love

Reflections of Time


Reflections of Time by Maria Fokas

Strangers crossing paths; do not stop but for a glance.

Like morning to dawn with the turning of time.

And the winds caressing days, will dance;

to the ticking of a heart flying high –

 . . .

But do not mis-take my love;

There is no sadness in my sigh;

It is that I miss you so,

When we say goodbye.

X

An Emerald Wish


wish-1-final-pic

An Emerald Wish

Find that picture you once took . . . the one which captured a moment that seemed like any other, at the time. But looking back, you know better now. That picture which hides a gemstone that would take a thousand words to share; the one so special, you don’t dare give away. I can’t recall the exact wording of my wish that day, but who took me there, I will never forget;

Oh, that emerald field of magical whispers.

©  All Rights Reserved: Photography by mariafokas

The Chords of my Heart


Henry Asencio 1972 - Ameican Abstract Expressionists painter - Tutt'Art@ - (3)

The Chords of my Heart

From the back roads of my mind;

You tempt my heart to dance again.

You smiled, and said hello,

In the middle of nowhere.

And between the dark and the light,

The warmth of your touch –

Everything you are is new to me;

One more time;

The chords of my heart whisper.

Oh those blue eyes;

Hope in a starry night.

 

– Artwork: Henry Asencio

 

Compassion for Time


Compassion for Time

Compassion for Time 

The limitations of compassion,

Let me keep my heart intact.

I have touched your madness,

The curiosity for moments I cared;

But . . .

Those words made of ink,

 Will always be dark.

And words from whispers,

 Which come from the heart,

 Will always love.

All the struggles to survive;

In the distance between us -

But that bright light hiding within;
 

Never left your side -

So if you ever think back,

And for a split moment sigh;

Do not think twice, 

For you did not offend me.

It was our love which was sacrificed; 

Not us -

Nothing I felt was ever your fault; 

The waves do tend to lure.
 

Oh those experts full of words of wisdom;

Twist and turn the truths of time.

Respect the past, present, and what is to come.
 

For every moment is precious; may it be love or pain.

The past; compassion while we walk through thorns of time.

The present; for respect of the story we have yet to find.

The future; to keep hope alive for the moments we dare.

Strength and weakness go hand in hand.

Far from perfect; in the end.

For every day we change;

 But some things,

  I wish stayed the same -

© All Rights Reserved – Photograph: Maria Fokas

When You Are Old


Leszek Paradowski

                                  Photograph Credits: Leszek Paradowski 

When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

 

Beyond the Sea


©Yucel Basoglu

Beyond the Sea 

Bear the whispers of a weeping hue,

To recall the moments of rapture.

Obliterate the cries of sorrow,

Words crippled by failure to thrive.

Misplaced memories of you;

Of all that you dream to be,

Plunge into the depths of your ocean,

Reclaim the path you pledged to engrave.

Do not forsake that endless need.

To be swallowed up by a timely dew,

Or tread the footsteps in that loose-leaf.

In the dawn of silence you always knew;

You turned the pages of that beautiful ride;

In the trembling of your voice,

The darkest story ever told.

“Stay with me tonight”

I wish it were true.

Pleasures of the heart can numb;

But, I plead with you tonight.

Do not disclaim your Ocean.

 

Photograph Credits: ©Yucel Basoglu

 

Underwater Waves [Finale]


amazing-beautiful-sea-photography-mountain-waves-picutres NEW

Underwater Waves 


No; it wasn’t a promise to return. It was a promise to love me till death took him away. I recall a time when all I wanted was to make him proud of me. I’d always jump at the chance to be with him; I’d listen to his stories of when I was just a little girl; of how he loved me more than he loved his own life. And no matter what happened, he would always be close.

It was a cold winter evening when he sat me down to talk. He said he had to change his life; that he had one last chance for happiness. I sat still listening to his every word. He didn’t look into my eyes; he sat across from me with his head down in torment for what he had to say. I told him not to be sad; that everything was going to be alright. But he did not smile; he merely shook his head. I swallowed that cold bitter pain in my throat, and held back my tears, and when I was ready to speak, I asked him one question. “Do you love her?” He said, “Yes,” and so I told him to do what made him happy. He smiled with pity, and there was nothing more to say; and that question screaming in my head, that one, I never asked.

In the dark of the night, he got his suitcase ready; only the essentials. Then he washed his face, took a last sip of his black coffee, kissed his wife on the cheek, and picked up his suitcase. She asked, “The girls?” He stopped, opened our bedroom door, and tool a peek inside. “No,” he said, “Let them sleep, I will call them in the evening when I’ve arrived.”

In the morning, when I woke up, my mum said he was gone.

So you see, we were doomed from the start with no one to blame. Every love story that has ever been written, has also been lived. And my God, they have all been beautiful; every single one of them. But I will not regret the choices that I have made. I will not witness such pain in the eyes of another little girl; not by my hand. So do not sorrow for the tears I shed, for my waves were never waves at all, and my words were from a love story of a thousand years ago; in a beautiful world; where nothing is ever lost.

But that call he had promised to make;

I remember waiting.

The End

 

 

 Photography Credits: Ray Collins

Moved Silently


moved-silently

Moved Silently

I noticed him across the room.

Maybe an intoxication of habit in a civilized society;

Is it that people have stopped listening to each other?

But what made me notice;

That he listened, even before I began to speak.

He asked me how I felt.

A nostalgic moment; and he was there,

In a darkness beneath our thoughts, time stopped.

An Ode to holidays; no mood to contribute, I told him.

Those days just pass me by too, he replied –

With Imagine faintly in the background,

His embrace put my past to rest;

My heart found room for his perception of time.

He then wet my lips with red wine;

  With his hoarse voice, he gently touched my neck.

My demons for his dragons;

My days for his nights;

I surrendered to his dance as he pulled me into the light.

The dawning of change?

. . .

Amedeo once said,

 “Happiness is an angel with a serious face.”

 . . .

Beyond belief;

His smile, I will keep.

And he;

My dance.

 

 – Photo Credits: Unknown

 

 

 

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]