The Four Seasons in Brief


by Vassilis Zambaras

“Bookmark, Selected Poems,
William Carlos Williams”

From dry fragile still
fragrant yellow-

green stalks & leaves placed
between the descent

of winter & the locust tree
in flower stems

the scent of spring.

“Body of Summer”

Notice if you will, how

The cicada has departed
Its skin and will now

Sing a song stark
Naked, carried on

The back of the wind.

“Autumn of a Lepidopterist”

On edge

Of buckling, weathered
Red-tiled roof,

Orange-brown and black
Veined monarch trembling,

Like a leaf.

“Southern Exposure”

In a stretch of winter sunshine,

Against a harsh weather-
Worn veranda wall,

Soft blue slippers up-
Right in the afternoon,

Next to a beckoning
Red-pillowed chair.

Zambaras Woodcut Icon

Vassilis ZambarasMELIGALAS*, Greece—(Weekly Hubris)—12/610—What were you expecting—a drawn-out poetic tribute to Vivaldi? Or perhaps something more prosaic, like a memento of that band which was so popular in the early 60’s? Sorry to disappoint but, since 2010 is well on its way to becoming “just another memory,” I just thought I’d commemorate the occasion by posting four poems, each referring to a different season of the year in the land of milk and honey*; if I could paint, I would have included a painting for each poem, therefore illustrating that worn-out adage,, “A picture is worth a thousand words” but, lucky for all you readers out there, my “talents” are restricted to the written word and, take my word for it, that word seldom exceeds 50 words. Too bad it isn’t the last word in poetry.

*Meli-galas = “honey-milk”

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


  • awyn

    I have always liked the latter two. And you don’t need a photo–the words paint the image sharp and clear, no extra words needed. Images aside, they each express transition–and a kind of familiar anticipation of what’s to come. Delightful! Thanks for reposting these, together.