laces and started off in pursuit, a
rustle in the bushes cut me short. I was not at all prepared for such
unadorned beauty.
It was a young woman. Her large eyes reminded me of the sun
drowning in the sea, the moment of its most striking beauty. They
glittered, and I could see the light of her gaze sparkling on the ocean
between us. Her giggle broke the spell; two dimples appeared at the
corners of her mouth. Her teeth were even and white, like pearls.
She offered me my frock and I remembered I was almost naked.
The monkey ran out of the bushes and climbed up her arm,
perching on her shoulder. She was so fulfilling to look at, I almost
resented the monkey’s familiarity.Atiara of yellow flowers adorned
the head of that wild Aphrodite; her long hair was like braided
streams rushing down chocolate-capped mountains.
A stream of words tinkled from the sweetest smile. She offered
me my frock, and the movement of her arm tore my eyes from her
face. She pinched her nose and shook her head, but drifted toward
me nonetheless.
I recovered my frock and balled it up like a buckler, for she was
now close enough for the warmth of her breath to cause the hairs of
my nape to stand up on end. I stiffened as her hands came up to my
face. She kept on talking. I listened to the inflections of her girlish

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

He Rode Tall

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excerpt

Trying to remember everything that Tanya had taught him
about reining in the last two months, Joel quietly walked the big
buckskin into the arena and took his position just outside of the
end gate. After nodding to the judge, he began his run into the
show pen. He could not remember feeling so nervous, but he
knew that he couldn’t let that get in his way. He needed to focus
on everything that Tanya had taught him. Sure, he wasn’t on a
100,000-dollar horse and, sure, he wasn’t accompanied by his
own cheering section, but he had a good horse and had worked
hard to learn everything he could. He had put a lot of miles on the
buckskin, not only in the training arena, but also out in the
wide-open spaces, and if anyone was going to get a great performance
out of this horse, Joel knew that would be him. Besides, if
they were going to take full advantage of the quality breeding in
their horses, it would sure help to get a few nice wins on the
three-year-olds—the buckskin and the palomino had shown
them enough to earn the right to be there.
Leaving these thoughts behind, Joel ran the buckskin through
the gate and accelerated into the middle of the arena. With an
incredible blast of raw acceleration and a long run down, the
buckskin executed an awesome sliding stop that went on so far
that it looked like the horse was gliding on Teflon. Once the
buckskin came to a stop, Joel reined the horse to the left, ran him
back down the arena, and executed another excellent sliding
stop, which hurled dirt into the faces of the crowd standing at the
fence. Joel rolled the horse back to the right, quickly moving him
at a gallop past center, and then cued him to stop. This third sliding
stop was immediately followed by a quick reverse to center
with the horse backing effortlessly.
Joel and the buckskin had everyone’s attention—the buzz of
the crowd had quieted and all eyes focused on the horse and rider.
At the center of the arena, Joel waited for a few seconds to allow
the buckskin to rest and Joel to calm himself. Then, with a gentle
shift of the reins, Joel asked for the gelding to spin. With a burst of
energy, the buckskin executed four spins to the right

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

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

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Fellow Traveller in Melancholy
As she realized how much my tragic love for her overtook my heart, she invited me, among the ruins of the London Tower, for a cup of tea from the same hands, named by the killers of her lovers, depending on the season, sometimes “shovels”, other times “shiners”. She accompanied her offer with the only word she had kept inside her for years like something precious, she said, more than her life, like a secret gift of her breasts in the tempest of my lust. I raised my eyes and looked, as an unexpected shiver shook my body: she was naked before the year’s fountain, the fans of a nighty fire sprouted out of her belly and the wall was splattered with blood. I felt that the famous, “better tomorrow” had arrived, was a present reality. It was obvious that everything from the past was already erased, the nightmare of the tropics and the harbour had already vanished. I was a gigantic red eagle that saw, from a young age, the closing eyes of the opposite sun. She was the big, dark forest spread among the chandeliers, the chest and the big hallway mirror used for official palace events. Her thought was crown, her glance renaissance, her glance a beak. Her name was Rodamne. She had lived in faraway lands from where she had come to meet me. I told her I freaked out, thinking we hadn’t met earlier. How could she have, via the measure of the beautiful woman she was, replaced her eyes with two green Egyptian scarabs and she didn’t see me when I passed her? She had probably cut her long hair short so that the words that escaped from my mouth were one cathedral church built, for the only purpose of executing at the site and a specific moment, the unknown archbishop, and seller of small items, from an irregular Mexican squad. She didn’t talk, she didn’t stir, she only took in her embrace the flowers that decorated the room and scattered them in the fresh ravines, in orchards with the delayed hunter, at the foothills of the Memories Mountains. The candles burned joyously on the graceful bronze candelabras and the song she sang teary-eyed had the same meaning with the phrase “time for Shaba” in the Hebrew neighbourhoods of Thessaly cities.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Poodie James

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excerpt

“Sam, you’re smart enough. You wouldn’t work if your life
depended on it. You been a proper stiff all your miserable life?”
“Only since I was old enough to leave home fifty years ago.
‘Bout you?”
“Oh,” Engine Fred said as he uncapped one of the pints, “I had a
job, a wife, kids, a house, dogs, even a car. They had me, really. I
left all that behind. I had to get out from under.”
“Think you’ll ever go back to it?’
“If I did, it wouldn’t be there.”
Poodie watched, intent on the conversation, marveling that
these men rode freight trains, lived in the open, begged for food,
did odd jobs, wanted no home, and he had found a home. Engine
Fred offered him whiskey out of his tin cup.
“Just a sip, see how you like it.”
Engine Fred and Old Sam laughed at Poodie’s grimace and the
tears in his eyes.
“You’ll get used to it,” Old Sam said, peering at Poodie’s face.
Poodie shook his head and made low sounds. He got out his pad
and pencil, wrote, tore off the sheet and handed it to the old man.
Old Sam studied it, shrugged and passed the note to Engine Fred.
“What’s it say, Engine?”
“It says, ‘No more of that.’ See, Sam, I told you he was smart.”
Two nights later, Poodie made his way up to the jungle carrying a
bag of apples. As he came around the big boulder at the path’s final
turn, he saw Old Sam cowering near the bonfire, trying to shield
his head from the blows of a big man in black clothing wielding a
club, a cloth tied over his nose and mouth, his hat pulled low. Sam
twisted, arched his back, tried to tuck his chin into his chest. The
man kicked at Sam’s groin and aimed the club at his ribs, chest and
face. Poodie dropped the apples and stood frozen. The man suspended
his club in mid-strike and looked at Poodie. All that
Poodie could see of his face was eyes reflecting the firelight. The
attacker started toward him, then turned and ran toward the tracks.
Poodie rushed to Sam. The old man’s neck was bloody.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Arrows

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excerpt

Tell him I promise his village won’t be damaged, nor his
fields touched. Tell him.”
Losada dismounted and the others followed suit, but he stopped
them with a gesture of his hand. “Infante, Ávila, Galeas,
Maldonado, Pedro and Rodrigo Ponce, Gregorio de la Parra, with
me. Ten harquebusiers and ten pikemen, come forward as well.
Carlos.”
He snapped his fingers, then turned to me. “Friar Salvador, if you
please, come with me. The rest of you, stay where you are, don’t let
your guard down. It wouldn’t be the first time they welcome and
then betray and kill. Keep an eye on your surroundings. At the first
sign of trouble, Juan Suárez, sound the charge. All of you! Diego de
Paradas will command in my absence. Camacho! You are second.
Good luck and may God be with us.”
“Harquebusiers, check your priming!” yelled Diego de Paradas.
Losada put a hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip, as if to
reassure himself. Behind him, the harquebusiers grabbed their
powder flasks and rammed the charges down the muzzles. A flock
of parrots cawed overhead.
“Take good account of everything, Friar Salvador,” said Losada.
“I have a mind to have you write a record of this expedition.”
Recording the expedition would be considered a great honour and a
great responsibility. I nodded. But I knew immediately it would be
impossible to record the truth.
I admired the orderly arrangement of the village. The streets were
smooth under my feet, the houses skilfully made. Earthen pots
steamed over the embers of fires; hammocks were neatly
distributed; baskets and heads of plantain hung from the wooden
structures. Strings of yarn were stretched over primitive looms. On
the sloping thatched roofs, dozens of round cassava cakes dried in
the sun. Human and animal skulls and bones hanging among the
baskets and plantains reminded me of macabre tales of cannibalism.
The Indians stepped aside as we entered the village. They stared
at my feet and then at the rest of me, for I was the only barefooted
Spaniard, let alone one wearing a frock.

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

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

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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Excerpt

Ken closed his eyes, his lids like coarse sandpaper scraping against
his eyeballs. Opening them was worse. The woman tied a piece of soft
hide over his eyes and all he could do was bear the agony and wait. For
days, he travelled as a blind man, in pain and nauseated from the gentle
rocking of the sleigh. When the pain eased, he took off the hide, and the
old woman gave him a pair of goggles with a small slit, explaining that he
would have to carve them to fit his face. He carved with great care so they
barely touched his skin. Close contact would freeze them to his pores.
They had been travelling a long time, when a golden glow appeared
on the horizon. As they drew nearer, the golden fire resolved into a large
group of igloos. The dogs heralded their approach, and people streamed
out of the igloos to welcome them. The first questions were about food.
The caribou had not crossed their path this season. Did the new people
have caribou? Yes, they had much caribou and it would be shared.
A feast was prepared for the newcomers, who entered the largest igloo
in the centre of the village. In the anteroom, they took off their parkas
and beat them vigorously before entering the main room, where layers of
caribou hides were spread on ice benches that circled the room. Kidney
shaped seal oil lamps provided warmth and light. When they had eaten
and told stories, people dispersed to their own igloos. Ken and his people
crawled under many layers of hides and slept. The old woman had told
the people that Ken was a quiet Kabluna. “He is a friend,” she had said.
“He is now Inuk.”
The next morning while the men built igloos, Ken pulled out his roll of
sketch paper and drew them, as they searched for the right sort of snow
by poking deep into it with a knife or a long sharpened piece of bone.
When they found the right spot, they drew a circle and began cutting out
uniform chunks of hard-packed snow, beginning at what would become
the entrance. They lifted the blocks into place, bevelling the edges, and
chinking the spaces between with loose snow.
Ken was invited to accompany the men on the next hunt. For the Inuit,
hunting is the essence of life. The animals must be revered and not offended.
Kablunat don’t understand this, the old woman told him, but Ken
was now Inuk – no longer a Kablunat. She convinced the hunters that
Ken was an exception. They set off onto the frozen sea that was covered
with a thin layer of transparent ice that moved in front of the sled teams
like a rubbery wave. Underneath them, thousands of air bubbles bounced
and rolled.
When they spotted a seal in the water beneath them they searched for
the beast’s breathing hole and waited. When the seal was forced up to
gasp for air one of the men heaved a long spear and the water stained
crimson.

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

Arrows

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Excerpt

I managed to push him off and he sauntered away,
seemingly satisfied he had not only taught Tamanoa a lesson, but
me as well.
I looked at Tamanoa’s mutilated face. He was choking on his
blood. turned and threw the nose at my feet, then disappeared into
the night, whistling. I helped Tamanoa up and tried to guide him by
the shoulders, hoping perhaps to take him to see Pedro Montes, but
he shook me off and refused to speak to me as he walked towards
the river. And who could blame him? I was a Spaniard after all. It
was for me to prove that Spaniards were not all the same.
I found where Josefa had been sleeping. Gregorio had found her,
too. They were seated near one another, but not talking. Gregorio
drew shapes in the dirt with a long stick and glanced furtively at her
and me. I wanted to tell them both what Pánfilo had done, but I
knew it would not make any difference if they knew. Nobody cared
about the half-breeds.
It was dusk and pleasantly cool in the mountains. Wesat around a
fire. Josefa’s eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, a sign of the depth of
her weariness. The experienced conquistadors had ignored Josefa,
but now that she was widowed, Losada came by to offer his
sympathy and put himself at her disposal to arrange her return to El
Tocuyo once it was safe to do so, if that was her wish.
Infante followed, bowing deeply and kissing her hands. He
expressed his concern about her delicate situation and asked her
permission to inquire after her welfare, so that he might be at her
service in the future.
Gabriel de Ávila, Camacho and others, although modestly, also
showed interest in her that night. Josefa received them graciously,
while Gregorio watched in sullen annoyance. I hoped she might find
a husband among all these men.

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