Lilith's revenge - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Lilith the first woman

“Her gates are gates of death,
and from the entrance of the house
she sets out towards Sheol”*

Thursday’s child galloped bareback

from the bleak wastelands of the desert
into Inanna's garden;
she sprinkled verses at her feet and whispered
'On the seventh day, I will be your only lover.'

I will always be her lover - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Passionate Embrace: Evoking Erotic Poetry

I live inside her twisted mind.
There was no choice. She left the door
ajar and casually asked me to come in—
youth can be so careless these days.

Sailing - a poem by Chris Zachariou

sailing to the edge - 

photo by Dorsal_fFn on flickr 

We sail our boat to the edge
with its hull full of words
and its mast made of dreams.

The deluded king - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Arkansas butterfly

The metronome strikes
a thousand beats—tic, tic, tic—
monotonous and dull;
a toc never follows a tic.
 

The Guitar Laments - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Federico Lorca

In Alfacar, the poet
dreams of gypsy stallions
in the Andalusian
hills and valleys.

Springtime - a poem by Chris Zachariou

 

there'll never be another springtime

In the season of dusk and sadness,
I recall flights of little swallows

heading down south

in the sleepy skies of summer.

A Mirage on the Water - a poem by Chris Zachariou

 

Passion's Embrace in the Water

Each day at noon, I cycled
in the pungent fumes of melting tar
to a pubescent mirage by the water.

The Summit

 

Solitude by a Misty Shoreline

I had lived all my life in the foothills
of the angry mountain, cowering in
worn-out scrolls and faded manuscripts.
The early prophecy for me was harsh.
‘You were never meant to scale heights’
his voice warned me when I was seven.

The Assassin's Tale - a poem by Chris Zachariou

 

A Portrait of Federico Lorca

In a moment of confusion,
an uninvited shadow with
a medal dangling proudly
around his neck slithered
into the poet’s bedroom.

July 1974 - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Cyprus 1974

I.

A day in July—

fires, bombs, a storm of death.

The drums of war
—monotonous, incessant—
pierce the eery silence of TVs
and panic-stricken phones.

Depression- a poem by Chris Zachariou

 

Sadness, photo by Maraikuk

I look for solace;
I distort reality
I wreck the world.

Yesterday's café - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Melancholy Sunsets

In the dwindling light of autumn
Primrose Hill remembers springtime.

Dressed in blue remembered verses,
last year's memories shelter in the park;

little swallows with crippled wings

gather in the trees to dream of May

Atthis loves another - a poem by Chris Zachariou

love hurts

Parnassus was the prize.

She breezed, I struggled.

Soon I will be so very old

and now Atthis loves another.

"Go to her," I said and still I hoped;

but she stays silent.

Veronica - a poem by Chis Zachariou

Waterloo Bridge - by Monet

Perhaps she tried Johnny
but she couldn’t love you.

Did you struggle when
your lungs began to burn
until oblivion came?

Africa - a poem by Chris Zachariou

famine

a mother cradles

her tiny baby girl

but in her little chest

there is no more breath

and all that’s left around

is the smell of death

A sailor has to die - a poem by Chris Zachariou

The fratricides

The glorious colonel
—disguised as a future legend—
skulks in a musty cave, dispatching

urgent orders to his retreating army.

Yemen's children - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Children Suffering and Dying in Yemen

Our life:

four ruined walls without a roof
bombed schools, burned hospitals,

screams and panic in the streets

and there's no laughter in the little
children's garden anymore.

Theofani - Cyprus Poems

A Goblin tempts a maiden

Theofani wrecked in the scent
of Mary Jane, pirouettes late into the
night on the bridge of the village river.

The Troubadour's Flute - Cyprus Poems

A beautiful young girl enchants the boys in this coming-of-age poem.

We were both exquisite dancers.
Tranced in the scent of prime tobacco
from the burnt-out valley, we twirled each
day at noon on a highly polished music box
all through the scorching days of summer.

Winter - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Α Young Woman in a Field of Poppies

Camelot, cloaked in mists,

shimmers on the distant hilltops.
I see my footprints, faint and cracked

at its bolted gates.