Futility Is Alive And Well In Aetos, Messenias, Greece

Out there 

Under a thick canopy 
Of centenarian 
Plane trees with her 

Tried and true 
Black walking 
Stick, that feisty 

Old woman jabbing 
The ground, dead set 
On keeping 

The pathway 
To her home clear 
Of any intruding 

Dead leaves 
Set on squatting 
There permanently.

Catharsis On The Threshold

Straightaway as you 
Open wide the narrow blue 
Window shutters 
Of the old stone house 
By the sea, wave 
Upon wave of small white- 
Capped memories begin 
Spilling in, slowly 
Washing the grit 
That clings to the grey 
Walls clean, while the wind
Murmurs welcome back 

Pilgrim, again and again. 

Following The Muse To The Ends Of The Earth

To get there, you have to 
Imagine the ends are 

There only insofar as 
Your mind can reach that far— 

In the meantime how-
Ever the means always 

Remain elsewhere. 

'Murican Oxymoron

We all wanted to be 
Proud we were 

Free—it’s the slave 
In us kept us 

Bound to be. 

Skirting The Mortality Issue

How 

Does one wait 
For a flower 

To die? I don’t 
Know but I 

Don’t want to be 
There when it does.