Wind swept words

The sun disappears in the north and we are lost in the winter of our silence.

Of all the return guests we welcome the snow;

It maintains heated discussions – the passion for companionship.

But there are no people here.

This space is unpeopled.

There are only vague emotions, … and the fur coat of the sun.

Memory is a drifter.

O Greece!

O Greece, you are dead!
The blue and green maggots
That issue from ballots
To suck your blood instead

Entered your public body
Of ancient glory
And their filthy, gnawing teeth
Did your life destroy.

For a moment I thought

For a moment I thought
It was a butterfly
The yellow and orange leaf
That took flight from the swishing poplar trees
Across my balcony.

It swayed and fluttered in excitement
Here and there, up and down,
Undecided if right or left,
To the ground or up the sky –
Should I stay or should I go?

What to make of perceived options
When you lose your wings to know
That gravity always wins?
And ultimately to the ground
With or without wings.

Ticking clocks

This world is an orchestra
of silently ticking clocks
counting down life's progress
to death and
explosive rebirth.

Daydreaming

I daydream of the star-
dusty front yard of my childhood -
the years spiraling down on their heads
between hard-working flower pots,
towers overlooking with affection
a sparkling little hand
swerving rubber cars,
the tire ruts a trail
on my mother’s tired face.

The vengeance of the conquered

 

Whether he was after a vision or set

on punishing the Persians, or simply

acted under pressure from within,

the Great Greek, name beginning with an ‘A’

              as in ‘Bucephalus’,

could not have known that those he had conquered

would conquer back and be

              ante portas to the West,

twenty three hundred years later.

 

Enter

        Afghans, Iraqi, Pakistani, Philippino and all!

Enter

        others from the Near, the Middle and the Far East

Enter

        the swarthy from the dark south, enter all:

        the hungry and the poor,

        the victims of politics and war!

Enter Islam,

        the poor cousin from the East.

If your loins survived the boat trip,

the knees of the West will shake and tremble.

        Is this a day rape or a nuptial night?

 

See what the West has become?

A harrowing harlot.

Ruins upon ruins your dreams:

the money lenders have conquered the temple

to establish their own napalm Christianity

marching East on ‘As’ as in ‘Bombers’

 

 

Zarathustra

Zarathustra Revisited