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.