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William Greco Poem
One day we carved into some tree
the initials of our names
and let it bloom like our love
which gradually withered away.
And the tree with that carved letters
fell down for the needs of others
and it was cut to decks.
And they were made into a chest
or a chair
or a bed
or a shelf.
And even if it’s just a memory now
there’s still something inside us
that starts to flicker from time to time.
And we probably have the same chest
or a chair
or a bed
or a shelf
at our homes somewhere.
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Inspired by wonderful writings of Richard Brautigan; may he rest in peace.
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2017
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William Greco Poem
PART II.
IV.
there's no turning back...
when the landscapes change, when the rains come
submerged in solitary conversations
I'm unworthy to left gifts at your feet
so I wait and sleep in this desolate bothy
shattered and painfully conscious
and it's like descending the slippery cliffs
even if some of them have withstood a thousand storms
it's been a mindless voyage led by the lack of sobriety
right when you found my incomplete letters
and your blurred outlines were drifted ashore
leaving the white lines carved in the sand
V.
how far...
would we go in a bottomless boat?
that's where I seek the point of continuation
but one day they'll throw away all of your belongings
down to the bottomless chasm of memories
and it will stalk me through the mainland
haunt me even at the bottom of the ocean
knowing that life of unfulfilled desires is like an immortal pilgrim
shrinking in the darkest nook of guilt
but I believe that our paper boat is unsinkable
in loving memory of sweet melancholy
we'll sing the shepherd's ballads by the jetty
VI.
I'll hold your hand...
through the final ascend from hazy lowlands
'cause I know there's certainly a rebirth awaiting
as lost love leaves scars in the countryside
and each night I can't resist
the lighting of the south side beacon
the ageless beacon that will shine on our way
when your shy retinas turn to flowers
and hide away from moonlit skies
I'm sinking in smoothness of your skin
stitching your heart to mine
and letting it sail away in a bottle
while you're still shivering beside me
as a reminder of our mortality
enchanted by the divine music
flying in a great heights like two starving gulls
over the freezing sea of abstractions
waterlogged and malcontented
we will abandon the terminal beach
we'll leave together in the air
and greet every star without exception
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
they say that there's a dance hall
right beneath this lake of sawdust
where underwater towns
have gone astray
and I can hear the harpies
the bagpipes
and I can smell
the burning petals
after we set the house ablaze
the blissful ignorance
of ghosts and revolvers
is pure nonsene
– as coup d'état of yours
still smiling distantly
but one day your goodness
will make you lipless, my dear
and then I will lull you by
the misty weather
verdant
fragrant
lucidly mystical
dazzling as a bell jar glance
existence matters – ad interim
and as the old gatekeeper
uses his trembling gestures
to swing the pendulum
tell me, my plain-hearted one:
ruby red or beryl blue?
does it really matter to you?
with all your childish devotion
please release
the drones
'cause thou art lost
and love is the law
love under will
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
nobody here,
nobody there
I enjoy my breakfast on Jupiter
scattered
and radiant
the shimmery shoreline
rumbles in redness
in sickened harmony
nobody here,
nobody there
the reckless arsonist
has a talent
of unknown origin
what an illusory
amazing paradox
condemned for heresies
for an enormity
to the final battle
mice will march
nobody here,
nobody there
surrounded by
a surreal dominion
strangely through daytime
there is a crux
a rebus
a flux
just like crusaders
for the revelation
mice will march
the order is broken
they will deduce
and I just sit
with a bottle in hands
and watch in silence
nice mice fight
against
the creepy coral cat
still
nobody here,
nobody there
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
better to be back in black
said Brett Boe
Coca-Cola for coy cat
replied Carla Coe
draw the duck down in dew
whispered Donna Doe
fries feed feisty firebugs
claims Frankie Foe
good guys grumble about golf
implies Grant Goe
hairy hilltops hide hat heroes
stated Harry Hoe
jackal junior joined the jazz jam
assured Jackie Joe
kings kneel before koala
declares Karren Koe
lonely lady lies in a lake
spoke Larry Loe
meanwhile muses moan in mud
complained Martha Moe
never nail the night in a nutshell
giggles Norma Noe
pisco for poor pigs in pubs!
shouts Paula Poe
quite quirky for quag queen
blabbed Quincy Qoe
rebel riders rule the roads
stated Ralphie Roe
only silly ships sail south
claimed Sammy Soe
triple taco tripped on telly
said Tammy Toe
violet violins vanish in vain
confirmed Vince Voe
waxy waffles weep on wire
told William Woe
Yeti yells at yummy yaks
asserts Yvonne Yoe
zig zag zone is zipped and zapped
finished Zack Zoe
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
there’s a boy in the old rusty truck
standing by the railway station
he’s sitting in the shabby cabin
sitting in the air draught
for days and months and years every day
watching the busy crosswalk
and crowds of thousand varying faces
trying to remember each one of them
imagining their pains and pleasures
building a structure of their abstract characters
through his cautious eyes of melancholy
and now I joined him,
but suddenly – he leaves
and I can’t take my eyes off the scene
in a short distance in front of the vehicle
there’s a boy in the old rusty truck
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*based on my dream*
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2017
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William Greco Poem
A petrified conjunction(?)
what a strange day...
for a martyr of missing time
born in the urn grove
among the burning embers
born on the wrong side of the tracks
what a strange day...
for an unknown hero
living in his restless chamber
his head like an ice-breaker
his uniform of ivory tears
what a strange day...
for a night in a boiler room
mais la nuit est mon amie
so let's talk about the lousy
plane crash avalanche
what a strange day...
for this nightmare paradise
la princesse est très curieuse
and her calculated motifs
like a transcription factor
what a strange day...
for this residue of a pattern
rarely essential by your knowledge
beyond the nucleotide sacrifice
of all the negated literals
there's nothing to think about
– let's eliminate the principle!
inside an empty hillside manor
of the cosmos Demiurge
in the name of all rhetoric solutions
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
visions of atmosphere
scattered illuminate
faintly lid, the world is blear
the latitude of nighttime sky
flaunts itself on a silhouette pier
evening gives up to nautical dusk
sightings of air on skin are brusk
still there’s a residue
of eerie mystic hue
covering wet rocks
lighthouses through and through
deserted cityscapes
queues of sea mews
moments of magic
making the time subdue
moments of faraway
mists tinged gold and blue
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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William Greco Poem
waltz blazing sirens from shores of the frosted tomorrow
just look around and behold everything that makes our souls distant
l’existence est ailleurs! my negatively dear Clementine
in this omnipotent Babylon of boredom whoredom
where our shapes slowly turn shadowless
turning in their dreamless sleep
glide around our glacier home
and we follow the fireflies among the languorous joshua trees
into the land of dandy lions and burning monks
into the tinfoil country of cowboys riding the giant amoebas
feverish orchids on the horizon where the fire alarm is always on
so run & hop on the railroad to false paradise
where we will dance alone and leave footprints in the garden
leave footprints on every rooftop
then walk up the clock tower to the ghost of a friendly lamp-lighter
who will help us from within to banish the darkening
and light up our own dungeons of blood candy splendour
as multiple painted phantoms of Van Gogh’s ear
listen to the foghorn music of pallid depths
in our much adored papier-maché sea shell mansion
our lovely cul-de-sac, stellar and crystalline, vanishing on a rota basis
standing in still life as a crescent groom, as graves on the Moon
opening the frontiers for a cosmis octopus, a zealot, a hypocrite
headless and worshipping the order of the howling iris
which makes our nosebleed grow longer like shadows do at dusk
and that’s when I love to unwind that brass hair
of your golden-haired psyche
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2018
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William Greco Poem
the streets are scarred for good and we know it
after the hits of untamed hearts
after this abstract damage of cyclic returnings
there's a window in my chest
a sight of iron garden and crystal steam
where colour of poplars recalls
moss in the living room
and her veins in the dark
the skies are striped of equinox sabbath
over the cities full of empty people
cities full of mannequins
over the valleys of sordid poppies
perfumed mists and magnetic trees
as my shoes walk around the moonlit woods
through cobblestone plains, by mythic fields
the war of kisses rages in gravel pits
on days like these
these octagon days
and there's a storm in the kitchen sink
there's debris for dinner
the orchestra of germs in a room of dahlia
invokes all the nymphomaniac angels
all air rats and arachnid armies
with passion of cold-blooded lovers
oh, what a circus!
that's why my luggage is haunted
in floodlands, ready to depart
for the taxidermy heaven
for I'm the king of the sandcastle
just a smoke child on a paper planet
with glass floors and concrete shoes
and yellow lorries in umbrella lakes
with my brain lantern and pet mallacoderm
the rabid rooster will guide my way
down the bronze boulevard
with chocolate six-shooter in my hand
only because the streets are scarred by our love
and we know it
Copyright © William Greco | Year Posted 2016
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