…Or, what was worse? ©


A remarkable thing about the bodies that we saw was that nearly all of them were
naked. I have been informed that the people were forced to take off their clothes
before they were killed, as the Mohammedans consider the clothes taken from a
dead body to be defiled.

—Leslie A. Davis, American Consul General

When we see those still photographs
captioned “deportations”
—showing long lines of
Christian women: Armenian, Assyrian,
Greek; full with babies, carrying infants,
children by their sides—but where are their men?
We see them walking through barren land
on their way to their deaths—
they don’t know, they’ve not been told.

Continue reading “…Or, what was worse? ©”



the language of writing with light

photographia is all about the light
the right light
it’s about the correct light!

photographia is about writing
writing with light,
it’s about, the art of capturing the precious light!

it’s all about the patience
the waiting, the passion
it’s about endless hours waiting for the precious light!

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A Visit to Mykonos


The last remnant from the bottle of complimentary shampoo from Hotel Acrogialli slid through my hair, the final tangible link to the mythical Greek Island of Mykonos.  My heart ached to return to that Agean diamond in the sun, where dazzling white buildings clustered around the rocky shores.

There can be nothing quite like the experience of sitting in the new light of day beside the beach on an Agean Isle eating freshly baked Greek bread with crispy bacon and coffee.  There is a certain kind of magic in the atmosphere.  It could be the light, or the fishing boats moored at the jetty, or the white, white buildings jutting up from the headlands, gleaming in the sun against the blue sea and sky.  Or perhaps it is the mixture of the Greek language, the smiling waiters, and the abundance of delicious food which promotes a sense of bliss to those first beset by the charm of Mykonos.

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A Lonely Life


I saw him again yesterday afternoon when I was riding my bike along the beach.

He was sitting on a bench gazing at the horizon, oblivious of what was going on around him. I noticed he had a sad expression on his face.

Steve is tall and skinny with a rugged face and short grey hair. He is seventy five but looks much older.  As usual, he’s smartly dressed, wearing grey gabardine pants with a matching vest, white shirt and a navy blue cardigan. He looks as if he’s again living in his own dream world, a world full of memories from the distant past; happy memories from his childhood in a small village in Greece where he was surrounded by his extended family of mother, father, brothers, sister and grandparents.  He remembers the joy of his wedding day when he married his childhood sweetheart. 

Then there were unhappy memories of his wife’s long illness and consequent death and the heartache of having an estranged only son.


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At Federation Square a new centre for the Arts opened in the City of Melbourne, Australia.  The population watched the progress of this uniquely designed complex being built, the structure looking rather like a child’s meccano set with assorted triangle shapes slotting into place. Most of the public were horrified as it continued to grow.  Comments abounded like, “How awful, it does nothing for the area, so grey looking, and imagine building something like that opposite the lovely old St. Paul’s Church building.”   However, now the building is completed and people are adjusting to the change they cannot help but be impressed by the innovative architecture.  The interior is ideal for the painting, photographic galleries and the Moving Image Centre it houses.

I visited Federation Square and strolled through the gallery dedicated to early Australian Art.  I was made very conscious of the importance of the artist as I looked at work after work which had been diligently painted so that I now had the benefit of viewing it over a hundred years later.  I was very moved by these paintings which depicted scenes around Melbourne which gave me a glimpse of the era of my great grandparents and made me conscious of my Australian Heritage.

Continue reading “MUSING ABOUT ART”

Μάνα Σουλιώτισσα


(Θεατρικό απόσπασμα)


  • Πρόποδες του χωριού Ζαλόγγου, στο βουνό Ζάλογγο.


  • 13 Δεκεμβρίου 1803


  • Μάνα και κόρη
  • Ένας Εισηγητής


  • Της εποχής, ή και με σκούρα ρούχα


  • Ένα μπογαλάκι, κι ένα μικρό δεματάκι.

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Ενας χαρταετός στο Μανχάτταν


Απο τη συλλογή διηγημάτων
του βιβλίου «Στις  Αγορές του Κόσμου»
(εκδόσεις Ελληνικά Γράμματα

Ένα ταξίδι στη Νέα Υόρκη ήταν ό,τι είχε ονειρευτεί απο τότε που πήγαινε στο Οικονομικό Πανεπιστήμιο. Κι αυτοί οι γιάππηδες με τα μάτια στραμμένα στους πίνακες της χρηματαγοράς, τα καλοραμμένα κοστούμια και τις πολύχρωνες γραβάτες , μ’ αυτό το απόλυτα βέβαιο ύφος της επιτυχίας, αποτελούσαν την ιδανική μορφή του αρσενικού πρότυπου για το Μιχάλη της μικρομεσαίας Αθήνας. Ηταν και η Γουόλ Στρίτ με τους ουρανοξύστες που έπαιζε μέσ’ στο μυαλό του ως σκηνικό ενός στόχου.

Τί κι άν ήρθαν οι δίδυμοι πύργοι κάτω, τί κι αν οι δείκτες Dow Jones και Nasdaq κατρακύλησαν παρασύροντας περιουσίες ολάκερες. Ο Μιχάλης παρέμεινε αμετάπειστος πως η επιτομή του επιτυχημένου αρσενικού παραμονεύει εκεί στους σκοτεινούς δρόμους του Μανχάταν.

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Πάμε Βόλτα


Μεσάνυχτα! Ο παλιός καλός μου φίλος, ο ασημένιος ολοστρόγγυλος δίσκος, ήλθε και με βρήκε εδώ στην εξοχή αυτή τη φορά.

Κατηφόρησε το βουνό, έφεξε σκοτεινά βοσκοτόπια, μύρισε καπνό απ τις καμινάδες, γεύτηκε την αλμύρα του Ωκεανού, χάιδεψε φυλλωσιές δένδρων, online canadian pharmacy πιάστηκε στης Άνοιξης τη μυρωμένη αγκάλη και ήλθε και στάθηκε στην αυλή μου. Τον είδα απ’ το παράθυρο να παραφυλάει πίσω απο την ανθοστόλιστη, φουντωτή ακακία.

Έτρεξα έξω με χαρά κι αυτός προχώρησε προς το μέρος μου. “Θυμάσαι που ήλθα  στο σπίτι σου στην πόλη να πάμε μαζί βόλτα στη θάλασσα που τόσο αγαπάς και συ δεν θέλησες γιατί ήταν πολύ αργά;  Αυτή τη φορά θα ήθελα πολύ να έρθεις μαζί μου. Είναι τόσο όμορφα απόψε! Θα χαρείς, είμαι σίγουρος. Έλα, σε περιμένω”.

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A dip in the Aegean


To my friends Yiota and Justine from the Americas

When you go for a dip in the Aegean
You really must wear no thoughts
Without charge, without malice
For the Aegean needs you copiously pure.

When you make it for a dip in the Aegean
You just need to forget all earthly feats
But remember take with you some duress
For the Aegean offers all the needed freedom.

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Μια βουτιά μες στο Αιγαίο


Αφιερωμένο στο φιλαράκι μου το Σταύρο

Όταν πας για μια βουτιά μες στο Αιγαίο
Στην πράξη δεν πρέπει πολύ να το σκεφτείς
Δίχως ορμές, ούτε κακίες εκεί να βγεις
Το Αιγαίο πάντ’ αυθόρμητο θα μένει.

Αν καταφέρεις μια βουτιά μες στο Αιγαίο
Πρέπει τα εγκόσμια να χάσεις προς στιγμή.
Μην ξεχνάς στο άγχος, αν σε συνοδεύει,
Το Αιγαίο πάντα σου προσφέρει ξεγνοιασιά.

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My last memorable dinner party


My last memorable dinner party

Most of us know the format of conventional dinner parties. A gracious hostess invites four or five couples to her mansion and after the introductions, over drinks, the guests are ready for the first course of a four-course dinner.
During dinner the hostess encourages her guests to change places so everyone gets the chance to chat to everyone else. In my experience, the women network during the party while the men posture like peacocks to impress. The food is delectable, the wines are well-chosen and the party ends when the last drop of wine is consumed.

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