Farewell My Loyal Friend
Farewell my Loyal Friend
A short collection of poems.
Natassa Bertzeletos
Copyright 2015 Natassa Bertzeletos. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781311480583
Farewell my Loyal Friend
A small patterned box
is gently put in the
palm of a hand.
As it opens
a sweet breeze of wind
forms a staff of lines
a treble clef and notes
of you and me.
A hymning
harmonious sound
only reaches the ear
of integrity.
Rustling trees
blossoming flowers
birds of white
patches of colours.
A train of carriages
a rosary
a chain of memories.
This country of white and blue
of salty seas that
tear the eyes.
This country of precious stones
is once again at a loss.
Dedicated to Mary
The Fairy
I stand behind the thick door
a barrier of joy and sorrow
not knowing what awaits.
The girl with the golden hair
and emerald eyes greets me.
She looks like a fairy.
The smell of burning
incense is strong
in my nose.
A burning oil lamp
magnifies a photo of
an elderly woman
like it protests
‘I’m here
I’m present’.
The fairy reads to me
in a shaky and cracked
voice
a look of despair.
Then she says
‘we lost her’.
I descend in an
elevator.
When we bid
each other
farewell
the door handle
which remained
in my hand
is absent
the echo of
laughter.
Dedicated to my 19 year old student who lost her mother, 24/09/11
The Piano
It is brown with black and white keys
that have gathered dust over the years.
It stands there in silence and pride
not even a word or whisper of complaint
does it utter after all these years.
It waits in patience and pride
to show off its glitter and gleam
but time passes and silence is all it hears.
People pass by and act as though it’s not there
occasionally putting their hands
on its dirty and dusty keys.
Ringing with a sound of distortion
it shivers and fears.
To rot and wear away
in its existence after all these years.
Scrub that Muck Away
Cars in a line
waiting to be washed
looking like army ants
about to attack
Cars black with muck
how appalling!
‘Hey you!
Scrub that muck away’
The whirling of machines
the splashing and the spattering
of puffy soap and water
as the cars go through
We wait outside
like a heap of debris
with red shot eyes
and swollen blistered hands
With no life-insurance
we pray every day
that we don’t drop dead
like that man who fell
from three floors high
A man in a suit
standing behind
a sheet of glass
separating him from us
inspects every move
Oh my!
He chastises us
he makes irreverent remarks
we just want our bread
all we want is to be fed
We rub and scrub
harder and harder
faster and faster.
Can’t you hear the sound?
Our inarticulate voice.
Our protest!
We’re trying our best
to scrub that muck away
but the harder we scrub
the more it remains the same
Your opinion is preserved…
That you are a knight
and we are your slaves
you have a silky suit
and we have saggy rags
you live in a grand house
and we live in
a crammed crow cage
but…
we’ll soon unite
in the soil
then the land of Hades
camouflaging us
but making you
conspicuous
Don’t look back
for we’ll be there
to haunt you.
I wonder who
will be laughing
next…
Mount Imitos
Imitos was once known
for her beauty and green
but now fires have triumphed
and she has lost her name
Fires light and bright
like an angel from
down below
speeding with vicious anger
turning flora and fauna
into soot statues that leave
a path of darkness
a scent of death
from hell
When night falls
Imitos is
coloured like a
Christmas light
but when day time arrives
she is dressed
in black
Oh nature!
Where have you gone?
The human race robbed you
of all your glories
taking your last breath away
But what they don’t know
is that you are so
humble and divine
and that one day they’ll
pay for this terrible crime
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
for without you our race
will crumble in time.
The Eight Legged Goliath
The earth shakes and breaks
thump thumpity thump
and turns into shambles
at the tremor sense of
the eight legged goliath
I’m trapped in her cobweb
a victim of her syndrome
no gesture or conjecture
She uses her spinneret1
to crawl up her sticky web
her evil simple eye2 and
hirsute chelicerae3 are
fiddling with my head
A breath that brings on
the plague
an egg sack like a
dropped bomb
My hands are jelly as
I try to strike a note
smote by her poison fangs4
I take a long journey
I go into
convulsions and
am paralyzed
and petrified
by her words.
1. Spinneret: opening through which the spider emits its silk.
2. Simple eye: non-complex sight organ of a spider.
3. Chelicerae: pair of venomous hooks on the spider’s head.
4. Poison fangs: hard structure with which the spiders injects venom
The Dove
An angelic dove
&nbs
p; appears from high skies
embracing me and
laying me under
her cushioned wing
An omen of the Gods
she flaps her mighty wings
entering another
dimension of
tranquility
and paradise
a cyclopean
temple.
The Dollar Bill
A God atop cotton wool clouds, digs a hole in them and takes a peek at His creation. He sees a man holding onto a dollar bill tightly. Unhappy with what He sees, He decides to put the man to a test.
He sends a flock of birds so radiant in light that the man is dazzled. He looks at them with a twinkle in his eye. Never before has he seen such beauty. From a matchstick posture, he loosens into plasticine. The birds leave a trail of Y’s behind them and a feather or two which slowly come off the ground, caressing the man’s face. Baffled by the birds’ actions, the man decides to follow the trail into a forest.
He enters a lush forest with no sight of the sky and feels secure beneath the canopy. Then he sees a large grey rock which he sits on and feels as though he’s on a whale’s back, taking him for an adventurous ride. The lake is filled with silver rays as if a God is reflecting a mirror from the sky - if only he knew. He cups his hands and drinking water, feels the sensation of a waterfall in his mouth. He ducks his head into the lake and feels a coolness as if he is recovering from a burning fire.
He lies down and closes his eyes and listens to a choir of humming bees, hushing trees and birds singing merry songs. His body begins to feel lighter and lighter as he drifts away into sleep. His hand, which is holding onto the dollar bill, begins to twitch. The dollar bill flutters away, eventually turning into a dot and then disappears out of existence. Finally, he is at peace.
Speedomalachos
Have you ever heard of the term
Speedomalachos*?
Well I had certainly not
Until one day while I was driving
in my box
I turned
and to my bewilderment
I saw one
and oh my, what an appalling sight!
A snorting of the nose
A growl that zaps
through the air
and says,
'Get off, this is my road!'
Be aware!
A swinging of the head
A crack of a bone
A banging of a bell
And I ended up with
a ring embracing
my neck!
Dedicated to the person who gave me chronic neck pain.
*Speedomalachos: A made up word that means stupid and careless
The Dancer
She wore a dress
of silver and white
that glittered and gleamed
in the light
She fastened the buckle to her back
Making sure that it would not snap
She got on the stage
and shone bright.
Everyone was delighted
to see such a sight
she did the mambo jump
and then did the conga
When all of a sudden
she heard a snap
and then said,
'Oh my buckle has snapped, oh crap!'
Everyone stared and gave a cack
at the flash they had just seen
She dashed in a flash
until out of sight
for what they saw
will remain in their minds
forever more....
Oh Father…
Weren’t you the one who should have
taught us to stand up tall?
Head up high?
To walk with a cat’s pride?
Weren’t you the one who should have
stood beside us like a rock?
To take away our tears and fears?
Whispering in our ear,
‘you are safe forever more’?
Oh father…
can’t you see the sorrow in our eyes?
One day of life equals one day of death
we search for a clone father of professional help
who gives us pills of miracle, might and life.
What are you?
Are you the male image of Midea?
Giving us clothes of poisoned wealth
and sharp knives slashing us to death.
What are you?
Are you the witchcraft of Shakespeare’s Macbeth?
The bloody daggers and chopped off heads.
Hey!
Father
Tell me…
What really are you?
The Rock
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one way up high
in the puffy clouds
that look like fairy floss
hiding us from
every existing soul.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one that is dark grey
with silver rays
telling apart
signaling from afar.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do remember the spot?
The one we lay our lazy backs against
its lumpy surface
massaging us,
stuck to it
like mussels.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one where the sun sets.
Its bright colours
fall on us.
We fear no more.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one we look down at the sea.
Our reflecting image
gives us a peek of
what our future
could be.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one with the receding sea
returning to cover us like a blanket
embracing and protecting.
We feel safe and sound.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
Looking at the celestial map
we pick a star
and draw it close
its radiant light
sucks up our sorrow.
Our hearts are jubilant
forever more.
Meet me at the rock.
Oh do you remember the spot?
The one where you and I
fade away.
Face to face
hand in hand
we become one.