Ophelia lost - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Ophelia

Her white memory—

the young forest

the scent of apple blossom

the taste of sunrise.

In a frenzy of swirling passion

we buried our fledgling sainthood

deep in the walls of the pious chapel

and together we fled to the safety 

of the lilac sea.

The Epitaph

 

funeral candles

Candles flicker, the cantors chant
and the solemn sermon of the priest
fills the church with blackness.
Longing for a scrap of comfort,
I gaze at the austere saint
standing sentry at the sacred gate.

Thursday, 23 June 2016 - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Prisoners Exercising, by Van Gogh

The dismal spectre of a dying stanza

gasps between the black and white keys

of a crumbling, tuneless piano.

Cigarette burns and brown stains
scar its tired wooden top—  tarnished

medals from recent wars and skirmishes.

The Fairy and the Woodcutter - a poem by Chris Zachariou

A Siberian Snow Tiger

I want to seduce you

with gifts of Vincent's clouds

and handfuls of sweet red cherries

The Anger of the River - a poem by Chris Zachariou

A Korean Tiger in the Snow

The Anger of the River | A Poem About God

We know nothing of each other
except for our love of great theatre.

She recites sonnets
in her white bedroom in Verona
and I, her shy poet-lover stand
beneath her tragic balcony.

When will I find you Lord - a poem by Chris Zachariou

death of refugee children

I looked for you in the eyes
of all the murdered migrants
and in the eyes of the drowning children.

I looked for you when the starving thousands
were marching to the Promised Land
and the angels named them malingerers and thieves.

I looked for you my Lord but I never found you.

Loving Evita - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Tango Dancers – WIX Media

After dark, she finds sanctuary

in the house of the lame dancers.

Listening to melancholy songs

pressed between the pages of her

faded scrapbook, she recalls her

mother's kindness— mugunghwa

blossom on her pillow and rice

cakes for breakfast.