Joseph S. Josephides

Why, State, your eyes don’t see the Amazon River?
Tsiko said 'Amazon is life' and you agreed to save it.
Why the horsemen of interests invaded in the night?
Their bullet entered Tsiko’s chest but invades your own.
...

Since you hear the notes you do write,
birds, leaves, wind, heavy shower, so how
come, they consider you a hearing impaired?
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The wine with its grace
purifies my grief.
When in bed, the two candlesticks
are the flames of your very eyes.
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The other bird am I. I belong to nobody,
I don’t wake up and depart just to fetch food,
and then get back to sleep and wake up anew.
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Athena, when you saved us with Hercules
from the Stymphalides Fowls, you wanted other things.
Neither honours, nor hecatombs.
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‘The two pitchers on pole, hanged on your nape,
consider them as your children.
Do not ignore the one that is feeble.
Give praise to the pitcher on your right that does a good job,
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Stretch your hand and open the window,

maybe a sunbeam drops in,
in a zigzag way, by reflection,
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I am the stone, Rimbaud, you are the sun in our Liopetri*,
you the wine, me the ship going to the harbour of love,
we are two stars joined by the celestial lace.
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I, Antonio Pigafetta, nobleman of Vicenza,
highly recommended, I joined the crew of Maggelan
on the way to Mollucs, towards the target of spice.
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In my short coffee-pot
the small bubbles
emitting vapour
whisper your name.
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If invited on ‘Titanic 2’ for trip, have no drunk illusions.

Have an eye over the captain; glory grabs the senses;
if stimulated by passengers he might fool the engines.
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Have you seen that skilful diver
who submerges her corpus,
and re-baptizes her soul?
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This bullet in my body doesn’t prevent me to speak
about peace and our wise goddess Saravouati,
and the bitter salt of the ocean of cyclones.
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I was a woodcutter with a sharp ax,
I had a smoothed heart, but I was proclaimed
as world leader to sign hangings for opponents,
to dine the dove of peace roasted, drink soda to digest.
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Francis Galton asks himself, ‘of what a pretty face is made! ’

Two scientists from Texas University agree and state that:
Darwin’s cousin is right; beauty is a lab combining recipes.
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Given my numerous skills, they asked me
what kind of profession do I choose,
with what salary, in which working period,
et cetera, et cetera…
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The earth of Curium quaked amid
As we indulged in a love, then slipped
A deadly pillar that put us to sleep
Absent, still present and now redeemed.
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I have thrown my silken sorts in the streets,
thus I’m accursed by my parents and friends.
I wish I was a straw of the manger to warm Him,
a tree bowing in front of Him as a fourth King,
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I was born in the sweet water of my source,
grown up in salty waters of the sea where the river led me.
But my mind returns, up there, to the plains of birth; there,
I'll generate to sustain and detain my species.
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Gioconda, why do you smile confusing the folks and experts?
Do you stare at me, for I insist that Sundays follow Mondays?
For I consider the cloud as smoke though it rains a whole life?
...