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802 · Apr 2012
The Wendy's Massacre
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
at the storefront
where the life blood
poured out
from the hearts of many
balloons flowers and letters

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
796 · Apr 2014
Past Life Regression
Christos Rigakos Apr 2014
I wondered once while still a curious child
of who I was before I was, because
I listened to those people on T.V.
speak wondrously of who they were before.
They'd found a way to cause remembrance,
under hypnosis, where by regressing
back and farther past their very birth,
and nine months farther back beyond the meet
of ***** and egg, and years more farther back,
they could describe the people that they were.
I wondered who I was before I was,
until one day I read a certain news,
a scientific study done to see
the people who some people truly were.
One hundred people hypnotized did see
their lives before the lives which they now lived.
And forty-eight were Abraham Lincoln.
I closed the newspaper and took a walk,
and never more subscribed to idle talk.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Blank Verse
794 · Apr 2012
buried
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
buried
in the casket
stillness



(C)2009, Christos Rigakos
Haiku
791 · Mar 2012
Torn Tapestry
Christos Rigakos Mar 2012
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
Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Mar 2012
eight months we loved and fought with equal rage
upon the net's equator spinning round
we baked our flesh in sun of summer's age
and died on winter's snow filled concrete ground

this, every day a battle to the death
we slaughtered one another to the grave
then making love, restoring life with breath
we'd soar back to the skies embraced and saved

each day has been a lifetime full of life
lived fully in our love den's angry place
ineffable our love in passion's strife
so many resurrections in one space

and now too tired to raise again the sword
we rest with silenced love and not a word

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Sonnet
773 · Apr 2012
Birth and Death
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
in warmth
we dress inside
a darkened dressing room
not caring for the fashion trend
this womb

in dark
and cold undress
ourselves to lie, to sleep,
not knowing of a fasion trend
this tomb

(C)2002, Christos Rigakos
Cinquain Sequence
767 · Jul 2012
Gravestone Readers
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
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
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos May 2012
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
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
766 · May 2013
old woman
Christos Rigakos May 2013
old woman
at the windowsill
staring out

her skin
a veiny leaf
dried in late autumn

her lips
pursed tight
crows feet count her age


her hair
powdered snow
on black tar streets

her eyes
glazed yellow
staring at grandchildren

her memory
Spring air filling
a young girl's nostrils, lungs

running, laughing,
holding his hand,
her handsome boy

a smile betrays
a glimmer of youth
and for a moment she glows

a car horn
startles her giggle
to a sour lemon scowl

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
764 · Jul 2012
She swooned and swayed
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
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
762 · Apr 2012
after the chocolates
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
after the chocolates
only emptiness fills
this heart-shaped box
since you left I wonder
why mine keeps beating

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
Christos Rigakos Feb 2014
she scolds about the sacred little things,
if ever sacred things I fail to see,
those moments, pictures, flowers, cards and rings,
tall city monuments that face the sea,

for she reveals great stories when she sings
the meanings of the moments come to be,
do i not also see what moment brings?
why as a man are meanings lost on me?

yet when she kills the heart with mortal stings,
she calls to raze the buildings by decree,
why still my heart holds sacred and it clings
to monuments she built and now shall flee?

for meanings are those things that fall apart,
when love grows cold and from her soul departs

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
756 · Mar 2013
3rd Grade
Christos Rigakos Mar 2013
it charged at me, this muscled bull enraged--
its flaring nostrils snarling, snorting breath,
a steam--unleashed from some unnoticed cage,
and trampled hap-strewn bookbags to their death,

along the closest aisle 'tween students' desks,
while on its beeline path straight toward me,
she, by some scalding fury magic hexed,
transformed into this vile monstrosity,

with hands-turned-talons grabbing clump of hair,
my side-yanked skull and body followed suit,
i tilted right and toppled with my chair,
'pon impact with the floor i faced her boot,

hot breath screamed to my face and singed my eyes,
obscenities, growled expletive assaults
so pummeled ears while spittle mixed my cries,
lambasting accusations showed my faults,

for i had done some very taboo thing,
was loud or spoke some word unwittingly,
and so was hung to die upon a string,
while lashings of her rage whipped welts on me,

after my execution was complete,
she buried me, my grave a league so deep
in homework, i was crushed before her feet,
and made a slave for all the year to keep.

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
749 · Apr 2012
inside the groove
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
inside the groove
of a headstone's engraving
a wandering ant
learns the name
of my grandmother

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
741 · Apr 2012
her shriek
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
her shriek
as a millipede on the wall
is crawling
up and down her rubbing arms
the thousand legs of goosebumps

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos
Tanka

This one got an, "oh that's good!" from Jane Reichold.  I'm honored.
739 · Apr 2012
Behold Your Parents
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
behold your mother bent over with age,
who washes still your clothes over the tub,
and he whose joints now more frequent he rubs,
behold your father as your mirror gauge,
          for what he is, that also you will be,
          and how he leaves, you likewise will, so see

her old curved spine slight twisted won't deter,
the mighty worker from her daily chore,
of caring for the child-like man she bore,
for love, her duties she will not defer,
          for still she will admonish what is right,
          until she leaves your unattentive sight,

the once invincible and wise father,
now frail with muscles atrophied and weak,
persists beyond your stubborness to speak,
whose sage advice, to heed you will not bother,
          oh dear, with aging horns yet still a fawn,
          at whose feet will you sit when he is gone?

remember well your parents while they are,
while wrinkled trembling arms may still embrace,
to whisper in the ear and kiss your face,
before their mouths and ears will be too far,
          for one day you will find yourself alone,
          until your aging flesh departs from bone

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Heroic Sestet Narrative

A little wise advice to myself.  I'm not the best son.  Maybe if I keep reading, it will sink in.
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
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
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
737 · Apr 2012
The Soldier's Weigh-In
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
Awakened by the rumble in the ground,
I stared unfocused at a rolling cloud
of smoke and black soot falling all around,
and startled at the thunder-crack so loud,
          that scared to lifeless sleep a thousand faces,
          which littered fields to the most remote places.

The rumbling, now with squeaking iron wheels,
grew louder as the iron beasts approached,
I stood  and reeled upon two aching heels,
the sight of monsters ready to encroach.
          I fell beneath the belly of one beast,
          devoured into its raging, trampling feast.

Awakened by the whooshing of my breath,
pressed out from lungs and skin so completely,
after the cracking, crunching sound of death,
where pneuma from its flesh finds liberty.
          As light as soot-less air that blows away,
          I bid farewell to me.  I could not stay.

Around the fields where soldiers came to slay,
some shadows danced their jig victoriously,
while others puppeteered warriors in play,
and bathed in blood-warm sin so joyfully.
          And white-robed praying men stood off aside,
          with faces deep in praying hands to hide.

And,  as if sniffing blood upon the air,
some shadows turned their heads at once to me,
proceeded to approach like floating hair
of one drowned, pushed about, under  the sea.
          Their un-mouthed accusations, gurgled screams,
          struck fearsome that I burned up at my seams.

Yet one warm hand upon my shoulder stayed
my tremblings, my accusers ghastly shrieked.
My fears, not fully quenched, were much allayed.
The white-robed man, in un-mouthed words did speak,
          in my defense, recalling all good deeds,
          at times when his advice I'd somehow heed.

The raging shrieks cast all I ever did,
from infancy until this very war,
all things exposed and all I ever hid,
my very being was bared down to my core.
          In minutes lasting for eternity,
          my every living moment I could see.

Both sides had piled my deeds upon a scale,
each deed a colored weight much like a stone.
When one would add his stone,  the other'd wail,
till finally I found myself alone.
          I looked around and saw no one in sight,
          as darkness overcame me with a fright.

In blindness, all around me, grinding teeth,
unreachable, beyond my farthest reach,
a heaviness, as trapped down underneath,
a chasm, somewhere, never to be breached.
          The argument had finished, I surmised,
          with my conclusion hardly a surprise.

(C)2010, Christos Rigakos
For lack of a better genre or poetic form description I would categorize this poem as a Linked Quatrain-Couplet Narrative (or a Venus and Adonis Narrative--after the Shakespeare poem of the same name written in iambic pentameter), and somewhat in the style of William Wordsworth's "Daffodils" (1804), written in iambic tetrameter.

After more extensive research, I found this to be a Narrative of Sicilian Heroic Sestets (of rhyme scheme ababcc), not to be confused with the Italian form (of rhyme scheme abbacc).  The Sicilian Heroic Sestet is identical to the English Sestet (which I believe was brought to England from Italy by Petrarch?)

As an extra aside, this form was inspired in me after reading a poem of similar form inside the wrapper of a Chocolov chocolate bar.  Great chocolate, great poetry.
731 · Apr 2012
since our parting
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
since our parting
we've become intimate
the side of her face
receiving my kisses
from a distance

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
Christos Rigakos Mar 2014
i've sculpted marble into her image,
a statue, flawless, down to each detail,
her beauty true and that of mind in scrimmage,
her replication filled with much travail,

upon the sight of it in its completion,
i gasped when i beheld its perfect form,
and to protect this object most like Grecian,
i built a temple 'round it for the storm,

one day, as i prepared my veneration,
i found her in the temple stumbling drunk,
and sharing with another my oblation,
unsheathed his sword and deeply in her sunk,

oh, never build a temple to a mortal,
for she'll escape to heaven through that portal

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Dec 2012
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
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet

Written today, December 21, 2012, the supposed "End of the World" by those "experts" who came to this conclusion because the Mayan calendar was unfinished (or rather discontinued).  Yes, for many people today is the end of their world, just as every other day is the end of the world for other people whose time in this Earth is up.
Christos Rigakos Jan 2013
my love and i, while pondering one's death,
          and counting all the ways which one may die,
discussed what happens after one's last breath,
          exhaled into the void of empty sky,
discussed the many ways a man may go,
the best and worst of ways which we both know,
          which do allow or stifle one's goodbye.

she asked, just playfully, how i should die?
          i thought of it, and i began to say:
"i'd shrink to four inches and here i'd lie,
          and you'd just walk and go about your day,
and as you'd come my way, you'd spot me here,
with gladness and without an ounce of fear,
          you'd step your heel and crush me on your way."

with furrowed brows she asked me then, "but why?
          of all the many ways you'd choose this one?
and why choose me to cause your life to die,
          i'd be to you a weight so many ton?"
"because," I said, "how fitting it would be,
that my dear crush should crush the life from me,
          as every day her loveless smile has done."

with eyebrows raised, quick lowered, she agreed,
          she understood i understood her well,
in truth her selfishness was fueled by greed,
          unhidden, she admitted this to tell,
"it's true, i have not been a dear of late,
and for you i no longer palpitate,
          so i'd agree to end you with this spell."

"please let me know if you have found a way,
          and to your wished-for end i would oblige,"
she answered, clicking heels she walked away,
          i watched her shoes slam down and quickly rise,
in sync to my own heart this heartless lass,
who found me lacking, of a lower class,
          had spoken truth concealed within her eyes.


(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Septet Narrative
712 · Apr 2012
A Quiet Storm
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
Silence,
but tap-tapping
raindrops on window-sill.
Night sky's rumbling thunder in the
distance.


(C)2002, Christos Rigakos
Cinquain
Christos Rigakos May 2013
when they move on they never look behind,
determined eyes seek only what's ahead,
and those they've left behind are left for dead,
their memory does every heel step grind,

so no old fiber to their thought can bind,
and to alleviate that awful dread,
which weighs upon the heart like heavy lead,
they hum the olden song of auld lang syne,

and those they've left behind for some odd sin,
who long for, are deprived of, one last kiss,
and haunt their memories with dreadful sigh,

forgotten for they've surely never been,
no more in recollections do exist,
they shrivel as a memory and die

(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Mar 2012
oh how coincidental is this fate
to grab a seat within a new classroom
between my current and my former mate?

who knew that destiny could calculate
the weaving of three strings upon its loom?
oh how coincidental is this fate

the swinging of the pendulum so great
within the grandpa clock before the room
between my current and my former mate?

my senses convolute when both create
a rare concoction of combined perfume,
oh how coincidental is this fate

when memories flash back and forth in state
my heart from extreme ends being consumed
between my current and my former mate?

eventually they'll meet, communicate
the sign of the beginning of my doom
oh how coincidental is this fate
between my current and my former mate?

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Villanelle
Christos Rigakos Jun 2014
In country fields on starry Autumn nights,
I call your name, and listen to the breeze,
to catch the whispering, among those lights,
that rustles in the leaves upon the trees.

Just barely do I hear their murmurings,
and translate utterance of twinkling fires,
in hopes the skies have heard of all the things,
pertaining to the one my heart desires.

I call your name and ask but every star,
where have you gone, and when will you return?
My eyes glance to those lights both near and far,
to answer me before they fade and burn.

At times the ones we love, most sorely missed,
are those whose lips our own have never kissed.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Nov 2014
In someone's mind there is a place of graves,
And farther still a darkened potter's field,
Where loved ones in memoriam are saved,
And those whose names should never be revealed.

I blow through iron bars and paths 'tween stones,
To find the carvings of my former name,
Which mark the resting place of my dear bones,
And date the finite years of my life's fame.

More anxiously I blow into the field,
Instinctively the farthest place most dark,
Where frost and ice have most securely sealed
A single mound without a numbered mark.

I reach for bones I can no more disturb,
Discarded far enough to not perturb.


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
English (Shakespearean) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos May 2012
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
Villanelle
677 · Jul 2012
whoever you were
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
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
Spenserian Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Mar 2012
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
Villanelle
673 · Apr 2012
coughing up
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
coughing up
not able to
his breathing tube


(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Haiku
Christos Rigakos Dec 2012
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
A Septet.
672 · Apr 2012
My Alice in Chains
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
Alice In Chains embodies my soul,
complete reflection of my toll,
their addiction, and my addiction,
same in pain and all affliction,

Drugs for them and love for me,
equal in savage dependency,
taken away from us, we tremble,
I and my Chains, in this, we resemble,

In howling minor keys they play,
matching my feeling, enhancing its way,
expressing with lyrics so concrete and cold
the burning blackness of our broken soul.

(C)1999, Christos Rigakos
Standard Quatrain.
667 · Aug 2012
Confessor
Christos Rigakos Aug 2012
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
Just an experiment with an "abc abc def def" rhyme scheme in iambic hexameter.
666 · Apr 2012
fluttering wings
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
fluttering wings
suddenly a bare branch
left shaking
my heart soars to the skies
with the thought of you

(C)2007, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
Christos Rigakos May 2012
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
Villanelle
Christos Rigakos Sep 2012
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
Blank Verse
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
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
Spenserian Sonnet
653 · Apr 2012
Arise, Lover!
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
arise!
dearest lover
from my lonely longing
words of wishful rememberance
arise!

arise!
i command you
with desperate words aflame
like coals smoldering within me
arise!

arise!
or be consumed
i will and burn ablaze
for heat as this cannot be held
arise!

arise!
my screams whisper
my moans twist up in smoke
in memory alone you smile
risen.

(C)2002, Christos Rigakos
Cinquain Sequence
Christos Rigakos Mar 2012
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
Villanelle
635 · Apr 2014
Future Terran Politics
Christos Rigakos Apr 2014
The congressman from Mars whose many gaffes
Led to his drop in ratings at the poll,
And whose awful decisions marred his role,
Had found his explanation drowned in laughs.

And following his footsteps and his paths
The congressman from Venus bared his soul,
Explained why his career has borne its toll,
By drawing on his skin some stats and graphs.

Because I'm green, the Martian dared to tell
Constituents, that's why I'm hated so!
Because I'm purple, the Venusian cried

Unto an Earth whose races blended well
To shades of black, and who have learned to know
That gaffes behind a color can not hide.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet
Christos Rigakos Oct 2012
Where do you suppose she goes to stay,
to be with her secret lover?
I 'd bet you a bet, it's not far away.

The place where she goes, when she goes to play,
those games with her secret other,
where do you suppose she goes to stay?

I followed her round the town one day,
with discretion she couldn't be bothered.
I 'd bet you a bet, it's not far away.

She walked from her office not too far away,
oblivious to me undercover.
Where do you suppose she goes to stay?

She met a young man, in his arms she was splayed,
I filmed this and sent to her mother.
I 'd bet you a bet, it's not far away,

the beating she'd get for the rest of the day,
from mother and father and brother.
Where do you suppose she's now forced to stay?
I 'd bet you a bet, it's not far away.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos
Villanelle
621 · Apr 2014
Old Timer's
Christos Rigakos Apr 2014
She often seems confused, and pauses midway
through a task, unsure which way to go,
and drops her task to move on to another.
With hurting feet and tunnel vision, hearing
muffled, voices staticky and loud,
confusion is a sea she cannot swim.
She is an hourglass, her memory,
slow falling through the hole, and all her days
are passing through a chasm out of reach.
The old one slowly turning back to child,
needs mothering from children till she's born.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Blank Verse
620 · Oct 2012
father's face
Christos Rigakos Oct 2012
father's face
buried in his hands
the weight of grief




(C)1999, Christos Rigakos
Haiku
Christos Rigakos Mar 2014
Your love, with anguish, shows me passageways,
To exit doors and places of escape,
That I may flee impending sorrow's scrape,
Against my heart-skin in the coming days.

But love's advice begins my own malaise,
I'm smothered as under a weighty drape.
My heart compressed then loses its true shape,
While trampled under words of your own phrase.

I'd live serenely separate from this pair,
You often warn so bluntly yet so coy.
The thought of this is more than I could bear.

I'd rather live in service to your care,
Caressing you through duty or through joy,
Than live on loveless in such deep despair.

(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet
611 · May 2012
if you had died
Christos Rigakos May 2012
if you had died
i could have kept your love
and bronzed your memory
like little baby booties on
the mantle over the fireplace

instead you lived
and ran with love away
and left me with an urn
the ashes of your love
whose form i can't discern


(C)2001, Christos Rigakos
603 · Apr 2012
a clearance sale
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
across the street
a clearance sale
at the antique shop
i wonder if they carry
my old lover's heart

(C)2002, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
595 · Jul 2012
at the head
Christos Rigakos Jul 2012
at the head
of the casket
receded hairline

(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Haiku

Rest in Peace, dad.
Christos Rigakos Apr 2014
Oh, Love's infinity he often feigns.
The arrow's tip is buried in the heart,
Yet Cupid's weapon penetrates in part.
Though head pierce deep the tail outside remains.

As Love's infection spreads about through veins,
Its sweet eternal myth sets out its start.
Yet myths fade soon and hearts are torn apart,
And one who loved before so soon disdains.

Because the hand can touch the arrow's tail,
It pulls the length of it out from the soul,
The Mythic Love then dissipates to cold.

They all who buy the myth are doomed to fail,
Becoming merely halves who once were whole,
And fabled myths become a thing of old.


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Italian (Petrarchan) Sonnet
590 · Apr 2012
waiting silently
Christos Rigakos Apr 2012
waiting silently
by the crematorium
the ashes
fall from her cigarette
without a sound

(C)2005, Christos Rigakos
Tanka
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