the memory keeper

she went to the village
in serch for the roots
for the air who made her ancestors
be who they were when she met them;

the old lady seated in front of the guest house
was related to her, in a way
most villagers were
and she told it to her

she said it quick without a warning
making sure that she gives it to her
in such a way that she will remember
and transfer the duty - of the memory keeper.

77

What is it that makes you move
in a dialog with an upper seated person
from priority number 97 to priority 77?
what strings should you play ?

should you play loud or just be gentle
just making your voice heard
will maybe change the perception (of who you are?)
and move you up to the high number seven?

will you ever be number one
for anybody but yourself and sometimes
your circle of loved ones and friends?
will otherwise fame or money sparkle genuine interest?

if an idea is not heard
it does not matter if it is good or bad,
if patience is lacking and people are many
competeing for attention you may not get any

perhaps you shoud be the first to not to the same
to those who are seated below you
if the little ones will not blame you
for this fault you may be changing the unattentive person.

exception to the poem rule: there is light

cape Hatteras

cape hatteras old lighthouse

cape lookout

Patras

Nafpaktos




Ocracoke, Bodie, Currituck...

There is a light that takes me back to the places where I belong.
To learn more about the NC lighthouses see the US Coast Guard website at
Historic Light Station Information & Photography: NORTH CAROLINA
To learn more anout Greece's lighthouses see the page made by Pavlidis Savas on

Traditional Greek Lighthouses.

days of the wolf

the same forest everyday
you cross in a stroll
some days you enjoy the walk
free of care and with joy in your heart
as if clouds were not even an entrance
in your dictionary of moods;
some days you are so full of song
that you forget the advice of your mom
and go deep in the forest just to see
what there is to see
and you always come home
at the end of the day
from the same path
you have always known.

some days have a tone of gray
and then you know these are
days of the wolf
when you know you shall fear an assault
and beware of strangers
or even friends with too sweet the words.
you walk more alert
and you do sometimes shiver
but this make the pace of your walk somehow better
and you always come home
on the path that you have already known.

some days the fear of the wolf is so strong
that the forest so normally quiet
seems to whisper in your ear
at times that you least expect
advice on where you should step
if you ever want to get
wherever you wanted to go in first place;
sometimes the fear of the wolf
makes you go to strange places
behave in strange manners
or just open up and ask help
from total strangers;

if you walk straight
keep your head up
and trust intact
no matter how much you shake
you will eventually find
the right path and go wherever you wanted
or if needed turn back
to the path you always trusted.
don't let the fear of the wolf change you
just walk crefully step after step
and trust that you'll get
into the light.

this one

This one little girl
all giggles or screams
quickly balances
between the extremes.
it is not my intent
to judge or criticise her
my only dream
is to put in writing her picture.

she has a few spaghetti curls
but otherwise
she's basically made
out of tortellini.
her smile is a twisted
candy cane;
her eyes are liquidy chocolate,
her tummy is full of bananas.

her shoes come attached to thin legs
they're lollipops and she is changing the flavors
as often as you are changing your socks.
she does things all by herself
for which I am grateful and ready to kiss
her marshmallow cheeks.

romantic soul garden

I do my gardening in the most chaotic fashion
whenever my friends will drop by and give me a seed
I will put is aside for a while or feel forced to plant it at once
depending on the width of their smile and the urgency suggested by it.

wherever loving words fall from their flight roses tend to grow
but wintery fights help lots of weeds engulf the sweet plants in a circle of mistrust,
wherever swords words fall, the ground who gets wounded tends to forget
about its ultimate goal and it leaves place to desert unless I water it with forgiveness.

my garden, my garden at the crossroad of lives
whom shall you touch if not those who take care of the patch
whom shall you teach about pruning and weeding and the efforts it takes
the patience and song and the many steps to the fountain and back ?

Lucio Dalla

In his voice I hear
the many grains of salt
taken out from the sea and dried by the sun
on all of these beaches where his feet took him
at times pushing against the wind;
or peacefully sat - streching a minute well into sunset.

I feel the dust of the city
sitting in a superficial layer
atop of his notes and this makes me trust
that the words I can hear rolling in the air
from the tip of his tongue and experience of others
come from this very real world we share all of us.

Storms passed over his head,
few thoughts stopped entagled in his beard,
but the joy of living in this world of ours
still wakes him up and opens his windows
in the gentle air of the Sunday mornings he brings
in our souls with his songs - for which I bring thanks.

Five

The first trial to find
through the rule of fives
who I am may lead somewhere
and if not to far I have just found out
its hard to find five bloggers to ask the same.

Let me say thing one: I have no patience
and sometimes no prudence;
somedays I explode
into the world with a dream
clearly writen on my forehead;

the second is that my friends
are so few that they are becoming
transparent, ready to fade
or rather evaporate through the curtains
in the outside world;

the third is that I find in hard in this twirrling world
to stop their dance, this dervish dance
and have them at home on a couch
for a cup of tea or coffee and
the opening of hearts;

the fourth is that even though
I have been burried under an ocean
of silence I still think that one day
I will open my mouth to say all the words
that my friends were waiting for and they will forgive.

in other words I believe that true love
encompasses redemption;
has hidded powers and can cross oceans
erase the time stamps on unwritten letters
smooth wrinkles.

The fifth thing I say in a wisper
I am afraid to share some of my dreams;
I wish I was all crystall clear but I am not
and therefore I work on washing away things I want not
in my mind. Meanwhile I am afraid I will forget.

colors of truth

Strange lady - reality
does not always wear
the colors we'd like her to.
it is up to us to open our eyes
and look at what we dare;
have our share of its beauty
sometimes cruelty;
in truth her colors
are what the artist sees of them
when he decides to paint
her portrait on his canvas.

Alone

photo credits Mellik Tamas

when you are alone
the sound of your thoughts
like a bell in a tower
makes you aware
of who you are;
happiness rarely
visits isolated towers
but if you make your thoughts
chime in an alert rhytm
your friends gather around
dispersse the loneliness
and threaten to change
who you are.
ready to change?

the powers in you

photo credits Mellik Tamas


In your hands
the power to change;
in your legs
the power to move;
in your mind
the power to shape
the world -
your world.
in you I trust
that you will know
to choose where to go
and where not to;
in you I trust
that you will choose
your friends,
and change your ennemies
into friends;
that you will avoid
indiferrence;
your heart has the strength
to love many people;
yor tongue can talk
kind words
your acts can be good
and stay with your people;
your eyes have the skills
to open each morning
the gates to a new world
of beauty;
just take the patience
to add to it everyday
a drop of love,
and a couple more
of sweat when you make
the powers in you
work.

Ana

she has the simplest name
and the most straightforward smile;
she laughs from her heart
and cries with all her strength,
she runs and she dances
like a butterfly in the sun;
in the light that makes her grow
always true to her heart.
as for me I am learning
from the young soul she has
to clean mine with water
never as as pure as her heart

light

The light of my life
shines in your eyes
the warmth that I need
I feel when you encircle
me in your arms;
the softest whisper
I can hear is the touch
of your hands;
(those gentle hands
can move mountains)
the power to give
love - you have given to me
as well as the promise
that toghether we shall be
strong and quite possibly
happy.

breath

Take a deep breath
and learn to live
calmly and dearly
at the edge of the forest;
learn to breath slowly
as your arms grow
as long as the branches
longing for sun.
open your chest
with air
fill up your mind
with light.
at times
learn that it's good
to close your eyes
relax in the dark
till it is time
to rise and shine
again
with a new force
and new love
for life.

give

Give to receive
it leaves a trace
of goodness on your face
and it brings peace;
you'll become rich
the more you give;
the more you run
the farther you will be reach;
the stronger you'll have become
the more gates you'l open
with your tired
generous hand
always reaching out
for a friend in need
because it can.
is it a paradox?
the more you give
the more will you receive.

be happy

open your eyes each morning
and look straight at me
be happy that you are here
as much as I am I am happy
because you came to be
such a nice person
such a good friend;
I do not know what
would I do in the end
if it were not for you
to brigthen my day,
to take me for walks
even if I have to wait
always too long
for you to return.
I may be but a dog
but I prefer people to call
me - my man's best friend.

if

if life is
what I think it is;
if joy does not
always mean comfort;
i do not mind
sleeping for once;
under the sky;
just to awake
to the bright light;
just to see
who had gathered
onto the same beach but me;
I do not mind
mingling with people others may blame;
I do not care if they voted the same.

What I do care is to open my eyes
and exercise the difficult act
of opening one's soul
sometimes my own
as a present to you,
sometimes delicately yours
as a present to me;
and sometimes, more and more rarely
the soul of strangers
if he decides that it needs to bloom
or to burn or to cry in front of our eyes.

Am I to judge or am I to help?
Am I to hurt for an unknown
but possible friend,
and most important of all
will I be given the chance
to understand
you?
only if you let me to.

so would you care
to share with me
the open air for a day
a warm cofee
on a cold day
on a street;
will you dare
to be yourself
to be humble and ready to taste
how it is like to be different
my friend?

cold

This cold
as mild as one can claim
it is
is sneaking to my skin
fast
like a layar of discomfort
close
to driving me mad.

Between my boots
and my socks
between my jacket
and my sweater
between my gloves
and my sleeves
sneaking in
like a thief
an univited guest
we forget about
as soon as snow falls
and we can play
snow angels
and build snow men
and women and children;
this is when we do not care
we do not mind
and for a day
we do not long
for spring.

wanderers

http://gallery.photo.net/photo/4025496-lg.jpg
photo credits

can you guess, can you think
where do they come from?
and where will they go?
where from they bring

the grains of salt in the wind
the smell of shells
becoming fine sand,
under the sun and the wave?

do they bring joy to you
and the thought of your feet
stepping lightly
on a beach?

or do they bring fear
of the darkness under the wave,
or perhaps of the height
when you are on top of the crest

a crest that is changing
position and shape
that from green
will turn purple at sunset

that is spliced by orange
and touches of other colors;
or are you mistifyed
by its colors

by the electric blue
that keeps in balance the day
when it gets ready to fall
over the edge of night;

are you strong enough to rest
even if the earth is changing.
will you shed all fears
when the day returns

when the waves dress
in a light blue dress
or a deep ink color
under the sky

under the sun that shines
and shrinks all problems
for a while, to let us glorify
the light of the day.

new breath

The year has started
with a new breath
of cold air and a vision
of clear blue water ;
the mountains
have covered themselves
in snow which stands
nearly immaculate,
here and there dotted
by the feet of red cardinals
and blue jays.
A rabbit jumps softly
over the ground in search
for the remains
of the vegetable garden;
the squirels stop for a second
from their bussines
and try to remember
where they had burried
my daffodil bulbs,
while I look forward
to the end of the day
to read sleepily a story
with old gnomes to
a fresh breathed child.