Scars Set in Stone

corfu 3

Scars Set in Stone by Maria Fokas

Just because you buried our journey
Does not make it disappear
Just because you have forsaken me
Does not mean you never loved me
That I have succumbed to defeat
Does not mean I wanted to leave
Your silence never depicted indifference
As my smile did not prove a trace of hope

Of stories which trouble the heart
In words which sicken the soul
Everywhere an abundance of woe:
A half-finished love affair bound to crucifixion
A misdeed triggered to destroy a kind gesture
A deserted dream to leverage false sense of balance
Courage disintegrates in glass boxes of loose ties
Day races by as night pricks through the cracks of dawn

Oh, but to deny one’s place in this world
That would be the greatest crime of all

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved/Photograph by Maria Fokas [Paleokastritsa – Corfu]

A Song for Sophia

A Song for Sophia

A Song for Sophia by Maria Fokas

To defame an honorable man
Is not in a woman’s nature
Excluding, a woman in love; of course
In rage she drowns in misleading ramble –
But when time has dimmed out
She takes back her heartless tone
And of all the outcomes her fury may bring
She hopes she made him smile –
Because; one thing she knows to be unshaken
Time runs out without a cause; without a glimpse of warning
We were one; once upon a time – it cannot be forsaken
Though a champagne path; without a sip to reminisce –
Yet what better way to be remembered, than that you loved
For you can bleed so long without a gust,
Before your heart tempers
And last, the sweet hushing calm –

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photograph by Maria Fokas, at Corfu; Paleokastritsa

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 Art of Waiting

Martin Hanley Photo

The Art of Waiting by Maria Fokas

A hush beneath the sea, whispers into each string of night; precisely, and endlessly. Dreams bend back on themselves, like fragile circles hoping to be traced. Where the two ends meet, the dream is nurtured; where the two ends part, the taste of sweet love remains – Each of the two circles is true, but the truths are not the same.

And as the night wakes, our sun disappears beneath the earth; once more, no rest in waiting. The sea turns from deep blue to bright red; reaching words from land to land and on the twelfth day the waiting will end.

I hear the whisper in your poetry; I hear the beating of your heart in your dreams. But there is no suffering – a struggle inside the pages of loyalty; voices that yearn for freedom is an honorable way to live; turning the hour-glass by day, and by night. I wait for the nine lines of a sacred site to speak those same words of freedom.

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

The Circle of Time

Martin Hanley

The Circle of Time by Maria Fokas

The flow of time in a dream
It rushes by – It stands still
You reach into that endless stream
You grasp the haste of freedom
Where light and darkness meet
Where the old creates the new
Where the scent of Green fades into the wake of Blue
Like a string that binds my heart to you
Into the past, by a thought;
Into to the future, with a hope.

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

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


Thorns of Time (Part II)

Grace Widy

Thorns of Time (part II)  by Maria Fokas

I watched your words turn into stone.
              – First you left;
 And then, I said goodbye –

One by one, tomorrows disappear, like candles end.
             – Up in the sky, the clouds manifest in mystery,
 First love recalls the fear of oneness, inevitable paths to claim

Damn those walls, like mountaintops that never end.
             – Losing leaves a painful sting behind,
 A hovering shadow that clings on till we say farewell –

We write, and write, and then forget the reasons why.
             – A promise broken or misplaced, and then fades away,
The key is lost, and then is found, with no regrets to mend –

And still, I’m grateful for the things you gave me.
             – For the moon, for the stars; for the rest of time,
  And for the scent of love; you kissed my lips with freedom  –

First, you left;
             -Then, I let the candles burn till the night was gone.
That was the end; nothing was wrong –


Photo Credits: Grace Widy