Twelve Narratives of the Gypsy

Yet the words hadn’t finished
and I started to talk and
from atop another terrace I
spoke to my brethren.
The anger inside me is like
a volcano and my mind like
the sea; the world of my past
dreams and my future visions
that seasoned our secret world
can’t be kept silent inside me.
People of the gypsies listen to me:
I’m the first sign of the new
world that is coming after many
years and I am the one who
lives for one thousand others.
Gypsies, no prophet ever talked
to you with a tongue like mine.
Who’s the man who builds
royal castles up in the air and
gifts them to us who’s he who
proposes hopeless hope before
our eyes? We’re the homeless
and the uncured, wail to all
motherlands, wail!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D3LP7NW6

Hours of the Stars

C
The dark side of the moon
was near the fence of yesterday’s absence and
guilt was returning from
the liturgy of futile vigils
then the dreams with
the uncombed hair woke up
children of Logos and Drunkenness
taken by the dragged body of dusk
high up and
deep into the sea
by the glaucus forgetfulness of the rock.
Monemvasia with the red sandals and
enraged Patmos
beast rooted between
hunger and gigantic visions
D
The audacity of vision reached
the winged dangerous rocks
along with the ancient hundred year old seer
who played the seven chord guitar
as dazzle was added to dazzle
erasing the intimate emotions in a flash and
the night-watch of the thieves
with trumpets and spears of birds
beauty appeared to slay
the advance of spring
view of the lead chaste goddess
bathes in the shadow of lamps
unfolding the seven fold nakedness
orders of cherubim descended
to the scars of our eyes
a muffled lament swaddled our birth
the secret has been inscribed

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763408

Medusa

Unexplained
Eagerly it waits for my words to come forth and give it life, grace it with purpose as if I don’t know of death, and the enemy volunteers to shoot me
—You spilled the water on the driveway again. Will you water the flowers without spilling the water all over the place?
As if I don’t know of a kiss and the virgin volunteers to teach me the difference between fall and winter, between the heat of July and the frost of January and the unexpressed rushes to my assistance; as if the unexpressed doesn’t know of its purpose and it comes unexpectedly like Hades who took you, my beloved
—Don’t wear that shirt today; we’re going to my sister’s; put on something better.
My friend died full of knowledge, his memory full of blood, while pain stayed for last to remind me of the meaning of your loss, my beloved
—I dislike the way you slice the orange into four pieces; it’s hard to chew.
I debate with Hades his right over my happiness, and another soldier falls prey to the stray bullet. The egomaniac general boasts of his success, adding losses and questionable gains in his war log, while the mother of the dead soldier visits the gravesite daily and brings the medal awarded to him for bravery and such stupid praises
—There is a better life somewhere over the rainbow!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769