Once upon a time;
Some time after I was born.
There was a treaty between two nations.
The treaty was supposedly mankind's best
Bet for the prevention of a nuclear holocaust.
I'm not certain if the treaty still exits; but I am
Certain that The reality of potential destruction
Is as real as it ever was. This treaty was known as "MAD"-- Mutually Assured Destruction.
These nations proceeded to amass weaponry
Rather massively to, in my view, the point of insanity. Perhaps there are those that give
Credit to 'MAD" for saving us from destruction.
Personally, which ever direction I turn in search
Of heroes, ideology, or philosophy; regardless
Of my politics and opinions; I credit God.
I have never imagined that destruction was
Avoided because of the treaty between them.
I can only believe that in many and various
Ways, it is God who holds our world together
Left to our own selfish ideas and devices, with
Or without 'MAD", mankind would have vanished
from planet earth were it not for God's grace.
I want no further thoughts of woods each day.
I hold all found and lost on one same eve.
The pangs of loss in memories replay.
From morn to night my heart does steady grieve.
As velvet satin she did clothe my soul.
Each spark in our embrace held love’s best ache.
That she did lay in leaves with me was scroll
My yearning heart had inked for loving’s sake.
In leaves we wove as two inside one dream.
Our passion rose beyond all we had guessed.
The bear I did not see before her scream.
I fought but dead in leaves she lay undressed.
Always red leaves amass around that bear;
Awake or not that view is my despair.
I see you coming, old age.
Approaching, at an ever-accelerating pace,
Your face grim
Your expression austere
Your look menacing.
A frightening sight you are
Yet,
I welcome you with open arms.
I yearn to embrace you
To be at your side
To celebrate the twilight of my life with you
To enjoy your company,
The company that so many at my age,
Had never had the chance to relish.
Innumerable battles I have fought in my life,
With vigor and youth at my side,
Thus
Victorious, I emerged,
But
Now, that my youth's allies are slowly abandoning me,
One after the other,
I am left alone to fight the last battle.
A battle, I know beforehand I am bound to lose.
However,
At this moment of trials
When all seems to get tougher by the day,
A new ally I have found, willing to help me,
All my courage to amass to confront you, with
Equanimity, oh, merciless old age:
The wisdom I have acquired all these years,
Roaming the planes of experience and
Learning!
-
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Demetrios Trifiatis
17 August 2026
-
* This poem was written to celebrate my 82nd Birthday on the 15th of August 2026
Poem of an Amnesiac
"My words are forgotten."
One word.
"Forget."
The forgettings of my words.
"Forget?"
My forgettings in words.
"What to say?"
They spring forth, gather, blur.
They tangle, get lost, find themselves.
They stray, fade, become troubled, as if sucked into a hole, an abyss.
They pile up, amass, fade away, like a story without a source, without a trace.
Do they exist or not? A mirage or a hope?
My forgettings in words.
What to say? In words?
Mirage of a true falsehood.
It once stood there-
the childhood home I knew
and loved for many years-
three stories high.
Old-world design
on a large grassy hill-
till the river bridge passed
to be built soon.
Then, New York State
claimed eminent domain-
and that arm with huge claws
took it away.
Strong memories
while my sad tears amass-
as I pass and slowly-
embrace the void.
She speaks her own mind, stomps her own feet
It’s her own life, living to her very own beat
She sees through all of your lies and deceits
There’s nothing on her . . .
Jumping in and out of all of your minds
She’s met the lot, it takes all kinds
Recognizing all those dodgy signs
There’s nothing on her . . .
Dancing with all those snakes in the grass
Faking their lives, they have no morals, or class
Their dirty tricks collected in their pocketful’s amass
There’s nothing on her . . .
They all want what she’s got, and that’s the lot
Yeah, she remembers you, she forgets you not
She’s forever having to dodge their latest shot
There’s nothing on her . . .
Behind her back they all call her names
Try to mess with her head with all of their games
But hey, it’s her writes that puts them all to shame's
There’s nothing on her
There’s nothing on her
Yeah
There’s nothing on her . . .
I don't want to be a processed human
warm thumpads on click screen
cant put my hands in my pcokets
pockets filled with sand
cup of dirt by my table
Orange fire tree, a beauty, shivers in gray
I am not aware of me
when nature bears to see its swaying leaves
there's glory in the metal squeak of a guitar string
feel dead wood, relief, plastic wrapped child roses
Smell the green on harvested before bloom
The blood crust on my ear
monstrous scratching between straw hair of a dead scalp makes me want to rip skin out
Ocean water take me there but i hear electric of cars every step
bushes square
trees baby leaves
bloomed too late to turn green
Watch a movie set in italy you feel the vibrations of the screen
make your face red; silent scream
pop ups, plastic warmth
cling to the radiator through polyester, spine compressed and half your bed taken by an amass of wires and clunk: heavy mess to project reality
My veins pump blood spray when cut
I'm a real human transmitting consciousness through things i never knew
drained my energy in this scry mirror: to be human is selfish, AI helps with all but takes root to steal yourself and sell it back to you
On a morn' walk,
I saw a flock,
on a hemlock . . .
Robins singing,
on trees clinging,
their joy brimming . . .
Welcome home friend,
with chirps that blend,
to Spring transcend . . .
Make home of grass,
twigs, mud amass,
for nests first-class . . .
Soon babies tweet,
tweet, tweet and bleep,
the sound so sweet . . .
Their voices soar,
almost a roar,
encore, encore . . .
Snow swirled silently along the streets.
People whispered about the cold,
Old couples huddled using thick sheets.
January began, temperatures fell, so bold.
Electric bulbs flickered low in window frames,
Children slept warmly afar from frosted glass,
Their parent curled tight beside the flames,
Thunder and lightning as storms amass.
Storms increased, but all treated them as games.
Rain swirled with snow in the streets.
Seattle is drowning in a flood.
Clouds shed water in torrid sheets.
Eventually, the rain stopped, leaving tons of mud.
Our heavenly companions
with endless love
nestling, nurturing
loyalty from above.
Their adoring stares
amass each day
blue eyes looking
beyond our humanity.
As gazing into
the moonlight sky,
these beautiful creatures
bring peace
we all should abide by.
Soothing solace
these peaceful spirits
carried with four legs,
wet kisses and whiskers.
Every reunion treated
as if we had been lost at sea.
The loyalty and unending devotion
a wonderful unique quality.
We hold, cradle and hug
these occasions above and beyond,
with everlasting epilogues.
There will never be anything
as loving and loyal as our dogs.
Honor will endure as honor surely will
For honor is eternal or its value will be nil
It’s not about fame or the trophies you amass
It’s more about doing the best you can with class
It was your intentions, as there were
That brought clarity to the blur
As honor stepped forward to win the day
Obviously in an honorable way
Everyone knew it was here to stay
Leaving them in silent awe with nothing else to say
When a poem you write is like a toy car,
it’s all wound up (vroom vroom) to take the reader far.
If it’s much too short, give the poem gas.
More words are the fuel you’ll need to amass.
If it’s way too long, your poem might sputter.
Add it then to your other toy car clutter.
When your poem, like a car, runs smoothly – assume
it will take folks for a ride with a zipitty zoom zoom.
“Memories come forth to say...
we are with you to stay.”
__by Poet
This was the passageway she took
beneath the limbs of maple trees;
to this day still, I turn and look
and feel her joy to help and please.
I watched her walk across the grass;
this was the passageway she took.
With all the love she could amass
she'd come out from the shaded nook.
For from her home to mine partook
to visit for a while and stay.
This was the passageway she took;
still see her there as branches sway.
Yes, there she was, my mother dear;
I miss those visits- long-forsook.
Above, she keeps my vision clear;
this was the passageway she took.
It is a pitiful display
To belong where you don’t belong
Wanting to rule a former day
A worn out tune of a love song
No longer loved by the crowd
Down with the old King, so long!
The blizzard’s countenance proud
in the Kingdom of the Warm Front
Is quashed by the thundercloud
The waning moon takes affront
As sunbeams begin to amass
All victors leave the battlefront
Popular sentiments pass
Like a crying hourglass
The sightless amass daily at dawn; a pilgrimage
Arms outstretched clutching away; the sightless.
A winding trunk grazing away to appease the pangs of hunger; the calloused skin of a leg, a cauliflower shaped ear, a skinny tail swaying restlessly
We know not what this is they echo in chorus; mouths voicelessly ajar at the gigantism
Bellows emit endlessly; stomping, churning,
A woolly mammoth perhaps…..Ice age
Clouds of perplexity choking the cerebrum….. the sightless concur….it must be a powerful apparition, a deity
Could it be that mythical monster; Loch Ness it ain’t, NHS perhaps
A Druid dance up the hillside may help us nail the answer
Ah…..we see it now….the answer flying in the wind…
Not as you like it, but “ASDA”…a medieval bazaar!
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