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
May 2020 – Bye, bye
June 15, 2020 § Leave a comment
25th May
The air is so light,
no wonder night falls softly
like a purple net.
I wish I could sleep
on a field, or at least not
to be anywhere
near to whatever
could provoke winter’s return,
ever again. Like
a child’s biggest wish.
27th May
Nothing can blow up
wishes faster than north winds.
Self confident like
a Scot in a kilt,
move sun and light farther south.
The trees now resist,
bent and return fast
into line. No one tells them
what to do in May.
They’re full with birds’ nests.
May 2020, so far
May 21, 2020 § Leave a comment
1st May
May Day sabotaged
by rain. But it’s nice to see
two rival blackbirds
in the wet garden,
sharing shelter under the
same rhododendron.
Nature’s common sense
protects them from themselves. Yet,
will this peace be kept,
under the sunrays?
6th May
I‘ve just discovered
an 18th century ace:
late evening port wine.
Sweet and strong pleasure,
comfort for the swollen legs
of great-grandmothers,
bold midwives and lords,
but slave traders sometimes too.
History is full
with two-side stories.
11th May
While a wild wind blows
and changes the weather like
a light switch: on, off,
on, off, we listen
to mixed tapes dedicated
to teenagers’ dreams.
We remember those
days in our rooms, in ourselves
well now, as we try
to figure out this.
13th May
Everything is blue
especially the while walls
of the house next door
as they touch the sky
dressed in its slippy colours.
The birds are looking
for islands of green
to spend the night. Windstill
quietness. Softly
I let down the blinds.
17th May
Let us not go back
to normal that never was,
times without thinking.
We moved and went on,
kept forgetting about death,
of others, of ours.
Yes, we miss freedom,
but freedom has expanded
in our minds, it might
has become vision.
18th May
These notes often start
with the singing birds at dusk.
Dutiful blackbirds
remind me that there‘s
this short time to talk before
silence reigns at night.
I wish I could put
every word in a blackbird’s
song. They’d tell me then
what to say in time.
17th May
What’s behind our masks?
Nostalgia and longing
for the life we had?
Anticipation
for the future, not the past?
Is the best or worst
of us now hidden?
What are these eyes looking at?
Outwards or inwards?
Our mouths are still shut.
April 2020 – Part 2
April 30, 2020 § Leave a comment
8th April
Our reign of objects,
tables, chairs, books and paintings,
how well can they tell
the stories we’ve planned
a lifelong? Imagine those
feet walking around:
This is where mum used
to read. When on the phone she
moved around the house,
cleaning, saving time.
11th April
This wonderful sky,
how accurately it counts
time, space and borders.
Zero. None to see,
none to feel. Our mind is free
and flies where it needs
to be. Take that flight,
with the wings of memory
and the strength of hope
for we are born free.
13th April
Fears. In the morning.
First, everything feels usual,
the light from outside,
the smell of the room,
that ageing body. And then
the mind awakes too.
You can’t fool your mind
when your hands are not moving.
It counts time in months,
in years or just days.
15th April
The impossible
as everyday recipe.
We’ve lost appetite.
Now feed me with touch,
with laughter, bitter or sweet,
like friends at dinner,
before they part for
a long time. The host raises
a glass, sets the date
when to meet again.
18th April
Mum has sent braid bread
per mail, but it’s not here yet.
A fragrant parcel
in a lorry’s guts,
driving through silent countries.
They told her it’ll take
time. But she’s sent it
anyway. It’s Good Friday
in my old country,
all is still and waits.
20th April
One metre fifty
from each other. In the queue
of lost needless things.
Behind a mask, eyes
that do not try hard language,
they’re soft and get it
that you’re vulnerable
too. Then the distance moves on,
fast to someone else,
before one must speak.
20th April
My tired limbs sliding
on cool cotton sheets; must be
a summer prelude.
On the news, again,
everything important comes
second. Exit strategy.
The economy
needs the simple people soon
enough. The simple
people can’t escape.
30th April
This April will leave
ingloriously, bad thief
of springs that were one,
an endless waiting
of sudden good news, of friends
and festivities.
A one season year,
this seems to become, one that
all months are marching
in dark uniform.
April 2020 – Part 1
April 12, 2020 § Leave a comment
1st April
April 1st too soon,
we haven’t got the spring mood,
winter fits better.
I dreamed of water
but not of summer beaches,
they’re too far away.
It would be nice though
to become light again, swim,
hear the world laughing,
careless and naked.
2nd April
Like fish in a glass
everything still fine inside
our protected world.
We wonder if it’s
a dream. Is it true that this
is the last water?
We try to forget,
to become a fish for true,
turn one round, one more,
everything is here.
3rd April
Time might make us all
become quieter, careful
not to miss a tone
of others speaking.
Our own voice, once so precious,
less important then.
Our wealth and beauty
for wisdom and kindness. Won’t
that be courageous
as a new start after?
3rd April
Today feeling short
of breath, that hill in front of
us seeming too high.
A grey day, quite still,
the birds are thinking, planing
their next step to spring.
I try to listen
and expect less, less from me,
less on a day when
flowers hesitate.
5th April
Sunday bursting with
sun and skies. How innocent
the day felt as we
cycled through the fields.
The trees were turning green like
nature’s traffic lights.
Back to the city.
A helicopter landing
on the roof of the
nearby hospital.
6th April
One by one windows
open. Someone should welcome
the upcoming moon.
Backstage the open
wardrobes, bodies uncertain,
set tables untouched.
An alphabet of
sighs, low voices, question marks.
We are all foreign
in untraveled nights.
7th April
We don’t see her dead,
ut we hear Antigone’s
mourning. For once more
she’s not allowed to
bury her kin or lament
their death as deserved.
But this time the state
are we, we hold her back from
their graves and ours too,
we beg her to wait.
March 2020 – Part 2
April 12, 2020 § Leave a comment
24th March
It’s a sunny cold
outside, a frozen beauty
waiting for the prince
with the warm kisses.
I’ll fill the house with the smell
of hot fresh coffee,
open the windows,
wave “hi” to occasional
pedestrians, call
my mum on the phone.
26th March
Mum looks very old
on the screen. A video
call. We laugh a lot.
She thinks what I think
though.This might take much longer
than our words pretend.
The quietness of
the nights unites us, our fears,
trembling stars afar
from each other’s sun.
27th March
This fear in a box
we do not want to open,
but we have no choice.
We’re taken by it, it
comes out of our TVs,
it walks down the street,
it takes faces of
beloveds, of ourselves too,
it changes, it spreads.
Pandora, what now?
28th March
I woke up early
in the morning, watched the plants
growing in the light.
A reassurance,
this new day would be as real
as the one before.
A well-know story
would surely start with well-know words,
a solace amid
an unknown new world.
29th March
We’ve turned our clocks to
summer time, but we’re still not
in control. New snow,
falling and melting
on the young dandelions,
whispering secrets
in their yellow ears:
Summer and winter exists
simultaneously
like life, pain and death.
30th March
Voices in surplus
behind walls, in front of screens,
there’s so much to say.
Comfort, distraction,
love, thoughts, fears and promises,
broken vows, chances.
When the quiet night falls
everybody works hard on
their inventories.
We share our failures.
March 2020 -Part 1
March 25, 2020 § Leave a comment
15th March 2020
The world is turning,
we reluctantly spin with
it, dizzy and weak.
We hold on the next day,
the next curve on our way,
the blackbirds in spring.
Not what we know is
now. Now is not what we know.
Yet spring, yet flowers,
yet night, yet dreaming.
16th March 2020
Early night poem:
My dear, I can’t wait
for the night to fall to listen
to that blackbird.
You know, the one that
flies around the neighbourhood
boasting with good songs.
A yellow beak in blue
hours, a little light before
darkness. We gather
the things that matter.
18th March 2020
4am again,
out of sleep, out of absence,
back to the now time.
A quiet river
is this night outside. Only
one far away hum,
a busy machine
programmed not to need others
And so ignores fears
and early birds’ sighs.
19th March 2020
We feed each other
the news; it’s hard to swallow
and it burns our tongues
not to know if this
is already our future,
if nights will stay long,
if summers will come,
if sun and sons will kiss us,
if that memory
still has got a chance.
20th March 2020
You’d think the night would
have some soothing black liquid
to slow down sickness,
just as it does with
movement, sight, noise or choices.
But night’s eyes seem closed
to everything but
memories, fears and wishes,
wrapped in rosy dreams
or nightmares of real.
20th March 2020
Everything around,
too present to understand.
“Mum, said my son, when
I’ll be eighty years
old, people might invite me
to schools to tell them
about the year of
the great disease, I’ll be their
eyewitness and old.”
Yes, my dear, you’ll be.
22nd March 2020
Most of the people
are silent, their eyes strangling
to adjust themselves,
in the darkness of
this waiting room. They just stand
rigid on the shore,
feet deep in the sand,
ignoring the waves, looking
at the horizon
where the ships are still .
23rd March 2020
A Forgotten Love:
Our houses are now
clean, floors and furniture shine,
but the guests won’t come.
We’re in other times.
As the day breaks, the call of
an uncertain spring.
It’s hart to resist,
and yet it feels unwelcome,
out of place now like
a forgotten love.
