precaution's wise and practical for all

precaution's wise and practical for all

prevention keeps the illnesses at bay

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

no matter, smart or dumb or short or tall

tomorrow's life is kept secure today

precaution's wise and practical for all

 

such wisdom's spread to ears by simple call

and most do understand the words they say

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

will wildly run as if to chase a ball

then trip and crash in breaking bone display

precaution's wise and practical for all

 

a simple rule to keep from being mauled

yet why do some keep wisdom's words at bay?

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

i've feigned to circumvent the wisdom wall

and he who followed has been snatched away

precaution's wise and practical for all

though wisdom's held by few and some will fall

 

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Winter's Domain

The leaves are the first to go,

As winter's chill presses on,

Barren trees expect the snow.

On our hands our breath we blow,

Settling in for icy naps,

The leaves are the first to go.

We hear the cawing of crows,

Windows frosted over now,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Chimney smoke curls upward slow,

Telling all we’re safe and snug,

The leaves are the first to go.

We sit and talk, maybe sew,

Under a heavy blanket,

Barren trees expect the snow.

Winter puts on quite a show,

Picture postcard in our yard,

The leaves are the first to go,

Barren trees expect the snow.

©November 14, 2009 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Busy Music

The busy music bends me on my way
in prisoned love denying maturation,
and love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

I said I loved you when I hadn’t, fey:
you harnessed me in heartstring traces,
and the busy music bends us on our way.

You snared my heart with wordless magic sway,
a witchcraft forged from kissing and embraces,
for love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

We waltzed like children in a timeless May
til you commenced to conjure other faces,
and the busy music bends us on our way.

Still childish sorcery sends my heart to stay
selfbound within those former loving laces,
for love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

You are consumed by distance, and today
I exhale my impassioned incantations:
the busy music bends us on our way
and love’s a rune we cannot shape or say.

----------

Although this is ages old, it remains one of my very favorite of my poems. (And yes, this one is also posted on Facebook Notes.) I have only written one other villanelle, and the tight repetition and rhyme scheme make that one read more stiffly than this, the first I ever tried. The busy music referred both to the kind of music I was listening to and to life itself, of course.

©2009 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

before the night has gone to sleep

before the night has gone to sleep
when moon has stilled, begun to yawn
the sun within a cage we keep

and for the lost ones do we weep
from dusk until the coming dawn
before the night has gone to sleep

with difficulty would we reap
the tears that'd melt within light's brawn
the sun within a cage we keep

and into darkness rich and deep
as into hidden caves of prawns
before the night has gone to sleep

before that from our beds we leap
we huddle in the cold like fawn
the sun within a cage we keep

to let the memories in seep
and honor those who've left and gone
before the night has gone to sleep
the sun within a cage we keep

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

old songs, a river flowing to the sea

old songs, a river flowing to the sea,
i'm taken where you were, no longer are,
so far away from here they carry me,

into the sparkling waves of memory,
we meet across the ocean wide and far,
old songs, a river flowing to the sea,

as always we repeat the scenes I see,
yet when i dare to reach you, I am barred,
so far away from here they carry me,

in rich and vibrant tones you speak to me,
with warm and fleshy arms we joust and spar,
old songs, a river flowing to the sea,

your smile, as always, warms the heart in me,
your look, I hold preserved as in a jar,
so far away from here they carry me,

I lose myself inside the word of "we",
then find myself an "I" of broken shard,
old songs, a river flowing to the sea,
so far away from here they carry me

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

the bishop touches subjects not his own

forgetting for which topic he has grown
he makes a proclamation as the blind
the bishop touches subjects not his own

assuming foreign flesh of unknown bone
he's reached to things to which he cannot bind
forgetting for which topic he has grown

assuming Divine Providence has shown
him things belonging to a different kind
the bishop touches subjects not his own

repeating fallacies that voices drone
which have no understanding in the mind
forgetting for which topic he has grown

he's so decreed with infallible tone
the saying which the socialists opine
the bishop touches subjects not his own

the firebrand, from mouth, the flames he's thrown
and scorched even his followers behind
forgetting for which topic he has grown
the bishop touches subjects not his own

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

in ten years time I've lost so many loves

in ten years time I've lost so many loves
two cats, grandma and uncle had to go
a scythed old man has taken all our doves

i find my eyes exploring skies above
for brother, grandpa, where to? i don't know
in ten years time I've lost so many loves

as if someone has given life a shove
over some cliff high up bathed in moon's glow
a scythed old man has taken all our doves

as if just one could never be enough
but six like wooden ducks shot in a row
in ten years time I've lost so many loves

no finger prints as if someone with gloves
has specialized in death, and what's it show?
a scythed old man has taken all our doves

replaced them with black crows, wings flapping rough
to age my face much faster as I grow
in ten years time I've lost so many loves
a scythed old man has taken all our doves

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Knowing

they came to Earth to take us all away,
the few of us who'd make a new beginning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day,

through whispers into children's ears would say,
the dates when Death's visage would show up grinning,
they came to Earth to take us all away,

who have our innocence, the rest would stay,
who lost it in a sea of vulgar sinning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day,

the visitors would show them bleak and gray
foreshadowings the Sun would sure be bringing,
they came to Earth to take us all away,

yet no requests of those who'd strongly pray,
could stem the tide that'd stop the Earth from spinning,
who had the mark to save us from the Day

could, with a pebble in the hand, go away,
and find ourselves upon a new field, singing,
they came to Earth to take us all away,
who had the mark to save us from the Day

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

*inspired by the movie, "Knowing"

where is the other world?

where is the other world, where does reside
the realm of souls impossible to see
that place where loved ones go where spirits hide?

most say it is a place where souls abide
a distance from the flesh of which they flee
where is the other world, where does reside

the doorway sought and failed where many've tried
to peek into the dark against decree
that place where loved ones go where spirits hide?

yet is it here among us as we cry
for loved ones passed from casket 'cross that sea?
where is the other world, where does reside?

and could it be right next to those who've died
while resonating foreign frequencies
that place where loved ones go where spirits hide?

why do we look with longing to the skies
when all around us things are never seen?
where is the other world, where does reside
that place where loved ones go where spirits hide?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

electrons swirl a distance from the core

electrons swirl a distance from the core,
which changes over time both to and fro,
the distance can be changed by less or more,

what will it be and what was it before?
the microscopes reveal just what they show--
electrons swirl a distance from the core,

the secret's in the energy that's stored,
electrons through their shells are pushed or towed,
the distance can be changed by less or more,

while mass remains the same forever more,
through k-shells and the others they could go,
electrons swirl a distance from the core,

akin to Earth gone knocking on Sun's door,
electron's bridging proton's space, you know
the distance can be changed by less or more,

that size is static has become a lore,
it's been determined, man can shrink or grow,
electrons swirl a distance from the core,
the distance can be changed by less or more

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

what is the essence of a man?

what is the essence of a man,
that thing that differentiates,
but all he knows and all he can?

the knowledge carried in the hand,
the patterns he perpetuates?
what is the essence of a man,

which past the end of his lifespan,
out from the skin all penetrates,
but all he knows and all he can?

his breath to everywhere it spans,
with voice a heart loud palpitates,
what is the essence of a man?

he is his own uncaptured brand,
as every snowflake's separate fate,
but all he knows and all he can,

is gone when he can no more stand,
his echoes then reverberate,
what is the essence of a man,
but all he knows and all he can?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

avoid the dirt or else be stained

avoid the dirt or else be stained
weighed down by ugliness
and from the marriage hall restrained

before the bridegroom don't be shamed
dress up in holiness
avoid the dirt or else be stained

and from the outer gates be pained
to watch afar the bride in dress
and from the marriage hall restrained

true holiness cannot be feigned
and falsity will not impress
avoid the dirt or else be stained

the night outside will thus remain
a cold and bitter emptiness
and from the marriage hall restrained

you will have lost what you'd have gained
if you had clasped to cleanliness
avoid the dirt or else be stained
and from the marriage hall restrained

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,

i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,
as they have always come, again they're here,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

lamenting how my life's been most unfair,
while quivering and lapping up my tears,
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,

and as the follicles from skin I tear,
they hush their tongues, in silence lend their ears,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

how long have two lone brothers been a pair?
how much was shared between two hearts most near?
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,

yet how much can these friends of mine more bear?
i've burdened them with pity year by year,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare,

fatigued of me, yet one day more they dare,
to sit with me, for one more tale to hear,
i wax nostalgic as I pull my hair,
my friends, they sit like corpses and they stare

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

there is nobody else like me

there is nobody else like me,
i am unique, i am a freak,
oh, can't you see, oh can't you see?

i am like nothing else you'll see,
you've never heard a man so speak,
there is nobody else like me,

I am a servant living free,
both i am strong and I am weak,
oh, can't you see, oh can't you see?

I scream in hushed-tone subtleties,
I have a happiness most bleak,
there is nobody else like me,

I am so poor I cannot pee,
my bravery's a yellow streak,
oh, can't you see, oh can't you see?

the distance from his heart is me,
and I've been buried with a rake,
there is nobody else like me,
oh, can't you see, oh can't you see?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Oh, let me pose a question to the day

Oh, let me pose a question to the day--
could you explain the meaning of my life?
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

My wisdom's far from black or white, but grey.
Is there an answer for this old midwife?
Oh, let me pose a question to the day,

and maybe, somehow, I will find a way
to understand a world with sadness rife,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

I focus on the premises but stray,
get lost in life's complexities and strife,
Oh, let me pose a question to the day--

Oh, is there any order in this fray?
Must carve out definitions with a knife,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

Yet all I've questioned now have run away.
Who else is there to question about life?
Oh, let me pose a question to the day,
as our friend good old Socrates would say.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

instead of freely living liberty

instead of freely living liberty
the legislation shows how to behave
with regulated actions think we're free

to do just as we're told we are so free
to regulated freedom we are slaves
instead of freely living liberty

we're told just what we can and cannot see
what words we are allowed or not to say
with regulated actions think we're free

they've molded what our liberty should be
and tell us it is wrong for more to crave
instead of freely living liberty

restrictions, where to worship Deity,
and where and when to never sit and pray
with regulated actions think we're free

our Constitution's hung upon a tree
decreed that Statist living must be saved
instead of freely living liberty
with regulated actions think we're free

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt

oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt--
the throbbing of the heart's unhealing burn--
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

I whine too much for one who's life's so curt,
when far worse lives are lessons to be learned,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

for others have not shoes to wear or shirt,
and neither have they roof or floor to yearn,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt,

remains the fabric of their pants and skirt,
yet on my satin sheets I toss and turn,
so, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

I've lost a brother, in this pain I churn
my heart, my cries for him are always spurned,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt

is what we are, become, in time so short,
with nothing more than hope of a return,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

we cover them so we may never see

we cover them so we may never see
the ugliness that grows along the way
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

the way they always were, to always be
requires that how they were will always stay
we cover them so we may never see

what happens to these personalities
who've left our homes, by force, to go away
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

so to preserve the silent memory
for preservation's sake, our only way--
we cover them so we may never see

so yesterday's most loved vitality
won't fade before the stench of what's today
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

for if, left uncovered, we let them be
would not the ugliness get in the way?
we cover them so we may never see
from what they have become,our eyes do flee

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

The Doorways Between Two Worlds

the doorways 'tween two worlds, so little known,
where visitors pass through for just a time,
they traffic souls, conception to the bone,

it's where the lives begin with cry and moan,
before they're off to live out their lifetime,
the doorways 'tween two worlds, so little known,

the new ones come, the old ones leave, alone,
the population balances in time,
they traffic souls, conception to the bone,

with hands of man, with mortar, brick, are hewn,
much more than tending sicklies for a dime,
the doorways 'tween two worlds, so little known,

entering unknowns, exiting the knowns,
the doorways are the pathways, space and time,
they traffic souls, conception to the bone,

through hospitals the winds of life are blown,
with words of histories in verse and rhyme,
the doorways 'tween two worlds, so little known,
they traffic souls, conception to the bone.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

they reason from the scriptures and they fail

they reason from the scriptures and they fail
their understanding minds don't understand
they find the end of reason, chase its tail

their minds, through scripture's imagery set sail
they crash the jagged reefs and there they strand
they reason from the scriptures and they fail

before real knowledge reasoning does pale
real knowledge gifted from the true God's hand
they find the end of reason, chase its tail

and can't prove scripture's more than just a tale
upon real knowledge they will never land
they reason from the scriptures and they fail

to real knowledge there's a proven trail
of fasting, prayer, sacraments so grande
they find the end of reason, chase its tail

and never 'gainst their reason will they rail
true knowledge will elude them like the sand
they reason from the scriptures and they fail
they find the end of reason, chase its tail

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

youth's troubles, insurmountable, so tall,

youth's troubles, insurmountable, so tall,
i struggled till I wished them all away,
oh would that mine could be today so small,

the young, so filled with pride, so quick to fall,
i wish those trials back to me today,
youth's troubles, insurmountable, so tall,

the fault of youth, to think to know it all,
yet never with an answer for to say,
oh would that mine could be today so small,

is this merely insanity's love call,
to wish the black of those familiar days,
youth's troubles, insurmountable, so tall?

my yesterdays were insurmountable,
yet nothing could prepare me for today,
oh would that mine could be today so small,

in retrospect I had a blast, a ball,
tomorrow will be blacker than today,
youth's troubles, insurmountable, so tall,
oh would that mine could be today so small

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Twins

More Cunning than I;
indeed, more treacherous even than Dr. Jackal,
he grips the throats of those that die

Strength and speed and eyes of the sky
make him a man most cruel --
more cunning than I.

He craves pure blood -- blue blood dye --
and seeks those that love another -- poor fool --
he grips the throats of those that die.

Happiness is murdered nigh a lie,
and he is the perfect gentlemen in a dual --
more cunning than I.

Intelligence makes the lady Ligeia sigh
and buries her 'neath the grassy knoll;
he grips the throats of those that die

Double the frights and double the cry.
He's twice the rule and half of the whole.
More cunning than I,
he grips the throats of those that die.

(C)2009, Mattiello

oh apriori is this very fact

oh apriori is this very fact
which contradiction cannot ever touch
that man of any will of mind does act

to contradict this truth takes more than tact
with smoke and mirrors, slight of hand and such
oh apriori is this very fact

to say that man does anything but act
is but an act itself which proves so much
that man of any will of mind does act

when we regress the logic stays intact
back past the act of man we cannot budge
oh apriori is this very fact

into the brain, if scientists would hack
they'd find that mind, the rational, does judge
that man of any will of mind does act

oh why are praxaeologists attacked
by those who do not realize acts as such?
oh apriori is this very fact
that man of any will of mind does act

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

The World and the Child

Letting his wisdom be the whole of love,
The father tiptoes out, backwards. A gleam
Falls on the child awake and wearied of,

Then, as the door clicks shut, is snuffed. The glove-
Gray afterglow appalls him. It would seem
That letting wisdom be the whole of love

Were pastime even for the bitter grove
Outside, whose owl's white hoot of disesteem
Falls on the child awake and wearied of.

He lies awake in pain, he does not move,
He will not scream. Any who heard him scream
Would let their wisdom be the whole of love.

People have filled the room he lies above.
Their talk, mild variation, chilling theme,
Falls on the child. Awake and wearied of

Mere pain, mere wisdom also, he would have
All the world waking from its winter dream,
Letting its wisdom be. The whole of love
Falls on the child awake and wearied of.

(C)James Merrill (1926 – 1995)

The Worker and the Tramp

Heaven bless you, my friend—
You, the man who won't sweat;
Here's a quarter to spend.

If you did but mend,
My job you would get;—
Heaven bless you, my friend.—

On you I depend
For my work, don't forget;—
Here's a quarter to spend.

My hand I extend,
For I love you, you bet:—
Here's a quarter to spend.

Ah! you comprehend
That I owe a debt;
Heaven bless you, my friend,
Here's a quarter to spend.

(C)Jack London (1876 – 1916)

The Grammar Lesson

A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"

*of* and *with* are prepositions. *The's*
an article, a *can's* a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.

A can *can* roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, *might* meaning not yet known.
"Our can of beets *is* filled with purple fuzz"

is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. *it* is moldy, *they* are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.

Is is a helping verb. It helps because
*filled* isn't a full verb. *Can's* what *our* owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."

See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.

(C)Steve Kowit (1938 - )

The Ted Williams Villanelle

"Don't let anybody mess with your swing."
Ted Williams, baseball player

Watch the ball and do your thing.
This is the moment. Here's your chance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Its time to shine. You're in the ring.
Step forward, adopt a winning stance,
Watch the ball and do your thing,

And while the ball is taking wing,
Run without a backward glance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Don't let envious bastards bring
You down. Ignore the sneers, the can'ts.
watch the ball and do your thing.

Sing out, if you want to sing.
Jump up, when you long to dance.
Don't let anybody mess with your swing.

Enjoy your talents. Have your fling.
The seasons change. The years advance.
Watch the ball and do your thing,
And don't let anybody mess with your swing.

(C)Wendy Cope (1945-)
(for Ari Badaines)

Villanelle

It is the pain, it is the pain endures.
Your chemic beauty burned my muscles through.
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

What later purge from this deep toxin cures?
What kindness now could the old salve renew?
It is the pain, it is the pain endures.

The infection slept (custom or changes inures)
And when pain's secondary phase was due
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

How safe I felt, whom memory assures,
Rich that your grace safely by heart I knew.
It is the pain, it is the pain endures.

My stare drank deep beauty that still allures.
My heart pumps yet the poison draught of you.
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

You are still kind whom the same shape immures.
Kind and beyond adieu. We miss our cue.
It is the pain, it is the pain endures.
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

(C)William Empson (1906 – 1984)

herbstvillanelle

den tagen geht das licht aus
und eine stunde dauert zehn minuten.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

am himmel wechselt man die bühnenbilder
zu rasch für das kleine drama in jedem von uns:
den tagen geht das licht aus.

dein grauer mantel trennt dich von der luft,
ein passepartout für einen satz wie diesen:
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

eisblaue fenster - auf den wetterkarten
der fernsehgeräte die daumenabdrücke der tiefs.
den tagen geht das licht aus,

dem leeren park, dem teich: die enten werden
an unsichtbaren fäden aufgerollt.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

und einer, der sich mit drei sonnenblumen
ins dunkel tastet, drei schwarzen punkten auf gelb:
den tagen geht das licht aus.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

(C)Jan Wagner (1971- )

J'ay perdu ma tourterelle

J'ay perdu ma tourterelle :
Est-ce point celle que j'oy ?
Je veux aller après elle.

Tu regrètes ta femelle,
Hélas ! aussi fay je moy :
J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.

Si ton amour est fidelle,
Aussi est ferme ma foy,
Je veux aller après elle.

Ta plaincte se renouvelle ;
Tousjours plaindre je me doy :
J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.

En ne voyant plus la belle,
Plus rien de beau je ne voy ;
Je veux aller après elle.

Mort que tant de fois j'appelle,
Pren ce qui se donne à toy :
J'ay perdu ma tourterelle,
Je veux aller après elle.

(C)Jean Passerat (1534-1602)

Das Konstruieren reiner Villanellen

Doch, es erfrischt die kleinen grauen Zellen,
erscheint zunächst es auch verteufelt schwer,
das Konstruieren reiner Villanellen.

Schon die Entscheidung ist nicht leicht zu fällen,
was für ein Reim sich eignet: Der? Nein? Der? -
Doch es erfrischt die kleinen grauen Zellen!

Dann wird jongliert mit Reimen wie mit Bällen:
Solang es gut geht, amüsiert es sehr,
das Konstruieren reiner Villanellen.

Bisweilen aber stößt man auch an Schwellen
und muss probieren mühsam, hin und her...
Doch es erfrischt die kleinen grauen Zellen!

Auch hätte sich ein Sinn noch einzustellen
zuletzt, sonst ist es l'art pour l' art, nicht mehr,
das Konstruieren reiner Villanellen.

Vielleicht gelingt es nicht in allen Fällen
und manchmal liest sich etwas leicht verquer -
doch es erfrischt die kleinen grauen Zellen,
das Konstruieren reiner Villanellen!

(C)Sappho (1964- )
(Kleines Organon für Gisela)

The Story We Know

The way to begin is always the same. Hello,
Hello. Your hand, your name. So glad, Just fine,
And Good-bye at the end. That's every story we know,

And why pretend? But lunch tomorrow? No?
Yes? An omelette, salad, chilled white wine?
The way to begin is simple, sane, Hello,

And then it's Sunday, coffee, the Times, a slow
Day by the fire, dinner at eight or nine
And Good-bye. In the end, this is a story we know

So well we don't turn the page, or look below
The picture, or follow the words to the next line:
The way to begin is always the same Hello.

But one night, through the latticed window, snow
Begins to whiten the air, and the tall white pine.
Good-bye is the end of every story we know

That night, and when we close the curtains, oh,
We hold each other against that cold white sign
Of the way we all begin and end. Hello,
Good-bye is the only story. We know, we know.

(C)Martha Collins

A day will come when they'll collect my soul

A day will come when they'll collect my soul,
as they have done with all those before me,
to pass me through the forty different tolls.

To analyze my character's life role,
with words and deeds in burning third degree,
a day will come when they'll collect my soul.

My guardian, with good deeds in a bowl,
will show the toll booth keepers all of me,
to pass me through the forty different tolls.

Have I ordained to fill my empty bowl,
that I may pass through tolls efficiently?
A day will come when they'll collect my soul,

the day when I'll have reached my life's last goal,
but will they find a purity in me,
to pass me through the forty different tolls?

It won't suffice that I've a gaping hole,
with mourning's sufferings that I can't flee.
A day will come when they'll collect my soul,
to pass me through the forty different tolls.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh there's no one so very wise

oh there's no one so very wise
who could retain a restless heart
as scheming woman's love disguise

the wisest couldn't part the lies
of woman's plans to wrest apart
oh there's no one so very wise

no matter if with many tries,
determination from the start
as scheming woman's love disguise

those promises, to many guys
not you alone, her scheming heart
oh there's no one so very wise

her love, it quickens, quickly dies
if when she finds your empty cart
as scheming woman's love disguise

fast lulls you into your demise
your heart and life then fall apart
oh there's no one so very wise
as scheming woman's love disguise

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

if we had known the things we didn't know

if we had known the things we didn't know
you'd be here sipping mocha-frapps today
you'd spend a few more decades 'fore you'd go

there wouldn't have been things that couldn't show
and I would not have painful things to say
if we had known the things we didn't know

maybe if I had been a better bro
had been a greater influence to sway
you'd spend a few more decades 'fore you'd go

was I a bad example, do you know
if I had led my little bro astray?
if we had known the things we didn't know

might you still be, with many years to grow?
I wonder, had I been a different way
you'd spend a few more decades 'fore you'd go

is this the fruit of something I had sown?
the thought will haunt me till my final days
if we had known the things we didn't know
you'd spend a few more decades 'fore you'd go

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

the anti-you won't go away

the anti-you won't go away
beside me always he remains
won't let you come again and stay

my mouth is shut, i cannot say
how much I drown within my pains
the anti-you won't go away

and with him bringing skies dark grey
his presence won't undo my strains
won't let you come again and stay

upon my sanity's edge frayed
I walk in search of what remains
the anti-you won't go away

we stare in silence through the day
and will each other gone like cranes
won't let you come again and stay

for if your absence went away
you would be back to ease these pains
the anti-you won't go away,
won't let you come again and stay.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

for the sake of him

for the sake of him

I fall on knees and pray

oh, please take care of him

beyond our light so dim

and on this very day

for the sake of him

our knowledge is so slim

of how he is today

oh, please take care of him

beyond that earthly rim

oh, hear the words we say

for the sake of him

his judgment - bright or grim?

however, either way

oh, please take care of him

oh, all have gone and sinned

but every single day

for the sake of him

oh, please take care of him

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

with faith in God we struggle on

with faith in God we struggle on
out of the grave of noted day
the Rock we all rely upon

to fill the void of one who's gone
with supplications do we pray
with faith in God we struggle on

how else could we have faced the dawn
after the dusk of brother's day?
the Rock we all rely upon

has sturdied all His trembling fawn
without His Might there is no way
with faith in God we struggle on

from one lone death a hundred spawned
as stricken hearts have bled away
the Rock we all rely upon

will steady us until we're gone
as well to meet again some day
with faith in God we struggle on
the Rock we all rely upon

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh, wherefore art thou, little bro?

oh, wherefore art thou, little bro?
you once were here, but now you're there,
and where, beside earth, did you go?

for certain, never will be shown
the hidden recess of your lair,
oh, wherefore art thou, little bro?

for there is one place we do know
you lay, because we left you there,
and where, beside earth, did you go?

aside from there where life does grow,
is there a second home you share?
oh, wherefore art thou, little bro?

for every human yearns to know,
yet 'fore their time they would not dare,
and where, beside earth, did you go?

our hearts and thoughts, with you, did go,
and there remain, within your care,
oh, wherefore art thou, little bro?
and where, beside earth, did you go?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

a tube, two weeks, between his parching lips

a tube, two weeks, between his parching lips,
distorted their most perfect liply shape,
before he slipped through all our tightened grips,

and so they stayed distorted as two rips,
pushed far apart, so permanent, agape,
a tube, two weeks, between his parching lips,

before his breath escaped from opened lips,
before they pulled from toe to head the drape,
before he slipped through all our tightened grips,

the seconds counted down in IV drips,
with life, the living he could no more ape,
a tube, two weeks, between his parching lips,

and Death did pack his stuff before the Trip,
in preparation for the body's rape,
before he slipped through all our tightened grips,

when scythe, asunder cleaves, and spirit slips,
when brother's spirit lost its body's shape,
a tube, two weeks, between his parching lips,
before he slipped through all our tightened grips.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

I am destroyed and here is why

I am destroyed and here is why:
the one who came into my life,
his soul's exhaled into the sky.

He played a part, I can't deny,
in every part about my life.
I am destroyed!  And here is why

forever I am doomed to sigh:
when extricated by that Knife,
his soul's exhaled into the sky.

My past's destroyed, for who am I,
but who I've been in someone's life?
I am destroyed and here is why:

a certain someone had to die,
he was my past, my past was life.
His soul's exhaled into the sky,

so far away, what once was nigh,
my past no longer has a life.
I am destroyed and here is why:
his soul's exhaled into the sky.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

the matter matters all too much its true

the matter matters all too much its true
for what it is is everything and man
it's what I am and what they were and you

within four pounds is everything we do
ideas thoughts and actions all we can
the matter matters all too much its true

without the matter what we are and who
is not and nil, a null and all but sans
it's what I am and what they were and you

i'm in my own and in your own was you
though in your own was me a full grown man
the matter matters all too much its true

you matter also, and in mine is you
a matter of my matter mind in hand
it's what I am and what they were and you

without your matter how you lived and grew
is gone but in my matter you still stand
the matter matters all too much its true
it's what I am and what they were and you

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Up In The Sky

We all smile and turn our heads to the sky

A beautiful night, the fresh air outside

All of us so happy, the greatest high

Feeling so free, just maybe we could fly

Travel to the stars, see the universe collide

As we go up, up, up into the sky

We're all so comfortable, not a feeling of shy

Feeling of happiness, a sense of pride

We're there for each other, raise the cups high

No one could take this away from us, not even try

This life is all we've got, it's an amazing ride

Let's take it all the way up, up to the sky

Where we'll hover and float with the birds flying by

The stars light will be our path, the moon our guide

It's an incredible feeling, being this high

We're like angels, watching this world with a close eye

Over-seeing the beautiful land and the ocean's tide

As we look down upon this earth from up in the sky

We're in love with the world, when we're up this high

(C)2009, Jen Lalmond

the length of silence haunting me

in just four months three years will be
the time I've stared into the sky
the length of silence haunting me

my eyes are blind, I cannot see
though hard I squint my scanning eyes
in just four months three years will be

the mourning pain I cannot flee
you'd find but dust if you would pry
the length of silence haunting me

the well has dried and withered me
I'll be a bone until I die
in just four months three years will be

without a word, a thought agreed
all things have changed, it's not alright
the length of silence haunting me

will grow and choke me like a weed
existing, I don't live, I'll die
in just four months three years will be
the length of silence haunting me

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

all hail the new messiah man

all hail the new messiah man
let's shower him with so much praise
he'll save the world the way he can

he is our leader with a tan
the first the people have upraised
all hail the new messiah man

he's different with the same old plan
he'll give the poor a good old raise
he'll save the world the way he can

he'll stop the riches with a ban
and save the world with steely gaze
all hail the new messiah man

his words of "change," and "yes we can"
with smoke he's passed that tired old phrase
he'll save the world the way he can

with rotted old socialist plans
the whole wide world he'll choke and raze
all hail the new messiah man
he'll save the world the way he can

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Villanelle Of Marguerites

“A little, passionately, not at all?“
She casts the snowy petals on the air:
And what care we how many petals fall!

Nay, wherefore seek the seasons to forestall?
It is but playing, and she will not care,
A little, passionately, not at all!

She would not answer us if we should call
Across the years: her visions are too fair;
And what care we how many petals fall!

She knows us not, nor recks if she enthrall
With voice and eyes and fashion of her hair,
A little, passionately, not at all!

Knee-deep she goes in meadow grasses tall,
Kissed by the daisies that her fingers tear:
And what care we how many petals fall!

We pass and go: but she shall not recall
What men we were, nor all she made us bear:
“A little, passionately, not at all!”
And what care we how many petals fall!

(C)1896, Earnest Dawson

Villanelle of Sunset

Come hither, Child! and rest:
This is the end of day,
Behold the weary West!

Sleep rounds with equal zest
Man's toil and children's play;
Come hither, Child! and rest.

My white bird, seek thy nest,
Thy drooping head down lay:
Behold the weary West!

Now are the flowers confest
Of slumber: sleep, as they!
Come hither, Child! and rest.

Now eve is manifest,
And homeward lies our way:
Behold the weary West!

Tired flower I upon my breast,
I would wear thee alway:
Come hither, Child! and rest;
Behold, the weary West!

(C)1896, Earnest Dowson

Villanelle of Acheron

By the pale marge of Acheron,
Methinks we shall pass restfully,
Beyond the scope of any sun.

There all men hie them one by one,
Far from the stress of earth and sea,
By the pale marge of Acheron.

’Tis well when life and love is done,
’Tis very well at last to be,
Beyond the scope of any sun.

No busy voices there shall stun
Our ears: the stream flows silently
By the pale marge of Acheron.

There is the crown of labour won,
The sleep of immortality,
Beyond the scope of any sun.

Life, of thy gifts I will have none,
My queen is that Persephone,
By the pale marge of Acheron,
Beyond the scope of any sun.

(C)1896, Earnest Dowson

Villanelle of His Lady's Treasures

I took her dainty eyes, as well
As silken tendrils of her hair:
And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her voice, a silver bell,
As clear as song, as soft as prayer;
I took her dainty eyes as well.

It may be, said I, who can tell,
These things shall be my less despair?
And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her whiteness virginal
And from her cheek two roses rare:
I took her dainty eyes as well.

I said: 'It may be possible
Her image from my heart to tear!'
And so I made a Villanelle.

I stole her laugh, most musical;
I wrought it in with artful care;
I took her dainty eyes as well;
And so I made a Villanelle. (76)

(C)1896, Earnest Dowson

Villanelle of the Poets' Road

Wine and woman and song,
Three things garnish our way:
Yet is day over long.

Lest we do our youth wrong,
Gather them while we may:
Wine and woman and song.

Three things render us strong,
Vine leaves, kisses and bay;
Yet is day over long.

Unto us they belong,
Us the bitter and gay,
Wine and woman and song.

We, as we pass along,
Are sad that they will not stay;
Yet is day over long.

Fruits and flowers among,
What is better than they:
Wine and woman and song?
Yet is day over long.

(C)1896, Earnest Dowson

one doesn't know the fire till it burns

one doesn't know the fire till it burns
surrounded by the lapping flaming sea
relief's not found no matter where he turns

like stiff rejection of a love who spurns
won't give a second chance though hard you plea
one doesn't know the fire till it burns

a lover's loss, so maddening it churns
yet cannot sentence one as death's decree
relief's not found no matter where he turns

to find the one he's lost for whom he yearns
the greatest fire is finality
one doesn't know the fire till it burns

he can't reverse no matter what he earns
and cannot make one be who cannot be
relief's not found no matter where he turns

a brother left and never will return
and from the scalding one can never flee
one doesn't know the fire till it burns
relief's not found no matter where he turns

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

the hearts of girls are loyal to degrees

the hearts of girls are loyal to degrees
and pledged forever solely for the hype
as long as loyalty returns to please

their vows are made with most simplistic ease
their ears are deaf to all contrary gripes
the hearts of girls are loyal to degrees

though vowed so unconditional, the fees
will come conditional till ripe
as long as loyalty returns to please

yet otherwise no begging pleas of please
can change the change of heart, their spots to stripes
the hearts of girls are loyal to degrees

and as the Queen is goddess of the bees
her final word will turn all others tripe
as long as loyalty returns to please

and when it stops the men fall to their knees
rejected, from girl's memories are wiped
the hearts of girls are loyal to degrees
as long as loyalty returns to please

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

my manager, she chooses favorites

my manager, she chooses favorites
and I the newbie wasn't what she wanted
she'd rather rule a roost of favored tits

she hired me, it seems to pass the bits
of little time before she'd have me punted
my manager, she chooses favorites

I almost passed the gas ball flavored shits
when I had got the call that I was bunted
she'd rather rule a roost of favored tits

and pussy-whipped young cuckold soft limp dicks
whose balls within her presence hang growth-stunted
my manager, she chooses favorites

and chose to lie and feed me great bull shits
when I asked her if my good work she trusted
she'd rather rule a roost of favored tits

and chose a friend of hers whose nipple fits
my old desk while I'm tossed and overgrunted
my manager, she chooses favorites
she'd rather rule a roost of favored tits

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

The Honey Farmer's Bane (A Villanelle)

Oh love, only a fool would possess thee,
You are a deceitful trickster, old and wise
Amidst thy robes of splendor are barbs, which make the bravest flee.

Oh sweet, sweet love, you can be likened to Eve's tree,
When you are partaken of, one's freedom inevitably dies.
Oh love, only a fool would possess thee.

You, my desperate companion, are like a rose, dressed beautifully,
Yet your source is covered in thorns, torturing lives.
Enough! Oh crier in the night, oh friendly foe, the hell with ye!

How tired, oh restless one, you make poor humanity.
yet, in all truth, it is the lack and loss of you, not you, which creates such cries.
Oh love, only a fool would possess thee?

You are torture that we need, like cancer's chemotherapy,
You are all that makes life alive, for the lovers, the grooms, and the wives.
How dull and dreary would your absence be, you are the paint on a canvass, the blue of the sea.

So, my noble mysterious friend, truly we adore you, you see.
You bestow yourself upon every human being of every shape and size.
Oh love, only a fool would possess thee,
Perhaps not then, for if you miserably ceased to be, I, in truth, would write you a grateful, ambivalent eulogy.

(C)2008, By Eric M. Wilson 

what was could only be what is to me

how could what is become what was to be
a living thing remarkably unique
what was could only be what is to me

for how could one who is so good not be
after the thought patterns released in speak
how could what is become what was to be

so full of life with zest and flown so free
cut short in half and hid from where I seek
what was could only be what is to me

impossible to not be what he'd be
to be a not-be, drying up to creak
how could what is become what was to be

alive's the only thing he's meant to be
not smiling lips pulled tight to make us shriek
what was could only be what is to me

and so in daily thoughts alive I see
my one beloved frozen at his peak
how could what is become what was to be
what was could only be what is to me

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Trial by Fog

Enclosed inside the intimacy of mist
Our visibility’s but fifty feet.
Beyond this bubble we do not exist.

The road is perilous. It turns and twists
As if its narrowing shoulders have to meet
Enclosed inside the intimacy of mist.

I want to scream, I want to raise my fist
And curse the small circumference of our light.
Beyond this bubble we do not exist.

This driving makes me itch. I should desist.
We have to trust the way like idiot sheep
Enclosed inside the intimacy of mist.

Back home we make a fire, share a kiss.
The fog’s outside, a monster with no teeth.
Beyond this bubble we do not exist.

Head on your lap, relieved, I feel blessed.
The breathing of your belly makes me complete
Enclosed inside the intimacy of mist.
Beyond this bubble we do not exist.

(C)2009, Lauren Cerruto

Take (your) Heart

If home is where our hearts reside,
Where life sits still on windowsills,
Then where’s the heart when home has died?

Our lives are cattle, roped and tied;
Our souls the reaper’s larder fills,
If home is where our hearts reside.

When winter’s wasting winds decide
To blow through walls and bring in ills,
Then where’s the heart when home has died?

The heart from hearth must be untied
Before the rime of time it kills,
If home is where our hearts reside.

If heart’s own home life’s winds divide
And fling the bits in frozen hills,
Then where’s the heart when home has died?

Heart’s death decaying dreams belied;
Now withered souls go where they will.
If home is where our hearts reside,
Then where’s the home when heart has died?

(C)2009, Andrew Kerstetter

I wrote this villanelle upon reflection of the old saying "home is where the heart is." Being at college, I feel like my home is here; this is where I work and play and eat and talk and learn and sleep. But then summer comes, or Christmas break, or Spring break, and suddenly this place is closed to me. I have to go "home" to my parents' house, in the place where I grew up. Now don't get me wrong, I love going home to see my family and old friends, but that place feels small now. It's not really my home anymore. The question is: if home is where the heart is, then where is my heart when no place really feels like home?

This poem explores two ideas: one, that you can't leave your heart at home, in one place, for too long, or life will slow down and stagnate. Or if something happens to displace you from your home--going to college, or losing the home in a fire or something--then what do you do? Also, in the end, I took that idea a step further. Basically in the end I stated my belief through this poem that it's better to take your heart and find a new home when the old one is gone, instead of going about life taking the idea of 'home' for granted, and when the home is suddenly gone (figuratively and/or literally) having your heard be 'killed' alongside it.


I like the poem overall; I think it flows well, and I think the ideas are there but aren't too obvious. The trouble came with the "ills" rhyme. It was devilishly difficult to find words that rhymed like that and still fit into the poem. My least favorite part is "bring in ills," but I couldn't think of a different way of saying that. Maybe sometime in the future I'll change that line to something else that sounds better but still gets the idea across; for now, I'll have to leave it.

I like this poem because, of all the poems I've done recently, I think I did the best job of sticking to the iambic. I wrote this in iambic tetrameter instead of pentameter. I can't really explain my reasoning, other than for this kind of musical poetry I think it sounds better; more concise, I suppose. 2 more syllables per line might have sounded like a stretch, and if I would have done pentameter, the extra 2 syllables would either have been superfluous adjectives/adverbs, or unnecessary words that would have broken the clean iambic.

The villanelle is definitely a form that you either love or you hate. I love it because I love music--I've been playing the trumpet for over 12 years now--and when a villanelle is written right, it sounds lovely and flowing. Some people hate it because it's so rigid, and they think the repeated rhyme scheme is an awful, grinding sound. I can see where they're coming from, but perhaps if they try to read some famous villanelles like this one by W.H. Auden, or Edwin Arlington Robinson's The House on the Hill which is one of my favorites, maybe they would appreciate it more.

A lot of well-known and respected American poets have written villanelles, so the merits of the form have been proven. It depends on what a poet does with that form, what emotions and truths he or she puts in the slots, whether it will be a good poem or not. Is my poem here good? Well, I don't know. I think it was a good *attempt* at a villanelle, but in the end, it's not up to me whether anything I do is "good" or not.

my soul is buried under snow

my soul is buried under snow,
and grass and dirt that's piled so high,
beneath where every man must go,

under the dirt that will not show
the wooden box where hushed he lies,
my soul is buried under snow

within the wood, and though I know
he cannot feel that chill, I cry,
beneath where every man must go,

when one no longer shrinks or grows,
he rests and shrinks away his eyes,
my soul is buried under snow,

together with the flesh I know,
that's left its bones so cold and dry,
beneath where every man must go,

I too have gone before I go,
for I can't look upon the sky,
my soul is buried under snow,
beneath where every man must go.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

be careful what you say, my friend, be careful what you say

be careful what you say, my friend, be careful what you say,
it doesn't help to close the door behind you any more,
the shadows see and hear all things, they always have a way,

the birds upon the twigs and branches of the trees that sway,
they watch like owls in silent stares each falling seed and spore,
be careful what you say, my friend, be careful what you say,

the spiders know to read, and read they do all night and day,
and hide the words in eggs and sacks, within the tree they're stored,
the shadows see and hear all things, they always have a way,

the inchworms cover every inch of tree, they inch away,
the ants, so tireless, are always mining cracks and pores
be careful what you say, my friend, be careful what you say,

so many are they which will surely give your place away,
to those who own the trees, your non-conformity's abhorred,
the shadows see and hear all things, they always have a way,

the owners will require the loyalty of all one day,
the non-conformists will be plucked right off the tree and gored,
be careful what you say, my friend, be careful what you say,
the shadows see and hear all things, they always have a way.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

at twelve we played under the summer sun

at twelve we played under the summer sun
four girls and I, ten eyes so wide that shined
at forty-two what she recalls is none

four girls and I, I fell in love with one
whose curly hair around my heart did bind
at twelve we played under the summer sun

and in remaining days my mind did run
around her eyes and soft, full lips--rewind!
at forty-two what she recalls is none

with mind's eye I could not see it was done
at school year's summer end, for love is blind
at twelve we played under the summer sun

when gone, I loved her two more years--how dumb!
this love contract remained by her unsigned
at forty-two what she recalls is none

the love we felt that weighed my heart a ton
resided only in my naive mind
at twelve we played under the summer sun
at forty-two what she recalls is none

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

let's run again before we have to leave

let's run again before we have to leave
let's take the time to do just this one thing
our time is very short, you must believe

to run our hearts will beat, we'll have to breathe
and life will course through veins, and lungs will ring
let's run again before we have to leave

let's run and wear our hearts upon a sleeve
and tie our hearts together with some string
our time is very short, you must believe

all races end, spectators then will grieve
as long as we do run, we'll fly with wings
let's run again before we have to leave

the end of things will come, we'll be bereived
why waste our precious time on empty things
our time is very short, you must believe

let's run the paths that always interweave
where hearts beat through the breath that living brings
let's run again before we have to leave
our time is very short, you must believe

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

A Winter Storm

The snow had fallen fast and cold

Upon the advent of the night

For men and women young and old.

This bitter day had been foretold--

The weather-man got this one right:

The snow had fallen fast and cold

And wind had gusted uncontrolled.

The people shut themselves up tight,

For men and women young and old,

Afraid to be both brave and bold,

Did not desire to face the fright.

The snow had fallen fast and cold

And some who did not fit the mold

Went out into the icy light.

For men and women young and old

The drifting snow hid truth untold,

Revealed to those who braved the bite.

The snow had fallen fast and cold

For men and women young and old.

This isn't my first villanelle, but it is the first one in which the meaning, power, and form all jelled together quite nicely, in my opinion. I opted to write it in iambic tetrameter (4 iambs per line) instead of pentameter, because I think that tetrameter, while making it shorter and tighter, also sounds more musical. I love villanelles because if you do it right it makes such a wonderful sound. Of course, the words themselves need to make sense and mean something, otherwise the music sort of flees from the poem. Just think of some popular musical artists today whose voices and music are outstanding, but whose words either don't make sense or are riddled with mundane cliches. Even the most beautiful music won't help those songs, in my opinion.

I wrote "A Winter Storm" partly because I live in the Snow Belt, so snow is a fact of life, and I consider myself one of those who "don't fit the mold." I enjoy snowy and cold weather. I tell people to move who live here and complain about the brutal winters. I thought I did a pretty okay job in this poem of presenting a normal winter occurrence, but then offering a deeper twist of meaning toward the end. Suddenly the poem can be saying so much more than just a story about a physical winter storm. Like my favorite writing professor says all the time, "When you suggest, you create; when you state, you destroy." I always try to write suggestive poetry that invites the reader into the interpretation process. Although I'm not the best judge of whether I accomplish this or not.

A lot of my poetic inspiration comes from winter, snow, and the changing seasons in general. I write about what I know, or what I think I know, which (as I'm told by academics, at least) is one of the most important pieces of advice to any kind of writer.

One other thing that my favorite writing professor always talks about is what he calls the poetic eye (as opposed to the pedestrian eye). The poetic eye transforms everyday minutia into something more meaningful, or it brings a fresh, original perspective or description to the event. I think the poetic eye is one of the most important tools of a poet (after all, who else but a poet would describe snowflakes as nervous troops parachuting from their planes?) but I also think it takes a poetic mind to decipher these new-perspectived phenomena. I mean, sure, I can look at a cloud and say it looks like a charging boar, or look at leaves falling off of the maple tree in my front yard and say they look like precious gems. But what does all this mean? For example, my sister and I might be walking down our favorite path in the country, and she observes that the bare, tangled twigs gleaming in the fading sunlight look like cobwebs, and she leaves it at that. I take up the image and run with it, producing a stream of consciousness soliloquy about how the cobweb twigs represent the stillness and age of the forest, or how, like flies in said cobwebs, we are caught helpless by the beauty of nature (etc., etc.).

So, it takes a poetic eye AND a poetic mind to be a poet (what gall I have to call myself a poet). I think this separates people who like poetry from people who live it. A poet's eye and mind are never turned off; they can take in the big picture, figure out how the cogs of the world work together, and also see and appreciate the little things in life that most people don't notice or don't think about.

Live your life as if it were a poem. Everything has meaning, and everything is beautiful, in its own way. Take nothing for granted, don't think of any aspect of life with hatred or sadness; it all works together to make a beautiful and unique work of art. Remember that you can't have shadows without some sunshine somewhere, too. Have a great day everyone!

(C)2009, Andrew Kerstetter

driftwood carried by the waves

old ship sunken to its grave
plank is all of its remains
driftwood carried by the waves

proud old liner mighty brave
oil spill bloody spots of stains
old ship sunken to its grave

remnant could not just be saved
screams aboard were bathed in pain
driftwood carried by the waves

cracked in half, its hull was shaved
took on agony in strain
old ship sunken to its grave

super hull was all the rave
met its match against the grain
driftwood carried by the waves

ship dispersed in separate caves
old songs sung in hushed refrains
old ship sunken to its grave
driftwood carried by the waves

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

there's something 'bout jazz music

there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye
with thoughts of woodwinds brass and smoky dives
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

the music notes, arpeggio, they fly
with drinks around, the smoky mood arrives
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye

the New York nightlife entertains the eye
past midnight, sewer smoke floats up alive
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

with Songs From the Night Before, Sanborn is high
and carries all, along with him they jive
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye

the room is dark but for a stage so nigh
spotlight exposes New York's heartbeat live
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

where jazz songs live forever, never die
the spirit of New York at night it thrives
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

dear Stavro, we all painfully do miss you

dear Stavro, we all painfully do miss you,
arms still reaching out to grab a hold,
now only through your pictures can we kiss you,

yet celluloid will not transfer the kiss, you
are too far away and we are cold,
dear Stavro, we all painfully do miss you,

our hearts outpouring blood-love from our bliss, you
are the center-void, we age, grow old,
now only through your pictures can we kiss you,

though we wrap arms around your clothes and hiss your
name, inhale your scents no longer bold,
dear Stavro, we all painfully do miss you,

your pictures, oh so lifelike, I insist you
stir awake, this nightmare not retold,
now only through your pictures can we kiss you,

with longing stares our time here we dismiss, you
are still here though not, we're in a hold,
dear Stavro, we all painfully do miss you,
now only through your pictures can we kiss you.

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

all flesh and things are vanity

all flesh and things are vanity
they come and then they go
while holding them's insanity

so fleeting this humanity
that claims that it can know
all flesh and things are vanity

with wisdom all's profanity
that dares to stay and grow
while holding them's insanity

all eyes do drink depravity
that watch the earthly show
all flesh and things are vanity

fall into graves by gravity
are mocked by passing crows
while holding them's insanity

with fullness of a cavity
the solid are hollow
all flesh and things are vanity
while holding them's insanity

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh all are slain except the one who slays

oh all are slain except the one who slays
for more are born that must be put to death
the slain move on, the slayer always stays

oh neither gazer nor the man who prays
could spend eternity moving his breath
oh all are slain except the one who slays

for who would usher out from nature's plays
the sons of Adam, Cain, Abel and Seth?
the slain move on, the slayer always stays

the crusty few who've spread most far their days
have also met the blade of silent Death
oh all are slain except the one who slays

the richness of the wealthy never pays
for an exception, gold's worth less than breath
the slain move on, the slayer always stays

with sharpened blade for all in wait he lays
to cleave into and rend the flesh from breath
oh all are slain except the one who slays
the slain move on, the slayer always stays

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

Forever

Within my heart there is a special place;

it's filled with light and memories of you,

though we were never meant to win the race.

I still can hear your voice and see your face,

although we've both accepted that we're through;

within my heart, there is that special place.

I'll never be successful to erase

the treasured joy and laughter we accrued,

though we were never meant to win the race.

Some days, I know our thoughts still interlace

as with a sudden turn of mind the past sweeps through-

within my heart, there is a special place.

The years we shared, have left a lingering trace-

soft images of love, dressed in pale hues;

though we were never meant to win the race.

White thought-ships float across sky's wide blue space

as silently I whisper my adieus.

Within my heart there is a special place,

yet we were never meant to win the race.

(C)2009, Leny Roovers

These Looks

Old looks, new looks, lost and forgotten,

Deserted gardens where wishes can't be found

Are places in the heart, plausible though misbegotten.

Remembering a sandy beach we walked when

The eyes of love shared in an impromptu romp, round

Old looks, new looks, lost and forgotten.

There are no words left to write or speak when

The look of love has left the stage iracund,

And places in the heart, plausible though misbegotten.

Such day dreams can never be truly gotten

For the earth has turned her face away to confound

Old looks, new looks, lost and forgotten.

Flirtations of the eyes that hold common emotion

Are the stuff of romances on the rebound

And places in the heart, plausible though misbegotten.

And now another day gone unenlightened

For two souls wishes become infound

Old looks, new looks, lost and forgotten,

With places in the heart, plausible though misbegotten.

(C)2009, Nia Wynne

Zetetic

Past experience tells me I should forget

Yet there are things we should remember

But not the times of blood, tears and sweat.

And mans stupidity and greed lingers yet

But this is all laid aside each November

Past experience tells me I should forget

That I was not there, I do not regret

And yet am proud to be called digger

But not the times of blood, tears and sweat.

There are memories of a shared cigarette

Death came with the third burning ember

Past experience tells me I should forget

Every decade world leaders refuse to commit

Whilst wall street remains the moneygrubber

But not the times of blood, tears and sweat.

For the lessons learned we are in their debt

The guilty and the greedy mentally slumber.

Past experience tells me I should forget

But not the times of blood, tears and sweat.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Zeehan Sunsets

I see no auras or bright flashes from the sun

All I see is a red glow across the land,

Merely signs that night has at last begun.

In the mountains in the east life is done

As the blackness of night starts to expand

I see no auras or bright flashes from the sun

The magnificent scene bows to what has come

Darkness hiding what is "Tasmania's grand"

Merely signs that night has at last begun.

The world most beautiful spot has been outdone

But it is all arranged and what nature planned

I see no auras or bright flashes from the sun

Beauty would become boring, Nature undone

She changes the scene so she might expand

Merely signs that night has at last begun.

With the morn, the scene refreshed, equal to none,

Witness the sight, and then you'll understand.

I see no auras or bright flashes from the sun

Merely signs that night has at last gone.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Victims Roll

Once we were lovers, now that love has gone

Replaced by nothing, just leaving a black hole

Why can't you come back so we can carry on?

I always knew that I was your only one

We grew to believe we shared just one soul

Once we were lovers, now that love has gone.

Now all those dreams I must forever abandon

This one evil act has taken us out of control

Why can't you come back so we can carry on?

This ungodly act was by one of Satan's spawn

And just like a criminal, my heart he stole.

Once we were lovers, now that love has gone.

There will be no jail, and Heaven's no home

And again Hell will take in a fellow ***hole

Why can't you come back so we can carry on?

This is no heroic war, it's where cowards fawn

Adding women and kids to their victims roll.

Once we were lovers, now that love has gone

Why can't you come back so we can carry on?

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Prisoner of Love

Like a prisoner you have me bound to you

But not with chains of hard blue steel

No counting days and weeks till freedom due.

There was no crime, or deed, or whistle blew

There are no prison bars, my hands to feel

Like a prisoner you have me bound to you.

Instead its bonds of love that the angels brew

A wound from Cupid's dart that will not heal

No counting days and weeks till freedom due.

No fear of breakout or escape, no strike or coup

My life is sealed by chance, just one deal

Like a prisoner you have me bound to you.

I'll be a model prisoner, I will not go askew

Forever true and honest and on an even keel

No counting days and weeks till freedom due.

Instead the end of each passing day I rue

You can guarantee, there will be no appeal.

Like a prisoner you have me bound to you

No counting days and weeks till freedom due.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Only Time Will Tell

Love's waiting across the room for that first look,

The first smile, and the first tremor that says it all

That moment realising you're completely hooked.

There have been no guidelines set in any book

There is no mentor waiting for you to call

Love's waiting across the room for that first look.

Facebook tells you the site is always fully booked

And those that have found it can easily recall

That moment realising you're completely hooked.

There is naught you wont do, by hook or by crook

On your knees on broken glass you would crawl

Love's waiting across the room for that first look.

No faults, there's nothing needed to overlook

The truth is there within fates crystal ball

That moment realising you're completely hooked.

And you find contentment, now you have looked

In comparison all your previous lovers pall.

Love's waiting across the room for that first look

That moment realising you're completely hooked.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Oceanic Thoughts

Sitting on the empty beach alone on the sand,

There is the orange fire sky of the setting sun

Inside's a desire for my lover in another land.

Things went perfect, better than we had planned,

No regrets at all for what we have begun

Sitting on the empty beach alone on the sand.

The water rushes in and out greeting my hand.

And I remember kisses and things we'd done

Inside's a desire for my lover in another land.

Although my heart aches, I think I understand

You are now my Queen and I your champion,

Sitting on the empty beach alone on the sand.

I want to run in the water, and splash around

With my memories of our times, and of our fun

Inside's a desire for my lover in another land.

I wonder does my lover have thoughts so grand

Is there anything she'd wish to have undone

Sitting on the empty beach alone on the sand,

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Nature

All things were given to man and his conceit

To live in simple ways upon this Earth

Somewhere to live and an abundance to eat.

Living as one with the Earth, a simple feat

Feeding, nourishing, finding out life's worth

All things were given to man and his conceit

The ancients never had need to steal or cheat

The bosom of Nature is a bountiful berth

Somewhere to live and an abundance to eat.

Some want a world where they are the heat

Where misery is good and the sin is mirth

All things were given to man and his conceit

Those who know, never have to compete

Following ancient ways there is no dearth

Somewhere to live and an abundance to eat.

We must return to the path to be complete

Sharing these wonders from the time of birth.

All things were given to man and his conceit

Somewhere to live and an abundance to eat.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Left Counting the Stars

Now is the time for tears, no more loud hurrahs

You are gone; my bed is now empty and silent.

With the death of love, I'm left counting the stars.

When our love was new we had no scars

With time and self doubt you missed what I meant.

Now is the time for tears, no more loud hurrahs

Now you have turned your back and put up bars

And all that remains now of you is your scent.

With the death of love, I'm left counting the stars.

There is no prize, no cheers and no fat cigar

Just a terrible feeling of my life being spent.

Now is the time for tears, no more loud hurrahs

Now I see a zero of all I thought was ours

What can I do, can I hope or must I lament?

With the death of love, I'm left counting the stars.

The radio is playing the music of sad guitars

My road to Hell was paved with good intent.

Now is the time for tears, no more loud hurrahs

With the death of love, I'm left counting the stars.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Full Moons Light

As I lead you by the hand into the night

We steal away from the cares of the day

Our way is well lit by the full moons light.

Our hearts sure what we're doing is right

And of tomorrows woe's no hint give they

As I lead you by the hand into the night.

The shadowy flutter of an owl in flight

Leads us happily along the wooded way

Our way is well lit by the full moons light.

I gaze at you, seeing eyes that shine so bright

Craving that this moment should ever stay

As I lead you by the hand into the night.

In the woods our loving bodies finally unite

And love we will until the break of day

Our way is well lit by the full moons light.

Now ever bound together by this loving rite

As arms and limbs are laced in our interplay

As I lead you by the hand into the night

Our way is well lit by the full moons light.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Darkness Looms

When darkness looms, tomorrow fades away

No comforting light shines upon or within

It's hard to see beyond this part of day.

Tonight only foulest evil shall hold sway

And blackest night shall pave the way for sin

When darkness looms, tomorrow fades away.

Deep in the night is when the wicked play

Fixating on sorrow's gruelling tailspin

It's hard to see beyond this part of day.

Around this corruption purest white turns grey

Night creatures shrieks are making a hellish din

When darkness looms, tomorrow fades away

All living things seem hollow, yet full of decay

As long as it stays dark, evil will always win

It's hard to see beyond this part of day.

Corruption and decay, lusting from evils prey

All this to whiteness and goodness's chagrin

When darkness looms, tomorrow fades away

It's hard to see beyond this part of day.

(C)2009, Ryter Roethical

Heavy on the Vine

Now grapes are hanging heavy on the vine,

in valleys neath the blazing summer sun.

and senses yearn to savour fragrant wine

All thoughts are lost and memories resign,

as dreams recall a time of loving fun,

when grapes were hanging heavy on the vine

For love has flown beyond the mortal line,

but feelings say we are forever one,

and senses yearn to savour fragrant wine

Each night I sleep and find that love is mine,

until the dawn reveals the world I shun

when grapes are hanging heavy on the vine

As reflections fall like silver moonshine,

I whisper on the breeze. 'I love you, hun!'

and senses yearn to savour fragrant wine

Those precious dreams in which our souls combine,

exalt the day my life is truly done

when grapes are hanging heavy on the vine

and senses yearn to savour fragrant wine

(C)2009, Jem Farmer

Enchantments of Love

Wrap me within the gaze that bewitches me

Seduce my mind as my lips kiss your soul

Gather me to you and set my heart free

Fingers touch revealing what mystics see

In hazy eyes, find love's magical goal

Wrap me within the gaze that bewitches me

Muted emotions crave spellbound liberty

Enchantments of love mundane doubts console

Gather me to you and set my heart free

A single word can fill my heart with glee

But your eyes reflect where my senses roll

Wrap me within the gaze that bewitches me

The briefest glance denies me reality

Overwhelmed senses I can not control

Gather me to you and set my heart free

In love's chains, show my heart clarity

Lost in your loving eyes I become whole

Wrap me within the gaze that bewitches me

Gather me to you and set my heart free

(C)2009, Jem Farmer

Can Love Reside in Art?

I wonder what she sees when peering in my curtained heart,

do clouds of fortune bring intense reflection

as cries of thought invade my mind; can love reside in art?

Her magic charm invoking pages of the Grimoire's chart,

enchanting aura's discreet fascination;

I wonder what she sees when peering in my curtained heart.

Are mystic dreams now trapped in silica then teased apart?

My dreams of wistful longings mere distraction;

as cries of thought invade my mind; can love reside in art?

Becharming mistress scries the hazy thoughts that gods impart,

but can she see my haunting aspiration?

I wonder what she sees when peering in my curtained heart.

Hypnotic sunsets carry musical strains of Mozart;

can sacred visions inspire such devotion;

as cries of thought invade my mind; can love reside in art?

Beneath her cool composure burns a cold, unbeating heart,

the path that leads beyond my last damnation

I wonder what she sees when peering in my curtained heart,

as cries of thought invade my mind; can love reside in art?

(C)2009, Jem Farmer

Betwixt Waning and Waxing

After the last of waning moon

before the waxing of the new

where lies the darker paths of rune.

Let spite be cast and strewn

and far away from me and you

after the last of waning moon

We dance to piper's merry tune

as lunar lore comes into view

where lies the darker paths of rune.

The words of pain be left to croon,

and Queen of Fae shall guide us true

after the last of waning moon.

Listen close where whispers commune

amid the Autumn's vibrant hue

where lies the darker paths of rune.

Secrets revealed too fast, too soon,

yet still our hearts come shining through

after the last of waning moon

where lies the darker paths of rune.

(C)2009, Jem Farmer

Armistice

He lowers his hat as she wipes her tears,

when a thoughtful hush falls, as battles cease

and our silence reflects over the years.

He comes home battered and torn by his fears

in nightmarish dreams that will never decrease

he lowers his hat as she wipes her tears.

Weary soldiers greeted by grateful cheers,

from the pits of war, a brief release

and our silence reflects over the years.

As they battled on those hellish frontiers,

and life was lost at a bullet's caprice,

he lowers his hat as she wipes her tears,

From private soldiers to the brigadiers,

our sovereignty became their golden fleece

and our silence reflects over the years.

The words of remembrance ring in our ears

in heartfelt hopes and prayers for blesséd peace

he lowers his hat as she wipes her tears,

and our silence reflects over the years.

(C)2009, Jem Farmer

When Love is Blind

Eyes do not see when love is blind

Of fantasy, and imagined inner vision,

Registered in a brain, that is so defined.

If love, and lust, are so much of a kind,

How is one to make, the right decision,

Eyes do not see, when love is blind.

When inner feelings, are there to remind

There must always be, that last revision,

Registered in a brain,that is so defined

Devoted hearts, will both be entwined.

This love possessed, now to envision

Eyes do not see, when love is blind.

Dreams, and thoughts, of love designed

Embraced together in perfect precision,

Registered in a brain, that is so defined.

Love and fantasy, are both combined,

Passion now enters, the final provision

For eyes do not see, when love is blind.

Registered in a brain, that is so defined.

(C)2009, Divena Collins

In Love

There were no words, for we both knew,

True love had mirrored in our eyes,

Since this day our fond affections grew.

Passions of love, shared between us two,

For us, it was never to be a surprise,

There were no words, for we both knew.

Our love we now share, everyday anew,

Closer together, as temperatures rise,

Since this day, our fond affections grew.

Soft shades of love, with a beautiful hue,

Spirits that soar, to the clear blue sky`s,

There were no words, for we both knew.

Dreaming how precious, love is so true.

Soft flutters inside, like butterfly`s,

Since this day, our fond affections grew.

Loving each other, now as much as we do,

Heartfelt and strong, yet as soft sigh`s,

There were no words, for we both knew,

Since this day, our fond affections grew.

(C)2009, Divena Collins

Moonlight Sonata

A violinist who plays, in the moons light,

The most beautiful, bewitching refrains,

So haunting, within this moonlit night.

With passion and flare, she now invites

Moonlight sonata, in her dreams domain

A violinist who plays, in the moons light.

Love`s sweet sound, that does excite,

Her passion for strings still ordains

So haunting, within this moonlit night.

A music virtuoso, in her own right,

In her heart she forever remains,

A violinist who plays, in the moons light.

A soft tremello, as her bow takes flight,

Brushing her strings to perfection again,

So haunting, within this moonlit night.

Under the stars that shines so bright

This new musician which entertains,

A violinist who plays, in the moons light,

So haunting, within this moonlit night.

(C)2009, Divena Collins

Footprints in the Sand

As we tread softly, our foot prints in the sand

Feelings, deep in my heart, of true love divine

Soft kisses bestowed, upon a trembling hand.

Gazing across the sea, towards a far off land,

Where peace, and tranquility, reign sublime,

As we tread softly, our footprints in the sand.

Uplifting spirits, deep emotions. never planned

Only love can withhold the memories of time,

Soft kisses bestowed, upon a trembling hand.

I`d travel across the wide ocean, and land,

Just to see the stars, in your blue eyes shine,

As we tread softly, our footprints in the sand.

True love that has grown, shall always expand,

To forever be yours, and for you to be mine ,

Soft kisses bestowed, upon a trembling hand.

One fine day, we will both, make our stand,

And await for the moon, to give us a sign,

As we tread softly, our footprints in the sand

Soft kisses bestowed, upon a trembling hand.

(C)2009, Divena Collins

Autumns Child

Oh autumn child, come hither now, and blow

Gentle gusts of breath, on a heavy branch

Before the winter winds bring forth the snow

Crinkled leaves, scatter on the earth below,

Here and there, they fly in a frenzied dance,

Oh autumn child, come hither now, and blow.

Forever remaining, the cosy nest of the crow,

Oblivious to the seasons, in her rigid stance,

Before the winter winds bring forth the snow.

Let the rains bring music, the earth to bestow.

To cover the leaves, making loam to enhance,

Oh autumn child, come hither now, and blow,

Shine full, bright moon, on the forest we know,

Let the winds come forth, for a final chance.

Before the winter winds bring forth the snow.

Seasons may come, and the seasons may go

Fine shades of autumn, are natures romance,

Oh Autumn child,come hither now, and blow,

Before the winter winds, bring forth the snow.

(C)2009, Divena Collins

Tippling

Though I'm no heavy drinker I admit

That off and off I've tippled, so to speak;

Enjoying a good drink is quite legit.

The trick is to know when its time to quit

If not the outcome can be somewhat bleak,

Though I'm no heavy drinker I admit.

It can be rather pleasant just to sit

And relax after a harrowing week.

Enjoying a good drink is quite legit.

And there are times I feel I need a bit

Of strength so I can turn the other cheek,

Though I'm no heavy drinker I admit.

A shot of Baileys usually does it;

No rum or brandy they both make me weak.

Enjoying a good drink is quite legit.

And so every now and then I permit

Myself a glass of Baileys, smooth and sleek.

Though I'm no heavy drinker I admit

Enjoying a good drink is quite legit.

(C)2009, Maryse Achong

They Dared Me

They dared me to compose a villanelle

And I was inclined to attempt this feat,

But I'm not sure I did it very well.

I gave it my best shot, oh what the hell

Threw fear aside and jumped in with both feet…

They dared me to compose a villanelle.

And even though I hear a warning bell

Too late for doubts, can't leave it incomplete:

But I'm not sure I did it very well.

I wonder why on earth I let them sell

Me the idea… am tempted to retreat.

They dared me to compose a villanelle.

But I'm no quitter that much I can tell

You, so I refused to concede defeat,

But I'm not sure I did it very well.

It's nearly done and I can almost smell

The scent of victory, and it is sweet.

They dared me to compose a villanelle

But I'm not sure I did it very well.

(C)2009, Maryse Achong