oh once upon a time i found a soulmate,
filled my heart, it overflowed, i drowned
so deep to ocean's floor i simply died,
translated to the heavens of the skies,

though years, it was a drop in ocean's depth,
that we would be together in our bond,
against all my beliefs and thoughts it broke,
oh yes, so possible, it truly did,

she changed and fell right through the floor of glass,
past clouds and vanished to the earth below,
so mortified to stone i followed suit
and landed in an open grave closed shut,

to my surprise a new love, moschiach,
did resurrect me from my stateless tomb,
and showed me things i'd missed from my dear love
long past but not forgotten in the mind,

yet she could not accompany me there
upon the clouds in steps rising to sky,
for she was chained to one some distance off,
and she was his, and though our hearts be tuned,

we could not mesh and cleave into one flesh,
yet showed me soulmates are not one for one,
for there must always be another one
somewhere in space and time, like us, like this,

and now standing before my former grave,
with hope for life yet hopeless in my search,
should i climb down and sleep or walk a path?
a path to where? to whom? now death, now life...

and so i wait, eternity if must
be done, somehow, for here alone i can't,
an oddity among the pairing souls,
comprising all that heaven's meaning is

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

there are those certain ones, those special friends,
they fall down from the sky, like white snowflakes,
that land upon my nose and tongue, and melt,
that chill me, wake me from complaceny,
and melt my heart to water, falling rain,
our time together short, so very short,
and gone, they leave a sore and open wound,
which nothing filled, could fill or ever will,
just holes, i'm full of holes, i am a hole,
come one, come all, come more, come fall some more,
and tingle my dear nose and tongue and heart,
and make me live and die again, again

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

oh it's the end, the world will end today,
the Mayans said, they said it long ago,
according to opinions people say,
the modern sayers saying what they know,

it's noon, the morning hours i have survived,
now fifteen minutes till the clock strikes two,
i find in all the silence i'm alive,
the sayers thinking twice 'bout what they knew,

survivalists in barricaded doors,
with rifles loaded, ready on the walls,
will pace upon their dusty wooden floors,
awaiting for that ring when death makes calls,

today for many, dying one by one,
the prophecy was right, their time is done

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

dear man, you did one wrong, don't celebrate,
you'll hear again about it till this date,

dear man you did two wrongs, get set to flee,
she'll cry about your wrongs, they will be three,

you did three wrongs, start looking for the door,
when next you spat, she'll bring to you all four,

and lord forbid your four come back as five,
this pattern promulgates while you're alive,

when five wrongs then return to you as six,
you'll wish for tickets down the river Styx,

and six will show as seven different things,
and ten, eleven, only diamond rings

appease the wrath of woman but do fret,
for pachyderms and females don't forget,

your flaws will always exponential grow,
and this a man must always need to know.

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

there's strange fruit hanging from the tree
          we planted in the garden
those giant eggplants i can see
          in cloth wrapped, burnt and hardened
the white ghosts cooked them on the vine
while chanting blasphemies in time
          to metered prose of Tennyson's E. Arden

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

i find myself at rest, lain sickly prone,
a broken figure in contorted pose,
halfway in mud, my head beside a stone,
an unintended consequence i chose,

at last the bottom of this deep ravine,
thrown from a cliff when reason found its way,
i tumbled down a path i'd not foreseen,
i now await my healing as i lay,

o'er shards of flint and glass, o'er cobblestones,
was i dragged furiously by one who fled,
so flesh did lacerate round breaking bones,
and blood spilled wildly, i should have been dead,

yet my sweet's chariot my hand released,
she rode off to the west, i rest in east

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

Oh, why give credence to the speechful lass
who judges sanity among the two
admirers differently, one fail, one pass,
and take to heart the failure judged in you?

Why question why--when both have done the same
exact deed with no difference in the act--
should you be deemed a nuisance and insane,
and he a hero, opposite of fact?

"He stares at me, this stalker and a creep,"
says she of your mere passing little glance.
"That staring handsome hunk I think I'll keep,"
she coos, his eyes ******* her in dance.

Attraction makes acceptable the deed
that otherwise repels the heart in need.

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos