She swooned and swayed,
the moonlight played
its shadows cross her face,

in tune the trees,
with June's degrees,
then joined her at her pace,

and I, the wind,
blew sighs therein,
and moved them all in place,

in symphony,
they all would be,
perfection in their grace.

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

dear wife of former marriage will you be
entrenched forever in your hidden spite,
against your former husband tauntingly
in flaunting other men who are more right,

when each succeeding man, like one before,
has failed as per his character so wrong,
who rush so passionately through your door,
and exit likewise at your final gong,

while all the while the husband whom you left,
so steadfast here remains the best of them,
yet suffers silently of wife bereft,
a prince among a crowd of pauper men,

open your eyes and see what you once knew,
i hold the only heart that loved you true

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

a thousand what-ifs swarmed before my eyes,
and stung me as if I had rocked beehives,
the woulda-coulda-shouldas, if-only-I's,
all buzzed their screams, that he'd be still alive,

yet I had done all that I knew to do,
the breaths of life I gave him, much too late,
the EMT's three-quarter hour, their crew,
could not revive my father from his fate,

his heart had fibrillated, lifeless eyes,
were blind to all, his ears heard not our screams,
upon my breath his breathing finalized,
he fell to sleep the sleep where are no dreams,

now on that couch where father there reposed,
not we nor our dear cat to rest there goes

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

there is a blight upon the earth, it bears a name,
it draws in air much better used by worthy men,
my namesake drains the sea, the manner is the same,
the food it wastes through use could feed a better ten,

earth's scarce resources it consumes, returns nothing,
though years have passed, remains a liability,
an asset to the world its hands have yet to bring,
a change in its demise no one can sure foresee,

as inert gas unnoticed seeping into cracks,
it poisons happy minds and smiling thoughts it kills,
then hisses into skies, so soiling white doves black,
when noticed men strike matches to it for the thrills,

there is a place for one who's nil before the world,
to lie beneath the feet of all, a rug unfurled

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

like chicken in tomato soup lain still,
one arm protruding off the bathtub's edge,
red water steaming, still at edge, none spilled,
and 'neath her chin a pill-less bottle wedged,

her forehead, raven hair, an island forest,
in a sea of calmness sought and found,
a chaos turned to peace, its calm attests,
now what has sunk beneath will meet the ground,

and as the soup's released into the drain,
her paleness, wrist cut red, and kitchen knife,
exposed to all, her face relieved of pain,
yet not enjoyed, devoid of sensing life,

that torment, plagued her soul with agony,
now transferred to her grieving family

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

in recess, children walking 'bout the yard,
are playing, chatting, sitting round in groups,
declaring statements, all without regard
to hands on basketballs and hula hoops,

their promises to one another, found
expressed in ways most dear to their own care,
the boys do carve their words into the ground,
the girls do whisper them into the air,

in twenty years when all, then grown, return,
recalling promises so far gone made,
how will they recollect, will they discern
the choices memory has wiped to fade?

the boys will find their fossils waiting there,
the girls will find a silence in the air

(C)2011, Christos Rigakos

they love me secretly; and i surmise
they'll whisper from the rooftops with cupped hands,
and nowhere will it echo through the skies,
and none will be aware among the lands,

for if the heart-shaped flakes fell from above,
upon the heads of certain worry warts,
these questioners would question why this love
should still remain within my loved ones' hearts,

for i have been rejected from their home,
and so it goes their love should likewise be,
the value placed upon these commenteers,
is valueless and meaningless to me,

for worry warts could question me and stare,
and i would walk away without a care

(C)2011, Christos Rigakos