July 2020
August 1, 2020 § 7 Comments
1st July
July’s wallpaper:
apricots, cherries, peaches
and the moon out there.
Not a day missing,
a full month. Empty-handed
we arrive, breathless,
Where are our colours?
What happened to the music?
There’s been no dancing,
just counting of steps.
——
8th July
The morning takes fly,
the night sky gets pail, turns grey,
then the sun sends red.
Bereft of the last
hours of sleep one can but watch
how days reappear
without permission.
We’re fed with time, yet hungry
like a newborn child.
Unfinished stories.
——-
11th July
At the seam between
day and night, wonders happen,
such as a lazy
white cloud ignoring
the falling darkness, glowing
in the moon’s kindness.
No one leaves without
objection a day behind.
The next day is still
a vague sweet promise.
——
16th July
The sleepless count dawns
like monks their rosary peas.
Their wish is to sleep
but prayers won’t do
as the world is a film script
that needs a new draft.
Open the windows,
now lots of coffee, butter
the bread, take a bite,
smile for the camera.
——-
17th July
An alarm clock warns
the morning star it must go.
The one who’s set it
lets it go through three
ringtones before he turns it
off. Too late, the birds
have got the message
and are willing to take on
the shift. Up early
I am again. So.
——-
17th July
Eerie mind lightness,
free of worries where many
are the case. Hallo.
Who’s this new person
awakening in me these
days? Stillness before
the storm or true peace?
Part age, part resignation,
part don’t-give-a-damn
except for kindness.
——
Greece, 18th July
Back to the body,
the mind rests in the armpits
of old olive trees.
Home is the trip home,
everybody who has one
knows, everybody
who’s lost one knows too.
There must be a truth to that
for our restless minds,
but bodies lie well.
——
Greece, 21st July
Even the north wind
is warm down here in July.
Mum’s white tablecloths
are drying dancing.
Other languages, except
head and eye movements,
become difficult
at midday: Yes. No. I know.
We don’t know of course,
but that’s long story.
——
Greece, 25th July
A tiny, snoring
dog at my feet and I think
of pure love and peace.
For some time I thought
I’d adopt a cat so that
I could taste freedom
but you do not choose
a stray, a stray chooses you
as a seed finds earth
even amid rocks.
——
Greece, 29th July
Let the moon travel.
We’re lazy romantic poets
on short holiday.
If we must, we’ll use
words like “gold dust” or silver”
and take one more sip
of our cocktail drink.
There’s plenty of time until
the moon becomes full
to then lose our cool.
——
[…] Magda Kapa, July 2020 […]
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Dear Dave, this is such a wonderful job you’re doing putting together the poets and their thoughts in one place to be found fast and easily for when readers have the time to read. I’m of course thankful as a reader and delighted as a poet to be included in your Poetry Blog Digest.
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These are wonderful. If you keep going, you will have enough for another collection soon.
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Thank you, Beth. Yes, something might come out of all these notes.
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I’ve been more moved by what you’ve written here during the pandemic than any other poetry I’ve seen. Perhaps because you’ve deliberately kept the tone and scene small, ordinary, personal, and intimate — in doing so it speaks to all of our lives. Yes, I really hope you’ll consider doing a collection.
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Beth, this, especially coming from you, makes me feel proud and happy. Thank you!
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Again I agree with Beth. These are moving, clear, unsettling. Then, reassuring: Ah, a companion!
Yes, a collection, please.
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