Savages and Beasts

excerpt

“So true my friend” Anton added, “so we still have to take
care of what we owe to these kids; be vigilant, record whatever
wrong is done upon them, and report all these to the proper
authorities, that would be our resolve and goal. By the way sometimes
I’ll spend my night here, in my office, so I can keep an eye
on what might transpire during the night.”
George nodded his head and left to go and check on
today’s dinner.
Darkness spread over Kamloops, the streets turned quieter,
street lamps vaguely greeted the few night walkers, the odd
car would pass with its headlights flashing on unintended targets,
the odd animal sauntering in the fresh moist of the night, the odd
civilian walking to Molly’s diner, the odd cricket singing of a
lost summer love, the odd saint perusing the Indian Reservation
School grounds and covering his eyes not to witness the unspeakable
atrocities taking place within the walls of the mausoleum.
Then surely silence would appear as if from nowhere to command
the rest of the night, a light breeze would keep it company
as both assume duties allotted to them: the task of keeping watch
over souls lost in the humdrum of everyday life or newly found
glamour of self-belief and containment.
The half moon threw glints of phosphorescence over the
two bodies of Father Jerome and Sister Gladys giving them the
pale shade of the dead, yet these two bodies were far from being
dead, in fact they were consumed with an unfulfilled erotic oestrus
which overwhelmed every inch of their skin. Father Jerome
was resting his head on one of his hands while he was marvelling
at the esthetically beautiful lines of Sister Gladys’s breasts.
Securely one of his hands was supporting his chin while his other
hand was travelling up and down the hillsides of her breasts first
over the left one and around her nipple, then over the right one…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763602

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume VI

The lift operator, accustomed to other routes,
accustomed to ride motionlessly the ups and downs,
as they say,
the depth and height, going up and down in himself,
taking others up or down, friends or strangers, almost
absorbing them, now he comes as if out of the vertical
tunnel, a bit clumsy, unaccustomed to walking left
or right, unaccustomed to the flooding light and from
time to time he feels as if he carries that tunnel with him,
afraid that he, tall as he is, might stumble upon
the power lines
afraid that he might stumble, deep as he is, upon the dead
and the tree roots,
always bothered by the fear that he bothers all others.
However, he doesn’t stumble, or at least, he doesn’t seem
to stumble, and if someone smiles at him, he thinks
the vertical tunnel into which he is kept imprisoned
is but a light hat he takes off to greet someone, as much
as possible, politeness and humbleness, to greet almost
out of gratitude, so much so that his eyes get teary.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

Nikos Engonopoulos – Poems

…I’ll come to the secret memorial
service of your anger
silent and coverless
with hands to count the years
I’ll whip the snow
from inside your eyes
that shine of naphtha and stars
small tree lines dancing
to the cries of your sold-out fiancé
to be filled with
the white black
the moon
hangs on your hair
I know, it will never return
the little that remains
of life
of moons close to you
roses of the winds
narcissists of the fog
the fountains
shimmer
music of loss and contempt
raise your hands
let us collect
the saintly waters
of a special wisdom
that grace
those who passionately implore
the moons…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3744799

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763734

Poodie James

Excerpt

once in a while. We worked it out.”
Poodie, nodded, smiled and settled back.
“Home. That’s good,” he grunted. It took Fred a few seconds to
piece together the distorted syllables
“Learned that,” Engine Fred said. “Home is good.”
They fell into the comfort of a long silence.
“It’s so transparent, so obvious,” Sonny Stone told his mother.
“Torgerson is trying to drum up an issue, bring attention to himself
with this hobo thing. That’s plain enough. What I don’t understand
is what he hopes to gain by going after Poodie James. If
Poodie has other enemies, who could they be?”
Winifred Stone stood at her office window in The Dispatch
watching cars go in and out of the hotel garage on the corner. She
thought of her conversation with Angie Karn.
“He seems to have friends all over town, all kinds,” she said. “The
mayor thinks he can tar Poodie with the hobo brush. In a funny way,
Poodie’s joining the hobo in that rescue might helpTorgerson’s cause.
It’s hard for me to believe that people think much about hobos one
way or the other around here, but it wouldn’t be the first time a politician
was able to get the populace stirred up about an imaginary
threat. Demagoguery works.”
She turned to Sonny.
“The question is, what is our responsibility in this situation? We
said we’d keep an eye on it. So far we have covered a meeting in
which the mayor urged the council to take action. The council
called for a hearing, but didn’t set a date. The mayor is drumming
up support. Nothing illegal, or even untoward, there, but I can’t
avoid the suspicion that Torgerson is doing more, doing something
sleazy. What are we looking into? Who’s on the story?”
“Ned Pease and Earl Potter are trying to pick up what they can
on their rounds at city hall and the courthouse,” the managing editor
said. “So far, there’s not much. Earl says he saw Chief Spanger
and the D.A. huddling in front of the courthouse this afternoon.
He asked Paul Williams what it was about. The D.A. told him…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV