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Give children as little as a smile and they will smile back at you. Give them your hand and they will stretch out to reach you. Continues »

Oath / Όρκος

He stood at the edge of the old castle’s parapet below it the hungry abyss and even lower the gleaming sea ready to splash its first wave onto the yellow soft sandy beach when he raised his arm as if taking an oath as if promising to come back at another time when we’d need one to stand against the greed and gluttony of the few who comfortable and fat dwelled in their satiation. Continues »

My Greece

A piece of my life, in a tight embrace is my splendid land, my living place. A westerly wind makes my spirits rise for this earth, Athina’s paradise. The sparkling water and shadowy cave your mind and body will now enslave, your very soul will be captured too in the swirls of foam from a sea so blue. Continues »

Country stint

Come Up on a white multi-peaked mountain To search and find our warmest shelters Among the charred remains of January's winter Ensuring our tokens of slavery are not erased. Only but a few tracks stay out of our bustle city And on the snow that just fell Like a crafty veil, a tight fit Around our worn out shoes Prompting us to forget all past traditions And find some foreign thoughts That spread across a nature gone wild. Continues »

Kiki Dimoula/Κική Δημουλά

Draw two columns one for the day’s gains and one for its losses. The serious concepts your bright thoughts and readings your from one side to the other unsparing passages mark on the column of the gains. Continues »


no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark you only run for the border when you see the whole city running as well your neighbours running faster than you breath bloody in their throats the boy you went to school with who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory is holding a gun bigger than his body you only leave home when home won’t let you stay. Continues »

Το δάκρυ της Γης

τα λόγια χάθηκαν σε μιά στιγμή στο σκότος στο αίμα αθώων, που χρωστάνε τη ζωή...σε ποιόν; Γιατί πληρώνουν τόσο ακριβά, το βλέμμα , την ανάσα, τη ζωή, i have been ,and these are what my prayers look like; Dear God !! Continues »


The dictators in our midst... Continues »

The Melancholy of Love

Love always dwells in melancholy but oft-times saddens itself even more from the fear of a loss caused by folly and of a heart that the Fates forswore. Continues »


O mega, don’t mourn! You shall surely be reborn as a new Alpha.[] Because nobody is perfect, I am so glad I am… Nobody. [] Continues »

The Black Cadillac

The big black Cadillac rides again inside our neighborhood the small domain, it carries dangers and many sins and people with infernal wings. Continues »

A second chance

There are some things in life I shared with people that I lived for years, but voices could never dare to speak for feelings and for fears. Continues »

Street Kid

As he turns to scratch the surface of the road, looking down upon his luck at every rock. Continues »

The Mushroom

The mushroom is swelling in a fair distance … above. We are watching speechless. The agony overpowered any other feeling. It is happening… No place to hide… nor to escape to! Continues »

Hours of the Stars

Now the secret hour of our voice empties the skies and the morning bread into our hands now we forget the crosses and the serene courtyard and the decree of the Delphic Cybil Continues »

Suddenly Ecstasis

Don’t believe a word! I’ve certainly heard this many times before! You see… time has not matured for the Erinyes to start. The night still soothes the wave of anger… You see… the losses are still unknown, and also the men who get up at dawn to go to work, have not enough time to look over their neighbours sorrows… And the others –who underarm their brief cases paper full- have not had their coffee as yet… -having crossed their feet upon the surface, of a -mirror like- polished desk. Continues »


I Know it, deeply within my heart you were born in the spirit of the One, Semele’s son the mischievous God, who was followed by the maenads, embraced in mysticism. Continues »

Second Advent of Zeus - Δεύτερη παρουσία του Δία

The merciful Hestia built my dwelling echo of a gallop sang in faraway lands sound of a comma I heard the exclamation of a woman’s nipple an exhausted tree stopped its rustle and I existed in vague limbo Continues »


manolisThe years I risked under the spell of the moon for that lone kiss March daffodils autumn chrysanthemums why have you bloomed? Continues »


Χιλιάδες ώρες, πάνω σ’ αυτό εδώ το νησί του έρωτα και δεν έχω ακόμα χάσει την παρθενία μου. ‘Virgo intacta’! Continues »


She opened her window. Powerful feminine exhilarating gesture that shook me memory rekindled paradisiacal kisses and I dreamed of capturing the echo of a raindrop Continues »

Φιλί του Φλεβάρη

Ως άνθρωποι του γραπτού λόγου θέλουμε να πιστεύουμε ότι μας διέπει η λογική. Η λογική αυτή προστάζει να μην πιστεύουμε σε ψήγματα της φαντασίας, της προκατάληψης, της μαντείας ή του αορίστου. Είναι όμως ευχής έργο το ότι καταφέραμε να συνδράμουμε σε μια προσπάθεια επίκλησης ενδιαφερόντων που μας αντιπροσωπεύει, εφόσον όλοι αγαπήσαμε και όλοι αγαπηθήκαμε κάποτε. Continues »

Greek who arrived in a boat...

The Greek who arrived in a boat wished he had arrived in a plane or with a little bit of cash at least; he had no choice but to arrive in a boat he had to take a month off his life over the waves. Continues »

Κηδείες Εντόμων

We buried the last insect in the ancestors mausoleum stomach butterflies bees of Eros spiders of death. -- Κηδέψαμε το τελευταίο έντομο στο μαυσωλείο των προγόνων. Πεταλούδες στομάχου μέλισσες του έρωτα αράχνες του θανάτου. Continues »

How Long Still?

Eleni Alexiou My love the loom has been worn away. Widows suitors the child gathered yesterday and wandered “how long still?” I replied: “I count the years no more. The fingers have finished. After ten I do not know, I will get lost. Continues »

Dirty old man

Just days are left wrinkles a barren beset haze a single thought, his only worry to sit quietly and not to get in anyone's hurried uttered phrase restrained in silence to stay. Continues »

Limping Man

[tabgroup] [tab title=”English”] Breeze laughed amid his limping footsteps nature’s unforgiving mistake struggled out of the sea eyes full of kindness irises of a saint a brave man’s graceful stature in his unbalanced steps the balance of the Universe searched for justice pain of the different in vain danced in the expression of the man who limped out of the light waves Continues »

The Spring in my Window

Amongst this emptiness setting a gloom amid rose thorns and leaves now fallen a pink and white flower in a bloom has filled the air with buoyant pollen. Continues »


A little further from the light cast by the lamp there begins another world, an unknown world - who has ever gone there? who has every returned from there? - and then there are nights - ah! how many adventures there are dreams, so many that you life becomes insignificant (and hence dangerous) - Continues »

Four Haiku

Snow snowflakes lingering on a strand where pebbles chime the wind smothers me Water water gushes clear in mid summer parched brooks heart-shaped leaves wasted Continues »

Dimitris LIantinis' "HOUR OF THE STARS"

Ὁδηγητής τῶν ἑφτά βοδιῶν πού λειβαδεύουν στό βιλαέτι τῆς ἔγνοιας σου ἀθροίζεις τόν ἕωλο αἰῶνα. Ἔχτισες τά σύνορα τοῦ ἀγῶνα σου μέ τέσσερες σταγόνες παγωμένου ἱδρῶτα σέ σχῆμα λάβαρου σταυροφόρων. Ὦ Ἀλκάλουροψ, πλοηγέ τοῦ γέλιου τῶν παιδιῶν καί ἀλφαβητάρι τῶν γερόντων. Continues »

Aliki Beach

Aliki Beach in autumn hues, just sandy footprints left by you mystically adored, a dream in colours rare and supreme. On Sunday wintertime set in. Your hands held cloudy skies within. We are with you present in mind, our mortal selves, though, left behind. Continues »

City of London

Here books and bookshops have a distinct fragrance like incense rising offering itself to a venerable pious congregation. Here people and palaces have an ancient architecture Roman and Romanesque at once not led astray by flights of abstraction only trusting in the everyday and concrete joyfully signing in the underground at peak hour or biting their lips to not let in the winter Continues »


The snow that falls outside! a God like the ice-vendor of death with eyes bloodshot from fever Continues »

The Hotel "Hope"

A little out from Athens there is the Hotel “HOPE”. Each night in this Hotel, at midnight, two ghosts cry. This bad luck drives the hotel manager to despair, for as you might appreciate these goings-on drive customers away Continues »

The Vigil

Everyone is asleep and I lie awake I thread silver moons through a golden string and I wait for dawn for the birth of a new god Continues »

A Short Story

The café where I drink my coffee is empty only I exist and so the café is completely empty Continues »


Carnation wilted red colored hope painted by the sun’s endless caress two soup bowls empty two wine glasses empty and the cicadas’ song a summer conflagration Continues »

Final Agreement

When rain struck the window with one of its fingers the window opened inward. Deep inside an unknown person, a sound – your voice? Your voice distrusted your ear. The next day the sun went down the fields, like a descent of farmers with scythes and pitchforks. You too went out to the street Continues »


Sometimes past midnight the rhythmic hooves of horses are heard from down the road of a delayed carriage as if returning from a mourning matinee of some rundown neighborhood theater with its plaster fallen off the ceiling, with the peeling walls with a huge discolored red curtain drawn that has shrunk from so many washings and in the gap it leaves under it you could see the bare feet of the stage manager or the electrician who perhaps rolls up a paper forest to turn off the lights. Continues »

Icy Love

Erotic embrace of crystalline ice with tree branch that it won’t break that it won’t lose it in its endless love it shrouds it with the wings of death Continues »


He sat on the stool by the front yard, his hands so clumsy, they had already overtaken us “someday they will demolish the house”, he says to me, and they’ll discover it” and every so often at the far end of the room someone wrapped around him a bed-sheet, it was the time he escaped, until the bed-sheet fell empty on the floor and we had a friend forever, Continues »

The Nails

Sometimes, that special hour, I think of narrating all the details: how, for example, this incurable disease started on the opposite wall or about that woman in the park, whose body was nailed on the bench, and I say this without exaggeration, the nails protruded from her cloths like small buttons, while her purse with her identity card floated down... Continues »


Poetry, EKSTASIS EDITIONS Ubermensch, by Manolis Aligizakis is the most difficult and most philosophical poetry book I have come across. And rightfully so since it is identified with Nietzsche’s “Ubermensch” so much in the plot as much in the concepts. The poet “toys” with the various conventions as he firstly relates Ubermensch to true dimension given to him by the German philosopher and secondly to the misinterpretation given to the concept by the German ‘national-socialists’ with the horrible results that followed and affected the whole world. Continues »

The Visitor's Letter

Share Suddenly on an autumn day he left, on the table he left a letter “don’t send me away” it read and spoke of a deep inhabitable emotion; in the house all the lights were turned on that I wouldn’t understand, that perhaps, he had never come, while next to the letter he had left the mystery of his death, already covered by cobwebs... Continues »

The Bride of Abydos

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine? Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine, Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Continues »

The Third Man

Then the other one came, he carried an old ravished valise, in which he hid all the ghosts of his life, that they never needed chase after him, we were in the same stuffy room and the large animal sawn on the carpet was already biting our knees, “mother”, I asked at some-time, “where can we find some water for my horse?”, “but I don’t see any horse”, “you too, mother!”, Continues »

The Carriage

The foreigner chatted with the woman in a low tone, of course, the woman was dead and he stared at his destiny, that useless outline the dead leave on the chair, birds struck the ceiling and fell into the dirty sink where all the stories ended, embalmed old men sat behind the window glass the stoa was dark, the stores wet where they sold tripods for caskets and wreaths for glory we had once dreamed off, Continues »

The Empty Coat

Night fell and in the old house only the shadows remained, “aunt Eudokia”, I said to her, “be serious, you are dead now” but she retained the same awkward smile, like back then when she hid something which I wasn’t allowed to know as yet the foreigner narrated stories of signs and wonders, ancient old murders, he also talked about a fly on the child’s glass and that he burnt Continues »


Ideal and beloved voices of the dead or those who for us are lost like the dead. At times they talk in our dreams; at times our minds hear them when in thought. Continues »


The orchard with its fountains in the rain you will see only from behind the fogged up glass of the lower window. Your room will be lit by the fireplace flames and sometimes, the distant lightning will reveal the wrinkles on your face, my old Friend. Continues »


We didn’t know them deep inside it was hope that said we had met them in early childhood. Perhaps we had seen them twice and then they went to the ships cargoes of coal, cargoes of crops and our friends vanished beyond the ocean forever. Daybreak finds us beside the tired lamp Continues »

Winter Approaches

Manolis-w-1With each tick of the clock a yellow leaf falls. You had a straw hat with lilac flowers. Now in there, chickens lay eggs and a snail climbs on the leg of the chair. Continues »

Floating in air

With the first cold spells, the trees leave stooping in the wind. In the evening, the sky becomes a large closed glass door. In there, many have gathered talking in low tones and smoking, because we see, behind the steamed glass Continues »

Fear of Life

Stony day stony sun stony silence. The horses died on the mountain the trees died in whitewash you didn’t die. Continues »


Years of sky. Τhe street and the sundown. Τhe white houses are serene like the memory that doesn’t feel sorry for you anymore. Two poplars vanished in the dusk two poplars two poplars. Continues »

Hour of Song

Hour of Song Next to the wine jugs next to the fruit baskets we forgot to sing. On the evening of our separation Continues »

Keami Maha Tahandra

maidenIn my dream last night you did appear uttering “ Keami Maha Tahandra” in my ear. To what end is this exotic phrase? Are you chiding me, or is it praise? Continues »

The Sin

They left, they left – he said. They stayed – he said in a while. They stayed. They exist. Gullible days, wasted. And there were a few trees. The roofs leaned their shoulders more impressively. George, on top of the ladder, was fixing the plaster festoon of the neoclassical house. Further down in the harbor the longshoremen were creating a havoc. They carried large wooden boxes tied with ropes. Two dogs walked edge to edge in the street. Continues »

Finch's song

If it wasn’t for the finch’s song he wouldn’t know spring had arrived. With blurry eyes he looked through the open window deep into the irises of March... Continues »


The rupture in the voice propels the course of the blood clot and at the summit there gapes the joy of the coming of another long-headed woman. Her petals folded and the necklace she bent over to grab provokes and protects her copulation far from the corncobs and velvet of the seashore. Continues »


Prostrate and with sugar on her lips she lay down on the luminous wreath of love. It was not long before the summons was heard. Initially two birds took her, followed by the wires of the compassionate conspiracy, and finally she was taken away by five roosters which looked like horses that were literate, and they touched her private parts. Continues »

Roses by the window

The purpose of our life is not servility. There exist infinitely better things than even that statuesque presence of the bygone epic. The purpose of our life is love. Continues »


After midnight, in the cloyed atmosphere of the casino’s underbelly, things are not as they seem. I sat at a slot machine trying to synchronize my mind to the machine’s rhythm, brain balancing precariously between mild intoxication and growing inebriation. Continues »

Bitter thorn

Bitter thorn The young lady I encountered in my drawer appeared and then vanished. In her place a wisp of smoke carries the phosphorus of her frieze. Emigrants exploit the expanses she left behind but the child of our memories brings the tentacles which resemble the six different delights of the young lady who was basically a mother to her child and my mother. Sometimes I live inside the drawer. Continues »

The Virgin Mary with the fish

ShareBetter even than the soil we give to the friends of water lilies, the getaway signal was spurned. Lying down she feeds her donkeys and the lean ravens without abiding in the injustice of fierce appeasement. That’s why she will still bloom, that’s why she will cry out, that’s why the supine and spineless men and all the secret ravines will be demolished and she will remain a lustrous and likeable crucible thriving in the colours of matter. Continues »


Years like wings. What does the motionless raven remember? What do the dead remember near the roots of trees? Your hands had the color of the falling apple. And this voice that always returns in a low tone. Those who travel focus on the sail and the stars hear the wind and beyond the wind the other sea like a closed conch near them, they hear nothing else, they don’t search among the shadows Continues »

An angel in the steam engine

When with the weight of the wind which sweeps away the brooms between the mothers’ legs the shooting star trumpeted the last commandments of the god-men, the phoneme proudly stood up and with the suppleness of complete automatic subtlety carried felicity away towards the waters of an enormous tide. Continues »

Alone, from the depths of the drawer...

…the second mistral took off. The motions of the slender hairbrush against my self were successfully negotiated. A tropical warmth, but one transformed before martyrs who had been set on fire, was definitively registered in the proceedings of the giant warriors, instead of the worthless honour of an esteemed odalisque. On her legs anklets glowed, on her face tears, on her breast three droplets. Continues »


The night passed its mouth stuffed by speechless water. At daybreak the sun shone wet on the coiled cables. Faces – shadows, masts – shadows, voyages – perhaps saw them, perhaps not – our hunger was never satisfied. Continues »

A Face

It is a bright face, silent, all alone like the entire loneliness, like complete victory over loneliness. This face looks at you between two columns of still water Continues »


The four windows hang rhyming quatrains made of sky and sea inside the rooms A lonely daisy is a small wristwatch on the arm of summer showing twelve at noon. Thus you feel your hair entangled in the hands of the sun Continues »


It is a clock-drop we give one another. If you can give and accept it, you live. Though it become an ocean, you will never lose bearing, you will never drown. Continues »


With bleeding feet dry lips and copper breath, I find myself at the end of the world. And then, I hear one birdsong I see the shaft of just one straw of sun… the pine… Continues »

Come Back

cavafy5Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης και Ερωτισμός/ Constantine Cavafy and Eroticism Sensuous, erotic, exact Cavafy does not so much tell a story as create an atmosphere, sweeping the reader away on a blue Aegean sea of longing. The endurance of his work is in his approach, embodying both the immediacy of the Hellenic past and the direct moment of an imagined erotic encounter. Translated by Manolis Aligizakis [tabgroup] [tab title=”English”] COME BACK Come back often and take me, beloved sensation, come back and take me— when the memory in my body awakens, and the old desire again runs through my blood; when the lips and the skin remember Continues »

One Night

Κωνσταντίνος Καβάφης και Ερωτισμός/ Constantine Cavafy and Eroticism Sensuous, erotic, exact Cavafy does not so much tell a story as create an atmosphere, sweeping the reader away on a blue Aegean sea of longing. The endurance of his work is in his approach, embodying both the immediacy of the Hellenic past and the direct moment of an imagined erotic encounter. Translated by Manolis Aligizakis [tabgroup] [tab title=”English”] ONE NIGHT The room was poor and cheap hidden above the shady tavern. From the window the street was visible, narrow and filthy. From below came the voices of some workers who played cards and joked around. Continues »

At the entrance to the Cafe

ShareConstantine Cavafy and Eroticism Translated from the Greek by Manolis Aligizakis [tabgroup] [tab title=”English translation”] Sensuous, erotic, exact Cavafy does not so much tell a story as create an atmosphere, sweeping the reader away on a blue Aegean sea of longing. The endurance of his work is in his approach, embodying both the immediacy of the Hellenic past and the direct moment of an imagined erotic encounter. AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE CAFE Something they said at the next table directed my attention to the café door. And I saw the beautiful body that looked like Eros had made it out of his most exquisite experience— shaping its symmetrical limbs joyfully; raising its sculptured stature; Continues »

Autumn Comment

ShareThe gist of my story was a black reclining chair—though where is the house now, where is the fruit bowl with the old invitations, the napkins that concealed our laughter—only the lamp is lit in the empty room, like someone who talks to himself ignorant of the danger or like a woman you never Continues »


When, finally, after all the begging, the woman lied down and lifted her dress, I chose to pick all the coins that fell—and all this for a Peisistratos, as was the name of the café where I drank my brandy and then the patrons laughed as I fell asleep on the chair Continues »

Perverted Passion

MANUAL FOR EUTHANASIA 1979 ΕΓΧΕΙΡΙΔΙΟ ΕΥΘΑΝΑΣΙΑΣ ~So many stars and I starve to death. ~ Τόσα άστρα κι εγώ νά λιμοκτονώ Τάσος Λειβαδίτης Manolis Aligizakis [tabgroup] [tab title=”English”] Perverted Passion Someday I’ll remember of something so nice, it’ll be autumn, in that narrow side-street with the glass shops, where when we went bankrupt, father sold dream books—since then I never got of the dream although I was cold, to at least fall into my perverted passion: melancholy or crowding—because, let us be honest, I never loved anybody and this tender glance of mine was just for personal use like the immortality of the poets. [/tab] [tab title=”Ελληνικά”] Ανώμαλα Πάθη Κάποτε θά θυμηθώ κάτι τόσο ωραίο, θά `ναι φθινόπωρο σ’ εκείνη τή μικρή πάροδο μέ τά υαλοπωλεία, εκεί πού, όταν ξεπέσα- με, ο πατέρας πουλούσε ονειροκρίτες—από τότε δέν ξαναβγήκα απ’ τ’ όνειρο κι όμως κρύωνα, αλλά μπορούσα τουλάχιστο να παραδοθώ στ’ανώμαλα [...]
Continues »


ShareThe room was in the suburbs, with a few pieces of furniture, like a Gospel quotation—so everything finished quickly and Joanna cried and run back to the station, on the other hand it was a secret that I’d forget as I tried to mention it, then I opened the violin case—and only, at sometimes, when I grieved I put on my tie Continues »

Afternoon Delights

MANUAL FOR EUTHANASIA 1979 ΕΓΧΕΙΡΙΔΙΟ ΕΥΘΑΝΑΣΙΑΣ ~So many stars and I starve to death. ~ Τόσα άστρα κι εγώ νά λιμοκτονώ Manolis Aligizakis - Or perhaps to be more accurate it all started by this clock, a stupid, baldheaded clock, it wasn’t my fault— every afternoon I simply sat quietly on the sofa and ate my aunties is young age, but one by one, Continues »


Today I shall write a poem: exquisite images crafted to mesmerize the readers’ minds eloquent contours devoted to Terpsichore’s dance philosophical depth meant to guide people forever ethereal compositions designed to awe the on-lookers Continues »


Here, in the untidiness of the room, between the dusty books and the old people’s portraits, between the yes and the no of so many shadows, one band of motionless light here, in this position where you undressed one night. Continues »

Summer in the City

In this place the light is beyond hope. This heartless month doesn’t allow us not to be two. You are not enough. The monotonous clank, the streetcars turning the corner the marble-masons cutting stones in high noon. Above the fence-wall you could see the conventional funerary stele marble flowers marble ribbons the bust of a banker the face of a child shadowed by the wing of an angel. Continues »


Κείνες τις μέρες νοιώθαμε πως είμαστε στον δεύτερο μήνα εγκυμοσύνης κι ο πόνος είχε σταθερή διάσταση σαν υποτείνουσα μεταξύ σκέψης και συναισθήματος σαν ένα χαμόγελο με πείσμα κι είμασταν πια μεγάλοι για να μάθουμε παιγνίδια καινούργια γι αυτό εμείναμε πιστοί στου ανέμου το πανάρχαιο μαστίγωμα πάντα μακριά απ’ τα όνειρά μας, αλήθεια, μια ασήμαντη εξέλιξη. Continues »


N.N. Trakakis The sky and its thousand stars stare back in sadness as do I in the pre-dawn hours resigning the world without sleep that better it might be regained Continues »

The Armenian Mother

ShareThe earthquake struck Armenia quickly And spread its devastation swiftly; From its innards the earth rumbled Then its outer surface crumbled And everything standing on it tumbled. Shocked and stunned, the Armenians ran, Fearful and tearful and shattered, As the ground sputtered and shuddered- The horror and terror in their voices Echoing nature's destructive noises. Continues »


ubermensch_coverHe stood by the fireplace and after He shifted the logs He said: ‘nothing you can do for the wilted anemone at least try to push your empty cart uphill perhaps one day it may find its way back to the desolate house with you or without’ and I bent down to pick my defeated ego, it had all started because of our devout narcissism, Continues »

The Street That Was Not Named “Pasolini Street”

Wide morning in Rome that widens the consonant l amid the vendors yelling, the tires of buses and the statues’ silence. Ocher shadowed in the eastern facades of stores and buildings. Doors and doors uphold the semicircles of shadows at one time. Strange – he said – Continues »

Vatican Museum

da Vinci Raphael Michelangelo, – how they incised the greatest skies in the human face, in the human body toenails and fingernails, leaves and stars, nipples, dreams, lips, – to red and the light blue the tangible and the inconceivable. Perhaps from touching of these two fingers the world was reborn. The space between these two fingers still measures accurately the earth’s pull and duration. Continues »


Ναι, το ξέραμε πως ο προδότης πάντα κρυβόταν μέσα στον ίσκιο του μισογκρεμισμένου τοίχου, στου πιστολιού σκανδάλη το δάχτυλό του έτοιμο δικαιοσύνη ν’ αποδώσει όπως την περιγράφανε αρχέγονα βιβλία, άλογη λογική που μέλλονταν να αποτύχει κι εμείς πιο κοντά ζούσαμε στην ανωνυμία και στους αρχαίους όρκους κάποτε... Continues »


Then, what they searched for, what was I guilty of, I, who’s only crime was that I grew up always chased, where could one find time, for this I stayed gullible and I always hugged the cold railing of the bridge. Continues »


There is a door in the night that only the blind see, darkness makes the animals hear better, and him, staggered, not from being drunk Continues »


Όντως ήταν αληθινό και το δεχτήκαμε. Πέθανε ο Θεός μας. Τον θάψαμε χθές το απόγευμα χωρίς τραγούδια ή παιάνες, δίχως κλαυθμούς και μοιρολόγια κι ανάλαφροι ενιώσαμε τίποτα πιο πολύ δεν μας γαργάλαγε παρά το ύφος της μουντής μέρας ενώ ο φόβος, θάλεγα, βαθειά μες την καρδιά μας είχε καταχωνιαστεί. Continues »

Signs of The Times

And the episodes continued with minor variations, the epidemic advanced, confused messages, we didn’t know who they had left out, the saints in fear took refuge in the calendars, scarecrows no longer took off their hats when the trains passed by, large membranes appeared under the women’s arms, Continues »


Creation - He would sit out in the fields and draw birds on the soil. But the birds yearned for the sky. Then, all around them, he drew the infinite sorrow. Continues »

Secret Gate

Secret Gate Wings stirred under the furniture and at the end of the hall the dark mirror made the children often sick, because they didn’t want to grow up, Continues »

On a Ray of Winter Light

Είπες εδώ καί χρόνια: “Κατά βάθος είμαι ζήτημα φωτός”. Καί τώρα ακόμη σάν ακουμπάς στίς φαρδιές ωμοπλάτες τού ύπνου ακόμη κι όταν σέ ποντίζουν Some years ago you said ‘Basically I am a matter of light.’ And still today when you lean on the wide shoulders of sleep even when they anchor you Continues »

Flowers of the rock before the green sea

Flowers of the rock before the green sea with veins that reminded me of other loves gleaming in the slow drizzle flowers of the rock, faces Continues »

Summer Solstice

Soft island hills lapping on sea froth cicadas fire up their endless arias come close to me, I beg you, before me stand like Hermes naked, Continues »

The birds and the bees

May we catch our breath for now may we escape of dreams to distant shores, let shaded laughs among our cries and all our thoughts we let them find what it is that they may seek appearing oh so desperately meek? Continues »

Tomorrow, perchance, a coin I'll thrust

Mismatched robes in strategic pose sculpted from birth feigning hurt? Lady, lady please a drachma for a sandwich,Good Easter. Infant nursed empty purse on carpeted display destitute path convey. God bless you lady a drachma for her milk,Good Easter. Continues »

The Sixth Day

It was the sixth day of creation; mother was dressed in black, she wore her good hat with the veil, “God shouldn’t had done this to us” she said, at the far end pale workers put together the big stage of the circus, “come back home, it’s late”, “which home?” I asked and hugged the lamp-post of the street, my young cousin was almost dead, I pushed her behind the closet, Continues »

For a Woman

Do you remember the nights? To make you laugh I’d walk over the glass of the night lamp. “How was it possible?” You asked. But it was so simple: since you loved me Θυμάσαι τίς νύχτες; Γιά νά σέ κάνω νά γελάσεις περπατούσα πάνω στο γυαλί τής λάμπας. “Πώς γίνεται;” ρωτούσες. Μά ήταν τόσο απλό αφού μ’ αγαπούσες. Continues »

Parthenon Marbles

Who is talking about marbles? These are not marbles any more. These are the flesh and blood Of our forefathers, who fought For centuries to preserve. Continues »


4 I stand on waves of earth - χωμα nurtured by blood- -and-bone of my ancestors Continues »

My Sun

I try the warmth of poppies, Like a substitute sun They light the corners of my sight. Armful, eyeful, I fill and overflow with gathering. From my fingers The urchin trusts his darkness And takes a single flower. Continues »

to look at water

to look at water     when I open (up) my heart         - is to fill it             with the stillness Continues »

The Secret

Brother, you stole my secret and went. Noon and midnight quit the sky. Nothing's secure nor quite obscure, without. One, two, and a third gone orb of light. Within the night, zenith and nadir converge. Continues »


Black water, black sky And I sat river watching. From the perimeter cold They charted all heat of my waiting And punished me. Continues »

Two poems with no title

I say, therefore, I’ll come someday to hide, like before, aloft and let them knock, let all that loved me knock, let all those that I loved knock, all those that I loved so dearly and I will not open, Continues »


Our homeland is closed in, all mountains that day and night have the low sky as their roof. We have no rivers, no water wells, no springs only a few cisterns, even them empty, that echo and that we worship. A stagnant hollow sound, same as our loneliness same as our love, same as our bodies. Continues »

Nineties Suite

Burly grizzled man with foreign designation seeks compensation Suffered work place accident troubling hurt recalls healthy youth in village of birth Life unfolds within the claws of legal and medical dispute his character in disrepute Three members sit aloof listen peruse submissions scribble question direct interrupt deliberate Why can’t they anglicise their names? A senior member berates Time to do something for Australians too! Another sceptic asserts If I were king for a day I’d grant to all! The cynical majority considers him a shirker unlike the dissenter who affirms the injured worker Continues »


1 the songs my mother sang me are the songs I heard at birth: my mother’s lament for her still-born child – the one before me are the songs I heard in my sleep at ten: her grief for her mother left behind never seen again Continues »

Περσεφόνη in between

king of death, curly hair and eyes as black as salty olives, you abduct me at dawn when I am dreaming of carousels and strawberry ice cream, filch me away to the serrated tip of Πελοποννησο − Continues »

the damp seeps in

in this room faded lime green paint is chipped touched-up photographs remind me of the origins of my name ikons blessed at the village church and a makeshift καντηλι behind a hand-embroidered curtain keep vigil over me Continues »

Epiphany, 1937

The flowering pelagos and the mountains in the waning moon the great rock near the cactus pear trees and the asphodels the water pitcher that wouldn’t go dry at the end of the day and the vacant bed near the cypresses and your hair golden, the stars of the Swan and that star, Aldebaran Continues »

That I am

Today into my hands and not for the first time I held a handful of soil... Trying again to count all of its grains Continues »

Cypriot who died in the Turkish invasion

I wish I had died in an important world war, at least but I was shot in action at an insignificant skirmish of a small and insignificant country, as I doubt they will ever erect a monument to our war dead, and even if accomplished, it cannot be compared, of course, with similar monuments of the larger states, with similar monuments of the larger wars, Continues »

An Old Man On the River Bank

And yet we have to consider how to proceed. To feel is not enough, nor to think, nor to move nor to risk your body in the ancient embrasure, when the boiling oil and molten lead groove the walls. And yet we have to consider to what direction we go ahead not the way our pain desires it and our hungry children and the chasm of our comrades’ call from the opposite shore not even the darkened light whispers it in the improvised hospital, Continues »

Sprig of Silver Wattle

Fur encumbered women swing designer label bags hold sprigs of silver wattle push into Caffé on Condotti walls lined with burgundy damask wallpaper settle at marble topped tables seated under ornate gilded mirrors and framed memorabilia – Goethe Stendhal Milosz Liszt Keats Shelley Byron heavy curtains cocoon grey suited man who fondles his young blonde lover the resident artist Baccellieri sits alongside the espresso machine winks at the couple he wears silver glasses shabby hat and a thick woolen coat draped with a long red scarf Continues »

Spring of Wisdom

swathed in stone gargantuan imposing blindfolded she beckoned me through the University portals into the quadrangle surrounded by the expansive portico and erudite grey stone buildings busts of male scholars her heirs scientists doctors philosophers serpent at her feet symbol of medicine Continues »

Frail Wings

Perspiring bodies with frail wings Submerged on the mountainous planes of Achaia Levitate towards the starry sky Co-drinking nectar with the Olympian family. Yearning to transcend the earthly plane Horizons untouched by human despair Epiphanies of deities at Eleusis: Continues »

Jetty Cafe - Dennes Point

Stillness prevailed. You could hear the sound of bird wing. A Sea Eagle sweeping A Dolphin leaping. Sea – a great swatch of interference colour, Opalescent, blue and then orange in my peripheral vision.   The door open. Kris and Ray give welcome As though I was the Prodigal Son. Such is their style in all they do.   Pass the intimateArtGallery Into the communal gathering space. Fireplace, leather lounge, books on cookery dominate free standing shelves.   Chalkboard menu Demonstrates the passion, flare and personality of the cook. Ray Nourishes the soul.   On the bench, Mulberry, Frangipani tart, Gold foil hued biscuits. A pan of fish on the stove, Dutch potatoes being smashed.   Vivaldi music gently permeates the air. I sit and drink my tea.   The D’Entrecateux Channel now forms relief patterns.   My miniscule notebook/sketchbook is being scribbled in. Like Flaubert, I observe intently, Oh!  [...]
Continues »

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