Twilight in Meligalas

There’s a promise 

Of rain in the stiff northwesterly 
Breeze blowing in from the gulf 
Of Kyparissia, thirty kilometers away, 

And the parched trees are nodding 
In unison yes, yes, yes, 
It’s been a good day; 

I’ve spent more than half 
Of my life planted here— 
What more can I say? 

Faux Deus Ex Machina

On the brink— 
Whatever to do? 
So tantalizing 

A thought came to him 
As he was about to jump 
To a forgone conclusion 

Out of the blue. 

None the Smarter at 71

Time was I thought I could think 
My way through life 
Using clever arguments, 

 
That it would be easy to imagine
A world where being 
Smart made you nobody’s fool—

 
Hard to believe now, 
How I ended up forgetting 
Only life makes life’s rules. 

The Privatization of the Self

"Let every soul submit himself 
Unto the authority of the higher powers. 
There is no power but of God. 
The powers that be are ordained of God". 
 --Romans 13.1 

Nowadays 

To make it worthwhile 
For the powers 

To be you have to 
Put in long hours down

A dark mine shaft deep 
In the heart 

Of the heart 
Of what is no longer 

God’s country 
And be forever 

Damned. 

Air of Acquiescence

Their slender stalks fastened 
With twine to thin reeds stuck 
In a brown, earthenware pot, 

The blood-red carnations nod 
In accord with each blustering gust, 
All the while suffusing the air 

They breathe 
With redolent dyes 
Of thick, heady musk.