Nikos Tselepides

THE SKY AT THIS HOUR


First day of heatwave today.
Also, the first shrill cries
of the new baby cicadas
and the first bare-breasted girls
on the beach. Affluent July,
hottest month in Attica.
Stubborn as mules, children
scream and run and disobey mothers.
Hopeful as new vacationers
the young sit on the sand, oil
their skin, smoke, and throw furtive
looks at the other sex. Noisy
this crowd, so I move on
over rocks to two bays down
and settle. Imagine I must.
Use words to paint my thought.
Beyond this immediacy, far
from the bustling summer crowd
is all the stuff I can touch with my hands
and all the worlds I can reach with the mind.
Turquoise, deep blue, light green.
Full moon always. The woman I love
has the waist of a lioness and I lead her
on a leash through life, forgetting
I am her prey in the end. Marble
stones and steps, ancient rooms,
fire for sacrifice, logs, fabrics
and precious stones from the south seas.
Fruit-grapes and melons and peaches.
I am the lion, and the king of beasts
called humans, and watch my step
as I move in the low scrub-people
are more dangerous than my brethren kind.
I am the one I am in danger of, the beach
is only a stage, and storm or calm
do not make a difference. The technology
of ripe age has caught up with me.
The laughter, the cries of pain, the songs
of weddings, the mourning of deaths
are all behind. Nuances dance in the air.
Her fingers as she held the golden cup once.
Her dictum, that of the Muse, given to me
early in life and spelled out clearly: "Write
till you bleed, you are made for it." Explore
what is near and what is far and in-between.
Do not hear the Sirens. Present yourself
as a simple man, with only a few words to say.
Did I? All those years? The sun is setting
and it might be late for me. The road home
beckons. How pretty, the sky at this hour.


------

Nikos Tselepides
July 1st, 2006
Kavouri Beach, Athens

nomadicrhymer

Hi Nikos, I'm not sure why you posted here...is there something in particular you need/would like comments on? I think this poem is ready for posting in a regular forum, as I find it brilliant...but that's just me! It tells a wonderful summertime story, and I also am digging the style! And the philosophical turn at the end. Lovely!

Present yourself
as a simple man, with only a few words to say.
Did I? All those years? The sun is setting
and it might be late for me. The road home
beckons. How pretty, the sky at this hour.

Nomad