Telling.
On the news I see
in the cradle of mankind,
bloodlust  rampaging.
Killing machines laughing
as children cry and mothers
stare silently at nothing.

Telling.
On my porch I see
three birds sharing a perch,
eating seed.
One brown, one red,
one olive green.
One gently feeding the other.

Telling.

r ~ 4/9/14

Nice to see you are opening the shop.

Saying this
I search for lines of distress on her face
On her widowed eyes a painful strain
For when went her man
The way she wailed
It seemed she would never be sane again!

She smiles *now I run it alone
Sale is low
And I’m weighed down
With his pile of debt!

In her smile are hopes regrown
A telltale sign of grit

The show must go on.

Getting out from the waves
She walked away to the rice bran haze
As the summer heat drove the sands mad
I knew what she had gone for.

She would hunt it like a child any day
A few seashells if came her way
My skin burning and eyes dust borne
Moments all to herself she desired alone.

On the distant shoreline when she was a speck
Stirred me a tremor then a rumbling quake
What if so happens she is gone too far
Turned a sea nymph to return never!

The tides were falling weaving a lull
The sun slanted on the wings of gull
I rose up to find sand prints of her trail
She bloomed like a hope in her handful of shell!

Things that **** me
Only thrill me.
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust,
Drinking in the hopes that my bones
May begin to rust.
It may be a little crazy,
But I like to see the cuts.
Shoot me shoot me
For the ****,
I know its deadly
To take these pills.
Mirror mirror
Can't you see?
All I am
Is killing me

Glass is cheaper than the stone skin
tattooed on their foreheads. The palace, a splendid fantasy,
half built when the idea will be abandoned.

Freedom is a powerful nuisance! Their only
sin is looking at the world through rose-colored
glasses, make people feel at ease despite distress and disease.

The right wing redneck reactionary republicans continue
religious slaughtering. This nightmare scenario should
be nixed, said with a sneer, I hope they’re wearing warm socks.

Still, I couldn’t crack the code. Changed envy to admiration
to cultivate mystery rare as it is rewarding. The weird thing
is the high-end whiskey collecting dust on the on the shelves.

Nothing short of astonishing, like the space farers gazing back
at the home planet. Distant. They fascinate people.
Animate the inanimate environment. Isolation above.

Looking back I am ashamed of the mess we are leaving
our children and grandchildren. How to allocate these limited
resources? The key is to engage. No easy fixes.

he swore
he didn't have a gun
"Kurt Cobain"
etched in stone
on this songless night

(C)2001, Christos Rigakos

Flavors of Love Please Poem
2/26/2014

I don't want to live in a world without love.

Without cheap dates.
Without wallowing and wine,
wondering where things went wrong.

Without melodrama,
Without attempts to understand,
why we get hurt when we open ourselves up.

Maybe to others,
a world without love
would be alright.

Maybe to others,
they don't need those special feelings,
to be feeling just fine.

But not me, no no.
I need to live in a world with love,
a world with laughter and a world with light.

A world that doesn't forget to include the things,
that aren't quite so nice,
like someone turning away from you,
but you know their ****** expression anyways,
cold as ice.

A world that is harsh and tormenting,
where you can easily retrace the footsteps,
that once held two pairs of feet,
or you can retreat,
but would much rather follow.

I demand to see the stars disappear into sunlight,
trying to decide which option is the better kind of shine bright.
A bold blazing sun, easy to spot in the sky,
or the millions of stars that look like they are struggling to fly.

And I,
don't want to give up on love anymore.
I just needed some time to press my heart's snooze button,
and snore away the hurt.

But now,
I am wide awake and hear my heart's drum beating,
it calls to me at night,
pleading for something it is needing.

The sizzle of eggs I cooked in a pan for breakfast,
with little flecks of salt and pepper,
a slice of butter on some whole-wheat toasted bread.

Together, this breakfast conglomeration,
told me what the point of this poem is.
To live on, without love, is to eat boring eggs.

And I,
would rather live a life filled with hate,
then be stuck eating what is served to me on a plate.

Give me all the flavors of love please.

My Lighthouse Poem
4/4/2014

You make my toes tingle,
I never noticed them before.
You're like my hit single,
in my mind every time I walk out the door,
to start my day.
You brighten my soul
and one touch makes me feel a million different ways.
One more positive than the other,
but each heading in the same right direction,
to you.

I can't wait to trace every single millimeter of your body,
like I am on a treasure hunt.
And all I can find at each spot I come into contact with is golden beauty.

Your words are pure and unadulterated,
like the low sodium soy sauce and fresh ginger with sushi.
Ooo, there's just something in your smile,
and no it's not spinach.
It's a reflection of a happier me,
knowing that I could be with you and be happy.

I'll call you my lighthouse,
and nobody will understand.
They'll think I was a lost ship,
and that you helped me reach the sand.

Really it's because you are a stable structure,
out at an emotional sea in a dark sky night.
Really it is because none of the others compare,
to your special kind of shine bright,
with that light,
that I'm fixated on.

On our first date we played bingo and shuffleboard.
On our second date, sushi and tarot cards.
Who knows what crazy adventures any future dates will be,
but who really cares when they include you and me?
Yeah, that's right, it's enough with just you and me,
my lighthouse.

When the thought of an absence
tears at the spirit
leaving a vacuum in its place
Perhaps it shall be called love

When a life would freely
be given for another
without thought or hesitation
Perhaps it shall be called love

When the happiness of another
means more than ones own
Perhaps it shall be called love

When walking away is the only option
to allow for that happiness
Perhaps it too, shall be called love