A Promise

The Passion of a Writer’s Pen

The Passion of a Writer's Pen

The Passion of a Writer’s Pen by Maria Fokas

A sword to pierce my heart for every tide
I spit out a raw escape in a gasp of thought
To mark specks of profound recklessness
To feel the bleeding heartbeat of my fingertips
To taste the dread of a struggling shadow
To hear the whispering force of a lover’s birth
To lose oneself in every re-crossing sunset
A dream of the world; a gush of raging grace
From original light to final darkness
Stories bound to a hope of existence;
My cry for life –

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Artwork: Whatever I see by WeirdSam/Abstract Photography

[A project for Matthew Chikono]

Little Boats

little Boats MH 2

Life Boats by Maria Fokas

Little boats stippled along the horizon of a golden sea;
Inside my head, taintless journeys with innocent intentions –
Temporary moments that last forever; recurring with seasons’ comings
Tenuous threads that never break, beautifully wrapping wasted space in time
Lifeless obstacles beneath the surface; like a vice, never committed
Exempt from the fear of loss; I gather my drifted self –

Bereft of a farewell kiss; {up in the sky} clouds cover me like an ivory laced blanket;
On the day of the dead, my life begins with antithetical inclinations of love –
Autumn frosted maple leaves in bittersweet hues, will fall on ashen streets
Tomorrow, I will be between spaces of togetherness; like little boats –
Scattered specks of destinies, never traveled to . . .


© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photograph by Martin Hanley

My Compass

Catrin Welz Stein

My Compass by Maria Fokas

The scent of hello(s); the cry in goodbye(s)
The melody of lyrics; in pictures and words –

Sonnets drawn on misty moments of forgotten first ideas
The beginnings in the morning; the endings each night
The key to memory; the compass to change –

In the breaking of your voice –
In the raging waves of oceans; all that was lost is found
From mountain peaks, to the other side of moonlight
I trace the whispers in your heart;

Once upon a time 
A poem in a dream; when she was mine.


For Maria-Zina Thomas, after my return from Corfu - September/2015

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Illustration by Catrin Welz-Stein

The Promise of Eternity

The Promise of Eternity

The Promise of Eternity by Maria Fokas

In the winds of the North, thought bares a spark of life
In the welcome of the East, the sun embraces morning whispers
In the star-lit skies of the West, tiny crystals light the darkness
In the heart of the South, desire burns through shadows of fear –

A gift; to uncover intention 
The cycle of time; to determine a wish
Passion in a sin; fire in one love –

You are the promise . . .


© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved

Artist of photograph unknown; Request:Please contact me if name is known

The Holy Rocks

The Holy Rocks By Maria Fokas

The rocks hidden in the sky –
They are not silent in my presence.
They stretch as far as the eye can see;
A reflection in the horizon:
An element of past rememberance.
A stir of wondrous light.
No strangers here–

As dusk sets in –
I can hear them,

The bells ring, in the empty light of warmth;

beneath my feet.


Somewhere only we know

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004) 

  Photographs by © Maria Fokas 29/7/2015/All Rights Reserved

Soul Mate

Soul mate

Soul Mate by Maria Fokas

“Eat, Pray, Love: A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave. A soul mate’s purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master… – Elizabeth Gilbert”

Yes Elizabeth, it is all those things; But a soul mate who leaves, cannot be privileged with such a name. A soul mate is the soul which was ripped from you a moment in time, never to be remembered. An empty void awaits to be embraced, to be caressed, to be redeemed by the part of you who searches through eternity to reclaim that first breath together; before you were separated.

Once that comes to pass, there is no need to keep searching; to question what your soul has always known – And no amount of pain, or obstacles will tear you apart; not because you can endure the hardships; not because you don’t want to flee at times, but because without them nothing makes sense: The days are heavy; the distance between you troubles your hearts.

So you see Elizabeth; a soul mate that eventually leaves was never a soul mate to begin with: Maybe a friend; maybe someone searching to be found, or to be lost, but never a soul mate. In a world where dignity is losing its sense of grace; where significance is being drained by wasted time; It is the presence of your soul mate which renders a truth to purpose; their presence, even in their absence; and not their leaving.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Illustration Graphic Design by Maria Fokas

Raw Moments in Time

There are moments in life you don’t want to edit . . . because time is of the essence . . .you want to capture the moment …embrace it….and hold on to it as tightly as your heart can stand it . . .Sometimes the raw moments of life are also the truth that reminds us that we are alive but any moment it can all change . . . Oh, the inevitable truth that we are so temporary . . . the fear of whether we will be remembered when we are gone . . . and the knowing that as is now, we still have time to make a difference in someone’s life . . . make it a good one . . . a voice whispers in my head . . . regardless . . . make it worth being here for them . . . and don’t worry so much about being perfect . . . sometimes the worst thing you can do in life is waste precious time editing it!



Cosmos Thessaloniki


In The Wake

Whispers of Love

In the Wake by Maria Fokas

Your hand was not mine to hold, nor my lips, yours to kiss –
But in that world, I held your hand, and you kissed my lips.

Through a dark current; you drew in a path;
An epiphany soared within a gush of promises.
And before me, a wraithlike image distracts my wake.

Unbidden streams of clauses – lacing bare-scented gestures.
I render the smile in your eyes, the accent in your voice,
And everything you claimed that was mine.

That path; deep-seated, between the distance of land and sea;
How unfortunate that temporal beings must love within limits.

Yes; you were there, in the stroke of a dream.
A salient motif; whispers of love – and I relish to recall.


Photo Credits: sirencallsmehome.tumblr.com

Forbidden Shells (Reality)

1. Forbidden Shells (Reality) by Maria Fokas

I woke up this morning from the inside out; opened my eyes to a broken day –
He asked me if I knew anything about reality, but who can claim to know? It would have to be an objective lad, but minds are subjective most of the time. Maybe there’s one percent that knows, but what would they say? : “I know that I cannot possibly be objective when cultured to think a specific way, and regardless of what I choose opposed to what I deny, could it be the inner voice of my subjective world? How could we know?”

We can’t know, but we can know about Holidays, and so to honor the seasonal spirit (holiday food-for-thought):
Do you want to live in a world the way it is now? This reality? “No…not at all,” I heard him say: Some notes just catch my attention – I can’t help it.
I’m going to tell you, stay with me please – Wait . . . it doesn’t matter what I think. Yesterday someone planted a seed in my head (but was it already there?). Who wants to live in a world where the majority work simply to survive, where the criminal act of taxation is condemning our dreams and owning the one precious thing that life gives us arbitrarily; Time – yes, time – a world which drains creativity out of a child’s heart – where the word “Love” is losing its color; its scent; its sanctuary. I wonder if we can “uncreate” the world we’ve created. Write it down – Tell the story inside of you; not the one they carefully placed on top of yours.

Are there no words to save us?  – Hope maybe? “I’m hoping, if tomorrow I wake, to find a baked roll on my breakfast spread, prettier than a diamond tiara,” Modern Sleeping-Beauty said. Christmas was just around the corner, and then it was over – Sweet Santa made a trip to the US of A, on Christmas Eve, then headed over to Ireland for the best Irish coffee in the whole wide world – a few laughs, many secrets, and finally, he’ll make his way over to the Europeans (those who open gifts on New Year’s Eve). Santa is generous; it’s the best time of year; an important man was born in December, and since then – it’s been the season of light – snap – but no cinnamon rolls for my love. I was lost and he found me; will I survive when he goes away? I want to read a sentence that lasts 150 words . . . can you find me that sentence, please? I’ll be patiently waiting behind the window-pane. But no, I won’t.