Just a Girl
March 11, 2021 § Leave a comment
A young woman in an attractive pose
The sea behind her in moonlight mode
One is torn between kindness and irony
For some this is considered a parody
Where she is we’ve been before
We’ve posed wide-eyed, watched the door
To see the right one enter the room
Worship, accept, and save us from doom
And yet indeed it has been also sweet
Dancing with someone in their beat
As long as the song would last
Summer, love, the night so vast
But preacher don’t preach
Because we’ve left that beach
February 2021
February 28, 2021 § 3 Comments
8th February
The silence of snow
is one covering much said,
a time to revise,
time to examine
the alternative versions
of things thought well known.
Under the white shapes,
another garden is formed,
the most essential
is seen with closed eyes.
—-
14th February
Almost like Christmas,
a snowy Valentine’s Day,
warming for some hearts,
for others just frost.
Dried flowers in books, letters
that were never sent,
vows that were broken,
but also some not needed,
as years press the earth
for us to walk on.
—-
16th February
I saw a photo,
the sea was in the background,
wintry and confused,
trying to reach the shore.
The wind must have been there too,
like movement frozen.
It’s difficult to
stop the mind thinking of
what cannot be framed,
of what escapes us.
—-
23rd February
There’s an air of spring
examining the frozen
earth by touch, shyly.
We’re not ready yet
for happiness, the heavy
curtains are still closed.
At least the winter
would not lie to us, would not
say all will be good.
One doesn’t know now.
—-
25th February
In a vast black sky,
stars must search for their brothers;
their signals are sounds,
their pulse is slower
than light, but finds the fellow
stars eventually.
Trembling together,
shining apart, know better
than to come closer.
Some got lost that way.
—-
January 2021
February 1, 2021 § Leave a comment
1st January
As I cannot sleep
I may as well write a word
about this New Year’s night.
It has covered us
with a thin blanket of clouds
and a waning moon.
Modest and quiet,
no promises have been made,
and no vows taken,
though we humbly begged.
—-
3rd January
Head on the pillow
one hears the own heart beating
dull from afar as
through a cotton field,
then louder; wild streams of blood
heat up flesh and skin.
A walk with closed eyes,
about those internal paths,
in awe and weakness
we give in to sleep.
——
9th January
Even when the grey
skies seem endless, beyond them
an opening waits
for us to travel
to see, to fetch, to bring back
what is always there.
We must prevail
now, we need no metaphors
for what we know true,
substantial and good.
——
11th January
As we get older
we start giving away belts,
as waists matter less.
Winters seem longer,
cold more intolerable
for our thinner skins.
News are no surprise,
except when we forget what
we’ve already heard,
sometimes age itself.
——
20th January
Strong wind is blowing,
only thoughts are too heavy
to travel with it.
It rattles our doors,
makes noises like a toddler
seeking attention.
We couldn’t have known
how good we are in waiting;
we used to worship
finish lines, deadlines.
——-
27th January
A year doesn’t always
last a year. More accurate
would be to count time
like trees do, with rings.
Wide ones, narrow ones, no year
has got the same length.
How old, how weathered
one can be, how strong, how week,
there’s no calendar,
you see when one falls.
——
31st January
Crisp air, fragile sun,
soft frozen white on the roofs.
January leaves
questions unanswered.
How much longer till, when, where,
can we meet again?
There’s a fear we hide,
there’s a hardness we took on,
a mighty distance,
we might not let go.
December 2020
January 1, 2021 § Leave a comment
6th December
To strangers: Come back!
We’ll meet at the train station,
northbound or southbound,
people just again
heading to an unknown place.
Ask for directions,
or miss the same train;
we can start then talking, find
out we once lived less
than six feet apart.
———
15th December
Invisible rain,
as if going through a cloud.
On the other side
the night is waiting
in its confessional box.
Our secrets are new
only to us. We
tell them in low voice, release
them from their wordless
life of working hands.
——-
26th December
There has been no snow,
the cold has stayed in our hearts,
preserving our souls
through the long winter
that has started in a spring.
We’re not who we were,
we talk less, plan less,
certainty has left for good
our dictionaries,
a call for writers.
———
28th December
In difficult years,
they took the same decisions
every day anew:
to stand up and cook
if nobody would do it,
to live, even if
other people die,
to laugh at a joke they knew,
to forget until
there’s a chance not to.
———
29th December
And so we prepare
a fine gateway for our ghosts:
pride, illness, hate; we
light candles, burn herbs,
all gods should be satisfied
with our offerings.
What‘s next should be pure
oblivious to us fools,
what‘s next should be new,
much to burn indeed.
November 2020
December 2, 2020 § Leave a comment
9th November
Light in the darkness,
that good day in a dark year,
sunny everywhere,
the streets in music,
no face masks can hide laughter
or hope, or relief.
The winter is still
ahead full of bad mood clouds,
we see it, we know,
we’ve needed that break.
——
14th November
Sometimes we wake up
in another person’s dream
wondering about
when to start telling
people who we are and how
we got stranded there.
In the common sea
of worries, not run errands,
there’s a huge lost crowd
dreaming of islands.
—-
Resolutions 22nd November
After this we’ll fall
fast, into each other’s arms,
we will kiss strangers
in the crowded streets,
we will throw away our masks
and be our new selves,
we’ll hug the sad trees,
promise them a life without
hard rain, storms and floods.
We’ll do that, won’t we?
——
23rd November
Stars full of questions,
the night silenced in a cold
black shirt, Sunday’s best.
This winter doesn’t know
where to start or where to end,
it comes unprepared,
without names of months,
no feasts and celebrations,
like a vagabond,
a salesman of cold.
——
25th November
It’s your birthday,
my darling, you don’t know that
I wrote you a poem.
I will whisper it
in your sleep, in languages
for newborns and gods.
Many years have passed
and we’re becoming now less,
less of everything,
but there’s more to learn.
October 2020
October 31, 2020 § 1 Comment
15th October
Days are randomly
short or long, there are no rules,
we pass them waiting.
Never before had
seasons less significance
than in this grey queue
we’re standing since months.
We reconstruct them, autumn
now, we remember,
when the birds are gone.
——
19th October
We fear not missing
the time before not touching,
not meeting for fun.
What if we remain
too sensible for ever?
Cold faces, limbs numb?
That was then, before,
they’ll teach at school, before
we found out we can
live without our past.
—-
20th October
We put our headphones
on to meet. We expand space
to place minds and words.
How can we not do?
Communication. That kept
us going so far.
Planets do not touch
each other but still belong
to the same system.
There’s a magic thread.
——
23rd October
The streets are empty,
nobody but fallen leaves
and their soft rustle.
We knew of curfews
from history books, stories
our grandpas told us.
Now we’re a page too,
in a future book about
a year when the leaves
were louder than we.
—-
27th October
We stand on thin boards
facing a next wave swelling.
Behind its water wall,
all stars are hidden.
Can we ride it to the shore
or will we go down?
Strong swimmers or not,
this sea is where we live now,
searching for islands
and friendly creatures.
——
31st October
This unworded world
has still got the languages
we knew but our tongues
are tied. Wide-eyed we
walk our routes and look for all
names we remember.
Someone will find us,
a friend we know might be there
and will share the key
that unlocks meanings.
September 2020
October 3, 2020 § 1 Comment
6th September
We’ve lost your rhythm,
September, but keep flying,
blind in changing skies,
like migrating birds,
on their way to their winters:
Reading the north wind,
praying to the south,
the elders in the front line,
youngsters right behind.
May we find our way.
————
9th September
The blackbirds have stopped
singing and nights are falling
silent and lonely.
Our lines disappear
on paper, on low horizons,
on faces and palms.
We‘re home but still gone,
unmapped landscapes of habit,
frightened but eager
to find new landmarks.
————-
12th September
Dusk without blackbirds.
Their fatigue after the long
summer saddens us,
leaves our nights naked.
There’s still warmth and green, but not
their sound of promise.
Oh how we ignored
this summer had no future,
stone on stone our wish,
ignorance our sin.
————
19th September
Unnoticed the leaves
keep falling softly in light
they no more reflect.
Like someone dying
of thirst in the sea, they faint
and go down, down, down.
Sometimes the wind saves
one on the top of a bush,
or a plastic bin,
they are not picky.
————-
23rd September
Last day of summer,
so they say and there are signs:
the clouds gathering
like vultures around
a dying deer; crazy wasps
invade our kitchens,
for a last sweet drink;
people sitting in gardens
even as the rain
starts falling. Who cares?
————
25th September
Leaves fly like letters
unwilling to reach addressees
with depressing news.
The world is too loud,
sinking boats, burning mountains,
where sunsets were due.
But as the pen slides
on the paper, old habits
of promise appear.
Friend, hang on in there.
——————
29th September
The sparrows gathered,
in groups and started flying
from the hibiscus
to the lilac bush,
maybe empathic for those
who must now migrate.
They flattered their wings
with great passion, competed
for the best places,
a shrill goodbye choir.
—————-
30th September
Will life as we knew
it ever come back? Will we
learn to remember?
I sat with my friend
on a bench, her son, my son
have birthdays to come.
The evening was mild,
she and I had been children
in a mighty world,
one not looking back.
————-
August 2020
September 5, 2020 § 5 Comments
Greece, 1st August
A hot night. Silence,
the dogs won’t bark, not even
at a daring cat.
The wind’s tongue softens
the streets, dries kissed lips or tears,
things keep happening
while we try to fall
asleep for the next day’s sake.
But at night we hear
all the world at once.
——-
Greece, 5th August
After the full moon
a question: Why is beauty
not fair everywhere?
Why must it be full
of black holes sucking it in?
“Lebanon is cursed”,
said a man in tears.
We were watching on our screens
how such misfortune
eats hopes and summers.
—-
Greece, 11th August
The stars come and go
in a summer sky that knows
no earth, no mayhem.
We all hold our breath
until the next morning comes.
Will all still be here?
I swam in the sea,
sneaking into a beauty
denied for many,
pleasures in rations.
——
Greece, 14th August
An open suitcase,
back from a short trip, sleepless
when the rooster crows.
Once, twice, then three times,
someone has disowned someone.
It’s this world, you know.
As knows the crescent
moon and still comes back to grow,
to change, become full,
and start all over.
—-
Greece, 18th August
Summer is ending.
At night we worry if the stars
still hang on up there:
Jupiter, Saturn?
Check. Still there, pale but standing.
In the predawn hours,
Venus, going home.
The Perseids, though still falling,
take the short ways down.
And the moon is bored.
July 2020
August 1, 2020 § 7 Comments
1st July
July’s wallpaper:
apricots, cherries, peaches
and the moon out there.
Not a day missing,
a full month. Empty-handed
we arrive, breathless,
Where are our colours?
What happened to the music?
There’s been no dancing,
just counting of steps.
——
8th July
The morning takes fly,
the night sky gets pail, turns grey,
then the sun sends red.
Bereft of the last
hours of sleep one can but watch
how days reappear
without permission.
We’re fed with time, yet hungry
like a newborn child.
Unfinished stories.
——-
11th July
At the seam between
day and night, wonders happen,
such as a lazy
white cloud ignoring
the falling darkness, glowing
in the moon’s kindness.
No one leaves without
objection a day behind.
The next day is still
a vague sweet promise.
——
16th July
The sleepless count dawns
like monks their rosary peas.
Their wish is to sleep
but prayers won’t do
as the world is a film script
that needs a new draft.
Open the windows,
now lots of coffee, butter
the bread, take a bite,
smile for the camera.
——-
17th July
An alarm clock warns
the morning star it must go.
The one who’s set it
lets it go through three
ringtones before he turns it
off. Too late, the birds
have got the message
and are willing to take on
the shift. Up early
I am again. So.
——-
17th July
Eerie mind lightness,
free of worries where many
are the case. Hallo.
Who’s this new person
awakening in me these
days? Stillness before
the storm or true peace?
Part age, part resignation,
part don’t-give-a-damn
except for kindness.
——
Greece, 18th July
Back to the body,
the mind rests in the armpits
of old olive trees.
Home is the trip home,
everybody who has one
knows, everybody
who’s lost one knows too.
There must be a truth to that
for our restless minds,
but bodies lie well.
——
Greece, 21st July
Even the north wind
is warm down here in July.
Mum’s white tablecloths
are drying dancing.
Other languages, except
head and eye movements,
become difficult
at midday: Yes. No. I know.
We don’t know of course,
but that’s long story.
——
Greece, 25th July
A tiny, snoring
dog at my feet and I think
of pure love and peace.
For some time I thought
I’d adopt a cat so that
I could taste freedom
but you do not choose
a stray, a stray chooses you
as a seed finds earth
even amid rocks.
——
Greece, 29th July
Let the moon travel.
We’re lazy romantic poets
on short holiday.
If we must, we’ll use
words like “gold dust” or silver”
and take one more sip
of our cocktail drink.
There’s plenty of time until
the moon becomes full
to then lose our cool.
——
June 2020
July 3, 2020 § Leave a comment
1st June
Bittersweet evening.
Selfishness could let me talk
about the bright half
of the moon, shinning
onto my glass of white wine,
in a friend’s garden
and of a harsh hug
on our way to the kitchen.
But the world is still
as dark as ever.
8th June
Late afternoon light
falling sideways through gate doors,
marking lines on walls.
Invisible bars
are the tricky ones to host,
those one gets used to,
being inside, being
outside, mostly just being.
Lines like tears, marked hours,
days, marked centruries.
11th June
Gone the epic May
bloom, bees have gone over to
the tiny flowers.
Tireless they visit
a small balcony flowered
bush. Now their late shift,
as a cool evening
breeze pushes deep lilac clouds
above our back yards.
Time to feel grateful.
12th June
Carnation odour.
Sometimes oblivion and
memory unite
in a common smell.
Funerals and summer nights,
slow movement both ways.
Hard to decide what
to cut the head of a flower
for. Or for the streets,
side by side, in hopes.
14th June
Pouring rain, the drops
woven together into
thick water curtains.
I marvel at my
happiness for every sound,
for every watered
plant, for the washed cars,
for the full garden bird bath.
When this water finds
the sea, we’ll meet.*
*Four
17th June
An open window:
birds give their best to cover
up the city’s noise.
My bedspread, green like
a summer field where I lie
under my mind’s tree
of choices. I enjoy
the wisdom of these last months.
The knowledge I’m here
and nowhere else now.
20th June
Upstream they must swim
and yet reach the sea in time.
Their ways blocked by dead
tree trunks with pink hearts
carved on them and initials
of happy people.
Soon midsummer for
everyone, but some are more
tired than others,
all their days too long.
#BlackLivesMatter
21st June
Partial to summer
the clouds like blankets of warmth
dim the evening light.
The neighbours are still
out in their garden, laughing.
I don’t miss music
when voices play games
with the wind. There’s no language,
only vowels, smooth
liquid consonants.
#SummerSolstice
22nd June
A church bell ringing
10 o’clock, but the blackbird
is not tired yet.
In fact it has just
started. From the roof gable,
it challenges every
rival to a dawn
contest. It pauses surprised
at a car passing,
full volume hip hop.
#Blackbirds
24th June
Amid the mess we’re
in, how outstanding our will
not to believe in
endings. Even when
we imagine a full stop,
a sentence follows.
Telling the story
after the story, a thirst
for more life, a wish
to be everyone.
27th June
A hot night, no sleep
to cool down thoughts and doubts.
Then the light, the birds,
a cup of coffee,
as one must declare defeat.
A win is this dawn,
yellow and rosy,
the earth, a sweet funfair candy.
Fine, I’ll stay awake,
dream of lilac dawns*.
*dusks
29th June
Like half glass of milk
on our bedside table, the
moon too is waiting
for a thirsty soul.
A short glance at her, before
going to bed, just
making sure some things
are as they have ever been.
A reassurance
we do not deserve.
#ClimateChange
29th June
A dull sky, cool wind,
not enough to wipe out this
Monday’s tiredness.
There’s another world
outside my verses, still this
world and entering
now like smoke, like fog,
every single thought, every
escape door. Sometimes
one must bear darkness.
#WorkWorkWork