From Dawn Till Dusk


by Vassilis Zambaras


Aye to this

Thin waning crescent
In early morning sky,

Gone by

The morrow, which gleaming
Sickle is to glean

Which mourned-for eye?


Now it’s clear that white-
Bearded coughing old
Man my bike almost ran over

Holding a sickle in his right hand and dangling
A fag from his nicotine-stained left
Could not have been death incarnate,

So why did that image of him rising abruptly up
Through the darkness of morning scare
The living daylights out of me?


It sounds like that
Repulsive, creepy-crawly

Feeling’s overtaken you again—
A caterpillar’s treading, flexing

Its luminous pulsating muscles
On the curve of your wrist—

Your pulse is being taken
By twilight again.

“Construction Site”

Near brimming candlelit cemetery
Under a waning winter moon—

Ring of barrels emptied of lime
Next to an ashen shovel, light.

Zambaras Woodcut Icon

MELIGALAS Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—5/30/11—Goodnight.

About Vassilis Zambaras

Vassilis Zambaras According to such reliable inside sources as The Weekly Hubris’s Publishing-Editor, VazamBam aka Vassilis Zambaras is all of the following, and more, in an order no one can vouchsafe as definitive: a publishing poet who writes every day of his life; a hugely successful father (and a not-so-very-successful local political candidate); a professor of English as a Foreign Language, with portfolio; a Renaissance Man of many skills, useful and not-so; a fount of information about his particular corner of his birth country; an unstable and utterly unique mix of Greek and American, American and Greek; and the man fortunate and wily enough to have made off with Messenia’s loveliest and most talented local daughter as his child bride. Besides being all the aforementioned, other more dubious sources have also reported seeing him hanging out at the corner of—in the guise of a “new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer’s block.” Author Photo: Pericles Boutos
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