Kiki Dimoula

Thieves In Mind

Crying she describes
how burglars wrecked the house
the wretches took her jewellery and
old women values.

Isn’t she happy?

It’s been years since any thief
set foot in my house
even for coffee.
I deliberately leave the pot unlocked.

On returning each time I pray
to find the door’s canines broken

the lights shaking as if just having
against a tall earthquake’s head

to see the burial gifts stolen
from the mirror’s mummy kingdoms

as if someone had shaved in the
and whiskers had sprouted on my
beardless touch
their refutation bound hand and foot
on the floor

and, coming at its leisure from the
kitchen, steam
from warm footprints with lots of
cinnamon on top.

Titos Patrikios

Latest News

Dead chimneys, smokeless
mouths emptied of laughter,
hearts that won and died-
we must bridge the lips of the abyss.

Humans, above all humans,
persistent, restless, shameless,
without doubt,
hiding nothing,
let's spill out in the streets again
to build life once again,
to build life first.

A sky full of voices
and overturned clouds
that were executed this noon-
the newspapers got this bit of news
just as they went to print.
Not one of them wrote of the fountains
that opened upon their tortured bodies.

Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke


Leaving Lipiu behind
I understood that I had lost my orientation
towards something with real smell
towards the wrist's tender skin with the lovely pulse.
I took a walk around myself
and though heading for the boat
ended up in front of a store all shut up.
Behind the windowpane black with dust
a tragic jacket stood, no one
would ever want its warmth.
The sun had set
and all the streets began
to howl in unison. "No thoroughfare."
I left. Cupping my hands
as though holding the final breath
of a frozen bird,
I protected the final handshake.

Larry Cool

Only Eyes

My body, the heating stove, the bed
Softly sway in the universe
Bright fire-balls pass through.

A baby - myself
Dangles above the table
Through his diaphanous body birds fly
Civilisations rise and fall
- "All the worlds break cover from my cry
All the stitches you will write, are here"
He says and he offers to me an ink bottle
- "No" I answer
And dousing the pen into the night, I write:
"The world and I never existed".

The ink climb on my fingers
Spreads out and I disappear step by step
In the place two eyes remains.

Dimitris P. Kraniotis

The "Don'ts" And "Zeros"

The night
that strangled
the endless moments
I had wished
to live,
passed by
without my lighting up
the candle
I had longed
to warm up
all the "don'ts" and "zeros".

Sotirios Pastakas

Nocturnal Readiness

Dreams of abandoned order keep me company
each night. The unfinished novel
of married life, the endless harping
on the same thing, passion and its painful
consequences: ready now, and in all concience,
I must settle old scores,
get my own back, even though the digit clock
shows only 3.43: the present, I say, is
an illusion of a well-arranged past.
And yet, when I get up to sever
with my word the sinister plot, I wear
my slippers back to front, and the last few
drops always fall outside the bowl.

Nicoletta A. Poulakida

The Difficulty Of Dreaminess

Closing my eyes
after a large glass of beer,
in the shadow of the night
I listen to the song of a cicada;
and the hour is marked by its
instructive intermissions.
When it rests, I try to rest too.
The cicada starts again;
its high-pitched drone urges me
to learn about myself.
Yet another pause.
Somebody is coming; I toughen,
resisting the flutter of my eyelids,
and won’t open my eyes, no, not yet.
But restlessness prevails;
my concentration rustles
in the sound of footsteps.
It is difficult to keep my eyes shut
and keep on dreaming of
being its relaxed student.

Dinos Siotis

Sea Nocturne

Night comes
to the little island of Tinos
at the edge of time's flow
where the Aegean meets the Mediterranean
Fresh stars climb up the sky
a stealthy cloud
sends greetings to a breeze
searching for the ancient paean
A boat with no lights
has made friends with Orpheus
Some fishermen need a ride home
and the dolphins offer their backs

The moon has a hole
though which I can see
the missing sleep of your thighs

Yorgos Veis

Nostalgia For Flute In The Cherry Garden

Your hair is the night's notion
I’ll tell you half the truth again,
light will spring where you came, let
the stars burn, passion is not spent,

nor the music's silver on the grass;
nothing will change, images, colours, half-words
it will be as if you came back to the same stripped place
with its red pines, the moon at the road’s edge

the half - burnt houses not touching the ground
the dust a book, the breeze a dark opera -
let the animals come near you, quietly

nature wants to enter your sleep
and if it rains, we have strong dreams
our name is created from diamonds.

Maria Psoma


There comes a time of a cold, heavy winter
You, walking alone on the bright white snow
With none ahead and none behind
Grey blur, transparent figure
Moving uncertain in the fog
Hearing phrases of fear around you
Cracking sounds and threats
Then is the time of deep soul secrets
To reveal from the darkness
Sadness and sorrow whirl,
Regrets dance around like imminent shadows
All nightmares return!
This is the time of a long, endless winter
Lonely, frozen, with all roads closed
But you keep on walking
Breathless, tired, and lost
Haunted by memories, your future well-known
From now on there is no other season
For you to live upon
You are growing old! You are growing old!

Takis Ioannides

The Child's Proposal

There up high
from the cross of sighs
sadly beckon
the gazes of children
Desire for serenity
and of the times agony
testing the line
of the holy and divine

They seek the grace
of a warm embrace
like a restless wave
a beach to pave
their soul to hold
the light of gold
granted so openly
by God Almighty

Moist and wise
the valley of eyes
crystal clear
are children’s tears
giving the sign
for thoughts divine
proposing too
love’s virtue

Chrissoulla Varveri - Varra


Justice differs according to who judges?
Some judge according to laws established by men.
Others judge according to unwritten laws.
Justice confuses the just with the absurd
and the diving with that which is evil.
For each one of us, the struggle for survival
is a trial of constant effort and discovery.
It is like marching in the dark.
Or being sightless under the sun.
Depending on how we can reject
Our immature past.

Stavroula Gatsou

On The Rocks

Now that I am learning to rub myself against the rocks
in the sun, I am surrendering to the brine
and taste existence’s sonorant fruit.

I unfolded my body.
And laid out on my blanket the smells and the charms,
of the sorrows of separations.

Dimitris A. Papadopoulos


Still burning
The cities that fell
To the conquerors
In their ruins
are galloping
Without horsemen
From their own defeat
The conquerors
In their own ruins
Are resting

Katerina Katsiri

Flower - Bearing

Could I
fill my eyes
with marine horizons
and slip
above them
into the birthing of centuries

- like white mornings
leave teardrops flowing
for the soul' s flower - bearing?

Dimitris P. Kraniotis

The End

The savour of fruits
still remains
in my mouth,
but the bitterness of words
demolishes the clouds
and wrings the snow
counting the pebbles.
But you never told me
why you deceived me,
why with pain
and injustice did you desire
to say that the end
always in tears
is cast to flames.

Athina Papadaki

Country House

With basil plants and pulses I 'll live,
folding my arms in cohesion
I ask that my circle close courteously.
The trees' roof lower
and the threhold an inch or so above
the silver driftwood on the strand.
At the turn of the skies around twilight
you forfeit authority
but gain chicory,
running water.
I go for an airing on the balcony.
Between door and horizon intervenes God.