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Spiros Zafiris May 2013
he knew
this was the anniversary
of his mother's passing
yet, he would verify;

fully aware,
a clear mind, its crystal memory,
would mourn this frailty of his

not to mention, morning birds
and the tree blooming intermittently,
out the balcony door, each day--

these friendships now at risk,
if he looks up when
the most important lady
left him alone to lament and praise
her final acceptance--
there, where her raised arms
kept reaching for, towards the end
~~
..channeled; spirit Harmony; reaching
into the poet's mind..(C)2013 Spiros Zafiris
~~
Spiros Zafiris Feb 2013
we shook hands
tell-all flashes flared up
this man's shame

I had vowed to curb this curse--
to stop spying on anyone's history;
to not stall long enough,
with streetwise small talk,
until I absorbed every gory secret

fair play denied,
my lips dished out a long enough topic
and by the time we parted,
I knew all
~~
..Sunday, Jan. 13, 2013..(C)2013 Spiros Zafiris
~~
Spiros Zafiris Jan 2013
Helga, dear Helga,
perhaps, one day, you'll read this poem
it is my apology for waving you
and your friend away
that day, soon after I awoke
from the eighteen-day coma
I was ashamed, dear Helga,
for having lost my voice

and three years later,
when we were sixteen, at night school,
when you briefly stood next to me,
though my voice had more than somewhat returned
I was shy and in shock
I hadn't learned, yet,
how to take a lady in my arms...

all these years later, dear Helga,
please understand, I think of you
I'm grateful for your visit that day
and see, right here, this poem proves it
~~
..Sunday, Jan. 27, 2012..(C)2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Harmony; reaching
into the poet's mind
~~
Spiros Zafiris Jan 2013
when the demonic wildcats
go on a feeding frenzy
at the very center of my being
while I sleep, and, yet, have
been kindled fully aware,
I wait for the attack to intensify
because, at the very crescendo
of their out of control gnawing,
it is then that the voice of my guiding spirit
comes to the rescue: There is only one God,
is repeated, over and over

and from whichever stygian forest fire
they were sent, to attempt to possess me,
back there they always quickly fade
--
..Monday, Jan. 7, 2013..(C)2013 Spiros Zafiris
..NOTE: this poem is of similar theme as my
poem 'Another Demonic Episode', 2002/2010 versions
~~
Spiros Zafiris Dec 2012
the co-pilot, seated on the left, would scowl
the pilot was more amenable to small talk,
on this, our free ride: Miami to San Juan

the brother-in-law gave us a choice,
Puerto Rico or Equator
the ten or so days of our sleeping
on their living-room floor
were fun, the first three days
and he, a Miami airport guy,
offered one of two free flights

having chosen San Juan,
and not caring about the blood-thirsty Bermuda Triangle,
there we were :
in a C-24 cargo plane with its load
of five race horses, well stalled, well fed,
large, leather, hay-full pouches easily
accessible in front of each stall; one in front
and four others; two behind the first
and two others behind these; far
down, in the tail section, sat a man—
his job, caring for the horses

I don't know much about cargo planes
as a matter of fact, it may have been a C-26
but C-24 twirls my eyebrows more—
and I didn't expect it to be so cold up there

soon enough, I found out
we wouldn't arrive in jet-preen time,
perhaps in seven hours, or more

my love, cushion-comfy on the floor
next to the captain, stared, as I did,
to the ever-present, mountainous stars
housed not in mere magnificence but in abstract vision
you will learn much, staring at us,
we both knew we heard
by the briefest glance at each other's eyes

hour after hour fleeted,
my lovey fast asleep, captainside:
the first boom didn't startle
but the horses knew better
soon enough, the yoke started to jump
pilot and co-pilot, 30-year veterans,
tried to reveal only Calm
but the co-pilot started talking to
San Juan—I was to discover we
were, perhaps, forty minutes from the airport
then: neigh-EEEE, the horses
crazied themselves, each kicking
his stall—for, by now,
the one boom had transformed into:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
and the yoke seemed to fly off
the captain's hands

at one point, as the co-pilot rose,
I could swear he briefly pulled his hair,
as he went behind the cockpit—searching, searching

he found what he was looking for:
a 20-gallon can of fuel—but it could
have been only 10 or 15
my baby was still fast asleep—the horses,
by now, had gone berserk—the caretaker, at the very
end, seemed to be having a spiritual experience,
ready to enter heaven; I may have seen an angel's
hand on the ready


speedily, the co-pilot unwound the cup
of a thermos and handed it to me
I was thinking: they will never find our bodies
and almost dared to awaken lovey;
how she kept on sleeping was a case of
supernal intervention

and lo and behold, the co-pilot placed
a finger on a tiny hole, leading to the fuel tank
and ordered: hold the thermos cup and don't shake—
I'll fill it and you pour the fuel into the hole

there we were:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
heee-heee-heea—horses
voicing their concern
and with the first cup-full, I didn't spill
a drop—but there were more than two
hundred—perhaps three hundred to go

every time more than 7 drops skipped
the little hole, both the co-pilot and I
deathrattled in nightmares of unclogging vascular tease

we were twenty minutes away,
by this point, and the plane
started to hum
it must have been more than 280 thermos-cup
loads, the little hole accepted—and
perhaps 3 or 4 spilled down

was, perhaps, 3:00 A.M. when we landed
my love started to awake as
the wheels hit the runway

the airport was quite empty
of passengers or, almost, anyone
I wasn't in a great hurry
to tell lovey

mostly, clearly, I remember
us passing the pilot and co-pilot, inside,
after a while, sitting on chairs facing a closed snack bar

such blank looks I've
never seen, before or after;
a crippled fuel gauge pin
almost killed the horses
~~
..Dec. 24,2012..© 2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram; reaching into
the poet's mind
~~
Spiros Zafiris Dec 2012
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prostrate in his chair
the soliloquy tempers his jowls
snippets of swivel chair longing
already waylaid,
the continued flow of words
forbids, even, a glimpse back:
when the sister with her hubby
were banging on the hotel door
to stop him from murdering la belle
when all she was doing--
was, partaking of constant, voracious
upper torso howling, a la ***

he stops in mid-flight,
just before the crescendo,
suspecting he should have paused sooner,
to smile--rehearsal be ******!
~
..Dec. 12, 2012..(C)2012/2015 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram; reaching into the poet's mind
~
Spiros Zafiris Dec 2012
clothed
in the tunic of the ancients,
my ballpoint
suggests, now, total freedom--
bypassing oceans--astral hymns to write
~~
..circa 2011..(C)2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Harmony
~~
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