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S I N Nov 2019
The herald of the day
Began his march again
As he did yesterday and will tomorrow
Making someone gay, to other - bringing sorrow
Attention paying no to people’s prayers
Towing in accordance with eternal plan
as if In chariot across the sky
Starting  in the east and westward strides to die, to sleep, no more, but just today,
To-morrow ‘gain unmooring from his bay
Adrian Williams Nov 2019
There! Right there in the middle!
                 You see it? 102.91!

Goodbye starless nights,
Goodbye rainy days
I’m setting off to Rhodes
-an Island full of grace

Breath-in the sunlight,
See a windmill blowing
through the sea
The shore is out of sight,

The sun goes down
-it’s my turn now
Sings preciously the night

Symi! Hidden place of
secret gardens-
Breakfast by the sea,
A kiss of time
A fool, laughing on a tree

Will I ever reach that bee?
Or shall I sit and listen
In my tower
Laughing on my olive tree...

Symi! Will it ever get so close?
See a saw and drink a drink
seek a bee and find a templar
town, Fascio di combattimento

Rhodes! Morning starts with
Afternoon continues-
musique d'ameublement

Rhodes! Island full of windy
cloudless skies,
Sands and mystic sights

Desert rose,
A kiss of time
A fool ageing on a tree

Will I ever catch that bee?
Or shall I stay and listen
to the waves
never found my home,
the home of many fates
                                the sea.....
From my concept project “Dinner time”
Aquila Venatici Oct 2019
The mirror can no longer bear to shatter at my reflection.
I have become something more than glass.
My hair is healthy for the first time in years,
and so, too, is my heart.
No fighter will ever again tread these trails.
I search for my Dionysus,
And leave my wars behind.
I have earned my peace.
Chris Saitta Sep 2019
She walked out of the watercolor storm of a fresco
Like a cowl-bound form in a light drizzle of rain,
Her mosaic tiles of ancient lovers’ eyes, ceramic-borne,
Just as her hips held the curves of the urn, kiln-fired,
The coiled heat of Greece still stinging through her flesh.

For her, the treetops had been the summoners of storm,
In kind, she poured down the wet grove of her hair, electral,
Pantheress of humid breath and fanged flair of lightning,
Tamed once in the cloudy cage of Pentelic marble of the Parthenon.

But the world piled dust before her, baiting with its groveled roads,
For her black mullings, much-tasted rain, and heaven’s leaves to fall.
If only the Michelango-to-come had carved the clouds of her
For the light to remain, shining its centuries,
Then maybe the thunder would have been left undone.
Luludi Aug 2019
The crickets at night remind me of the white sheets that covered us as we laid in love
on a Greek Island where we did it again and again and again...
under an olive tree, in the sea you made love to me
on that midnight stroll they knew I forever lost my heart to you
The crickets at night make me love you again and again and again...
Chris Saitta Aug 2019
Sunset is a washwoman's stream of rubia dyes
And the crushed scales from the Kermes insect,
While the loosened garments of life slide
Over the ancient liquidity of the hills rolling
As the mountains rolling as the seas rolling
As the clouds rolling as the graves rolling
Like eyes rolling back to sleep.

I am pressed for lullaby,
Not the pillow-clap of thunder or the ether songs of Persephone,
Biding by her asphodels with icen fingers from plum-colored hell.

But press my ear in my mother’s lap of ancient sun,
Of peplos and himation and stola,
And listen to the vines and bunched grapes
And all of heaven sink in its commodiousness.

Press my ear to the sun-fed heart that flows
To the furthest span of the cloth-seas of man and
The solemn songings of the ever-deepening sky.
My mother all along smoothing out the wrinkled sheet of sunlight.
The scales of the Kermes insect were used to make red dye in Ancient Greece and Rome.

Peplos and himation are Greek female clothing while stola is Roman.
Amaris Jul 2019
Gods, I’ve been forsaken!
I – formerly blessed by the sun –
Cry out to you, you who leave
My words unheard.
Once a daughter to kings, I wait
Inside an indiscernible prison
For the fall of my beloved city.
I predicted this, my people, but
I cannot blame you, my people
I spurned the sun, burned my fate
And now no one will heed me.
They tell me I am
beautiful, I am brilliant, I am
They tell me
To leave the future to kings.
I spoke to you, my people
The contents of the horse
I spoke to you, my people
When we shall catch our demise
With axe and fire, I rush,
Only to face the barrage of disbelief
I hear them laughing, my people
Those who will carve their place
Where you once stood
But you will not listen.
Based on Greek myth of Kassandra, a Trojan princess cursed by Apollo to speak prophecies but never be believed.
Chris Saitta Jun 2019
Greece burned its sins in the days of Rome,
City of wrinkled roads like the crushed pillow
From a sleeping lover who left long ago.  
The sea tends to its wool-gathering of sands.
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