The Passion of a Writer’s Pen

The Passion of a Writer's Pen

The Passion of a Writer’s Pen by Maria Fokas

A sword to pierce my heart for every tide
I spit out a raw escape in a gasp of thought
To mark specks of profound recklessness
To feel the bleeding heartbeat of my fingertips
To taste the dread of a struggling shadow
To hear the whispering force of a lover’s birth
To lose oneself in every re-crossing sunset
A dream of the world; a gush of raging grace
From original light to final darkness
Stories bound to a hope of existence;
My cry for life –

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Artwork: Whatever I see by WeirdSam/Abstract Photography

[A project for Matthew Chikono]

Shattered Pieces of Time

Neel 02 01 2015 Abstract Photography 2

Shattered Pieces of Time by Maria Fokas

Last night, you held my hand
We flew below a golden sky
At a distance a faint melody
A familiar touch; a soft sigh

Out of my sleep; Uncertainty
Has love been cursed again?
All possibilities fade away
No expectations; no apparent fears 

My eyes tire; I can barely recall
In a world where time is scarce
Why do we dwell in losing?

[Love that alters when alteration comes
was never love at all] 

But . . . my friend. 


© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photography: Neel 02/01/2015 Abstract Photography

Sparks of Light

Free Bird

Sparks of Light by Maria Fokas

Torn to shreds by spite;
But it will pass, like all misfortunes do.
Our greatest fears come true, sometimes;
Truths which scar the soul –
But it is not the silence which breaks me;
It is what silence leaves behind in its passing –

And in my grieving moment;
The defeat is not of a lost love.
I fought for you with all my might;
As if it were my last battle –
How can we know the truth from a lie?
Surely not by generous manners –
Could it be by a gentle touch, when hardships roar?

I have seen men claiming to be generous; who were the greediest of all –
I have seen men alleging to be gentle; who were merely vile tyrants.
And I have seen men declare their bravery; though nothing but cowards;
Men falling in tantrums like spoilt children, cruel and malice.

But I was fortunate to keep those tormenters astray.
I gave my heart to an unusual man who made promises;
To protect me from his fury and from his rage, and I know you tried;

And so I have no regrets today.
And whether I was haste, or foolish;
Giving you the benefit of the doubt; on all occasions –
It was because – my weaknesses were rife.
And though my faults were countless;
My vow to you was never meant to change.

In this end, I will be mocked;
Endless whispers of insincere pity; will ravage me –
And while they smile in my presence;
I will feel their scorn.

But regardless of the madness –
The struggles, and the pain,
I did not lose a breath of life;
Because I have loved with all my heart.

So no matter what tomorrow brings,
You will remember all those things.
And though you never believed in me:
I will miss the times of laughter;
And I will miss the times you held my tears –

But most of all,
What will be missed;
Is the time I thought you loved me –

© 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

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

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



Forbidden Shells (Blind Spots)

3. Forbidden Shells (Blind Spots) by Maria Fokas

Today Greece is voting for the next Prime Minister . . . [Do not dwell on the days that drift by – Make them stop] – The words carved on an iron plaque, hung on cemetery gates, in a dream.
And so I took the bus to the center of town, early this morning as I could not sleep. I sat on the bus observing people going to their destinations. I looked for smiles, or lack of them; speculated about the thoughts they were consumed with; whether they were healing, or sickening their hearts. Only one was smiling. I imagined he was reliving a happy moment. Most had lifeless and cold lips on. Were they thinking politics, or maybe all the mistakes they’ve made so far. We have no qualms about spreading other people’s miseries but we hide our own very well. Could our miseries carry a sense of fault within them; our fault?

I came out of my thoughts to reflect upon the lifeless expressions again. This time, I imagined the frozen faces as a means to relax their muscles; people merely enjoying the ride. I asked myself, what constitutes a good day, opposed to a bad one. How subjective can it be? “Now if only I knew what made me happy,” a girl on the bus said into her cell phone. See, the subconscious may be sceptical of whether we’ve learnt from our mistakes. It’s there to protect us, not change us, or even trust us, and surely not to remind us of what makes us happy; just there to frighten us against past miseries. It feels safe to know the future beforehand. Now imagine a world where we always knew what would happen next – Always.

The bus stopped, and I got off; no destination to devour my thoughts. I walked down the elite street of my city; the center of the high-rises where the finest luxury jewels are sold, boutiques of high fashion, floral shops with the freshest collections of brilliant colored bouquets, pastry shops of extravagant assortments dressed in dazzling artistry of sugar-art; there for the taking. But every couple blocks reality hit me in the gut, as I saw people like me, do the thing where they just walk by the less fortunate ones. None blinked towards those sitting on the cold dirty cement; some had backs leaning up against the high buildings, others crouched forward with faces down to hide their misery. The ones who looked into my eyes, had tired and angry eye; somewhat like mine. I saw one man who seemed to be in a dream state, another was praying, and a third was whispering to himself, but none of them were baffled.

I wondered about their families; where they were, and if they knew or cared. I assumed they all had families. I captured three of these people in my camera, after I emptied my pockets. Yes, I am guilty, and yes, I felt guilty as I took those pictures, but I did it anyway. I felt misery looking through the lens; the kind I didn’t want to hide. I wondered what they felt as they watched me trying to take it all in. A teacher once said, “When we prepare for national exams, we’re as weak as our weakest students; we work together and succeed together.” Did I stop to take those pictures to give purpose to my life? I have to vote today – Ridiculous!


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.