a poem a riddle a fiddle
a contribution by V. Polyzos
to World Poetry Day 2014
fill in the blanks of your ghosts
before I read you
inverted verses
or inverted comatose lives
a riddle or a fiddle
or a poem
mute morning
toothless
eyeless
helpless
21 circles old
so many disabled moons
crying for mercy
so many dislocated days
days for the sackcloth and the ashes
dust to dust you say
mothballs to mothballs
and poems to poems
you read their footprints
on the muddy myths
you read their fingerprints
on evasive legends
you guess their breath
on the mirror’s marshy surface
you see their blinking iridescence
in your stanzas’ photo finish
you pity their eyes glued
on rainbeaten windowpanes
you guess their agony hidden|
in low banks of clouds
you feel weak at the knees
fear seeping through your pores
and they say unto you
these ghosts
your skinny guests
alas poor Yorick
part your dreams with your arms
and the nightmares will appear
and they say unto you
call the Court to order please
the verdict shall be given in heroic verse
as a riddle or a fiddle
unless you let the light live at noon
at night you’ll hear a poem lamenting over
the dead moon
©Βασίλης Πολύζος 21.3.2014
εικόνα
V.P.
a photo by Helen
a contribution by V. Polyzos
to World Poetry Day 2014
fill in the blanks of your ghosts
before I read you
inverted verses
or inverted comatose lives
a riddle or a fiddle
or a poem
mute morning
toothless
eyeless
helpless
21 circles old
so many disabled moons
crying for mercy
so many dislocated days
days for the sackcloth and the ashes
dust to dust you say
mothballs to mothballs
and poems to poems
you read their footprints
on the muddy myths
you read their fingerprints
on evasive legends
you guess their breath
on the mirror’s marshy surface
you see their blinking iridescence
in your stanzas’ photo finish
you pity their eyes glued
on rainbeaten windowpanes
you guess their agony hidden|
in low banks of clouds
you feel weak at the knees
fear seeping through your pores
and they say unto you
these ghosts
your skinny guests
alas poor Yorick
part your dreams with your arms
and the nightmares will appear
and they say unto you
call the Court to order please
the verdict shall be given in heroic verse
as a riddle or a fiddle
unless you let the light live at noon
at night you’ll hear a poem lamenting over
the dead moon
©Βασίλης Πολύζος 21.3.2014
εικόνα
V.P.
a photo by Helen
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