Mystical

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

 

 

 

Metis


Metis 

On blossomed branches,
Hummingbirds rest in the scented shade.
The soil is moist beneath my feet;
What an odd place to find myself –
No recollection of my treading here.
Though it is a time for mourning, neither cries, nor tears to proclaim.

A traveler has much ground to cover, and many regrets to misplace.
I should have stayed with my first certainty:
With no expectations, I would have been spared –
As mountain-tops squander their flawless spring waters,
Lovers ignore the passing of Time.

And with my end so near, I could have shared some truths;
Had it not been for my forgetfulness, to save me from my youth;
But I have always found comfort in soaring above the clouds.

© Maria Fokas/ March 4, 2016/All Rights Reserved

Featherless Wings


Mother Nature

Photograph by Maria Fokas

Featherless Wings 

The branches dare to disturb;
Moving in a motion that tangles their world.
Their whispers; in the winds of passing seasons –
The fear of triumph is absent,
They are alive, that is their quest –
Conversations of love do not break their delicate wings.

Trees have wings?
Wings without feathers; fly by the scent of their leaves.
They capture the day, and stir the night.
No words to torture their souls –
They reflect on prolonged possibilities;
And drink from the songs of passers-by.

 

© Maria Fokas/ Feb 17 2016/All Rights Reserved

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

Legacy of old towns


 

Rhodos – Old Town / 2013

Old Town  –

Rhodos has a legacy one could be mesmerized by – The medieval walled city is a site which takes you to a distant past where the Palace of the Grand Master of the Knights stands proud, protected by a medieval wall. This walled city is considered one of the largest in Europe.

It was here that I met two siblings who had much to share with me about the daily comings and goings of it’s visitors.

 

Metis


Coming Soon . . .

Notes to the Readers:

The story of Metis and Prometheus is a story about struggles, loss, and the space love embraces to make sure we survive the ironic twists and turns life can put us through –

 

Beneath the White Willow © Copyright © 2012 by Maria Fokas ΡΟΞΑΝΗ Μ. ΚΑΜΠΟΥΡΑΚΗ-ΑΛΙΒΑΝ ΣΥΜΒΟΛΑΙΟΓΡΑΦΟΣ Α.Φ.Μ. 041456855 ΑΡΙΘΜΟΣ **** – ΠΡΑΞΗ ΚΑΤΑΘΕΣΗΣ ΠΝΕΥΜΑΤΙΚΗΣ ΙΔΙΟΚΤΗΣΙΑΣ

I am also sharing a song I listened to; over a thousand times while writing Metis; I almost want to call it the theme song XXX

 

 

http://Azure Ray – November