shall i compare you to a pizza pie?
you are more cheesy and more temper-hot,
as overcooking turns the dough too dry,
so summer days cause dough to bubble-spot,

sometime too hot the flame of oven burns,
and often oven doors keep men away,
and pizza guys do wish the pizza'd turn,
to cook all 'round with much more even sway,

by chance or nature's changing course untrimmed,
men eat too much pizza and then gain weight,
and no diet can help to make them trim,
for they cannot return the slice they ate,

so long as men eat pizza, drink coffee,
so longer will they sit to crap and ***

six years have passed, the family is fine,
for we don't speak about him anymore,
but mother, with a frequent random line,
which closes lips, draws eyes down to the floor,

no, we don't speak about him anymore,
but fill our mouths with all things that distract,
our open living room has one closed door,
we chat about all things except one fact,

discussions, all sweet-tempered by our tact,
with tact we step around the elephant,
our dire necessity's survival act,
we've learned to force the smile and quell the rant,

at end of day each one within his room,
speaks to his memory in tones of gloom

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

ineffable the moment of one's death,
between the final beat and darkness....
when consciousness takes notice of no sound
within the chest while fading into numbness,

yet moreso inconceivable is then
the moment of the numbness into dark,
before that step into oblivion,
when final thoughts yet feed upon a spark,

the final thought, the final one indeed,
its ending more precisely mystery,
its closing, its transition where it leads,
into no thought, nor zen, no more to be,

since none are dead who ponder on such things,
to those who live no understanding rings

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

love was the heart loud pounding in the ears,
and beating out the chest, it longed to be
enjoined unto another many years,
and these, the only things, it craved to see:

the goodness in one's heart, the gentle eyes,
a kindness radiating from one's soul,
a charity unspoken, undisguised,
it sought to join with such, becoming whole,

today love seeks the guile which one could say,
the suits of status, trinkets sparkling bright,
the methods of the wealthy plied by day,
virility cold practiced in the night,

oh, love, which once probed oceans wide and deep,
you've run aground upon a shallow reef

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

At Death's door all are banging,
"Let him out! Give him back!"
But Death pretends he's not at home,
until the knocking ceases.


(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

I dreamed, a city filled with roads,
where each road carried just one car,
and stretched past houses and abodes,
so far to east and west so far,

I dreamed, my brother drove his car,
it broke down, he got out and then,
he walked towards the morning star,
never to be seen again.

I dreamed, the years had passed away,
abandoned car now under sand,
I pine for it, yet understand,
its driver's in a different land.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

Oh, in this way, my grief, I fight:
with my soul's deepest groans,
I write and write and write and write.

I write all day and write all night,
in melancholy tones.
Oh, in this way, my grief, I fight:

with words that growl and snap and bite.
And, pining for those lovely bones,
I write and write and write and write,

for all that's left within my sight's
the covering of hand-placed stones.
Oh, in this way, my grief, I fight:

by sun's and candle's waning light,
expressing pain through trembling moans,
I write and write and write and write.

For brother I will grieve tonight,
he's left me all alone.
Oh, in this way, my grief, I fight:
I write and write and write and write.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos