Home » Poems » Best » Apostolos Kizilos » Best Apostolos Kizilos Poems

Best Poems Written by Apostolos Kizilos

Below are the all-time best Apostolos Kizilos poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

Going To America

Going to America

“One’s country is the country where one fares best.”
Greek Proverb

It was from there to here
Nowhere near, my dear
And, from here to there
It would appear
We could never quite clear.
So to stay back there was a life of drudge and fear
And to move out was to cut the chord so dear.
We dream a trip from there to here,
It is far, nowhere near, we fly to another sphere
But we are determined to go on, to persevere
We overcome all obstacles and trounce fear.
But, on occasion, we forget and yearn for the old home
We drift into forbidden territory
The land we left to search and wonder
Gets hold of our heart, the tears flow, we regret and worry.
Stay back with a steady job year after year
Or move out and get lost, or labor up in towers, fields or ships,
Work in mines or machines that press and grind or crush and bind
Get lost in books or prayers and see the Truth come near
Earning respect, wisdom, friends, some cash and cheer.
No earthly power could commandeer the heart
That seeks and strives and then wipes that diamond tear.
So, we are here, my dear – we’ll never disappear
We made a choice and we’ll keep it to the capstone year.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

Death On Highway 12

Death on Highway 12
For James Gilman, c. 1970
“Among your saints give rest, O Christ,
To the souls of your servants
In a place where there is no pain or sorrow or grief
But only life everlasting.
May his memory be eternal.”
Memorial Hymn of the Greek Orthodox Church
In the white bed
Between the lanes
Wrapped in a black overcoat
A boy lies dead.
In Christmas thoughts
Hurrying across the lanes
A hiss of air
A muffled noise
Some metal distorted
A thud
A fall
A last breath.
The lights on the Christmas tree
Dimmer tonight.
A life
A Dream
All memories to cling to dearly.
This story is told by the howling wind
And smudges on the snow
My heart is made of sorrow.
Amen.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

After the Vietnams and the Me Leis

After the Vietnams and the Me Leis
Steel skull
Stone eye
Blooming jungle rot
Itching on the crotch
Jack scratches the trigger of his M14
Kisses the golden egg
And throws like the Babe.
Jack is now back from hell and trying to cope
In fourteen breathing, and moving pieces
Held with a pound of steel and ounces of hope.
Sitting a seat apart from me on the redeye flight
When all was quiet and both of us were tight
He was heading back to hell after a brief home stay
I asked him why do soldiers fight, and die
It’s such a lost cause, such a waste of life.
“You don’t do it for your country or for freedom
Or for that crap they howl about on TV.
You do it for your buddies,” Jack said.
“They offed three of us out of twelve.”
He looked out the window into the hidden fears,
“We got them good,” he said, “We got nine ears,”
And didn’t glance at me; no cheers for the loot, no jeers.
That’s the mathematics of war, the logic of the battle
Figured out on an Ohio porch, some California night
With Arizona heat sprouting cactus thorns for guilty souls.
Some rickets-ridden urchin
Lurching behind a bush
Probably ahead of a burly Charlie
Around and around in the mind
One muddy foot
One G. I. boot
Lordy-fordy, how devious and sly –
This Charlie pair has to die.
So, Jack kisses the butt of his rifle
Tickles the crack of his grenade
And down goes the child
Down by the bush only the child
Crafting nightmare and despair
On every porch of this land of care.
Jack is on his thousandth retake:
Tries to miss, inserts distraction with a hiss
Tries on glasses with bulbous lenses
Fingers flat, fat, knobby and arthritic
That clumsy little rat
Not too good at bat
Everything you can do to derail
That fatal launch of death and fail
But there is no escape going back.
Jack didn’t aim just to maim
He aimed to kill and blood to spill
But he did miscalculate, and can’t undo what is done.
Back then he scuttled around the fated bush for ears
And now, walks back and forth in the backyard
Shedds tears for his wrongs and dodging fears.
For a while, the radios clarion lyndons
Nixon away despair with a blare: “My fallow Amuricans . . .”
He is tired but hides his horror for the here and now
“I want to make this absolutely point . . .”
All night Jack listens to disoriented roosters crow
Tries to unglue shirt from sweaty skin
On the prowl for Constitutional comfort for Me Lei
A clause, or some amendment that justifies the way,
The basic facts of blood multiplication in the U.S.A.
Ah, but there hasn’t been a blessed massacre yet
Nothing like that was ever justified for any threat
And let us pray that it never will. We must not forget.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

Mornings

Mornings
My five-year-old son
Wheaties on his cheeks
Draws yellow flowers on my paycheck stubs.
When a grey cloud blocks the sun
He shakes his spoon at it, threatening extinction
And casts a fierce accusation my way.
Through holes of dreams
I maneuver escapes in the old Ford
Pick up hitchhikers who wear glasses.
Then summer takes a wet turn.
Dandelions, top-heavy, stagger
In the grass that needs cutting.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

Apprentice At Grief

Apprentice at Grief
I stoop to grief when reasons fail
And tell him that tomorrow
We must begin to sort out our delirium.
“Hopes get lean and die,” I say,
“So, we must nourish them with tears.”
Pry the locked jaws open
Jerk them back to sound and speech.
Let this mouth, shut so long ago,
Spit out sorrow and silence – shout!”
I swallow a live curse with love
Words slip out and slash my lips.
“Hey, buddy, you haven’t shrunk enough,” I say,
“You haven’t taken to the sewers yet.”
That scheming skull and the lust for might you sustain
Will eat your heart out endanger all your gain.
I smell no stink of spoiled sin on you, my friend,
As it befits connoisseurs of sorrow, no yearning to atone.
I have no tears left to comfort you with, old boy, no thrills.
Laughs have lost their lease and Me’s and Mine’s pay no bills.
Only this wrinkled skin is left to guard our guts from stray cats.
Yet, we cannot afford to live or die in permanent defeat.
We have to stay in the battle and lose again and more and over.
Listen! We have to bundle this wayward heart, my friend,
And count on Grace for our chances of redemption, as He said.
The Light of Life is always near, that much is clear, to the end.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

My Oriole Friend

My Oriole Friend

Spring burst out on its greens so early in the year
The orange of the oriole surprised me, so bold
Pecking on my window, prancing on the sill
This is a busy caller, some urgent message to convey.
I approached my guest, treading gently on the deck
Sat on the bench and uttered a timid welcome.
He tapped back his hello, inspected me, proud of himself,
And tapped code aggressively, at my slow response.
I took some seed from the feeder and spread it near him,
A goodwill gesture to show my eagerness to chat and learn.
O.K.! I wanted to be friends with this dazzling creature
To open my hand and have it take seeds from it in peace.
You are a handsome bird and fearless to boot, my friend,
But I don’t know how far our friendship can advance in code.
I get the wonder of your closeness and your bloom of grace
But I don’t know yet how to make the world a better place.

Details | Apostolos Kizilos Poem

Headed For Byzantium

Headed for Byzantium
1989
With only sun and crawling mist around
You set sail for Byzantium, my love,
Your cargo was my angry words, your tears,
You carried our longing sighs and unspoken fears.
Ahoy! Wife of a wandering man
Cutting across dark seas and sorrows:
The winds whisper tales of my desire
While you wrestle phantoms in a lost empire.
With ancient chants and sweet incense
You braved storms and clashing rocks
To reach the Savior’s cherished port and pray
Ask that he take from me the power to dismay.
Ahoy! Wife of this wandering man snatch my dream
And sail with me in flesh, fire and flowing hair
Trade my love and desire with your peace and joy,
Your eyes look for mystery; give me your hand. Ahoy!