two souls enjoined by God become one flesh,
no more are they a husband and a wife,
one body, all its capillaries meshed,
one heart, two lungs, one breath, one beating life,

oh, we are interwoven, every thread,
like lovers' fingers interlocked in time,
as slowly flesh cleaves unto flesh in bed,
we are but one alone, not yours, not mine,

though when from me you tear yourself away,
our tapestry becomes unraveled, cringe!
how is it you are whole still, as you say,
while I remain a curled and tattered fringe?

our love once fragranced every single breath,
now torn, it seems alone I bleed to death

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos

What do you do when blackened grief abounds,
and permeates all things in every way,
as eyes search none but what's beneath the ground?

When molten anguish tastes like pepper grounds,
my tongue a marble-black ashtray,
what do you do when blackened grief abounds?

My days, spent listening for missing sounds,
grow grey, in search for voice that's gone away,
as eyes seek none but what's beneath the ground.

My nights, spent wide awake, are often bound
to one fallen asleep a different way.
What do you do when blackened grief abounds,

yet he, whom my heart seeks cannot be found,
while words of love, pent up, I cannot say,
as eyes seek none but what's beneath the ground?

I hope the universe we share is round,
that paths will cross, again he'll come my way.
What do you do when blackened grief abounds,
as eyes search none but what's beneath the ground?

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos

I write you letters, since we speak no more--
a thought, a feeling, written once a day,
my letters grow in piles before your door,

since your departure, I have missed you more,
and more with every single passing day,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,

your absence makes my heart much more adore
what filled your current void, I've much to say--
my letters grow in piles before your door,

from habit, all the daily news I store,
and wait until the chance when I can say,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,

yet why do I?  There is no reason for
the writings I embark on every day--
my letters grow in piles before your door,

The plot-keepers refuse to ever more
place letters on your now much settled grave,
I write you letters, since we speak no more,
my letters grow in piles before your door

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos

Valentine's is almost here,
this year I'll be prepared,
I won't bemoan this empty life,
and cry that no one cared,

I'll buy myself a pretty card,
and write myself a wish,
then come home with a fresh bouquet,
and give my hand a kiss,

I'll celebrate the one I love,
who yet remains unknown,
to put on airs and so pretend,
this year I'm not alone,

With chocolate-sweetened compliments,
I'll court with all my pride,
the only person I have known,
who's never left my side

(C)2005, Christos Rigakos

there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye
with thoughts of woodwinds brass and smoky dives
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

the music notes, arpeggio, they fly
with drinks around, the smoky mood arrives
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye

the New York nightlife entertains the eye
past midnight, sewer smoke floats up alive
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

with Songs From the Night Before, Sanborn is high
and carries all, along with him they jive
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye

the room is dark but for a stage so nigh
spotlight exposes New York's heartbeat live
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

where jazz songs live forever, never die
the spirit of New York at night it thrives
there's something 'bout jazz music, fills the eye
where clubs and streets meet moonlight in the sky

(C)2009, Christos Rigakos

while winter still, today's pure air is Spring's,
as light jackets and shorter shirts attest,
that heart-bud-waking fragrance lingering,
the air in nostrils puffing up the breast,

in all directions couples holding hands,
while strolling through the effervescent park,
where squirrels and playing children understand,
a difference in the air so crisp and stark,

my thoughts, to love turn, running into space,
a missing heart beats silence into mine,
i turn to see a void where in its place,
not long ago our faces were combined,

i walk along the pathways and i stare,
the hand now holding mine is only air

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos

where you have gone no one may follow there
no tourist guide may go for tell and show
it is a place unmapped i know not where

though many've tried their patience could not bear
surrendered to this fact and they now know
where you have gone no one may follow there

i've questioned eastern experts on a dare
they said its where the life force tends to flow
it is a place unmapped i know not where

a place where all the resting find no care
perfection where you neither shrink nor grow
where you have gone no one may follow there

i've questioned western experts on a dare
they said there's only one way there to go,
it is a place unmapped i know not where

our parents soon would follow if they'd bear
to watch my passing through that door to go
where you have gone no one may follow there
it is a place unmapped i know not where

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos