Sundown
They, tired as they were, sat on the rocks still warm
from the sunshine, they had nothing other than the
tiredness and that subdued effort to rest their tiredness.
Around them, burnt-up trees and Artemis’ wooden deer
deserted in the ancient abandonment. They got up again
and continued their path with hands in their pockets
as if holding, each separately, something valuable
the ring of the dead woman or the key to the coal storage
room.
Discipline
All night long, sleepless,
perishable serenity
you promised to cook
his favourite beef stew
with plenty of tomato sauce
and herbs just like he liked it.
You place two plates
on the table as though
he’s there next to you
you smell his cologne
a Givenchy you bought
for him at Christmas
first bite in your mouth
so hard to chew
where’s his aura
to console you and
to wipe your tears?
You get up frustrated
take the plates to the sink
you go to your room
like a schoolgirl
who did something wrong and
needs to be disciplined.
Manuel Komninos
The King Manuel Komninos
on a melancholy day in September
felt that death was close by. The astrologers
of the court (paid by him) argued about
how many more years he had to live.
But while they were discoursing, he
remembered devout old customs,
and ordered from the cells of the monks
eccleciastical vestments,
and he put them on, rejoicing to present
the humble appearance of a priest or a monk.
Happy let them all be who believe,
and like the King Manuel Komninos end their days
dressed in the modesty of their faith.
https://draft2digital.com/book/3562856
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Hellenic Canadian Literature 