Unilaterally Under the pressure of many changes, events, and years, always unforeseen, the body remains whole. It was covered, dressed in clothes upon clothes, overcoats, raincoats, heavy winter coats, blankets, helmets, flags, and umbrellas. The body is more naked in wintertime and the windowpanes freeze in the cold, nothing can be seen outside: the lumberjacks, the corner store, the army camp, nothing; the stove stuffed for years, and the walls blackened. The only thing he had left was to undress, throw the clothes on the floor and lie down on the clothes with his hands crossed, being bothered by the buttons, the matchboxes, the buckles and toothpicks forgotten in the pockets of his old pants.
FRIDAY Since then how many times a woman has passed before my eyes, with only her hair, her eyes, her breasts left on her and nothing else, mermaid traveling the pelagos and among these, the fresh air circulated like blue blood.
Craftsman of Wine Bowls On this wine bowl, made of pure silver for the house of Heraclides, where excellent taste reigns, look, here are elegant flowers and streams and thyme, and in the middle, I placed a beautiful young man, naked, erotic. He still has one of his calves in the water. I prayed, Oh Memory, to find you as my best helper, so that I might make the face of the young man I loved as it was. It was difficult, though, as it has been almost fifteen years since the day he fell, a soldier, in the defeat at Magnesia.
Angela I only remember the sea and the breeze swirling a song around your legs announcing in limpid mode the beauty of the earth I only remember the legs yearning for my fingertips and the breeze between them declaring in limpid mode the caressing of your skin I only remember the sea and the breeze swirling and touching your legs and between them your clit yearning for the circular movement of my finger
Hercules Irascible beast born executioner to face Poseidon’s spread evil that sprouts into the sea for memoirs will be written only on the edge of the sword that cracks the cheekbones of the night like walnuts. Castles of the night will fall like trees anatomy lesson on the body of the deed poisoned by his own hand his final chiton he put on like the lion of the desert puts on its bandolier
The tour group had broken down into sub-groups. Those who came to shop, the card players. The revellers and those in their pajamas by nine. None suited Winnie. She sat in front of the rattling air-con unit in her new swim suit, the price tag flapping in the frigid blast, trying to assimilate all the images that had invaded her thoughts these past few weeks. She’d hoped to assemble a scrapbook and fill it with ticket stubs and postcards. This is when we were in . . . She’d asked Harold Jr. to pick up some mayonnaise from the Save & Carry. Take your bike, she’d said. Watch for cars. That afternoon at the cultural village Karen had summed up her feelings exactly: Winnie was overwhelmed. Harold stumbled in at dawn. She got up to pee and removed his shoes. He groaned and curled into a ball. While helping him out of his shirt, an arm extended, Winnie caught a whiff of his fingers. She hadn’t been imagining things after all. She rose early. Their suitcases were piled by the door. The ferocity of Harold’s snoring startled the pigeons nesting on the crap-covered window ledge. The smoky morning air was brittle. A convoy of trucks ploughed in and out of the market, their wares tossed to the sawdust floor in a chorus of grunts. Overcrowded buses lumbered to a halt, passengers spilling from their orifices like rice from a sack. The bored young soldiers at the army checkpoint stared sullenly when she flashed her passport. At that hour hers was the only alien face on the street. Uniformed schoolchildren giggled in her presence, covering perfect, radiant smiles with cupped hands. – Haroo, ’Merican! they shouted gleefully. Haroo! With the hotel disappearing from view, Winnie felt as though she was doing something wicked. But at least she didn’t feel empty. Away from the hotel, away from Harold, the dull ache lifted like a cloud. In the park there was a stream guarded by a navy of proud, sleek swans. A gaggle of elders stretching to stringed melodies broadcast…
Hat He dons his hat peers outside at darkness under clouds laughter staggers like it craves light from under rock Look up he said the geese show a path toward the same direction keep your hat on and your arms keep them open a wish may embrace you or smiling passion kiss before you run into the ambush pain of having a hat on under lead clouds and the sun hiding behind
Darkness. Thick darkness like blood coagulating over a deadly wound. Heavy darkness, like a shroud, covers the body of logic. Immense darkness spread over the expanse of human common sense. Darkness in sunless prison cells and in the hearts of men; darkness in caves and in the lives of beasts, and beasts dressed in human skin. Darkness in the abyss of the unknown, in the abyss of death and darkness over it, where undoubtedly man stood by his effort to fool the crafty Hades or the cruel God of those days when man imprisoned man for his political affiliations, or for his foolishness to be a man in the days of the condors preying and feeding on carcasses and dead flesh. Such was the darkness spread over Hellas during the years of dictatorship. Darkness in the psyches of men holding other men prisoners, darkness in the psyches of men killing other men because they have the means, darkness, queen of life, except for those rare glints of light spreading their benevolent rays over lost battles, or lost lovers, or lost children who grew too old too soon, when there it was the celestial blue wad of uncertain inertia, with shapes of water which were described by continents. The continents possessed invisible lines, separating and protecting nations from the unknown. These are called borders and function as seawalls against meaninglessness. In the capital city of a nation whose border was marine, except for its interior portions, which were seldom acknowledged, stood…
…buffet table and approached him right away before she lost her nerve. “Professor Chopyk…” She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice. Be relaxed, natural. “I would very much like to see my cousins again before I leave the country.” He looked blank. “You remember, Mikhail and Marta and their daughter Nadya—they came to visit when I arrived in Moscow. It was quite a surprise to me to find that I had any family here…” she rattled on nervously. “Anyway, they live in Tula, you know, the samovar city. I’m proposing to take a quick trip there by taxi—yes, I know it’s expensive—(she forestalled that argument before it could get going)—and return tomorrow, before we leave for the airport. In fact, I could join you at the airport. Would you mind rounding up the students and getting them out to the airport by yourself?” Chopyk lingered before loading scrambled eggs onto his plate. He appeared to be considering this request with all the earnestness of a barn owl, his lips frozen in a pucker. “Well…I guess that would be satisfactory.” His face belied his words. “It seems that classes have gone by the board anyway. But please get to the airport in plenty of time. I don’t want to be waiting for you with Natasha hopping about.” “Oh, I would be absolutely sure to arrive in lots of time. Thank you for stepping in.” She turned to go. “And there’s one less for you to worry about—Paul is going with me to Tula, so don’t look for him with the other students. Okay?” She waved across the room cheerfully as if Paul were sitting at a breakfast table. “But what about your luggage?” Chopyk asked. “Oh, we’ll take it with us to Tula. Don’t worry. I’m sure this will work.” He frowned but turned back to the buffet as if there were more important issues to be considered among the bacon and sausage. She ate hurriedly, sliding three rashers of streaky bacon and cheese into a roll wrapped in a paper napkin and quit the dining room before anyone spoke to her. No Natasha in sight. This was the answer to a prayer: visit her cousins again just as she had wanted, and hide “Paul” away in Tula until just before they would board the plane. It had two advantages. Not only would Chopyk and presumably Natasha not worry about the two of them, but it would keep the others from becoming too involved in what was really her own dangerous escapade. Now, there were just a few details to take care of: phone her cousins and let them know about her impending visit, get Maria or someone…
The Studs The Circle H Ranch Willow Springs, Montana
Waking to the sweet sounds of the chickadees and sparrows serenading him from the lilac bushes outside of his window, Joel turned to the clock to see that it was only five a.m. Try as he might, Joel just couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than lying wide awake in bed, Joel quietly rose and headed to the kitchen. He made himself a coffee and then slipped outside to enjoy the java in the quiet of the cool morning air. Over the last few months, Joel had come to admire and respect the two buckskin stallions. Both Topsail’s Legend and Topsail’s Legacy were awesome animals and he took every opportunity he had to spend time with them. Harry had told him that both had been broken to ride, but with no shortage of other stock that needed training, it had been a few years since anyone had saddled either of them. Both stallions had but one exclusive purpose in life: to breed with the mares. There was something about Topsail’s Legend that showed he was the older of the two. Maybe it was his demeanor that communicated age and wisdom, or maybe it was something about his body that was starting to show his age. If you were to ask most people, they would tell you that the two stallions looked identical. Both were powerful physical specimens. In addition, both the older and younger stallion shared almost identical buttermilk coloring and rich black markings…
Hellenic Canadian Literature 
