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