for months we grew in knowledge and in love,
through loving--leaving--loving, holding still,
always both snarling wolves and cooing doves,
both love and anger rendered my heart ill,

i bid her fond farewell but for a spell,
to clear the mind and cleanse the ailing heart,
i asked, please wait, yet if you can't, be well,
and find a good man, make a brand new start,

i watch her from my secret distant place,
her growing closeness to a man i chose,
my blessing sits half-twisted in my face,
both wishing well and not, to what now grows,

though bluntly wrong for me i so adore,
the one i've loved for months behind my door

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

Once in a while frustrations boil over,
spilling all over my white shiny stove;
dousing to smoke my flickering pilot,
exhaling my courage like inert gas.
And woe to anyone smoking their anger
'round me or near or yet even far;
I’ll blow up a tempest in porcelain tea cups
and throw up a hell of a storm in a jar.

(C)2004, Christos Rigakos

I hear the colors waving in my thoughts,
with yellows rising, reaching to the white,
and falling grand arpeggios to blue,
then burying to violet and black,
beyond the grave of my perceptions—gone.
The undulating rhythms flickering
like candle flames of solemn holy mass,
an everlasting birth-rebirth of life
in rampant earthly sprints that, to and fro,
arrive and leave like those we’ve met and known
who’ve disappeared and now simply exist
in just such thoughts, as colorful and vain.

(C)2004, Christos Rigakos

I oft' remember him with what he wore
at home, so often in his leisure time,
those cutoff sweat pants and those dull grey socks,
and right away I see him sitting there,
the corner of the couch, the one at right,
a dinner plate upon his lap, so full,
Lo Mein with beef and rice, duck sauce on all,
a burp, then slapping tummy, sounds are made,
oh, why won't he do anything again?
what would I pay to have him back again?
to hear his laughter and his joking ways?
the memory, it fades into a snap,
as I am jolted back to here and now
where absence sits alone on this here couch
and I can only call him in my mind.

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

Some say the world will end--2012.
Can count the years remaining on one hand.
How will we deal, how will we all survive?
Who cares? It doesn't matter, not at all.
For death is death, no matter how you go.
And once your heart stops, and your brain shuts down--
a curtain call, the lights dim down, that's it,
and all your fears extinguish with your eye.
Why fear the rumored, what may come some day?
Why fret about the quakes, the floods, the fires,
the falling skies, the screams and crying eyes?
The bus may hit you in the morning light.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

dearlovertrytounderstandiunderstandyourloveforme,
yetirejectitfor­oneveryspecialreasoncan'tyousee?
there'ssomethingmissinginyourver­ylovinggivingloveforme,
thatstealsmyairyoureverystareweakensmyver­ywilltobe,
andthoughyourlovewaslikeasalveitoverflowedtheedgeforme­,
andnowinspiteandoutofspiteichooseoncemoretobeempty,
devoidofyou­avoidingyouinevermeanttohurtyousee
without you  here   or    even     near      inhaling's       easier        for         me.

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

the tunic slid down off her
          supple *******, the milk
and honey of my hungry eyes, slow flutter-
          -by like butterfly kisses,
eyelashes on my heart's now fevered skin,
          for skin, yea, all i'd give,
to touch smooth porcelain-like
          vase, or marble Venus, statue-
-esque I stand, attentive now she covers-
          -up, i too take cover, diverting
eyes, in opposite directions carrying
          the weight of just one moment

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

Were you just made for me? I ask because
I asked for you one day, was I the cause
of your arrival simply 'cause I asked?
Was my request enough to cause His Task?

Were you returned to Him because I left
our home and left your side a void, a cleft?
Had you fulfilled your role, companion, friend,
and thus your clock had reached its circled end?

Insane, the thought, insanity it seems,
yet now I see you only in deep dreams,
for you arrived promptly at my behest,
as soon as my two lips had formed request.

And soon after I cleaved to my dear wife,
not two years passed, and so likewise your life.
Your presence seemed with mine to coincide,
and when I left, yours too had left to hide.

Yet who was I that God would grant me you--
a child so unimportant and untrue,
and who am I that God should take away
the brother that I love until this day?

I never once deserved such precious love,
a gift of my request from heights above,
companion, brother, seeking just to be
a best friend who could always walk with me.

And did I love you as you just deserved?
I often held my feelings in reserve,
until the day you chose to say to me
those truest words, your very last to be:

"I love you, brother," said to my dismay,
as if you knew there'd be no other day.
So undeserving for your smiling face,
I should have been the one in your dark place.

For all the years you sought my closed embrace,
only to find my hand stopping your face,
the gift of life should have remained with you,
and sleep for me, forgetting all I knew.

Yet seemingly it all became reversed,
you've died, I groan under a grieving curse.
Oh, who am I that I remain to be?
Oh, who am I? Were you just made for me?

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos

ang ngiti mo ang sumunog sa puso ko
ang ngiti mo ang umalipin sa kaluluwa ko
at kapag ikaw ay tumititig sa akin
napapaso ako, mgpakailanman

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos


*
(Translation:

my first poem for my Zera, in Tagalog

your smile sets fire to my heart
your eyes enslave my soul
and when you stare at me
i burn in your gaze for eternity)

those shiny plump cherry lips i adore,
their lipstick scent, my nose an inch away
as we approach, i lick them end to end,
they part, you gasp, a word they dare not say,

this moment, unexpected, they won't ruin,
reasonings, our seasonings our spice,
avoiding awkward explanations, in-
hale, ex-hale, minty breath sweetly nice,

now pressing four lips, squeezing pair on pair,
now opening now closing, tongues do taste,
my fingers combing through your long black hair,
saliva, corner lips, they drip in haste,

the slow warm wet worms grapple, intertwine,
massaging topside bottom side and side,
they slither round and up ecstacy's vine,
higher, higher as they deeper crawl inside,

as hands on lower back pull closer in,
two jealous pelvises also do kiss,
to grind the dance of passion and begin,
with neither of our parts ready to miss

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

spring afternoon
the clouds rain
till they are none
when my last tears fall
i too shall vanish

(C)2000, Christos Rigakos

the cat waits
beyond his door
an empty room
where he still spends his time
in my memory

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

brother's old pictures
in every room
his absence
father has escaped
into the television

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

staring
into old pictures
a way back
to a time when brother
did what he did in pictures

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

autumn wind
the hand grasps
air
devoid of it
death is as elusive

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

cloud writing
across the sky
i seek his face

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

his laughing voice
filling my ears
the memory of him

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos

mother cries
over again
her son's name

(C)2007 Christos Rigakos

i grab an iron scythe and bolt a metal ball
unto its handle's bottom, roughly sharpening
its time-worn rusted blade between two flat-side stones,

a leather wrist strap hung below in case it falls
out of the swinging hand, to grasp what's happening
when metal slices human flesh down to the bone,

my questions, each with force that deeply penetrates
will breach her shield and nick her armor slicing wide
to move through flesh, expose the hidden living blood,

and all that's cryptic in her heart, although she hates
confessions, she will moan thus cleansing all inside
till secret truth has quick deluged in filthy flood

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

oh summer nights past bedtime little boy,
upon your windowsill your elbows ached,
far past astoria park 'cross river, joy
in buildings with lit windows row-like raked,

you watched, the lights of cars over the bridge,
queensborough to its fifty-ninth street end,
imagined bustling streets, smokey sewage,
stood cigarettes on tarred streets round each bend,

the living night alive with bustling life,
new york strangers engrossed in sense-filled play,
in music, food, drinks, laughs, the city rife,
enough to fill fables and tales next day,

oh child, in isolation's painful sting,
vicarious living would pleasure bring

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

the good old baritone advises her,
his sopranino daughter tweets disjoint,
arpeggio his point, her counterpoint
a syncopated rhythm of meter,

her high pitched protestations in her pleas,
and low-pitched grumbling sighings alternate,
as puntal, contrapuntal altercate,
to musically the rolling of her eyes,

his stern yet soft soprano wife defers,
while yielding to her baritone's movement,
conducting, though, the orchestrated theme,

as tenor, alto sons  caesur' occurs,
her soothing background voice reveals eschewment,
with daughter's movement stuck 'tween measures' beams

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

with iron bolts rust-fastened to her copper face,
her brass eyes only move her pupils elsewhere far,
resolved and steel-willed she has left my side, her place,
her gaze and love for me now hang upon a star,

cold metal forged within her furnace blasted high,
a permanent visage no more will feign to move,
her thoughts aloft so far, the sight of her so nigh,
she's stopped the stopwatch of my time to prove,

amazing how the human flesh can turn to steel,
how fascinating transmutations quickly peak,
how one so loving woman quick unlearns to feel,
how one who knew no silence quick unlearns to speak,

unraveled slow to tatters, now we've come undone,
i sleep the moonless night that's lost its living sun

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

you never thought to chew my lips like gum,
or scream your hurricane to flap my skin,
you never served your eyes to me like ***,
but breathed your name most like a thought within,

you were neither a virtue nor a sin,
i had no boast of you nor did confess,
never a scowl or howl but halfway grin,
you had a name my mind can not profess,

today you question me in much distress,
we met and spent the day but yesterday,
you claim you wore a pretty summer dress,
how could i not recall these things you say?

whoever you were, whatever your name,
to've met you or to not would be the same

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

to hate me is the only way to live,
for loving me is holding back the clock,
don't hold its hands, they'll break for they won't give,
and now these hands, your heart are made of rock,

your lips are sealed to me as with a lock,
and though i scream to you you'll have no speech,
our love you've pawned, our friendship you now hock,
and all my protestations can not reach,

your heart's allowed new love to seep and breach,
its torment's come from loving fully two,
both loves have grated on your nerves to screetch,
so now you bid your old one adieu!

and i, the one you swore you'd always love,
fall off the precipice by violent shove

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

the compensation for my competence?
     a can of Coors occasionally crowned
with sticky notes instruction-filled and dense,
     with worn old shoe string thick and tightly bound,
a brief hurrah before a list to do,
if time were air, with duty i'd turn blue,
     a present given as a false pretense,
  
his recompense? a crushed Coors can atop
     the boss' desk, a drop spilled on the wood,
a single sticky note stuck to the drop,
     "your list of things to do, i could, I should...
yet reach up to that single book, top shelf!"
("Learn How to Fix Your Life--Do It Yourself!")
     soon management will purge all its dead wood,

and driftwood i will be among the planks,
     and crates expelled above board for to stay
afloat, the company in all its ranks,
     will learn that without wood the boat will stray
not only from its sure intended course,
but from the surface to the floor of course,
     to join the tiger shark and manta ray,

soon supervisors, managers and such
     will join department heads, vice presidents,
chief officers valued, appraised worth much,
     thrown overboard to chase those dividends,
that sink so silently to ocean floor,
where there exists no air lock's safety door,
     when futures join the pasts through these presents,

my recompense for knowing when to quit?
     a can of Coors occasionally crowned
with smiling lips and laughing breath of wit,
     my happy feet in new shoes leather-bound,
a new ship where appreciation rings
the ship bells of respect on many things,
     smooth sailing through safe seas without a ground.

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

she barged so uninvited in my space,
so futile were my palms and outstretched arms,
forbidding her from entering my place,
mistrusting her that she may bring me harm,

rebuttals--counterpunches to my claims
that she was just another soulless ghost--
had penetrated fences, and her aims
to win my heart succeeded more than most,

but here we are almost a year from then,
i've pushed her off, she shares her heart with one
not me, but one who seems above all men,
and i have lost where once i thought i'd won,

now i'm the one who's barging in her space,
my own rebuttals falling in disgrace

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

here lies a name etched into marble stone,
a date of birth, a date of death as well,
a history that now has left its bone,
with nothing more to do, nothing to tell,

inductive reasoning may well infer
the tiny puzzle pieces into one
mere picture, full or partial, one interred
human, or not, you may as well be done,

i've lived an uneventful hidden life,
no accolades, nor sitting mute ovations,
but struggled unsuccessfuly in strife,
a lifetime night, with rare lightning occasions,

so now get up and walk along your way,
make room for other puzzled minds to fray

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

i wish, i wish, i were a simple fish,
that spends a thoughtless life in salty sea,
is hooked, and fried, and ends up on a dish,
deboned and sliced to pieces silently,

for i have been too human-like for me,
and cry out salty rivers held by dams,
for losses that, to fish, would never be,
with words upon my inner teeth enjambed,

yet if i were, the salt would grow by grams,
the sea in saltiness would **** all life,
before the fish had any chance to scram,
avoiding death to live with heavy strife,

for all my tears in water'd be unseen,
fish mouths agape would know not why they scream

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

at the head
of the casket
receded hairline

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

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

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

A simple thing, no simpler than this:
the rising, falling of a breathing chest.
When gone, nothing is missed as much as this.

Another simple thing added to this:
the rise-fall thumping of a beating chest.
A simple thing, no simpler than this.

One day he laid, displayed, without a hiss,
his movements stilled, in frozen final rest.
When gone, nothing is missed as much as this.

I stared intently, watching for just this:
a hiccup or a twitch, a laugh in jest.
A simple thing, no simpler than this.

The days we played and laughed in sunny bliss,
I never once took notice of his chest.
When gone, nothing is missed as much as this.

And since the lid closed shut, this much I miss:
a simple kiss, a hug, the warmth of breast.
A simple thing, no simpler than this:
When gone, nothing is missed as much as this.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

We caught him on film and there he will stay,
frozen in time with a smile on his face,
forever and ever and that plus a day.

This brother of mine--whom Death took away,
and hid him far off in a shadowy place--
we caught him on film and there he will stay.

When Death takes his mark, it's forever, always,
replacing a mass with the void of a space,
forever and ever and that plus a day.

Though normally Death is precise in his way,
with scythe and with time leaving none of a trace,
we caught him on film and there he will stay.

I'd rather Death took all our pictures away
and left my dear brother right here in his place,
forever and ever and that plus a day.

Yet brother's now gone, he's been taken away,
and though with these pictures he can't be replaced,
we caught him on film and there he will stay,
forever and ever and that plus a day.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

like times we sat in silence and we stared,
i come once more to share with you the sky,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

i sit upon a stool and bravely dare
to do what's sorely missed, and with deep sigh,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,

i watch you 'neath your covering, so scared,
unable to speak out, though hard I try,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

you watching me past covering, unbared,
we both look past each other, in mind's eye,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,

the words not spoken when we better fared,
are spoken now upon the growls of cries,
we face each other, both our souls full bared,

how precious, little time of moments shared,
is realized only when it's bid good bye,
like times we sat in silence and we stared,
we face each other, both our souls full bared.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

I stand upon a precipice
and stare into a dark abyss
where subtle echoes faintly stir,
whose source's bright and warm allure
has brought me here with puckered kiss
for one whose soul I deeply miss
and if I fall into this hole
together we'll again be whole.


(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

It's ten degrees under the morning sun,
imagine coldness buried underground
where all he lays in is a suit undone,
in darkness where, to roving eyes unfound,
he could not grumble even though he would,
and ask to those who love him up above,
a blanket or a hug if but we could,
to warm the heart that always shined with love.


(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt--
the throbbing of the heart's unhealing burn--
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

I whine too much for one who's life's so curt,
when far worse lives are lessons to be learned,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

for others have not shoes to wear or shirt,
and neither have they roof or floor to yearn,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt,

remains the fabric of their pants and skirt,
yet on my satin sheets I toss and turn,
so, who am I that I may moan my hurt?

I've lost a brother, in this pain I churn
my heart, my cries for him are always spurned,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt

is what we are, become, in time so short,
with nothing more than hope of a return,
oh, who am I that I may moan my hurt,
but dust upon the earth, a thing of dirt?

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

my sickness--rusty nail that pierced my heart
it pins me to the shadow in pursuit
that tails me through the burning light of day
and swallows me in night's cold emptiness


(C)2001, Christos Rigakos