Zempekiko*

It’s so much more difficult to learn
a dance that has no steps.

A single note from a
three-string bouzouki
echoes
from its long neck in
its round belly
resonates
in the hollows of
the heart
stirs the nerves.

Knees bent, as if he’s praying.
Fists clenched, as if he’s cursing.
Feet stamp the earth, as if it’s her fault.
Arms outstretched; ready to take flight.

*Zempekiko: a Greek dance
Bouzouki: a Greek musical instrument

Nut & Bolt

Spiral threads perfectly match.
Stretched tightened up.
Secure for quite a while now, rusted.

To loosen:
tighten slightly first
or
heat up with an intense flame
or
use some corrosive spray.

Do not use a large spanner,
it will strip the threads away
or they will break.

Just like them

Congregated
In a Holy Bible
At the bottom of a drawer

The Holy Trinity,
Angels, Demons,
The Virgin Mary,
Apostles, Devils,
The Four Horsemen,
Among so many others.

Some move with such dexterity
In half-tone grey landscapes,
Sleeves rolled up ceremoniously,
Talking in hushed and weird tones,
deliberate their predicament,
Yearning for attention.

Others demonstrate discontent,
Shouting out loud
As in a march, or at a football ground.
Demanding my attention.

I hear them all.
I don’t answer.

Little Mermaid
on overhearing an American tourist in Copenhagen

Maybe because you aren’t

as large as the Statue of Liberty,

you are

listed as one of the most

disappointing sites in Europe.

But I can still climb up in your veins

and look though the halls in your eyes

that constantly search

for your missing head,

that it most probably had

far many more interesting adventures

that the Statue of Liberty will ever have.

Span of attention

Your eyes

scanned the scenery

in millions of Dots Per Inch.

Your brain

processed the data

in milliseconds

(faster than the average

span of attention),

rejected the information,

and averted the eyes.

The dilapidated pot

I look OK, for my age.

Without a head, just

a big mouth that looks even bigger opened up.

No legs, just one arm;

But what do you expect?

I’m not a Greek Urn.

Blessed

I was blessed
With the labour of the golden wheat
Bread for the body

I was blessed
With the labour of the fleshy grape
Wine for the blood

I was blessed
With the labour of the sweet olive
Oil for the kantili

Kantili: the little light that burns with olive oil, in front of the icons.

To the researcher into Alzheimer’s Disease requesting donation
of “brain tissue (see whole brain)” from a sufferer, after death.

You must be joking, I said,
I won’t let you in my head

not until I’m really dead
and maybe not even then.

Heron-on-a-paperweight

At first, misreading your name as
”Haron”, I thought you were named after
”Haros”, the boatman who carries the souls to their place of rest
Painted on a stone that
We throw behind our backs, meaning “never to return here again”
You fit the name but look nothing like him.

The scoop

I think it’s a pumpkin but
it’s too small to provide
enough scoop for a pie
or many seeds for passatempo1.
But I’m sure it does a great job
watering a thirsty mouth.

1 dry roasted pumpkin seed.

Sea, my love

I dive into her watery body, I reach the sandy bed
and untie the ribbon.

Her hair flies loose, spraying the rocky shore
with a fine, salty mist.

I kiss her on the mouth.

Suddenly the lighthouse flashes!
She blushes,
as I come to my senses.

This Life

Agreed, yes; but this life’s without end. (Odysseas Elytis)

This life,
drags some of us by the scruff of the neck,
carries some of us upon its shoulders;
and to what end?
To life’s no end my friend.

To life’s no end.

Easter-Sunday Eve

Easter-Sunday Eve, in the old cemetery.
It’s drizzling and a bit windy,
the candles are flickering,
the faithful are chanting quietly.

Suddenly the gravestones take flight,
they hover above our heads for a while,
not long enough to read the names,
and then they disappeared into the ether,
to the right.

Leaving the smoke from the incense
to keep us dizzy
and the dead in the damp earth.

I See the Light

I see the light
Somewhere in the distance
I am not scared.
Even if it's only a candle
And it goes off, by the time I reach it,
I will light another.

3 visual poems:

I cannot sleep

Do not forgive us God

Next to me

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