10/16/2014

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*

The three Minoan girls on Naxos
dark red skin, depth like amber/ distance/
red tea of shadow and leaves
in a glass, was their skin,
slim with black-brown hair, like curling blades
black dresses, ragged folds,
round hexagonal sunglasses

Remember riding in formation in the Near East?
It was so beautiful like hinged insects
we folded in the wind
and knew instant futures

Pelt traders, cool basements,
Athens boiling brains from the feet up
crossing to Psiri, sat on the step
the man folded back from his zimmer-frame
asleep just like that,
bottle of water and tobacco laid neatly beside
like a desk

peach pulp hot on the pavement dropping
light bulbs on Kolonou burning in the day

air-conditioned zone, guarded mall in ripped city
streets lead down to a pool of leaks
a lake at the old airport, I crave red words
the ones beginning with K and ending S
such as 'Kalos', 'Knossos',
puddles of clay
'Ariadne' is a black and white word, dappled, bruised,
like the moon, left behind.








A moon looking down onto an encampment of tents, all carved into stone, on a slab attached to the frontage of a small building in Athens. (c) Barnaby Tidman 2015

10/14/2014

/\/\/\/

The dust filled my hair
like sea salt, I was blonde with it,

the column advanced, with fuel replenished,
the cracked fruit of the deep rocks oozing for us,

the children are uninitiated and wake wild in the night
we eat sea-fennel salt-soup my clothes are soiled
with the wind's effusions erosions
from within I am *purified*
with the grainy wind, the dirt worn in
is colouring, is only more smooth earth,
I think of you and like a shepherd
my heart plays songs in isolation, sweetness,
echoing to fill the valleys,

yet I am a protrusion in the desert, a standing reed
or bullrush and we are *all* that we were made as,
our kingdom, of sweat and eyes and white horses
leukippoi who purr, who would eat us

/your eyes like dark-edged coves glimmering
in rising heat waves, we stopped at fresh springs,
feminine bowed sippings, I went hooded like them
tracing across rocky hills with water fillets

to cradled lakes or sea-coasts
with their arms spread, the roofed downpath of mature trees
a hall of shadow
hiding tuffets of hair, loose green and curve-falling
and laden with spears; but the day blazed these tunnels,
the naked spurts within -

I followed your train, it was the sun who tore me to pieces
unabated, I was filled with love,

you were made a laurel tree,
a thousand leaves not falling apart
I saw you in the stream, spawning,
gathering the sands and forming an island.




Laurel trees forming an island in the sands of an ancient river.