poetry

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

When You Are Old


 

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.

Photograph Credits: Unknown

 

 

 

Simple Things


mariafokas bird 2

Simple Things by Maria Fokas

Precious things to hold onto;

Moments we have loved.

With time still left,

To love some more.

A day, a decade, hopefully two,

And wishing for more.

Soaring through life for the simple things,

Thankful each day for your generosity.

Oh my love; now I see,

That in the river of dreams,

A taste of cloves, and lemon drops,

Is all I’ll ever need.

©All Rights Reserved – Photography by mariafokas.com

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.

 

The Heart of The Moon


Moon-fairy

The Heart of the Moon 

To seize the darkness of your mournful heart

In an enchanted weakness of wicked play

You lose yourself to a fruitless path

You fear to taste the scent of love

In the weeping of time

In the sorrow of love

Many will envy all that we created –

unavailing thoughts of a distorted past

With a thread to tie a knot

But you were never meant

To keep me in an invisible grip

I wanted to paint your beautiful soul

And I did

Though I slipped inside your hunger

And fell in too deep

The odds of a raging sea

For the brave who love with courage

An inconvenient heart

 Whether they change love, or love changes them

There is no resentment to overcome

In the mesmerizing glow of my maker

I wait for you each month; a flower for your soul to keep

But until you embrace your darkness –

You cannot bewitch the soul in me

And the howling of the wolves

which play in your sleep

Will never shed a tear

For the love,

You did not keep.

 [Photo Credits: Moon Fairy Fantasy]

 

 

Window to the World


Photo © Vladimir Kutchinski

Window to the World

Love

majestic, mysterious

longing, hoping, cherishing

muse, redeemer – shadow, mask

deceiving, misgiving, agonizing

lonely, bleak

Fear

Credits: Photo © Vladimir Kutchinski

 

The Stolen Child


The Stolen Child

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,

The solemn-eyed:

He’ll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

– W.B. Yeats

 

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage


BMC

[There is a pleasure in the pathless woods] George Gordon Byron

   There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
   There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
   There is society where none intrudes,
   By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
   I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
   From these our interviews, in which I steal
   From all I may be, or have been before,
   To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

   Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
   Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
   Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
   Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain
   The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
   A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
   When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
   He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

   His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields
   Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise
   And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
   For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
   Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
   And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray
   And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
   His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.