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George Kalatzis - A Family Story 1924-1967

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"Beyond what is seen"
by David Barger
2009-08-11 09:37:04

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A wish is a dream
That fell in between
The cushions
Of an overused sofa.

That is what the sign read
In the white room
With the floor covered
In bubbles.
Ceiling fans lifted those
Not secure on the floor
To dance and bounce
Around and around and about.
I smiled as a few
Fell on my nose
And popped
Tickling the ends of my eyelashes.

In the middle of the room
A black marble table
Stood perfectly still
With a golf sized earth
Sitting on top of a tee,
And a driver laying beside it
Tied to a note reading
Swing Me.

I looked at this world
Filled of murder and hate
How it was covered
In lies and torture and rape.
Oh, what temptation
Blurred that my sight

For I wanted to hit it
Into pieces
With all of my might,

But a boy of four
Approached me
Right there in midthought,
And said
There’s where I live
Pointing to a speck of dust
On this miniature globe.
My mama and papa
Though they try we are poor,
And my baby sister is ill.
Although I have been sick
Since the time I turned three
Tomorrow’s the last day
That I’ll ever see.

I picked up that ball
Placed it secure in my pocket,
And asked if he’d like to walk for awhile.
His big brown eyes shined
Which caused me to smile,
And we walked through the tunnels
Of cotton candy and cream pies.
We swam in a cup
With the whales in their ocean
Where the dolphins all leaped,
And the otters all played.

We went down the mountains
Where the snow was all ice cream,
And the tree tops of cream puffs
On sugar waffle cones
Held high in the sky.

We found us an island
Made of great seashells,
And he bent down low
Intently to hear
The sounds filled of joy
Causing him to dance

Like those bubbles I’d seen
Though the sounds weren’t quite clear,
As the melody shared by his smile
In the music he heard
Fell deaf on my ears.

I looked at the boy
Saying son,
Calling him son
For I knew not his name,
If you had one wish what would it be?
He took my hand saying
That you’d be my friend
Until tomorrow arrives,
And take that there ball
Placing it right by your window,
And every morning you wake up
There I will be.

Ovi poetry

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Emanuel Paparella	2009-08-11 14:30:55
Indeed, growing up seems to be a process of becoming more callous and cynical and we need to re-connect to the child in us and become like a child again without becoming childish. On a more collective level, the symptom of a loss of ideals and dreams is that in today's real politik world utopia has gone out of fashion; all we have are the realists, that is to say, the cynics.


Emanuel Paparella	2009-08-11 15:16:43
On a more cosmological level, there is a book just out by Joseph Silk titled Exploring worlds, Seen and Unseen. Indeed, even on a purely material level, most of reality remains unseen as Jack Wellman pointed out recently in Ovi when he talked of Black matter and energy. It is the positivists and empirical materialists who are now on the losing side of the argument.


Miss Sis	2009-08-14 21:31:40
Reminds me that even as we walk thru life our eyes can be clouded with all that is wrong with the world that we forget the pureness and innocence that a child's perspective holds.


Mamma	2009-08-17 01:53:00
Very well done with much to the imagination, picturing it vividly in my mind!