chester giles writes

WARM BEER IN THE BALKANS

warm beer in the balkans

listening to the birdsong and the chainsaws

    covered in that dust

by the yellow house

and the high nests

with the stalk sat in its home

on top of the telegraph pole

the bricks all talking

the seats all falling to pieces with laughter

white

green

red

the flag drapes and flutters

the trees bow

and the big bill feeds its young

  squawking

I would eat the worms from its mouth

I would sip its coca cola

hear me chirping

silly with gold feather

see me flutter

I am as much dust as you are

something yellow

something gold

something bright and shining 

chester giles writes

ROSES

the bulgarian roses and their grape vines

over the concrete and the chain link

   in the front gardens

are worthy of a poem

if a tongue can ever speak them

the towns and cities coming out of the green hills and mountains

if we can place those things in the flat of our mouths

to drink them

the pot holes and the mud bricks

in the balkan dust

the high plains stretching out their bodies in the breeze

the peasants endure whoever comes to extort them

the peasants have the wealth in soil

whoever comes to  drink their blood

the vast hills laid out like a fallen blanket

those roses

scarlet in the dust

       bleeding 

Zlatograd --  Ralitsa Petrova