happiness

My share of losing


By Elizabeth Lisa

                        [Painting by Elizabeth Lisa]

My Share of Losing 

If I suggest an answer to your everything,

You might praise me more than I deserve.

I may impress you for a little while,

Then, it will be gone;

And still, a mystery.

If I contaminate your thoughts with my tendencies,

I may haze an aching soul determined to escape;

Despite the welcome, in a glance of faith.

But if my hope gives way to your world,

It may come as a stranger in hesitating steps.

I have lost many things disguised in words.

Oh, but what I have won; Once upon a time –

So tonight, I dance beneath the midnight sky,

To celebrate my sweet defeat;

My share . . .

With no regrets.

 

 

Apple of Discord


Peter Cakovsky Artwork

               

Apple of Discord

Among the Gods,

There is no compassion.

A world crafted by a spotless mind,

Can have no keys to any gate –

Lust grows in their hearts,

To disguise their only need;

Among the Gods,

There is envy of mortality.

They sacrifice love for sensual intrigue,

To fool a mortal’s path.

But her mind was filled with scars; 

And her heart held his close; above all –

How unfortunate . . .

 That time was never on their side.

 

 

  [Artwork Credits: Peter Cakovsky]

 

 

 

 

Everything and Nothing – Day Three


The Art of Losing

Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas

The Art of Losing

– Elizabeth Bishop wrote: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.”

With so much losing every day, it seems that we should be accepting it as an inevitable end; but we rarely do. Every time we fall in love with a moment, a unique person, or that life long accomplishment, its fragile end is always near; it seems.

– But what exactly is it that we grieve; the moment, the person, the accomplishment; or is it ourselves within that loss? Everything we’ve ever loved, and lost, has shaped us into who we are. So there cannot be a complete loss in losing; I keep telling myself.

– I am grateful for War, and Love Poets; they take refuge in the pain of losing, knowing our lives depend on it. We plunge into those worlds and embrace the darkness. When it’s war, we mourn, and when it’s love, it’s a beautiful depiction of life. With their words, we realize that we are not alone in our losing; maybe, we even give meaning to our loss.

A Poet’s muse marks a moment by opposing every norm of its time; it elevates love as the essence of truth, rendering it more precious within the element of loss.

But, about this destined precious existence with an inevitable end; I don’t want to master this art of losing.

 

Everything and Nothing – Day One


Eternal love 6

Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas

Happiness Abound

A simple thought I woke up to today. . . If you are not happy alone, you will probably never be happy with anyone else. A relationship is not meant to cater your wants, or to fill any black holes others may have scarred you with. A relationship is meant to celebrate the senses of life in the most imaginative ways, as you share yourself with another human being – to create paths together where there were none before – Now, that sounds like happiness! Let’s suppose this is the secret to every successful relationship, and see what happens; what do you think? Does it sound like I know what I’m talking about? Well, just for the record . . . I know nothing.

 

© Maria Fokas/March 6th 2016/All Rights Reserved –

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

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


Julie-de-Waroquier

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

Maria Fokas/ Photography


And when I stumble upon a scene which takes my breath away  - I stop, and take it. By that very click, I am not yet sure if I am taking something that does not belong to me, or whether it isn't the image I am immortalizing, but actually, that very second I am witnessing movement in the realm of time. There truly is a story in everything; may it be in color, or the lack of it - may it be concrete, or abstract - a laugh or a cry; the spark of the story will always be there.

Maria Fokas

Photographs by me XX

 

Forbidden Shells (Plastic Race)


 2. Forbidden Shells (Plastic Race) by Maria Fokas

I yearn for memories dressed in pleasure; silky silver wrappings, tied in red ribbons, as the snow settles in the winter nights. And when spring comes, breakfast in a secluded diner; your choice, and I’ll be there for that smile; such beauty is soothing to the heart. I want to sail away with my lover in the summertime, and forget all the plastic in the world; too much of it everywhere we turn. I close my eyes and see you sitting at that old forgotten piano. Your fingers dance on the keys and a familiar nostalgic melody fondles my ears. And right when I think our imagination has escaped the lies, I read this:

A staff writer named Liz Dwyer writes about the discovery of a solution to the plastic problem polluting the environment, “One solution,” she claims, “is an edible fungus that likes to chow down on the non-biodegradable material; Plastic could be degraded by fungi and turned into food.” At least that’s the idea behind the Fungi Mutarium, a pilot project from designer Katharina Unger, and biology researchers at Utretcht University in the Netherlands. So how is this idea applied? Katharina explains: Bits of plastic are first sterilized with UV light, then placed into tiny cups made from an edible substance called agar. The fungi are then dropped into the cup. As it grows, it devours all the plastic. “It’s ready to be eaten when there is no more visible plastic material inside; the end product is similar to mushrooms, and can be flavored to taste like a fruity dessert,” said Unger. Has logic gone astray, or have I just lost my humor?

Where is Hemingway; remember that charming man who spoke with sensual words that embraced the taste buds of our imagination? He spoke of oysters consumed by the salt of the sea, and crisp white wine that mesmerized; as if he were describing the touch of making love on a satin beach under a seductive blue sky with lonely wishing stars. He described the aroma of the heavens, as a cold fragrant drink which washes down the sea and leaves a sweet sensation on the tongue. He whispered of a drink which removes the empty feeling to make us happy enough to make plans again.

On second thought, where’s that bottle of wine, red or white, either one can take me to heaven, or away from thoughts of plastic eating munchkins on supermarket shelves with promises they cannot keep. Imagine if another scientist chips in on the action, and starts claiming that these treats can get rid of wrinkles, or even enhance erections. Imagine what will happen then; A multi-trillion dollar industry. Wall Street, here they come!

And when night falls, I’ll be waiting in that autumn breeze. So, let the waking days mock me if they choose. I won’t resent the nights for not knowing how to vanish the seas between us; for when I close my eyes, your smile fills my dreams. And when our ship sails, our hearts will sleep my love, knowing it was meant to be.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved

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.