The days of old have a certain manner
The hardness of issues that sometimes matter
With shadows and echo's they bring up the past
The worries of tomorrow that grab and hold fast
Histories once worried in their day
Set examples for us to learn and display
News and stories the media has a say
To make us worry of how to go and which way
Gossip and rumors with whispers have a crave
Telling secrets and lies that send some to a grave
Speeches and announcements with mics engrave
Issues that move us to act with haste
Letters and notes in there own silent space
Tell their own story without the expression of a face
Whispers and signals tell secrets few know
Embarrassing answers from friends and foes
Thoughts and ideals may reach a dangerous goal
The evil of the heart when the damage unfolds
The wants and desires of ones secrets sold
The shame and mourning when the secrets are told
The judgement that follows eventually told
The way of ones thinking expresses their goals
The vile and the pure go their separate ways
The truth and the fiction will find the end of days
Someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
Off-key in the other room
While I’m trying to fall asleep
(We agree Bing Crosby and Dean Martin
Have astonishingly similar voices)
Mingled with her announcements
I got another one!!
Tallying up her finds
On our impossible cupcakes puzzle
Marooned on half our dining table
Ever since last Valentine’s
(She wants to entice me to help her find more
But I lost my patience long ago
So I just made her a glass of lemonade
With five ice cubes falling from the fridge)
It’s mildly annoying right now
Hearing her argue with cupcakes
Singing along quite out loud
With her unending playlist
Yet it’s also kind of comforting
To pause and think
This will be a memory of her
I can make it sad or happy
And I know I’d regret it if I complained
Because someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
When I die,
There will not be a day of mourning for anyone.
No, announcements in the news will be made,
No, speeches will be heard,
No, articles will be written,
And the bells of my church will remain silent.
Thus,
Unnoticed, my departure from this world would be.
Only the humble verses of my three thousand-plus poems will be present-
A brave army at attention, ready to pay homage to their departed father-
By singing a lullaby, composed by the ideas, sayings, and deeds of mine,
In an effort to pacify my soul at the moment of her transition from her
Temporal to her eternal home!
-
Oh, what a glorious day, that day would be!
-
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 October 2025
Five-and-Ten, a ‘Mom-and-Pop’
just down the road
Ye olde-fashioned ice cream shoppe
Round the corner a little bit
an old barber’s pole
Enjoy the flavor of candy-cane wit
Near the station, a musty news-stand
superman comics, Cuban cigars
Circus announcements, strike up the band
All these things: Why, they still exist!
~ etched in memories of indelible mist
She left me.
I’m getting groceries by myself.
I don’t like it, but I don’t like to starve.
Announcements make me jump.
I want to leave, but need to survive.
My therapist is out of the office.
Trust me, I called.
Candy sounds good.
I forget the olive oil.
And the chicken.
But I guess I’ll live.
My therapist is out of the office.
Still, she’s in my head.
She cares a lot so she gets in my head.
I’m alone in my house.
There’s nothing in the fridge.
I lie on the floor.
I tried.
My therapist is out of the office.
Within today's giftee's coup d'etat
Gratitude receives no big hurrah.
A gift was expected
gift cards are accepted
But thank yous are not a rule of law.
Announcements/invitations - aides memoire.
Sending thank yous will define who you are;
when "re-cog" breaks through
it's not ALL about you.
Appreciation makes the giver a star.
"Re-cog" - recognition
Loud announcements on my radio and megaphone
Heard all over the school ground and parking zone-
It’s raining prof drivers, take extra precautions,
Drive slowly on your route, looking in all directions!
On the left are walkers and bikers on the right
Go straight, let your attendants help kids to alight!
Missed my submission of poem in the first PS anthology
I think I was travelling that time or in a very long journey
Second submission, I think I’ve missed because I was so busy
Perhaps focused on my school work, no one had pinched me
Third submission, now announcements around I see
But which of my poems is/are worth for publication, can you tell me
I think I need an editor, can you help me my dear mentors of poetry?
May 12, 2023 3.40pm
Then there is the night
with its backstreets of characters,
masked, intractable, unwilling
to leave the comfort of their
lifelong haunts. They call out
then turn away in fear
of being known.
And below, the corridors
of the underground winding through
sleepless hours,
the constant echo of footsteps
and voices punctured
by announcements of departures
to nameless places. Images cast
on grimey walls passing in haste,
doors slamed shut.
Nothing sutures together,
consciousness becomes fragments
glimpsed on screens,
splintered sounds,
words finding no meaning.
And having brought you here
what can I offer you
but the pricked chill
of an anesthetic
being eased into a vein,
the oblivion of dreamless sleep,
then daybreak bleeding through
the stuck lid of an eye,
the first thin incision of hope.
Shanira was standing on her tiptoes on the softest bluebell of all.
As she stretched toward the moon, she felt elongated and tall.
The moon winked his approval and gave her permission to be.
She liked feeling fully herself, powerful, relaxed, full of chi.
Her guardian spotted her, making sure that she did not fall.
He was a handsome faerie king, and in no way selfish or small.
They were a couple, these two faeries, staring straight at the moon.
When they marry other announcements might come our way soon.
It was in church (I'm Catholic by birth)
We had just finished the main part of the mass
By main I mean the Communion was already over
And we were into announcements
I brought out my phone to check my chats
When from two seats away he boldly tapped me
He asked me what my phone was
I replied Tecno Spark
Five he said
Higher I replied, it was eight
(All these was across my uneasy dad's lap)
(He was sitting in between us)
He asked me the price
Fifty thousand?
Higher I replied, it was eighty
He shook his head sadly
It's expensive He said
You should handle it with more care
Just at that moment, the final blessing
As we all stood up and his hand left my palm
I realized that he hadn't moved his lips
Which miracle was more true
That I had suddenly understood sign language
Or that I had a conversation with a dumb
Neon lights outlined stalls
in braids of red and green
in the dim cavernous hall
of the railway station.
Muted drum taps of passing feet
and crisscross talk were pierced
by stabbing announcements
of departing trains.
A stairway tunneled upwards
to the street
where a wall of daylight
met squinting eyes.
Stonework still wore the soot
of steam trains long silenced
from impatient panting,
their age had passed.
My age was diesel with its fumes
pumping out incessantly
without pausing for a breath.
Guttural piston beats
pulsed the air with shudder.
Some of us still left home
riding dreams on train tracks
or else sailed them to England on P&O.
Most stayed at home
and waited for the ballot.
Out of step with the sixties
the railway station languished
in its nostalgic façade.
Newspaper banners headlined protests
and the Vietnam war.
Through its ageing concourse
young men moved in haste or haze
towards uncertain destinations
a chill breeze
whispers of winter
a squirrel’s tale
a cool fog hovers
a snake lays motionless
awaiting the sun
a bell rings
yellow crusted kid pods
heed its call
September roses
blush at Winter’s entrance
a soft kiss goodbye
the Maple shivers
as a frost stings her fingers
spring sap withdrawn
a fading sun sighs
as Druids watch the shadows
the seasons unfold
((old stories retold))
Silkworms
knitting turtle necks
for earth worms
John G. Lawless
©10/8/2022
This is how an airport feels -
Crowded, hot and teeming.
Lines that wrap around and ‘round;
Babes and toddlers screaming.
Masks on every face except
So many noses showing
And no one to remind them of what
They should all be knowing.
Screeners who take pleasure in
Enthusiastic groping.
Stressed out families schlepping
So much stuff they’re barely coping.
Loud announcements reinforce
The social distance ruling;
Gazing at the hordes you wonder
If they might be fooling.
Get on board and find a seat
And finally, you’re flying.
If you can, you calm yourself;
Believe me - I am trying.
The sea sings ancient songs
with its commuting waves,
and wet my body and soul...
I feel my wounds heal...
Outside the wind waits for me
with its recent announcements...
Everything informs me while
dry the excess
of salt water from the sea...
Soft strokes my thoughts
that succeed to accomplish
my expectations... !
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