free verse

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 Sword

The Sword

The Sword by Maria Fokas

My mind in helpless roam
Antique dreams and harp whispers;

Between losing and winning
Hearts wintered in leaves that float ashore
Shallow rays of dizzy lights –
Mirrored in the dead of night

I close my eyes again;
The sword falls from my hand

A word sharper than a sword
Before we turn to stone.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved / Image: Gladiaotor/Warrior Stock

Moher Rocks


MOHER ROCKS by Maria Fokas

Moher rocks pick me up
Into the sky I want to fall
Out of the kingdom of greed
Lies fill the air with fear
From the beasts that need my trust
Struggle, regret, and doubt
And beyond that point
An echo of tears

Then you smile
And I am free

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photograph found in Lost in darkness/search

Unrequited Hope

by Marilyn Bouchard

Unrequited Hope by Maria Fokas

Darkness in the center of light – if you will it into being, if you censor it, if you try to control it, you will destroy it. The darkness will fade into the light; the grip will weaken, the pain will sharpen. The traces of courage will unfold and reverse into you.

The thrum of every second runs through the veins beneath the flesh of bodies, and of universes. Time has a direction I cannot fathom. But from order to disorder, and through paths of chaos, there remains a hope of truth.

When time disappears into silence, when stars heave their flame, when darkness swallows the last of its energy – there will stand the truth before you, bare and voluntarily naked in its simplicity. And the theory of everything will show its face, and it will not be in equations; it will be in Love –

 Photo Credits:Marilyn Bouchard

I Know a Cat

my cat

I know a Cat by Martin Hanley
Dedicated to my old philosophical friend, Master Mouse Hanley

I sat there sweltering in a familiar fog; constipated with checking and weighted outcomes.
Languid landscapes with questioning answers; an unfocused portfolio has come undone.
Then, in he glides supreme; stretching out beneath the dappled light; now reclining.
Regally basking like some ancient achromatic shadow; he swallows the fallow sun.

Cold blooded catering alerted, a distant ringing or some obscure Sylvan echo, yet I hear none.
Starving for hidden treats that well versed others commonly disdain; he remains steadfast smiling. Forever glancing, my philosophical companion hops past the news feed;

What happened to Fat Freddy the rioter’s son? Lurking behind me, telepathic with emerald eyes deeply penetrating; he treads a seamless blurred line.Tail stepping out an endless rhythm, my straying little hunter retreats, licking his cultured paw as fortunate birds flutter beyond the treble glazing.

I know a Cat © all rights reserved Martin Hanley May 9 th 2015 – Photograph by Martin Hanley



Wheel of Fortunes


Wheel of Fortunes by Maria Fokas

I woke up this morning; what a grand thing, to make it through the night.
In all generalities, abstractions, and summaries, I can hear the ticking of life: The touch, the scent, and the taste of you, woven in my fairytales – And there, lies the generality of beauty – And there, lies the abstraction of love. Sketched in the mother of time; the secrets of our fate.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved  –  Art Photography by Julie-de-Waroquier

The Story of the Red Line

The year is 1912. The place is Macedonia – Greece. The only way to stay alive is to see nothing, and believe nothing. His name was Ares; derived from the God of war. He was a village man who had nothing to say unless he was furious. Villagers defined him as a violent man. But his wife, claimed she never suffered in his hands.

His two girls remember him to have been a giving father but his two sons knew better. The beginning of a thread which led to a truth. The story begins at the train station of a forgotten village, after a turn of events initiated by Ares – Love was not the only thing he knew how to destroy. 










© 2013 Maria Fokas All Rights Reserved


The Black Rose

The Black Rose

The Black Rose by Maria Fokas

Once upon a time, there was a Rose, who would come to live in the memories of others.

It started with a human hand planting a seed. The Rose and the hand were unique. No two entities could have been more diverse, but there was one thing they both shared, and that was their need to exist. So, the hand knowing that time was running out, decided to plant a seed which was predestined to becoming a Black Rose. And as the hand nurtured this seed into being, the Rose came to know life.

The Nurturer was gone, not long after. The Rose was heartbroken for a very long time, but it survived. Many visitors chanced upon its beauty as the seed kept coming back, only to descend into the soil again. And as the cycle of eternity endured, the Rose would yearn for its Nurturer, not knowing why it had been deserted. And during that time, the Rose would wonder about its purpose. Then one day, its unbearable pain chose to forget. And with this escape, a comforting thought came into being: What if the hand was actually another Rose?

Unimaginable at first, but this strange and breathtaking revelation began to grow within the Rose: if I was created by another Rose, than I too can create one of my own, it thought. The Rose, being captivated by this discovery, chose never again to dwell on absurdities with no graspable explanations.

In the end, it was grateful to that One Rose which gave it hope. This memory, it would hold sacred forever after. And that would become the purpose of the Rose.


Photography by Ketmara

Beneath the Waves

Brooke Shaden

Beneath the Waves by Maria Fokas

The greatest treasures are simple things
Few gestures that say; I love you!

Take a sip
Delight in a kiss
Turn the last page with me –

Blow out the candles
Say good night
Never regret the promises

Vulnerable to the Waves
Loyal to the rock
The windmill spins
The anchor pulls

Under the sea the treasure will be
Remember to embrace your dream

The waking hour may change your wants
But never your deepest needs –


Photo Credits: Brooke Shaden

The Art of a Good Day


The Art of a Good Day by Maria Fokas

I will join thee –

The hue of deep red grape
Warm and sensual –
Beaujolais; grown on France’s granite slopes;
A cherry-strawberry taste
Marry with a flavour of Mt. Olympus;
A crumbly aged-cheese

On my last moment
I will celebrate my day
A helpless invitation
Favoured with moments that we craved
drone – chord – duple – dine
I will play you the violin

There is a willful sacrifice 
For the one we love

In the sweet taste of wine
I will wait for thee to dine –


source of this beautiful moment unknown