A Summer Tale - a poem by Chris Zachariou

River at dusk, echoes of grief, and loss

Swallows still flew carefree
in the August sky — ironic!
Our summer had ended in July.

At the twilight of the day, we meet
in the silent garden of the obscured.

The Brownie Box Camera | Poems of Despair

 

A Face of Despair Behind Rusty Lens

“An old Brownie Box camera becomes
a mind's prison where memory fades”

I'm captive in a prison—
a Brownie Box camera—
old, rusty, silent.

It is locked but I cannot—
—or perhaps I don’t want to—
remember where I put the key.
Do I even have the key?

Apology - Poems of Despair

Poems of Despair

You took my burden
from an early age
on your young shoulders.

Old Stories - Melancholy Poems

 

The rivers surged—first blood.

Your naked scent,ripe red strawberries in June,

bread and wine on Primrose Hill.

Rachel and Aysha - The Innocent Victims of War

The Golden Gate of old Jerusalem

Rachel screams.
A ripping pain mauls
her body but the cruel
abuser has no pity.

The Madonna of the River | A Coming-of-Age Poem

A Young Woman Swimming

A Young Woman Swimming

My green-eyed Madonna
writhes and screeches in the mud
with tobacco-chewing rednecks.

Where Did the Blues Go to Die? - A Poem by Chris Zachariou

 

A Blues Guitar Player

I waited at the station for the train
to St. Louis, but the train never came.