elegant giraffes

He wondered if his verse was made for mules
or chickens cackling their jazzy tales;
composing dull sonnets was chased by bulls,
by elegant giraffes and crazy snails.

Amid the donkeys, in his country cot,
while gulping spirits the pig-farmer writes;
his scrawl becomes a cultivated naught
and straight he quaffs one more for his insights.

The detrimental muse of his confused
absconding inspiration, though, evades
poetics so much alcohol-abused
and drinking up the Absinth liquor, fades.

The prompting advent of a healthy burp
made pigs and chickens to comment 'superb'!

© 06-27-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(English sonnet, Iambic pentameter

Ευνίκη (Eunike)

Eunike

The honorable senator of Rome
Petronius, a handsome man of wealth
for whom the poets kept respectful gnome,
that contemplated about the State's good health
like God was worshiped by the sightly maid
- Eunike; whose devotion was unpaid.

Unanswered her obedience and love,
uncherished were and, thus, transformed to pain;
tormented her young senses, made her rove,
- alone confessed, her flesh needs to abstain
- his handsome thus admired and marble bust,
apprised her instincts, highborn and robust.

Evincible, unrequited pleas,
the maid exalted to the sovereign sire,
his despotism she served just to reprise,
thus punished by the whip for her desire,
accepts the lashes whispering his name
with deponent her dedicated flame.

The punisher was ordered to beware;
not to cause scathes upon her perfect skin;
her sire's ingratitude could not forswear
the burning tears she shed, for was a sin
to disobey her master's potent will
- infusing lashes deftly to instil.

Alone, Eunike, stares at his stone bust;
his handsomeness could cause a sun's eclipse;
oh, may the Fates, milleflorus, entrust
their gifts upon his brow and much loved lips;
her arms embracing him, the maid's face couth,
shall osculate the marble bust's cold mouth.

© 09-07-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(5 sextains, sestines or sestinas - Iambic pentameter)

Her Soul, The Sea (The Ship)

Her Soul, The Sea (The Ship)

The shadows deigned in precise sequence
where skylines have conducted fore the ship,
its blackened sight to boss the thought and sense
of sailors that imagined its long trip.

The Northern wind was cutting like a knife,
injuriously, messages behowled,
equilibrating on the brink of life
of the foregone to seas, the thinking prowled.

The ship's black smoke ascended to the skies
from supercilious tall funnels, smog,
bestowing sacrificial offing size
to sovereign Gods who lived inside the fog.

The tidal and enshrouding foaming spills
advanced the dusk, advanced the bawling horn's
unearthly sounding out; the flowing rills
retracted in the sea its crying mourns.

In front of us, the ship's displacement thrilled
approaching magnificently the moors;
Her Soul the Sea, an eulogy instilled
inside our minds and souls, where faith adjures.

Pristine the sea, baptized the scene in depths
where psyches stay in canted-over keels,
deceptive were the reasoned-out percepts,
infused where our catastrophe conceals.

The night descended when the ship's steel gaze
examined curiously and measured me,
proposing wedlock and a fate of blaze,
my competence, demanding, in the sea.

Across the Straits, young lady Sadness kissed
with ripping cold my twenty years and eyes,
resembling Her Soul, the Sea, amidst
the howling Northern winds and my demise.

© 2013-10-15 G. Venetopoulos All rights reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

To the Halls of light

To the Halls of light

She waited on the skyline - bloom, and thorn
an ointment of vows and thoughts, at night
annealed recited entity - vows sworn
- the brave ascended to the Halls of light.

The bullet traveled in the frozen air
companions loved - his stare embraced the ferns
- the laurel and green sage ascribed his fare
his spirit chose the route of flying ernes.

A lantern flame her thoughts - on peaks, beseech,
ornate the winds, surpass the granite plate
denounced the corteges and oaths to breach,
her highness' steps, adorned demise, third fate.

And in the mists when winds bemoan in pines
their solemn words have fled from slopes to brines.

upon Longfellow bridge

upon Longfellow bridge

The Autumn leaves shift colors in the breeze
and some, above the land, will travel far
as whisperings inside the woods appease
through nature's flawlessness transmitting mar.

Abundantly the light diffuses fore
the sun deluges neath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October was, upon Longfellow bridge.

The twilights of the Autumn, so, expand
to hail the stars on Massachusetts towns;
my freshman attitude enfold, unplanned,
while dawning night the street lights casts and crowns.

In darkness, still, the street lights blink before
the night retreats beneath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October is, upon Longfellow bridge.

© 10-01-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

kiss upon my face

kiss upon my face

The dim lights beam above the icy roads, 
while midnight shines its blackish hue of smalt;
I knew the Northern ranges' nightly codes,
the dissonance of hurting stars and vault.

Above the melted ice, the sky's grimace,
has sent the birds to emigrate for life; 
some scattered neon lights and epigraphs, 
advert with street signs like a cutting knife.

Thus, propagated are, at random thrown, 
while sky descended on the station's ell, 
escaping light, the landscape is windblown
and Greyhound buses round me, roaring dwell.

The Abyssos has opened to engulf
my stare and thoughts; she aggregates above; 
the windy howl resounds alike a wolf
who greets this season with his wrong octave.

Her form reflects above, where light bedims, 
immense her depth that prunes with freezing wit, 
bequeathing darkness on the decks and brims, 
becomes the destination of our grit.

I saw her in that depth, a symbol grave; 
have never known who listened, laughed or wept; 
but knew the swirl of flakes on my enclave, 
the nimbus quilt that covered those who slept.

The trees became the landscape's odd gendarmes,
and thin, persistent drops my features trace,
their cold and faithful call my soul becharms,
with its relentless kiss upon my face.

© 10-17-2011, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved

(Iambic pentameter)

Arcanum bride

Arcanum bride

A golden ring of oaths wore on the fare
the sound of steeling knell and windy call;
angelical her face in streams of air;
my recklessness escorted with her call.

She fled inside the gray - transformed to drops;
above the fields consenting to her clouds;
Amid the dusky shades of tall tree tops,
Imparted lives, a solitary shroud;

Arcane her call, inviting knell, the bride
around my sentiments, henceforth, she orb'd,
a quilt of nimbus covered me and cried,
my life became a bird, the skies absorbed.

She stared at me from far beyond, in dark;
unreal, flying o'er the ringing field,
the Angels trumpeting ssailed our barque
my one betrothal vow, in Styx distilled.

In Acheronian lakes my spirit gleamed;
with thousand drops of rain where tears belong
she fled above the shroud of mist redeemed,
and crowned the waxing of the moon, along.

© 02-16-2012, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Charlotte Russe

Charlotte Russe

The rain accompanied the thunder's noise,
the falling drops were pelting on his head,
his bomber jacket, manly scent and poise
foresaw her spikes and heard their tread.

Her stumbling footsteps were quick and grace'd;
- oh, sightly maid, the drops caressing, wet,
he smiles, she smiles, so rarified and laced,
her acrobatic charm and walking fret.

Her geodesic lines enthrall his brain;
divine her curves must be explored and felt,
his tips will tangle in her moistened mane,
discover her perfume and garter belt!

Athletic is his run upon the quay,
as lightning strikes around the wrath of Zeus,
he throws in style his rendezvous bouquet,
her manicured fingers yearn to catch!

A flash demolishes the rose bouquet,
another strikes upon his buckle's brass;
resembling Nureyev at ballet
with Dame Fonteyn he proves his dancing class!

She joins his dance neath the October rain;
thus, he enjoys her lustful flames and cries,
uncorking the Dom Perignon champagne,
receives a flash upon his manly prize.

Embraced they dance below the rain and kiss
mille-feuille creamed her fingertips will fuss
to tease his buds, while deponent his lips
descend to slowly taste her 'Charlotte Russe'.

© 2013/11/24, All Rights Reserved
(humorous-erotic-light-poetry, Iambic pentameter)

Charlotte Russe:
http://www.thebossykitchen.com/charlotte-russe-cake-classic-european-recipe/

blue window

blue window

The night encompassed his face and voice,
outside the blue window, alone he stood,
his thought returned to a doubtful choice
unfinished structure made from balsa wood.

The flying daughters of the night, wind-wrought,
escorted shades of dark and raindrops shed,
she fled, a monochrome contrast he sought;
in air her photograph reflects, misled.

The nighttime beckoned on its steady hold;
In that same sight he touched her face and braved,
the longitudes besought, belied and called,
contrasting him outside his dream and grave.

In mid-air wafting a newspaper folds
dispatched strayng, renders his advance,
its insignificance and whirling molds,
before the sill amends his nightly dance.

© 2013/03/22 G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

The Warrior's End

The Warrior's End

The debris truck rolled on the asphalt road
meantime the sot upon the sidewalk spread;
a destiny of glory, thus, foretold,
assigned a straying rock to strike his head.

He fell inside the excavated ditch,
where an illusion swept his awesome mind;
a soldier was in world war one, (some glitch!)    
and fantasized he fought on frontal line!

The bright trajectories of missiles searched
for his protruded to the air behind,
that's why he ducked his head, henceforth farfetched,
convinced he was that his behind aligned.

The 'Warrior's End' some named this ditch dug land,
the stalwart ducked with bravery abstruse,
(a man of pride)  with his hindquarters' stand,
should thither face the enemy's abuse!

A red dressed gypsy femme, (rejoiced he left
to join the horrors of the evil dump,
with his protruding round behind bereft)   
felinely danced in his unmindful slump.

His sottish words (he thought) were shaping verse
and bulging out his combating derriere
allowed his warring shout to bout disperse·
therefore victoriously fought in guerre.

© 03-05-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Betokening the sign

Betokening the sign

For days we sailed beneath the Southern stars,
a route along the undiscovered lines,
we heard a voice emerging from the brines,
'the ocean carries unforgiven mars.'

Three demons whirl'd upon the iron wood
while carelessly we danced; I blamed the grog,
we heard the gulls from the surrounding fog·
abaft the stern, evanescing, becrowed.

The ferryman was tracking us on sight,
his ghostly schooner floating in the dusk,
macabre our foretelling, tasted brusque,
thus blinking were in distance his dead lights.

The vessel's dunnages then creaked; conjured
our recklessness conducted us to hell
throughout the fog, the stern bell rang its knell,
- I saw the orchard of those souls who erred.

I heard the reef rock shattering the bilge,
the vessel heeled to starboard, cut across,
then bedded on the bottom's algae moss,
its dimming lights attempting to effulge.

Our vessel rested on the seaweed bed,
we danced and laughed moreo'er our way to yon,
how come you have not heard the bell and horn
betokening the sign that we were dead?

© 02-06-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

The lights of dusk

The lights of dusk

The lights of dusk became his final front
the winds, alone, deep in the soul engage
while his departure's shedding reds assuage
extending contributions to beyond.

How wrongly pride and triumphs, subdue
while cymbals drum paeans on cloudy skies
the fencing emptiness his past denies
- he wished warfare killings were untrue.

The altered day his destiny embeds
with his division's ranking and three stars,
his shoulders' silver and tangential paths
- forever faithful slug, attacking weds.

The shot approximates and blossomed bleeds,
to love him in his chosen Astral Halls,
his homeland and the springtime blooms recalls,
that congregate to stem his manly deeds.

Among the woods, in dark, the spirits breathe
could be a rustle of his killed comrades,
expatriated lives, outside of Hades,
their end was meritorious, forthwith.

His soul transformed to sentry guard and link
upon the mountain, laurel to bestow,
the killed in action brave became a crow
the sunken stars behind the shadows blink.

The message passed across the interstate,
infinity became a friend and bride,
his three reflecting silvers coincide
as dew drops drop on his interment slate.

© G. Venetopoulos, 06-20-2014, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Laughing moon

My seaward route recounts the night's mistrust,
declaims untruths upon the water wakes,
resounding the wind transmits my past
with demons prompting me to our mistakes.

They are my ocean pals! From dark sea depths
saltate and dance, attired like buffoons,
concording violins and brass trumpets
to gallivant around with looney tunes.

Meantime the stars, elusive, send their spark,
my pals essay in boats with wooden laughs,
discerning critics of our ghostly barque,
where waxen maids regale on moon's behalf.

Enchanting group! A theater folklore,
with drunk musicians and chords untuned,
ineptly smile with swollen lips to yore,
in front of a half-hidden laughing moon.

On empty quarry play guitar slack strings,
hoarse flutes, vociferous trombones and lyres,
my joker pals saltate in air and sing,
conveying to the moon their laughs and tears.

Expressing joy absorb my stare and thought,
with silver amulets and oracles foretold,
away they glide to destinations wrought,
where sovereign seas enfold the brave and bold.

Saluting me, a dancer higher jumps
('mid pandemonium tunes - on marble delf!)
and as the laughing chorus plays paeans,
avaunt he sails resembling myself.

29-10-2013 © Georgios Venetopoulos All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)

Chicken cot U.F.O.

It crossed the gloaming skies above the roofs,
in awe we followed its jazzy course,
mysterious would be the incensed spoofs
this disaffecting aircraft would enforce.

'Hmm...', we said! Abominable was the ship
deciphering trajectories in hum;
predestined to avenge our ego trip
the alien poulets would not succumb.

The chicken soldiers were a frightful troop
in pink-pistachio uniforms with spots,
and snotty-nosed bombarded us with poop
because our heads were destitute of thoughts.

The Alien ship was rounded like the moon;
each angry bird was using a stun-gun,
the land of origin of that platoon
(and planet) were most certainly to shun.

In order to appease the chicken troop
some started to recite their verse to skies,
confronting the attacking chicken group
poop poems they opposed to battle cries.

The angry war-birds listened to the verse,
indited by the stunned (and pooped) confreres,
their cackle was bemocking and adverse,
upon their heads they wore rouge voluperes.

This myth reflected what would happen if
extraterrestrial cots invaded Earth,
the chicken-soldiers in relentless tiff
would poop upon our writers of top worth.

poop = Poetry Out Of Place

2013-07-30 © G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
revised on
2016-11-30 © G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved

Πολλοί με ρωτούν τι σημαίνει υπερρεαλισμός και πώς αυτός μπορεί να εκφραστεί σωστά στην ποίηση. Τους απαντώ:
Ο υπερρεαλισμός είναι μια παρεξηγημένη κατηγορία τέχνης. Παρατηρήσαμε στο πρόσφατο παρελθόν ότι "ποιητές" αμφιβόλου ταλέντου, πνευματικής διαύγειας, ακόμα και ευφυΐας, βομβάρδισαν τον χώρο της ποίησης με αναρίθμητες άρρυθμες και χωρίς λογική ανοησίες, οι οποίες σήμερα κοσμούν τις ανθολογίες ποίησης σαν δείγματα "μοντέρνας λογοτεχνίας". Απορρίψτε τα κείμενα μαζί με τους συγγραφείς τους. Υπερ-ρεαλισμός σημαίνει κάτι το οποίο είναι "πιο πάνω από την πραγματικότητα". Δεν σημαίνει, όμως, ότι αυτό το "κάτι" πρέπει να είναι αφηρημένο, ανιαρό και ανόητο (χωρίς νόημα) έως βλακώδες. Οι αρλουμπολογίες των "μεγάλων ποιητών" μας, κατάφεραν να μετατρέψουν τον υπέροχο κόσμο της αληθινής ποίησης σε χώρο για αγραμμάτους και διανοητικά καθυστερημένους αναγνώστες. Απορρίψτε τους άφοβα και πετάξτε τα έργα τους στα σκουπίδια χωρίς ενοχές. Καλημέρα σε όλες και όλους.

The Stork

The Stork

The ship extended huge, outside the dew,
his past, he thought, conducted on her track,
across the board, the skyline folded dark,
- a stork he was or member of the crew?

Thus, curiously stood upon the moors,
an epitome of time to e'er rejoice,
but stern, the sea-waves' hum repressed his voice,
or was the dusk that realness allures?

Upon the moors he stood, irresolute,
side-gazing for the sunken to discern
meanwhile the seamen deftness and concern
applied the coloring of nightly soot.

The dusk abraded, thus, the ship's details;
all shapes in numbness stood; without a word
the night, descending, linked the bird
with time's perseverance, head-ropes and brails.

The boats, directed randomly to trip,
loose wooden cradle-coffins in the bay,
surreal, formed a definite array,
where timely margins, undulating, reap.

(Their sacrosanct ascent designed the stairs,
for spotless angel forms to fly in blue,
the stork recalls the one-time rendezvous,
- this nightly ship, shall take his soul to fares.

Perchance they fled to skies - two passing glows
that cut through distances, in ardent Spring
a song for wanderers, harmonic link,
- pure emeralds the shoreline noon bestows.)

What foolishness of storks invites the ship,
our lives to marry on the silent quays
meanwhile four smoking ebon-funnels praise
our wraiths long flight on everlasting trip?

© 2012-09-25, G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter - revised on 2016-07-20)

Lord Mortimer

Lord Mortimer

- Lord Mortimer! The rooster on thy shield,
the symbol of thine influence to dames,
to joust challenged the nobles on field
who questioned thine efficiency in games.

The rooster, splendidly, defined thy pride
but turned to mark of mockery and sneer;
Lord Gilbert who had boasted nationwide
escorted, thus, a playful Londoneer!

Inside the gardens of Keats household they walked,
where Gilbert, gallantly, recited verse
for cookie-cutter sheep, he proudly flocked,
her undetermined feelings to coerce.

The dame advanced his stateliness to heights
her pitches lauding chivalry and fights.
06-13-2013, © G. Venetopoulos All Rights Reserved
(English sonnet)

Besought by honors

Besought by honors

Besought by honors dares the icy side,
the road, extending, separates the bold,
his challenge molds with mud and dignified
it integrates him in the mountain cold.

Above the limits race where speed defines
what preexisted on the drives and pikes
betrothing wraith among the trees consigns
and sacrificial power chords she strikes.

Therefore, the engine's striving wrath
unfolds trajectories of epic drive,
tangentially he dances on the path
his hands on steering wheel, the tempo thrive.

For e'er a man his destiny decodes
when challenged, impertinent he raves,
his intellect, upon demand, forebodes
the fates' engaging meet aside his grave.

His racing car, all limits underscores,
on slope releases its titanic torque,
ascending blue, amidst the nimbus soars,
awards the Dom champagne with sealed-off cork.

Intruding car, inside the foggy veil,
the engine's turbocharger breathes,
the top-performing driver cannot fail
as glory turns mechanical and wreathes!

It's after midnight and the slope's romance
redeems red droplets on his uniform,
his reckless smile outgoes the ambulance
since ten p.m. besought and killed in storm.

2013-08-02,2016-05-03,
© Georgios Venetopoulos, All rights reserved

(Iambic pentameter, Epic)

Iron Brims

Iron Brims

I knew the dancing drops on glass, at night
and how dispersing is their icy sting;
the Northern ranges' snowstorms cling
amid December grays and our hindsight.

The beacon beamed inside its ebon frame;
the maiden's song returned to years before
our ancestors have drowned linking o'er
unending scopes; pristine her ancient name.

I saw the orchard, in the distance, ebonize,
along the windy wharf and foamy coast,
my soul's betrothment and imperfect host
where spinning, versing in the wind advice.

The maiden's pass is grooming my recall
and, ceremonially, attends the fair,
the falling mizzle dances on glassware
impermanent the passage of her Sol.

The marginal instructions - academes,
that blurry beckon, blinking smiles
we, freighter sailors, have become exiles
to celebrate upon the iron brims.

Descending light and westward flare
dethaws her image yon horizon's lines
- erstwhile my life submerged in brines
and her evanescent celestial stare.

© 05-25-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Archangel

Archangel

I sensed the dance of clouds and windy drawls,
the moving marionettes of moonlight,
ideally it cleared the shades of souls
to intersect our solitude, forthright.

The dusk descended when 'Archangel' crossed
the sight of island men, a gliding wraith
and huge the blackened ship's displacement boss'd
the mariners' astounded stares and faith.

Monotonous the bagpipes led to trance, 
autonomous the ship's insistent horn
invited us to some besotting dance
the ship regaled; unearthly song and mourn.

We danced inside the rain while ghostly pipes
entwined with the sea's baptismal notes,
- betrothal waved the blue and white flag stripes,
- like coffins moved around the wooden boats.

Embarked, we, upon the ship, erelong,
to sail infinity in ocean brines,
although the Sirens with their cradle-song,
the Hades' treated us, communion wines.

© 05-14-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Notre Dame Marion

Notre Dame Marion

She thought of all details the Mistral sweeps

the tears she shed that night atop the deck;

how beautiful it was to bear her dreams

but why the heavens have induced the wreck?

For ten odd months the messages received,

the scent of ports brought in, so to inform

but near Alaska, Bering Strait, bereaved

the ship had spent her masts, in waves and storm.

The Mistral spoke that night, 'the ship was split',

and then he was with her, in waxen light;

he smiled - she guessed he knew naught of it;

how was his smile angelical and bright!

He kiss'd her face (or so she thought), and hair

and then he sail'd away, in her belief,

atop the tides on his departing fare,

on moors she laughed to conjure the grief.

On Aleutians snows today and slow,

'Notre Dame Marion' advances on the tide;

atop the deck are standing in faint glow,

two ghosts that conn the ship on ether's glide.

© G. Venetopoulos 2012-01-09, All Rights Reserved

(Iambic pentameter)

Notre Dame Marion