I Love a Girl

I Love a Girl

I love a girl

She lives on whims

Sometimes distorted

Yet always true

Dedicated

Emancipated

.

I love a girl

I know but for five days

She understands my soul

I feel dependent

Yes, independent

We count the raindrops

On the window

.

The pane on a lonely sill

Trying to keep insipid maggots away

I swear I saw her smile

I swear she had stopped crying

She was still rosy and thin

Like a girlfriend; just out of a coma

.

Pain while leaning on the window sill

It’s turned to mundane thoughts

Of boring tranquility

The kind that takes away creativity

That’ll keep your ear from being accidentally cut off

.

I love a girl

And she loves me

We’re both living in serendipity

Our lives

Our works

Our sweet temporary madness

We paint on an empty easel-less board

We write our thoughts on a chalkboard

.

And that’s the story of our creative life

When turned off, it’s hedonistic

.

I love a girl

As much as I should

I know she loves me

Loves me for good

(C) Ted Kouretas 2018

Main post photo: Ted Kouretas — Park Bench in Autumn Leaves (Montreal, 2018)

Photo below: Ted Kouretas — Prostitute Row (Psirri, Athens, 2017)

Advertisements

A Word from the Moribund

A Word from the Moribund

(C) Ted Kouretas 2018

Beautiful day

Got away again

Even the salty sea smell of a cool Mediterranean June morning

can’t help these aching overused joints

Tombs

That’s the only sure thing in life

From Pharaohs

Greek gods

Some bigger, some smaller

But tombs are the only sure thing in life

No havens for them

Even the oligarchs won’t breathe or dream in them

She walks ahead of me

Patient yet frustrated

The humidity blinds me

The heat on my shoulders renders me slower

I never liked the heat

Now I loathe the sun

I look for clouds

I look for shade

Taxes paid

Worries gone

If I were 40 now, I’d……

Fucking cherries from the sky

Alas, it’s no use

Little boys and littler girls

The wind hitting their backs

The stamina

As they run here and jump there

I exist as a body

As space taken

Full of wisdom

Intact

Compact

Wisdom tells me I’m evaporating

Being sucked up

Even if I drink 2 litres of water a day

She’s back with our snacks

On nice chairs we sit

Big umbrellas

Red bikini with little material on her hairless body

She says something and I smile, feign understanding

I’m a pathetic old fool

Smiling like a child with a yellow lollipop

I look at even younger women than her

She notices and feels bad

I continue punishing the beautiful young woman that loves me

Because I’m an old creep

With no morals

Γενοκτονία

Θάνατος

(C) Ted Kouretas 2018

Μην πιάνεις την σημαία

Με λερωμένα χέρια και βρωμερή ψυχή

Θα σε θυσιασω

Κακούργε

Δαίμονες της ιστορίας

Γενοκτονίες

Έστω και τώρα

_________________

Πάντα περπατούμε

Με το κεφάλι ψηλά

Malaga in Summer

Malaga in Summer

(C) Ted Kouretas 2018

El Toro was next to me

As the crowd got loud

Awestruck

No applause

El Toro stopped smiling

Fists opened

Shoulders terse

It was a sanctimonious afternoon at least

____________________

“Muerte. Muerte” was heard in the background

Young Catalans feeling a victory over their oppressors

Their savage dictators

The people attacked the lads

“I’ll show you who’s dead, fuckers”

_____________________

Eating my spare ribs, I chuckled

I never thought I’d be able to say, in Malaga

“There was death in the afternoon”

Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon

Iconoclast Effigy

Iconoclast Effigy

(C) Ted Kouretas 2018

The sand burns

Hot to the touch

Like all the sculptures of me and you

All the neophyte eulogies preaching selflessness

Political correctness, neoliberalism, and the like

You know…

A politically correct image

Of myself

Not of something sexier to look at

Or something a bit cuter

Of someone a bit happier in their naivete

Blessed be the young at heart

For mine is an old soul, deserving of an effigy

The picture will still be there

But my soul will be gone

More than it already is

It will go beyond nocturnal affiliations

Political realms

Naked bodies sinning

It will go beyond the hedonistic

It will be destroyed and lose its iconoclastic status

But it will mummify into the perverse

Black dripping orchids will surround it

With dungeon shouts

And finally, a semblance of normality

Defy

Recreate

Replenish

Multiply

Ted Kouretas’ New Book of Postmodern Poetry—-Interview

Book available here

A Fine Line is a book written from the perspective of a nihilist looking to find order in the chaos. Looking in all of the predetermined places gets him nowhere.

John Sutter: Is this a work of fiction? I mean, there’s a lot of things going on here people would pay good money for.

Ted Kouretas: Nothing is totally fictitious. Fiction always exists within reality.

JS: But is the narrator you?

TK: It’s a troubled me. Yes. Or rather, perhaps.

JS: When did you write most of the poems on here?

TK: Almost all of them were written in Greece. I was in the big city. Athens is a multi-faceted place. You go from luxury to misery in a small block’s walk. I experienced both. Most of the poems are attempts at acceptance. They ard actually me trying to make sense of things.

JS: Do you make sense of things?

TK: I have now. But lest we forget these were my carefree hedonistic years. I had no borders. At the time, I was addicted to sensual desire. I needed to experience all my needs. This takes you to dangerous places.

JS: But there’s a lot of nostalgia in many poems.

TK: We always opine for the good old days. We think we’ve leadnsd from them when in fact we’ve become corrupted from them. It’s more like the demoralizing mediocre old days. A ship of fools with all decks on board.

JS: So do the old memories free you somewhat?

TK: Hopefully. They have in real life. Eventually. Duting the writings of the poems, there was so much addiction. There was so much pain. It was a way out.

JS: How do you feel about the disclaimer from the publisher?

TK: I’d be scared shitless and covering all my bases too. As you know, there is no truth these days other than the one preached by a select few. The walls are crumbling and our defense mechanisms are rendered useless. It’s a very sad state of affairs.

JS: I’m not sure I understand. Do you believe in fake news then?

TK: People think Donald Trump created the fake news mentality. Fact is, he was the only one unfiltered enough to actually state a big truth. Like him or not.

JS: What was your purpose in writing this book of poetry?

TK: Let’s be honest. I’m taking a chance here. My favourite musical artist, Morrissey, has gotten in trouble so many times for showing points of view. He gets called a racist by putting in the brain of a young man who admires the National Front. Of course being a neo-Nazi is inexcusable. But it helps to know why. Everything is a pattern.

JS: A pattern?

TK: Yes. Recruiters always go after the most susceptible. There are recruiters for the army, for menial labour, for prostitution, for drug dealing, for killing. The weak and disenfranchised are easy prey. Through learning about them, perhaps we can help curb the problem. To answer your initial question, my main purpose for this book is for the common folks to experience the joys and tribulations in the fine line between insanity and creativity. They should get into the brain of the nihilistic protagonist and see how his thoughts play a major role in his seclusion. This is what leads and maintains addiction.

JS: Any takeaway from this book?

TK: Never think you know anything.

Ted Kouretas describes himself as a postmodern iconoclast bent on showing taboo truths. With this book, he gives us a glimpse.

John Sutter is a PostDoc litarature fellow from the University of Alabama.

John Keats Has Everything on Me

So far as bright stars go

Shining through the window

Onto her sultry bossom

As she heaves in sleep

While I look outside the window 

And think of Van Gogh
The virgin  land

Opening herself to me

To Keats

To others

And we all go our way

Take what we think we need

What we think we’ll one day understand 
Factories  become cubicles

Pens are keyboards

No matter what

No matter when

John Keats I’ll never be

Oh! Wretched Me

Ted Kouretas (c) 2017

I come to you from some nadir below

My wretched soul searching for mercy

Mercy comes to those who wait and plot

Who seize the moment

When it does come

————

I come to you from lofty towers

On the acme of a jeweled hill

Where consternation stirs

Oh

Wretched me

 Alone with myself

————

From the unknown valleys of my mind

I break through the void

I distinguish between road forks

I become one with time

And place

————

I exist in an ebb and flow through time

Parked here

Partly to serenade

Partly to understand

But fully to find an apt copilot

————–

Time is a diversion

Fear is akin to practicality

For they were both formed

 By the big boss men