Thursday, August 31, 2017

There is a love that stands still
Under the closed window
Of an abandoned house,
That used to be its safehaven.

There is a love that inhales once a year
Under a closed window
That lights up this exact day
And exhales all the other days.

There is a love that lasts
By saving its breath.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

scar tissue

The rosebud one:
Οf high speed and high on new life,
In a garden full of rose bushes;
The equation features accident waiting to happen.
When child too eager to smell the roses and oblivious of  thorns.
Got it luckily right on the eyebrow -a later attractive imperfection-
Three stiches, no remorse, no crying. A braveheart.
The "do not trust what looks and smells beautiful" exercise.
The jump out the window one:
Clear statement of a girl amongst boys,
A super girl plan that turned out 
Destroying an Easter celebration.
Intoxicated adults in panic, running the
Party-pooper to the hospital. Real bummer.
Seven stitches, a resurrection, and a late massive attack
On a cold, by then sacrificial, lamb.
The "it is not the same being a girl" lesson.
The balance beam one:
Though I could somersault into the clouds
While gravity again had the other plan
And landed me on a hard one. Five stitches.
Tried it again, many times, till I succeeded.
A medal injury. The "fail again, fail better" exam.
The deer one:
A close encounter, "who is the boss", type of.
Defense versus spontaneity; not a match.
Six stitches and an afterthought: the "do not expect others
to accept what you expect" doctrine.

And the "think before you act" test.
The baby one:
By appointment. Prep, epidural, cut, 8 am and out is
She, who was too attached to the womb to do it on her own.
Twenty stitches, for a gasp of air. Wound not accounted.
The lesson of "life and love". 
The breast one:
My life or that thing.
Not by choice, not by impulse, not by pride.

Just by force. Stitches never counted.
The "chance, choice and synchronicity"
Dissertation. Where the three graces can turn into
The three curses, anywhere and anytime, anyhow.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Whys and whatnots

Why is there something instead of nothing?
Maybe this something is nothing, and nothing
Is far more interesting than anything in the Cosmos.
And since matter is so scarce, and void fills the Universe
To whom should this petty matter, matter more than the vast nothingness,
But to poets and physicists, for the mere matter of asking why.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Ιστός Αγάπης

Ανάμεσα σε σένα και σε μένα,
Στο χώρο τον κενό που μας χωρίζει,
Η Αγάπη έχει υφάνει τον ιστό της.
Πυκνό όσο χρειάζεται για καλή σοδειά
Και αραιό όσο πρέπει για τα μικρά, τα περιττά.
Έτσι, οι ιδέες πάντα θα μένουν κοινή μοιρασιά
Και τα ανούσια θα περνούν και θα πετούν μακριά.
Το κενό ανάμεσα σε σένα και σ' εμένα
Το ενώνει ένας ιστός Αγάπης,
Για να ταίζουμε ο ένας τον άλλον
Και να μην πεινάσουμε ποτέ ξανά.

Sunday, July 30, 2017


Κάθε ποίημα είναι δύσκολη εξίσωση.
Aπαιτεί φαντασία, πειθαρχία, λιτή σκέψη.
Έχει αγνώστους, και επιμέρους λύσεις,
Μέχρι να καταλήξεις στην τελική απάντηση.

Αν κάτι -έστω και ελάχιστο- πάει λάθος στην πορεία
Τότε, και το τελικό αποτέλεσμα σου βγαίνει λάθος.
Δε βγάζει νόημα, δεν έχει κλιμάκωση, δε δίνει κάθαρση.
Πρέπει να να το δουλέψεις όλο από την αρχή.

Κάθε ποίημα είναι κι ένας πίνακας ζωγραφικής.
Ξεκινάς με ένα προσχέδιο που σκιτσάρει την ιδέα
Και μετά δουλεύεις συνέχεια πάνω του, ξανά και ξανά,
Μέχρι να ικανοποιηθείς από το τελικό αποτέλεσμα.

Ένα ποίημα, είναι τόπος εγκλήματος.
Θα γυρίσεις πίσω στα κρυφά να το θαυμάσεις,
Το επισκέπτεσαι με ενοχές, ξανά και ξανά,
Και προσπαθείς πάντα να το βελτιώσεις.

Ένα ποίημα είναι ζηλόφθονο και τελειομανές.
Ζηλεύει το προηγούμενο κι εχθρεύεται το επόμενο.
Δε θέλει ποτέ να το ολοκληρώσεις,
Γιατί δεν είσαι αρκετά ικανός να το κάνεις,
Αφού σαν τη Σφίγγα, έχει όλα τα μυστικά του κόσμου
Κι εσύ, δεν είσαι παρά ένας θνητός με ονοματεπώνυμο.

Saturday, July 29, 2017


The first day, all she could do was dance.
Arms and legs knitting a fine spider's web,
To bind each prey with invisible thread
And cherish the victim she caught just by chance.

Second day, was about her well sculpted groin.
Moving her youthful tummy back and forth.
Her netherlands, a treasure cove, a fair mount's worth;
With her belly button's priceless coin, to lure in the boy.

The third day she heard knocking in her chest.
'Twas a steady beat, the nature's calling.
The snooze of her cells was on to her stalling.
Then she decided, now any choice would be best.

Fourth day, all land froze below the mouth.
She felt her voice and admired its effect.
Spoke out her mind, to her own words she wept,
Abandoned the rest of her places, down south.

Fifth day came and her jaw went all numb.
Her words did not climb those high mountains,
Did not become doves to reach far for encounters.
Her volume turned down, her power went glum.

Day six, and inside her all hell just broke loose.
To her only safehaven she fled, at the top of her head.
She laid panicking, paralyzed on her once bridal bed;
Trying to find for her thoughts urgent, rescuing use.

On day seven she gathers the ascent from toes up
Was this vertical journey, a lifelong 'bottoms up'.
Like the glass of fine wine must become empty cup;
When the juice is all gone, and as spirit still flows:
"It was not about me". And in silence, she knows.

Friday, July 28, 2017


το χιούμορ
είναι το ντεκολτέ του ανδρός
και τα @@ της γυναικός.

Thursday, July 27, 2017


I've watched so many people die in my time,
You shouldn't be scared at all, said the stone.
One minute they're here, next minute they're gone.
I tell you; It's nothin'.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

Παλιά, όταν την είχα, ήταν ένα αυτόματο "Χριστέ μου".
Τώρα που δεν είναι εδώ δίπλα, δεδομένη, είναι το "μανούλα μου".
Μισό αυτόματο και μισό συνειδητό, του τρόμου.
Μετά, καπάκι ενοχές για τον καλύτερο μπαμπά του κόσμου,
Γιατί σε αντίθεση με άλλους, ήμουν τυχερή.
Αλλά τα γιατροσόφια και τα λόγια της ψυθιριστά στο αυτί,
με εκείνη την καθησυχαστική χροιά που δήλωνε
απόλυτο ελέγχο της πλάσης και συμβόλαιο για παν ενδεχόμενο,
με ρήτρα το 'έτσι θέλω της', με έκαναν πάντα καλά, ως δια μαγείας.
Και έτσι, όποτε νιώθω επιρεπής και ανασφαλής,
Το 'μανούλα μου' είναι σίγουρο ξόρκι για το φόβο.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

bull's eye

Μέσα στον κλειστό του κύκλο είναι ασφαλής.
Άβατο το στρογγυλό του σχήμα, οχυρό.
"Μην πατάτε την περίμετρο, θα τη φάτε στο ψαχνό!"
Γύρω-γύρω οι ταμπέλες, σφηνωμένες κατάγης.
Περιπολεί απ' το κέντρο, γράφει ακτίνες διαφυγής.

Κοράκι πετάει από ψηλά και βλέπει άνθρωπο.
Τι να του πει, ότι είναι καλά εκεί που στέκει;
Γελά από μέσα του. Τόση βλακεία δε την αντέχει.
Ομόκεντροι κύκλοι αγκαλιάζουνε τον 'άτρωτο'.
Ταμπουρώθηκε στο κέντρο στόχου αλλουνού,
 Φυλάει την περίμετρο και τον εχθρό τον ψάχνει αλλού.

Κοράκι έχει πιο σημαντική δουλειά.
Πετά μακριά.


Ιn his sealed perfect circle, he feels absolutely safe.
Demarcating his round enclosure, perfect protection for the waif.
"Do not trespass, you will be shot"; do, or die if you dare not obey.
He' s made sure to be safe all around and allow no foul play ,
Patrolling the perimeter, the inside of his quay.

Raven flies over and spots the bipedal prey.
What can raven say? 
Little man, you are looking okay?
Raven laughs inside; 
Humans are so easy to slay!
Cocentric circles are orbiting man's spot.
He is the epicenter of someone else's target.
Μan should be screaming mayday, 
Or startin' to bargain.

Raven has more important things to do.
Raven flies away.

Thursday, July 13, 2017


It's in my nightmare I have to live from now on.
It was a bad driver who was to blame, for sure. Like the ones we bump into every time we go out and you get pissed off because they are "Sooooo dangerously slow!" and I consequently roll my eyes to the sound of your recurring insight.
Must have been at the slippery and narrow country road from the scenic route you must have taken. You showed it to me on our trip to the north, a winding snake of a road, without any railings to its sides, just a deep ditch that spooked me big time and told you "I thought these roads exist only in third world countries..." and you comforted me "but we are the third world, baby!". Thanks very much...
It must have been your slight fever too, that I told you not to underestimate but it was not manly enough for you to stay at home to recover on the couch. And you very well knew that sometimes fever gives you double vision. I told you it had happened to me one time and it was very disorienting and disconcerting, because it occurred in the middle of an arguement I was having with the witch that was emy ex mother in law, and one of her was already a handful.
It must be my consistent bad luck that  left me here, entirely, completely, absolutely alone against the rest of this Continent, an ocean and another Continent away from where my home that once was, is. That is precisely the length of aloneness. And here I am now, standing on the coordinates of loneliness. Right at this very spot, in the kitchen. I don't even drive. I speak the alien language and that's it. What good is it for? If I weren't speaking it, maybe the neighbors that I have shared the sum of five sentences all and all, would feel sorry for me and do everything on my behalf, if they are good christians (there are massively attracted to this part of the country). Perhaps they will do the bad, horrible, necessary stuff, the things that must be done. Mustbedone. A sign from a very disturbing, dark place inside me; its letters carved in capital gothic font on eroded old stone, readable only when lightning strikes in a night with heavy rain and gastly winds.
Forget the neighbors. I speak the language too well and therefore, I have to organize all mustbedones, by myself....
I have only five zanax left. It is either all of them at once, or very carefully managed doses of one quarter at a time, for them to last as long as I need to make it for the next week, or so. What if my sister in law will help? We haven't bonded ever, really. Just once we tried, when we went to the big mall for shopping and there was not much room for profound talking, as you can imagine.
I have to call his sons. I can't. What do I say? How do I say it? No, let her call their mother. They need to be here. This is a daytmare. I am not going to make it. And suppose I do, what next? What do I do with the house, the furniture, the paintings? How do I share them, How do I go back? Do I go back? And if I go back what do I do there, after so many years that I have been fading like the Cheshire cat from the minds of everyone? What do I do here, where I am not even that?
The phone rings. Must be the police!

"I just saw six missed calls from you. I did not hear the phone ringing. I am on my way back. Is everything ok, baby?"

Sunday, July 09, 2017

Adam, man

When police told Adam that Eve was deceiced
-victim of a venomous snake bite-
Adam said:
"What am I going to do now?"
And he threw up on the kitchen floor.

potato eaters and jaywalkers

Thursday, July 06, 2017

Wednesday, July 05, 2017

landsea totem


Old ragged guy drags anciend shaggy dog,
Slowly crossing the street at green light.
Wondering who will leave the other behind.


My photo
i have nothing to declare, but a can of tuna