1967 -   
No degrees, no pedigree, no special honors. Greek-German-American part-time scribbler and over-thinker.


Co-creator of the largest repository of Villanelle poems on planet Earth:
http://TheVillanelle.blogspot.com
No degrees, no pedigree, no special honors. Greek-German-American part-time scribbler and over-thinker.


Co-creator of the largest repository of Villanelle poems on planet Earth:
http://TheVillanelle.blogspot.com

he died in 1946
          his ghost somehow lives on
the echoes of his mental tricks
          have stayed though he be gone
and when the man was still alive
to make his master state to thrive
          he'd pen bad economics with his song

he'd split his time between his song
          and whispered recreation
for though his wail was mighty long
          it ran with innovation
he'd bring a promise of a toy
then diddle boys to bring him joy
          and scoffed at hints of fiery damnation

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Septet Naarative

In country fields on starry Autumn nights,
I call your name, and listen to the breeze,
to catch the whispering, among those lights,
that rustles in the leaves upon the trees.

Just barely do I hear their murmurings,
and translate utterance of twinkling fires,
in hopes the skies have heard of all the things,
pertaining to the one my heart desires.

I call your name and ask but every star,
where have you gone, and when will you return?
My eyes glance to those lights both near and far,
to answer me before they fade and burn.

At times the ones we love, most sorely missed,
are those whose lips our own have never kissed.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

English (Shakespearean) Sonnet

your name is written
on a strand of your hair

if i could read your name
and utter it
conjure it
you would be

physically
how i knew you
but

in every other way
someone else

for who you were
is more than your name
all that you experienced
made you who you were
and who you were
could never again
be conjured
by the hand of man
but by the hand of God alone.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Free Verse

our wedding album
shoved into my hands
her memories
wiped off the shelves
to start a new collection



(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Tanka

open skies
love birds fly off
on the mind
empty tree branch
where we sat under



(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Tanka

old mother
bent over
the grave
seems closer
this year



(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Tanka

I wondered once while still a curious child
of who I was before I was, because
I listened to those people on T.V.
speak wondrously of who they were before.
They'd found a way to cause remembrance,
under hypnosis, where by regressing
back and farther past their very birth,
and nine months farther back beyond the meet
of sperm and egg, and years more farther back,
they could describe the people that they were.
I wondered who I was before I was,
until one day I read a certain news,
a scientific study done to see
the people who some people truly were.
One hundred people hypnotized did see
their lives before the lives which they now lived.
And forty-eight were Abraham Lincoln.
I closed the newspaper and took a walk,
and never more subscribed to idle talk.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

Blank Verse
 
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