I wish I could use words the way a woman can
Not struggling to let go of each one
But pouring them out like water
A smooth steady stream to comfort others or herself
A raging torrent to wear away the most recalcitrant earthen lump
A sudden drenching that dumbfounds the dignity of the pompous
A steady drip that will break the coldness of self serving reason
The pretty, witty music that entices one to dance
The shrewish cackling mockery that makes you feel you’ve got no chance
The calm murmur that can reach the loneliest, most troubled soul
The endless seeming wittering that will always have its goal
Or perhaps her words don’t mean anything at all
They just break the surface of previously parched land
Making little bubbles that pop before they’re seen
With a puff of freshly made air
The tiny gasp with which life can begin
And even when she’s silent and alone
The words will not stop
Going round and round her head until someone can be told
Pressing to express her joy and stress
The wild life she struggles to control
The dear words she wants to give with love
Which may escape to wreak revenge or savage the innocent
Which may be used against her by ruthless charmers
With echoes of what she wants to hear or damaging quotes
Of things she said but no longer feels or means
So sometimes even the best of women may feel defeat
Beaten by words she said that have been ignored
Or twisted till the love has been choked out of them
And they come back to haunt her, weary little beasts
That she must contain all over again, even though she knows
That soon they and the thoughts they hold will return to demanding life
And she that was once their mistress will become their slave
And that is why though talking with women has been one of the great joys of my life
Though I love the verbal jousting and respect a sound tongue lashing
I still hope and dream of the time when the woman I love and I
May be together in wordless peace
Comfortable enough with each other not to speak
Knowing that the immensity of silence
Is easily filled by our mutual love.

perhaps I was twenty-six
she looked me over and soon enough
the walk to her place was zip, zap, zoop;
meaning, although the barman called
me over to tell me she had recently stabbed
or had tried to stab a bartender from
down the street,
my only concern was another mandrax, a
joint of kashmir hashish with thick ***** streaks
and, most certainly, a new escape; a new woman

the floor (a penthouse apartment, mind you):
much water from an overflowing sink...then, there's
the layer of dust on the dishes of the dish rack...and, not
to forget, the four or five
frightening knives, all very reachable

then, she introduces me to her first
jumping up and down episode--hollering,
"you're my father! I must **** you!"

how I spent two or was it three days with
her dumbfounds me these days...the fool, me,
I remember, first turned off the water
and mopped dry the floor...the miracle of
how my hand awoke and grabbed her wrist,
with the blade's tip an inch from my heart,
will have to wait another session with Harmony
--that She may reach into my mind and
pull out a more clear version of the epilogue
of this is-it-a-poem which I've written
in numerous other versions over the years
~~
..(C)2011/2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Harmony; reaching into the poet's heart
~~

i can
conjurer up words
mix delicate
intricacies of verse
with poetic license
i might defecate
upon scripted genius
   of the past
a scourge
on the eloquence
   of perfected prose
a pariah
with semantics
that hang in the air
like a frequented noose
the rhetoric of
this rhetoric
both dumbfounds
   and delights
the agenda of the learned;
to supress
the syntax spat forth
the phlegm and catarrh
of a gut
of derivatives

i could compose
a verse
for young lovers
   to cherish
if i could
only stop
the rot;
genius
   nonsense
      or ignorance
i couldn't
tell you
which

right now
right here
i'm drowning
in thankfulness
that i feel like
i won't ever be able to
express in full,
so i write these words
to let out a little
water and get enough
space to breathe.

friendship is
the greatest gift
i have ever been
blessed with.
i'm indebted to you
in a way i could
never pay you back.
i know i haven't
been a good influence.
i was always bad
at being good.
i'm expelled now
and you're still here
by my side.
i know i saved you
from this punishment
but that won't ever be
enough.
even the most
taboo of my thoughts
don't send you running
and that dumbfounds me.
the moment that we have to leave
and part ways, is the moment
a piece of my soul is going to
die. i love you.
know that,
no matter what,
you will
always
have
me
as
a
friend.

4/4/2019

When I question,
Where do I go?
Who can give a suggestion,
What is there to show?
I am overtaken by exhaustion,
My head bowed low.
Greed no longer my intention,
I am ready to know.

I am fed up with always taking,
It is time for me to give.
I’m done with all this faking,
I must truly forgive.
Help me start the rebuilding,
It’s time I truly live.
It’s not just me who’s crying,
Others are more secretive.

I cannot take others’ problems,
I could never care enough.
It’s easier for he who condemns,
To empathize is truly tough.
Uncomfortable the situation becomes,
When stories are devoid of fluff.
Flirting with the doldrums,
Is not my favorite stuff.

God, if I am to have aid,
Then let it be only you.
I know you have already paid,
Even if sin appears to continue.
I need you to pursuade,
Only you can change a view.
You’ve already made the trade,
Now there’s nothing for me to skew.

I’ve made the decision,
To step down from my pride.
Now guide my vision,
Show me who is outside.
I am only an illusion,
You are all that is inside.
Without you, all is confusion,
All is clear, with you beside.

God, how can you see beauty,
In the vilest thing and enemy?
I fear for my own security,
But it’s not only about me.
To accociate would make me *****,
I can’t stand all their blasphemy.
Oh, my rotten mentality,
Erase my faulty dichotomy.

If I am to reach the world,
With your gospel message,
Let your plan be unfurled,
Show me partners on this voyage.
It’s not just me who’s called,
And the others are not in shortage.
I am no longer troubled,
God is our advantage!

His army is not just of one,
He is Lord of thousands,
If you stand still and listen,
Your heart heavily pounds.
His power matched by none,
His enemies He dumbfounds.
The victory He already won,
All by His commands.

Or was it the fourth.
my thirst to be an artist was
upended there
but I still try to do pure impressionistic,
faintly descriptive sketches
and still want to do watercolor landscapes
I was, though, in my element 5 or so years ago
doing sketches of famous people
and writing a small poem next to them on the same page
on the suggestion of my sister Nancy.
Great art dumbfounds me, it's so majestic
and especially complicated next to mine.
I still want to work with clay
and always wanted to be a sculpture
The French impressionists are my favorite
followed by classical great architecture
and the renaissance art.
I do like detail when it's somebody else doing it
but not when it's me
at least lately.
With my kind of glossing over things,
I'll never be remembered.
For sure Andy Warhol will.

*Charles Sturies