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Giorgio Veneto

Thermopylae 300

A merit of lonesome, Persephone's dark ocean
we received. A strong red wine, a wake of pain
that stings. A ghostly clad chorus, a lost odd zone
of Hades and Styx. A gloomy dim swaying
an abstract dull pain, I felt, an emotional strain.

One brink of sacrifice to feel this Charon sigil
as wrought spears pierce, as swords blunted thrust
to acompany this Styx quarry, comply our vigil
sweaty crimson trickles on shield, as lives combust..

Slay, thrust, pierce, a darkened Hydras' task force,
of Hercules, our Dorian ancestor to honor, and kill,
as Pluton, reins proudly the canter of his horse,
as sun sets to crown a new macabre of blood spill.

Three hundred rain drops, and two that remain
to offer again, a destiny altered, a deadly refrain,
denial spelled about my life, over her throne
and there cold air, is to betray, the death of my soul..

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Siren Song

It seems that a wind is pushing us together
towards a snaky road that effuses in Chaos
and one ribbon of mystery dark, and tender,
of magical tales I heard before, a glee endow.

So, maybe was something your voice said
whispering in my ear as dusk descended
and it was my promise to invite you as a wed,
in my solitude I wore your glance attended.

Cause you are distant; Far in a pasture ghostly,
spirits of darkness in scriptures apocryphal,
as Aglaope's astounding face, bends softly,
to guile me in carnivorous feast, Leucosia lethal.

A song of longing by Himerope, in Molpe music,
buckling my heart, as Parthenope my maiden is,
and Ligeia shrills fear, Teles perfect acoustics,
Raidne improves our bond, and Peisino persists.

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Demons

Her anomie demon, closer comes,
militated aphorism, vicious angels,
value her breath, darkened drums,
beat steady, as slow pain unravels.

Bowed 'n' stringed, of sleep chains,
deplorable ghosts, sadden 'n' bad,
torturous dowry, flow in her veins,
together with sweat, run like blood.

Under the blankets waits a demon,
around midnight, madness begins,
His iced arms, wraith of a love-man,
along her spine, out trace her sins;

The wraith bends above her dream
through her body, down her spine,
remorse aggress, aimless to deem,
Apocryphal claim. communion wine.

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O Horos (Greek poem)

Ο ΧΟΡΟΣ

Ανάπλαση αέρινου ουράνιου χορού
αξέχαστος ο δρόμος ζωντανεύει
φιγούρες της ψυχής μα και του νου
η μνήμη πάντα στις γιορτές γυρεύει

Όσα μαζί γιορτάζαμε παντού
ξέχωρη αγκαλιά μας ανταμώνει
Δίνει στον άνεμο υπόσχεση κενού
Και δεν θα ‘ρθεις - ο άνεμος παγώνει

Ουράνιος χορός που από ψηλά
τραγούδι γράφει, πιο δικός μας του καιρού
Της τότε αντάμωσης φοράς τα γιορτινά
κι είσαι παιδί που έφυγε του άνεμου γι' αλλού

Και ο χορός μας λέγεται το τάνγκο του καιρού
Είναι του άνεμου χορός μα και του νου
Σα βρέχει και φυσά σ' αρχές αλλοτινού

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The Ship

The Ship

She arrived tangled amid a hazed dew,
carrying my past, dog hound tracking,
from years back, wide vision blacking,
and a stork I was, searching her crew.

(Thus I stood on those same moorings,
her icon remained - Christmas rejoice,
it was the sea hum muzzling her voice,
so I kissed her face that was alluring!)

Like a stork I aptly stood, on one foot,
side-gazing for sunken pals to discern,
as after my nautilus care and concern,
blackened was the ship with dark soot.

Dusk was silent, abrading acta details,
still numbness; maybe the ship stared,
as my foolish and curious eyes paired,

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Flevari Omihli (Greek poem)

Τεργέστη. Και του Φλεβάρη ομίχλη μου πυκνή
να περιμένεις τον καιρό σου να περάσει
Με κράτησες στου νου το εικονοστάσι
Πρώτη χρονιά φοιτητική - συ μακρινή.

Σε περιμένω - έστω, ξέρω πως δεν θάρθεις
αποκλεισμένη στην ομίχλη κάθε άκρη
Θωριά μου του Φλεβάρη δεν θα γράψει
Αγαπημένη σου το κύμα της καρδιάς της.

Έπιασα γνωριμιά με κάτι ναύτες
από γκαζάδικο - μου λένε ιστορίες
για φοβερούς τυφώνες, καρχαρίες
του Ινδικού, ρότες στους χάρτες.

Τρεις μήνες πήρε η γλώσσα να τη μάθω
Νύχτα Φλεβάρη πια μου έρχεσαι εκεί
Ιδανική, ερημική στου χρόνου μου ζωή
Με συντροφεύεις κι είσαι η αγάπη που δεν θάχω.

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Horos ton fyllon (Greek poem)

ΧΟΡΟΣ ΤΩΝ ΦΥΛΛΩΝ

Χορός των φύλλων στο μονάχο σκαλοπάτι της αυλής μας
Ερημωμένος πια του χρόνου μας και άλυτος χρησμός
Δε νοιάστηκε κανείς για τις σταγόνες της ζωής μας
που πια μονότονα κυλούν όπως οι ώρες κι ο παλμός

Μιας μακρινής αγάπης που ανατέλλει στο σκοτάδι
Της κάμαρης που γέλασες πριν χρόνια στη σιωπή
Αστέρια που παιδιά τα κυνηγάνε κάθε βράδυ
Σαν τα παιδιά κοιτάζουμε ψηλά μ' ένα γιατί.

Ζωή πλανιέται πιο ψηλά απ' όλες τις ζωές μας
Ο χρόνος είν' απέραντος στ' αστέρια κι απλωμένος
σαν μια κουβέρτα που ζεστά χαϊδεύει τις ψυχές μας
Κάθε σφυγμός κοιτά ψηλά στο χέρι αφιερωμένος.

Με τα φιλιά νάν' ξέμακρα, πιο μακρυά κι απ' τ' άστρα,
πνοή χειμώνα, παγωνιά στο σκαλοπάτι αγγίζει
με χρώμα παγωνιάς σκαλί, μαράθηκε η γλάστρα

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Tis Ekthromis - Greek Sonnet

Της εκδρομής - Greek Sonnet

Αν κάπου οι φιγούρες του χορού,
φύλλων του ανέμου σε βουνού πλαγιές,
με όνειρα πετάνε τ' ουρανού,
και κυβερνούν παράλληλες ζωές.

Αν ταξιδεύεις πάλι στις τροχιές,
του ουρανού εικόνες χαραυγής,
με τα κλειδιά σε αυγινές ιαχές,
Αγγέλων και μνημών της εκδρομής.

Χαρές παλιές, ασπρόμαυρη γιορτή,
στον λογισμό και στ' όνειρο, ξανά,
απ' τ' ακροδάχτυλα περνούν ζωή.

Χορός των φύλλων πάλι σε ζητά,
Ν' ανέβεις, νάν' απέραντ' η ψυχή,
Και οι ευχές του αγέρα στα μαλλιά.

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Falsity of care

Seamen know ports, where old ships,
gather, upon completing a trip,
dim specked liquor bars, weathered
sea-men chew on tobacco sticks;

Strange women await, a prepaid love
reaches almost an expiration of this end,
every time, for every started crime,
and every pre adorned preserved dime.

Christened by nautilus. Whichever name
accustoms needs, ghostly mortised
new forms of every dusk, sea-men, turn-in
in blue coats, burnished bronze buttons.

They drink false-liquor. Not of a choice,
but of a rueful condemnation plea,
smoke; laughing as crying, a hoarse cackle,
a dormant envy of an abstract embrace.

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Osman Pazvantoglou

A begot of Bosnia Province, 'son of the guard',
mercenary in service to Wallachian Prince Nicholas
Mavrogenes, friend to Rigas Feraios Greek Bard,
revolts an army of mercenaries rebels to amass.

Freed from Ottoman Sultan Selim, acts independent,
his state recognized by Western Europe diplomats,
In 1798, held territories spread from river Danub
to the Balkan Mountains, from Belgrade to Varna.

Osman, warrior of North, fierce, in deathly defeat,
in deathly victory, honored by a Glory transient,
wins in Vidin, loses in Smederovo, fear to transmit
a new Carpathian Vlad Tepes' vindicatory punishment.

Defeats a 100,000 soldier army of Huseyin Kucuk,
ruthless warrior, raiding territories in blind moksha
fighting Sultans Ottoman, and Serbs, win, or lose
as in 1798 the Sultan is forced to make him a pasha.

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