The wrath inside you boils from your rage;
your anger elevates to drown your sense.
My blindness has deluded me as sage,
serene and irreproachably intense.

It’s likely that my passive nature’s pushing
my little brother, you, – who hates that term –
straight to hear discordant, silent ringing
as wrath’s contorted demon crisply worms

into your weakened ear to fill your mind
with bubbles, red, and bursting sound, and DARK –
which spread like darkened dust-storms into mine.
That ready wrath, red and quick to spark

burns best those minds invulnerable to sin –
such smug-singed souls sink – slaves to self-delusion.

The clouds curl over mountains cold and blue
and rains hiss whispers back to thunder's speak;
so all is mist and green and gray of hue
and in this land a child would wonder seek.
Cowichan coat warms her in its magic
with knitted forms of mystic dancing deer.
That she's alone might seem all too tragic,
but in her mind all that she dreams is here.
She holds an abalone , pearlescent grey
And wonders at the colours caught inside.
She lifts it inside out up to the day
and wishes every heartfelt dream applied.
The abalone then vanished all aglow
and in its place appeared the bright rainbow.

***** he stands; (he has no midnight plans,
but one). From stroke of dawn, to coming dusk
he plays himself the song of lonesome hands:
first lost, then found, himself alone in lust.
The pleasure passes quickly; shaft will fret
through spasms rushing body (stiff and red)
‘till passion splurging, flying – white and wet –
then falls to bed in blissful blank of head.
The dripping love and ecstasy, once mine,
has gone and passed – the small false-death
of rhyme;so still, I sit, past stupor *** divine:
(the ***-less *** that’s made for private time).
So help yourself, but please, take note of this:
to play is fun – but nothing like a kiss!

Why do I freeze under that sight of thine?
It is not fear… Or is it? Could I guess?
Like I do not belong to breathless moment's line
And try to hide from thee and silently confess
What plot we chose to run this little play?
The truth behind the curtains, masked faces,
Betrayals, dramas, healing, searching for the way
To cease the sorrow leaving selfish traces
I look at thou and wish to be that calm
An' bear the constant "four" inside the head of mine
To press my chin against thy soothing palm
And listen to the double-beating lie
     Then as the silence covers me with sleeping veil
     There's nothing left I was supposed to fail

'Tis not a string of my beloved soul
That sounds in your heart
But was it really touch and go
For us to end apart?
I was so gently touched by thee,
Alas, by thee was left
And if you think 'tis fair fee
Consider it as theft
And there, I see, we go again
Our plot's as old as Time
We're running circles, both in vain
Performing silly mime
     The future's vague, the sсript is played
     For us, perhaps, 'tis just too late

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

O'er scores of years and hundreds more we sing
the song of lady liberty across
land and shining seas where freedom rings
of strength in overcoming all we've lost.

The boys in green died camouflaged as men;
free to fight, they fought for freedom's rein,
and liberty and justice galloped when
the wind that raised our flag then sailed the slain

home: where the heart and Stars and Stripes were sewn
of nation's loosened threads of flags and sails.
The final folds undone as taps is blown;
brave souls are set to sea beneath its flails.

United by our rights, and one of which
states: "all men are created equal"-ish.

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

Isolation the main cause of a person’s dread
The monster abandoned like a child in a dumpster
The monster or beast with those seven heads
Created bigger than 7 feet but still a youngster

Soon enough it just became a killer
It used the night time as its cover
It came out at night like thriller
The only thing it wanted was a lover

Love of course, being its buried treasure
If he couldn’t have a wife then no one could
Killing my beautiful wife gave it pleasure
While spying with a family it worked with wood

The hideous creature with a warm heart
Maybe me creating it was a mistake from the start

Deep in the screws of his lonely keep,
Waiting for word of a land promised,
Sentinel man watches across the sea
Never knowing faith was so dishonest.
Across the sea of doom lies his joy,
What awe, so spindrift were his days
And what lay behind was no corridor
And all his dreaming has left no ways
Forward, but to sink with hapless sorrow
And flowing to the thirsty ocean seas,
He pours another drink, toasts tomorrow
And all the empty horizons of history.
Spiraling down he leaves his diggs,
Praying, death be not a doornail's rig.

Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.

I did not look back following the light.   
As copper chimed in the rooting cellar
Of the morn, my heart muffled in delight,
Still in shroud, my father farmed the water.
Set his son to love and the kindred waters,
That man of fire swelled, plumbed with pride,
Made of self, stride and hollow pipes to solder  
His starry hands and elbows panicle the sky,  
But I, being water sign, a young Orpheus
Born in the underworld, found music and words
And maidens of air and earth and wanderlust
To the sun I ran, my fathers call not heard.
I did not look back following the light
Until my love called delivering the night.