The Sun of Time

The sea of love is frozen 
Ships are like a painting of a painter
The sky does not breath
Cloud hides under water
Wind sleeps in the lap of Nature 
Sea beach is like empty vessel
Tourists' footprint is vanished 
The sun of time is absent 
Spring does not smile
Only silence walks here and there
Two sailors are not one
Communication is broken down
But two hearts are one
Fountain of Love flows from one to another
Nothing can stop love
None can break down communication between two hearts.

Ancient Egypt: Zahi Hawass and the True Face of the Golden Masks 

Prof. Zahi Hawass is the world’s most famous archaeologist and has been active for decades in bringing to light sensational discoveries about ancient Egypt that illuminate the modern world with knowledge. 

The archaeological mechanism works that from one discovery you access another and so on and so it is happening regarding the latest discovery of Prof. Hawass: the “Lost Golden City” in Luxor, the most important discovery of 2021, as Daily News Egypt writes.

Over the millennia, the sand of the Egyptian desert has covered archaeological treasures, but ancient Egypt itself must be explored through an immense maze of secret underground passages. It is as if an immense golden mask, which would represent death, covers and watches over the secrets of life that rejoins death, in a flow that challenges immortality. 

Prof. Zahi Hawass achieved a personal success in 2023 through his lectures in the USA and a real triumph in SF at the De Young Museum, directed by  Thomas Patrick Campbell, for the colossal exhibition of the pharaoh Ramses curated by Mrs. Renée Dreyfus, the most relevant curator of exhibitions of ancient civilizations in the world.

The United States wants Zahi Hawass back and he will be returning to the US and Canada in the spring of 2025 with his very interesting lectures that will widely reveal in detail the most sensational latest discoveries of the mysterious ancient Egypt. 

(Photo of a female statue in a dress with no head and no left hand, surrounded by stones and trees)

A stunning photo from Brian Michael Barbeito’s collection of vignettes and photographs, Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through 

The digital net of Brian’s camera captures the look of so many things, and his visions linger long and sink deep in the well of memory.  Sure, as the Winged Victory still stands tall in the art history of Greek sculptors, the artistry in Brian’s photos lingers in a sensitive viewer’s memory and thoughts.  Each pictorial image preserves a certain place at a certain time, and the reader of this book’s writings can experience vicariously the feelings and thoughts of its author, over and over, time and time again.

From forest paths to bridges over bogs and water lilies with ducks and swans abiding, to crowded shops, carnivals, city streets old barns and snow-clad woodlands, Brian takes you on many outings through his world and shares his intimate thoughts and feelings of the unseen as well as the seen.  Brian presents the subtle other-worldly as a robust and palpable part of everyday life.  Brian, as an image-builder, shows us ways to see the plainest of ordinary things as special and wonderful.

Each image in this book Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through makes an immediate impression, as the writing adds more and more gateways through which one’s imagination can enter to roam and mix with Brian’s own.  The spontaneity of the photographer’s own actions moves a reader to welcome their own heartfelt spontaneity as it encourages one to venture out exploring and preserving in photos or in writings some impressions of the local natural scenery, featuring combinations of as animals, plants, rock walls, old barns, road signs, marbled skies, and other wonders.

I have known Brian for many years, and he has a wealth of photographs and vignettes, which I hope he will be presenting soon in additional books comparable to Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through.

John L. Waters

Gastric Juice

What is a woman if not fluid 

cursed and born bubbling up the esophagus 

meeting fingers at the uvula and spewing

heated siren songs of stomach acid and

torn-up lemon slices and cucumber bile. 


if not trapping and festering life

with eyes of gold and silver-plated teeth,

they cover tobacco stains under lips stapled tight

shrouding their deadbeat heart 

with red right-hand knuckles.


What is a woman if not a frame imagined 

too plump, if not a figure

malnourished from longing, yet so full

from desire, of indentured servitude 

to their own stomach rumbling

with craze and clouded appetite. 


A woman, if not

A sickly yellow vomited like 

a scream amplified 

From the depths of the womb.

Antelope Field

There are antelope
in the field down
the road. Okay, 
well maybe not
antelope, but nyala
or oryx. & maybe
it’s not a field
but a patch of
garden which in
reality is too small
for the eland &
in reality is not
even a garden but
a window box in
which the cat sits
soaking up the sun. 
& since I don’t have
a window or a cat
it’s quite possible 
that this scene
from the wilds is
nothing more than a
screensaver that
comes on after
I’ve been away from
the PC for at least
three minutes. Which
I haven’t been, I’ve
been sitting here
all the time. So maybe,
just maybe, it all
comes down to
a plasma rectangle
that is framed by
tool- & scroll-bars
but is otherwise
entirely white except
for the two words 
floating at the top.
Field. Antelope.



Putsch

He picked
up whatever 
thoughts
were upper- 
most in 
his mind at 
the time 

ran with them
for a while

& then 
discarded them
as if they were the 
children of 
a past regime.


Nijinski reminisces

Exuberance
is in an eye
much more

beholden
to the magic
of the mo-

ment than to 
the pattern
of the dance.




Inside knowledge

Or:
knowing where
the bodies are
buried. 

Or:
knowing when
the berries are
bodied.


On Journeys

The shape of the journey
has something to do
with color. A small part
but important. The color
has to do with the shape
of those things you are
looking for. Also important,
not so small. The taste lies

on your tongue. Sound is
restricted by allowing one
album to come along with
you. Either earphone music 
or that playlist in your mind
cycling through an endless loop.

Collage of a statuesque woman in a bra on top of a white horse that’s trampling another similar light-skinned woman in a bra. Greek columns, a skull, and the outline of another horse in the background.

HURRAH¡ THE DEATH

“In Israel there are tourist boats that will see the bombs fall and its
massive destruction on Gaza” – From the Press

Hurrah¡ the Death
And those tourist boats
That will see the bombs fall
And itsr massive destruction
On Gaza, and soon on Lebanon
Children enjoying themselves
Jumping for joy
When they stand on their heads

The skulls

Watching how the waters of the Sea take them

To their most feared bottom
The good and false intentions
Of the hypocritical talkers of the UN
Who bray good precepts
Like the Roman Pope in his Basilica
Or the priests in the temples.
-Oh, oh, oh, oh, mom

Look how the children’s heads explode.

-Oh, oh, oh, oh, mom
How the waters swallow them
Those corpses turned to mush
Of despised and dead men and women
To the eternal shame of Life.
-I am sorry, my son
And I get grumpy
When I see our politicians
In Assemblies or Braying Chairs

Or by the beach of the Sea, on vacation

Or by the river banks
What cows do when they pee
Next to their orchards or fields
At gargantuan banquets
With the great humor of serial killers
Deceiving and hallucinating
To their sick towns
Telling them to be good
The naming of the rope
In the house of the hanged man
Laughing with a big yawn
With their Ha, Ha, Ha.