“Like a windstorm
Punishing the pine trees,
Love shakes my heart.”
With apologies to Sappho
Laden with snow dumps, undisciplined branches,
entangled with sparking electricity wires, overhang the balcony,
camouflage the distant seascape,
plead to be pruned.
Earthquake cracked exterior, overwhelmed by its alpine girth,
thirsts for a coat of paint.
Underfoot, scattered brown cones slip and slide in a bed of needled slush-
wait to extinguish loneliness in the charred fireplace.
In his dream Pithea prophesized disaster, like Sappho’s pine, in a windstorm
Continue reading “The Pine Tree”
Revolving door welcomes optimism.
loud-mouthed business suits
mingle with pessimism.
Continue reading “Revolving Door”
Jet lagged, ordered toasted cheese sandwich
After impatient wait servile English asked
No. A toasted cheese sandwich please!
Eyes drooping, finally served withered lettuce, ham and cheese
wedged between two slices toasted bread
Continue reading “Sandwich”
Morning cacophony escorts friends through diesel fumes,
on trolleys in overload, over sleazy footpaths ready to implode ,
under bitter orange trees
to her door where coffees brews
Tortes and pastries await
Continue reading “Salon”
crunch village snow to kafenion
join in amiable chatter, coffee cup clatter
deft hands shuffle cards,
Pushed aside, chairs grate,
downtown to cafés slide
losses to recoup
Continue reading “Card Games”
‘Happy is the man who views the most seas and the most continents.’
i.m. S. K.
April 2, 1995
Georgia, bring wine, mezethes.
Tonight we gather with hovering swallows,
voice less valley,
for the blackened vigil.
Continue reading “Shattered Dinner Plate”
UNTIL NEXT TIME!Please Login or Register to see the link.
-All things vanish. For each a time is due.
-All things remain. I go. Now it’s left to you.
Odysseus Elytis 1998Please Login or Register to see the link.
Dawn mist rouses him,
flings open iced shutters
embraces chilled air.
He drives to town
past cemetery gate.
enticed by aromas of baking bread,
pungent coffee bean roasters,
repelled by fish stalls drowned in flies
slaughtered goats hooked on high,
pause to read death notices.
Continue reading “Until Next Time!”
i.m. N. D. R.
Valley twilight silence
shattered by Church bell.
Father asks why.
Sons, spades in hand, at cemetery gate
that screeches in protest.
Continue reading “Chronos Suite”
Loula S. Rodopoulos
They sit at the table on the balcony, stripping virgin vine stems of leaves, buds and stringy bits. Their voices, with the rustling of the sprouting pine needles, echo in the breeze across the platiea – until the final stem is stripped. Then the aromas of the boiling saucepan – aniseed, garlic, spring onion, olive oil dressing – that blends with the breeze.
She walks down the slope. A rugged vista of vineyards, wild grasses, yellow sparti, pine and conifer trees engulf her – lift her to the horizon where she floats over mountain peaks and sea until she finds herself perched on the cemetery rock where she penned her first poem.
Continue reading “Anecdotes after reading Ritsos”
Prof. Loula S. Rodopoulos
Book review: Lucy Sussex, Saltwater in the Ink:
Voices from the Australian Seas (Australian
Scholarly Publishing, 2010)
Please Login or Register to see the link.Lucy Sussex gives public voice to the private thoughts, experiences and observations of selected nineteenth-century seafarers to the Australian colony. These seafarers kept a record of their voyage either as letters to loved ones left behind in England or in journal entries. The white glossy cover of Saltwater in the Ink, composed of a chair covered in red patterned fabric, a red quill, a laced decorated fan, pewter cup and barrel, is aesthetically appealing and invites exploration. Each selection is uniquely titled to suggest a link with such artefacts, with an introduction and afterword that provide a context to the seafarer’s account. For example the Ritchie sisters are presented under the title ‘A Battered Pewter Cup’ and Mary Isabella Cameron under the title of ‘A Girl’s Golden Bracelet’.
Continue reading “Saltwater in the Ink: Voices from the Australian Seas”
What we expect from poets is that they should avenge evil 
Prof. Loula S. Rodopoulos
Let them burn! Let them burn!
Let them pay! Let them pay!
Grey suited stooped man carries red rose
Stadiou Street Wednesday 5 th May
ordered to work, union syndicates claim
Marfin Egnatia Bank a burnt out shell
molotov cocktails thrown
Continue reading “Let Them Burn!”