#snow: a short story

[For Greek, scroll down. Not an exact translation]
[Για ελληνικά πηγαίνετε πιο κάτω. Δεν είναι ακριβής μετάφραση]
And then, he turned.
It lasted for just a moment, but he saw me. I mean, he really saw me, for what I am. Not in the way we look at each other but don’t really see. No, he looked right at me, then through me, as if he could see my heart beating under all the layers of clothing and skin I wore. I looked back. In his eyes, I found knowledge. Knowledge as old as the Earth herself – something neither I nor anyone else could ever own, sell or buy.
Suddenly, a shockwave rippled through his mighty body. He made no sound in death, not even as he collided with the ground.
I hadn’t even heard the gun go off.
The huntsman’s voice came from somewhere far away, as though it belonged to a parallel reality.
‘Wolves are dangerous, kid. That monster coulda killed you.’
That night, it snowed.
Και τότε γύρισε.
Ήταν μόνο μια στιγμή αλλά με είδε. Εννοώ, είδε στ’αλήθεια αυτό που είμαι. Όχι με τον τρόπο που κοιτάμε εμείς χωρίς να μας βλέπουμε. Όχι, με κοίταξε στα μάτια, με διαπέρασε, λες και μπορούσε να δει την καρδιά μου να χτυπάει κάτω από όλα τα στρώματα ρούχων και δέρματος που φορούσα. Τον κοίταξα κι εγώ. Στα μάτια του, κρυβόταν γνώση. Γνώση τόσο παλιά όσο η ίδια η γη – κάτι που ούτε γω ούτε κανείς θα μπορούσε ποτέ να κατακτήσει, να πουλήσει ή να αγοράσει.
Ξαφνικά, τραντάχτηκε σύγκορμος. Δεν έβγαλε άχνα καθώς πέθαινε, ούτε καν όταν συγκρούστηκε το σώμα του με το έδαφος.
Δεν είχα ακούσει καν το όπλο.
Η φωνή του κυνηγού ήρθε από κάπου μακριά, λες και άνηκε σε κάποια άλλη πραγματικότητα.
– Οι λύκοι είναι επικίνδυνοι, μικρέ. Αυτό το τέρας θα μπορούσε να σε είχε σκοτώσει.
Εκείνη τη νύχτα, χιόνισε.

#poetry : To Hero and Leander – Death’s Apology

For those unfamiliar with the relevant mythology, here’s the Wikipedia article on it, although I’d like to think the poem can be read without the background knowledge…


To Hero and Leander – Death’s Apology


I remember you and your love secret,

secret even from the gods.

I remember your smooth body bathed in fragrant oils, and his hair wet

with brine and ornaments of seaweed,

eyes glazed with the fever of love.

It was selfish, I know,

to wrap you in my shroud – two souls knotted like eels

to warm my eternal frost awhile.

Such is my fate

to not to be able to touch what I love

and to wreck with a single caress

all your creation.

Each night I watched

as you lit your lamp, for your dolphin love to cross

the sea, straight into your warm, and open arms.

Each night I watched

as from the spring of your lips

you gave him drink, while you fed tender whispers

to your hungry ears.

I could not bear to keep you apart,

so I took you both, my doves,

rather than break your lettuce hearts.

I plunged him into the depths of the waves,

and dragged you over a cliff,

on jagged rocks your arms spread,

wings that didn’t work.


it seems

the buds of summer

have withered too soon.

Gods cruel and silent,


what have I done?

#poetry : into the woods

Into the woods
migrant clouds throb over a pink horizon
swirling in the sky like a finger
through hot breath
on the window
the path wears blinkers of trees,
armies of pine on either side
oxygen floods into my lungs
so cold it burns
for a moment,
I stand,
a cockroach by a green giant’s foot
the only way is forward
-don’t look back-
a branch shrugs off birds
the path is a river, and thoughts
the only oars left to paddle with
snow swallows the footsteps of those gone past
               -forward is the only way-
though we all know
how it ends.

#poetry : Am Faoilleach

Am Faoilleach*
awake at dusk
by the trunk we marked
in our youth
where their woods end
ours begin
echoes of ghosts
always come in twos
haunted hunters
flutter away into darkness
a wake
with moonlit eyes
and sharp ears
my nose seeks your scent
I breathe in
the smell of earthworms and roots
canopy greens still glisten with afternoon rains
twilight vigil
I juggle a jade horizon
through the dewy dawn
by the stump that remains
where their woods begin
ours end
*Scottish Gaelic for ‘January’. It seems to come from the word for ‘wolf’ (meaning January is essentially wolf month)

#poetry : basic shapes

basic shapes

two lines – that’s all I need –

to weave me into a dance

dizzying coil

fling me free as a feather

into jazz, metal, blues

and then pop – it’s a soft landing.

two lines alone

to pour confessions into thirsty ears

in a communion of beats, notes, pauses

all in time.

two lines – no more – are all it takes

to ‘store in a cool, dry place’

a dose of shimmering


elixir of life mass-produced

–        what good is your erosive entropy

now you’re trapped in a transparent tower?

two lines – no less – are enough

to get lost

two lines exactly

to leave me exposed

and two more still


to bring me home.

surfacing from the void…

So…. after a very long silence, I’m back! Kinda. I am just resurfacing after a few weeks of writing poetry for university. Just handed in the longest poem I’ve ever written (it’s about 5 pages long – and that’s only partly due to double-spacing) for an assignment. Well, technically, I handed it in at 5 a.m.this morning, but shhhhhhh…

Anyway, I thought I’d do some poetry sharing for today – the next few posts include poems that have been written for the purposes of nailing down some techniques (voice, imagery, that sort of thing). Of course, being the intelligent wolf that I am, I did all the exercises, and then chucked all the technical knowledge out the window because I got carried away by the jazz right before my final hand-in. It’s a very strange poem – quite unlike anything I’ve written in English – and the more I read it, the more I think it should be hidden in a drawer and never let out again.

Alright, maybe I’ll let it out once.