THE OTHER SIDE OF GREECE

A COLLECTION OF MEMORIES

 

careless young rabbit

among the olive trees

the buzzard swoops

in dying light

a blizzard of bats

flees into the night

wearing their white socks

fruit trees tread warily

mindful of the ants

cars hum their tunes

race towards the setting sun

the olive tree’s seen it all

a light across the bay

quarters the dying day

at last the sea can sleep

swimming near Lixouri

reflection on the water

how fine you look

young boy

coaxing his old dog

finally leaves him behind

tethered boats

restless, rampant

winter waiting in the bay

last visitors gone

hotel echoes

to the slumbers of the sea

a change in the wind

thrashing the palms

lashing the tourist home

sepia photos

times I never knew listen

  as they reminisce

 

the music of the waves plays on

echoes from the summer

as birds fly south

this ancient city

lizard on the hot wall

escapes in a flash

driving to the sun

sha sha sha as the poplars

pass my open window

 

 

C.P.CAVAFY

 

Your words drip with ancient longing

hanging in the air like succulent clusters 

waiting to be plucked and savoured,

or like the olive, grown on branches

gnarled and wizened with time.

I rejoice in your summer rain and winter sun

recovering through your art the effort to create mine.

 

 

LONELY PLACE

 

Sometimes

it’s a lonely place I run to,

a place I’ve been many times

to hide

from myself

or from whom I’m expected to be -

just an ordinary place I’ve come to,

a place I’ve seen before

many times

but only in dreams.

 

 

MELISSANI

 

Melissani -

on your inviting subterranean cold;

scarcely a ripple in lake or sky,

drifting,  deeper.

Some time ago

a roof fall blocked your way -

just part of your act,

a reminder of unforeseen power

and the need to adapt.

 

 

LASSI

 

The first time I saw Lassi

I knew why you had come -

those placid blue waters

shining with memories shared

and times spoken of

unabashed, unscared.

 

I understand

the forces drawing you,

the instincts calling you

to account,

but you didn’t –

not totally,

leaving me waving

like a fool.

Was it this distance you wanted, to keep us apart

in case I felt your shame – what shame?

Or lost my faith?

Perhaps, but just perhaps

better to take a risk,

or was the risk of losing what we had

too great?

The next time I saw Lassi

I thought

I knew why I had come –

to share - perhaps reclaim, a memory.

But a cold wind now blows,

too late in the season.

An armada of waves

warns those still at sea

that these are your memories,

not mine.

 Here is where you sat and laughed

and here must lie your dreams

and your final farewell.

As the sun behind Lixouri dies

I know mine lie elsewhere

though I am glad to have known your Lassi.

So, I hear you softly saying,

‘Go, now you have seen;

let these shadows drift,

follow dreams of your own’.

 

 

ATHENIAN DAWN

 

The first fingers of light

like a lover

gently lift the covers of darkness

caressing the tops of apartment blocks

daybreak seeping down their drowsy faces. 

First joggers pad softly below my window

preparing for the adrenaline rush of day

that even now stirs and growls.

Early risers beneath the tired palms

turn their backs as their dogs

irrigate bins and benches

the cool beds of flowers.

 

The grandest scenes of this city

have been viewed, snapped and stored

but the play rolls on

along busy streets and squares

that don’t complain,

indifferent to their shabby chic

their magnificent wretchedness

and us, just passing through.

 

 

SUNFLOWERS

 

Shining faces listen

to the whispering wind

absorbing the warmth

and comfort of the sky

while they await the artist

who will cut them down to size,

remodel in a vase

for all to feast their eyes.

 

 

OLYMPIA

 

Though sun and earth grew tired

of your crowning glory,

allowed your proud columns to tumble

and weeds to grow,

olive and oleander entwine their roots

round ancient stock of

moral splendour that still haunts

timeless as stars -

here in your heat and dust,

values we still cling to,

to savour and refresh our lives

 – we must.

 

 

HUMMINGBIRD

 

Like the blackbird

singing in the dead of night

you sing alone

the outer world not listening

not entranced by your magic colours
that streak and glint on your miracle wing
teased by the plastic flower
that is your forest garden,
a glossy voiceless painting
in someone else’s hall.

 

 

SAMARIA GORGE

 

In oven heat

we stumble down the miles

over baked stones glaring
marble smooth
out of blasted rock
past blasted trees
pestered by blasted flies
till I’m on my blasted knees!

 

 

HAIL FAIR METEORA!

 

Hail fair Meteora!

Before me on the screen

Your sunlit smile shines softly,

teeth so sparkling clean,

 

rising every morning

like early morning dew,

your words you said caress my head

from when I’d had a few.  

You come to warm my cold front

soft words like April showers.

I listen to the weather changes

repeated for the next four hours

 

but now, no longer with me - 

my time zone’s been advanced
and no more I sit before you
thoroughly entranced.

But for me you’ll remain special -

my special weather girl,

even though I can barely tune in  

the Beeb's service to the world.

This man who kneels before you

for one simple fantasy begs -

that someday he can verify

the wonder of your legs.

 

Whether rooftop swept or mountainside

where gentle breezes blow

your hair adrift like skeins of gold

as you flick them to and fro.

Your face so mesmerizes,

I do not want to go.

I’ve forgotten what your forecast was -

plague of frogs or snow?

In my lonely cold apartment

you’re like a glowing ember

that melts my eyes and thaws my soul

from the beginning of September.

 I’d like a portable telly -

not to carry you that far –

just so in the depths of winter

your smile will defrost my car. 

But now I’m adrift in  a foreign land

and some-one else is on the telly

I’m not at all interested in his voice

or his big protruding belly.

 

I long to hear your lilting tones

bring calm to the world beyond-

to the storm-wracked east

to the African heat

to our friends across the pond. 

You give hope to everybody

the weather won’t be all that bad -

in fact, I bet you could convince us all

it’s the best they’ve ever had.