Greek Islands

“Karpathos! Rock hewn spouting, basking in the golden light of yet another year you rose out of my dreams and knew it. Only to remain aloof, barren like the cross of Christ raised against the demon deep within my soul.

Karpathos! Your camisole camouflage filmed my mind with images that never were to be exposed. Cold bitch! Teasing, enticing, icing on the cake you gave instead of meat leaving me high and dry. And you? Filled with passion yet empty as a coffin set aside for yet another bride. What did you offer as cold comfort in the blazing glory sun-blue azure vision you turned on for me?

A thousand German zombies, Kombies locked in freshly painted cream and white pretty boxes! Well Zieg Heil to you as you lift your skirts to receive the spirits departed, detached and neatly matched until the day that lost-bird souls return to roost upon your craggy cliffs; waiting like a pack of ‘songless’ sirens for forgotten soldiers to once more be enticed to crash upon your shores.”

“Touching his head balding and gray-haired struggling he sat beside me under a thin moon shrugging.

We had no words to say this old man and I so we watched the world and learned to die.

Together cautious and filled with tender passion our souls reached out and fashioned our field of vision.

Children yelped like young whipped puppies through the oily harbour, shimmering through the bobbing boats of blue and red. We thought the thoughts of the grateful dead, this old man and I.

He had lived I must confess from Plato through to American Express, and I like a cake half baked felt thin and undone that clean-aired night. And as we sat the old man and I under a half baked moon, we felt as one.”

“How long they took in summer strolling time, hunched and bumped with straw hats waving in the zephyr breeze to give them shade. Starting as a two-specked shadow, dawdling waddling thick feet ‘doddling’ two old ladies down the promenade.

What did they talk of? Flabby arms in frenzied flapping motion, yapping in the summer sun.  Of love’s lost wonders, weather’s storm and thunders or shoes on feet that could not run?

They soon grew taller. And smaller veins and pains of callused elbows lost in folding older fattened flesh appeared. Faces smiling, beaming, eyes wide gleaming pleasure stories simply both were shared.

They soon passed by like lazy Sundays leaving empty walkways mundane and bare.

Not the sun the moon the crystal waters, old men’s sons and skin-tight daughters could compare. To old ladies on the promenande.”

“I saw you from a distance and flash that smile! Captured for a moment a soul of flesh. Upon closer inspection flash again in instant Kodak wonder.

If I were to draw your line it would be long and filled with sorrow. A line without ending meandering over long drawn cheekbones. Pausing for a brief encounter to inspect those tear-dry eyes.

Like me you do not belong here; with your mascara mask you present a ravished mournful face, but soul where are you?

Greek or Espresso? You do not ask and do not hear. Alone in your loneliness you listen to the whispers in your ear that blow like the north wind’s icy blast sending chills into my heart like dry ice needles.

Whore! Slut! Harlot! Oozes from the eyes of village women, legs closed with their minds and heads wagging with their tongues. Is this the ball and chain you drag with every cappuccino snack bar order thrown at your feet with snapping teeth? Is this the deep and barbarous root that like a cancer returns and turns upon your head?

You have cut to where the bone and marrow meet but both you and I know this sorrow lies within your breath; and not until the last gasped cold air sucking, gurgling, choking will it fly away to nest inside another undeserving soul.”

“This little boat’s alone in aqua sky-blue colours. Stranded! High and dry on rocks of sun fire iron ore. Parched in lonely rest.

The soothing sounds of sucking lapping melon waves will never wrap around your prow to cling until the sighs of lust and wonder weaken.

Forty meters maybe fifty from the arms of crystal Aegean seas. But like a mind now tightly shut your eyes can only stare at crumbling clay-locked walls that blow against your hull the dust of time and death; into your aching leaking creosote sides.

I see in you little aqua boat the slightly lifted shifted sands of time that run through tired veins a lot like mine.

Forty years maybe fifty pass me by with sneering youthful gaze. And only now with hourglass running late, the cracking crumbling wall of flesh and once drum tight skin
looks to the crystal misty Aegean ocean; crying salty seagull tears that are quickly licked away by hungry, thirsty dry-tongued fear.”


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