Η πρώτη μου ποιητική συλλογή - My first poetry collection (in Greek)

Μετά απο δέκα χρόνια και περιπού 7 πλήρους απουσίας και μουγγαμάρας η πρώτη μου ποιητική συλλογή είναι γεγονός τυπωμένο. 

After ten years approximately and almost 7 of absence and silence my first poetry collection in Greek is a printed fact. 

Εδώ μπορείτε να την αγοράσετε // Here you can purchase it 

Κι εδώ μπορείτε να διαβάσετε την πρώτη κριτική // And here you can read (in Greek) the first commentary on the collection.

It’s the Union, Jack

I told you the colour is red
but then again…
You keep wondering
You keep asking
Definitions, Descriptions, Potent Words

The writer has an obligation.
Become God the eternal observer.
Observe, record, but never interfere
the old adage…

I see
I record
I interpret
I write
Therefore, I interfere

So what is it then? I feel warm…
Just by looking at you.
I feel I can feel

I feel the definition
I feel the description
I feel the potent word
It is a mystery.

Because it is defined
When you hug me from behind,
even though I'm wearing yellow.
Because…

The kiss
slowly lowering
the head
to approach
you close your eyes
I close mine
And dive fast
like the first time
like the last time.
I missed you on my train ride
home, where you are.
I missed you.

In the embrace
the writer hides his sorrow
In the writing
Embraced and Embracer
are immortalised…

The writer turns and sees
the tattooed woman
exudes a singing precipitation
And then the couple…
hand in elbow
hand in elbow
bump and laugh
The couple.
Eyes reflecting, mirroring eyes
faces bright.

It’s the Union, Jack…

Derecho

Upon touch
a flash flood
power of a tornado
tonight's journey
next morning's wreckage.
Night's guise as necessary
for expression
of a feather's
empyrean, rose petalled touch.
Obscure fire
of questionable origins
liquid, wet - a wildfire
unstoppable conqueror.
One however, not
of libidinal origins, but
born of
dry static lightning.
For the deserted invite
such fervidity
voracious appettie - allowance
to be consumed, whole.

Brownie Aftertaste

I invite darkness
to sit on my lap
like an obedient little bitch...
But she is poison
deep rooted in my vains
and slowly chews my balls off...

Alcohol and cigarettes,
drugs and food,
morality unbound
Movies, tv-series, and a bed
the death of modern man
pills as if only a wish
portrayed a better life
in all the magazines.

If we share it together
maybe I become a better person.
If you take my weight
and I take yours
maybe just maybe we can actually survive...

Belle et Jérôme

Raining fog
misty rain
drops hanging
mid-air
one desperate breath
before goodbye
I keep fists
clenched
teeth
stomach
not to act
not to insult
not to aggress
a sensation through the spine
denied
the end
another night
to seek
one more
encounter
a phantasmal chance
You
a mirror
a ghost?
a phantasy?
an idea?
a gentle breeze
a playful butterfly
fluttering nymph
dark-haired angel
a gentle stroke
of my chords
a poor fiddle
I am
dancing your tunes


this hug is going to last forever
so… is this night.

Early Saturday Morning

It is early, a Saturday morning
still the sun has not come out yet
the birds are chirping
and I am voraciously smoking.
The humidity in the air embraces me -
such a mild temperature -
I smoke and I already miss you...
I miss your thighs against mine
your breasts on mine
your sweet sweat dripping...

I remember you in my bed
your fingers tracing my lips
but you were never here...
I already miss you
your long black hair
soft and welcoming, my fingers
interlocking, brushing through
your smile how it lights
how it makes my head feel
light...

I miss you and I want to
lay by your side...
Rest my head upon your
breasts mother earth
Lily of Lilies
how I miss you...

Come lay by me
allow my hands to embrace you
Allow my darkness
to kiss you
allow my weakness
to be saved by you
allow me...

I already miss you
and I want to hide
between your thighs
I miss you
and I
I already...

The foggy skies
cover my darkened mood
and this music
keeps going around
slow strokes of a piano
echoing in the desert.
I miss you...
Oh how I miss you...

Untouched II

'Ought to' lives in my dreams
were I strong enough is would not
veer off to phantasy.

Yet unable as I am
I see is and despair as no
'ought to' was ever given to
a coward's touch.

And you are
no 'ought to' is needed
to make thy touch sweet
thy smile a fairies touch
thy look sandman's dust.

You are and I cannot
be but only drown
my self-pity among
hedonic platitudes
dream erringly unnerved
of what I 'ought to'
to be with you
as is.

Untouched

For yet, the eyes speak of heart
and muscle spasms
but the tongue remains silent.

I look at you and see only fractions.
Your luminous eyes,
your long black lustrous hair,
your unencumbered smile.
I cannot focus.

Untouched your image shall remain
to memory committed.
Sprawling dream, material of phantasy
untouched your image shall remain.

A fleeting moment's ...

It's like my heart bleeds for no apparent reason...

For what love seeks
To be born
Has yet to be defined
Humanity’s valiant efforts have failed
Our words have abandoned us
Our practices an incoherent jungle mess
Our science a mess of specialisation

For what lies in a glance
Is not discussed
Nor may it be expressed
Whispered and fumbled
Drunken haze
Dissipates like liquor in the sun
Dried up
All that remains
A dead body
Shadow of something that never was

And still you remain
Wondering
Unable to grasp
Incapable to exist
You hope
That once
You might
Capture
The essence
Before it dries...

For the stars that gave birth to me
also bore your eyes and your lips
they gave colour to your kisses
and taste to your breath
substance to your touch
and essence to your gaze.

For these stars we live under
both being, both feeling
both kissing, both needing.

Tis our souls that seek
to find each other
and then something
that which does not
may not
will not
shall not
that which is
among all else
exist.

Journey upon a Stony Road

What is it?
That which saddens the walk.
What is it?
The weight inside the chest.
The inability to breathe.

Collector of stolen breaths
How do you measure worth?
For the non – sensory,
Ontological fruition is impossible.

Yet you persevere
Always asking, always fumbling
Never actually, never…
Flux on the verge of a cloudy dusk.

What is it?
The moment of triumph.
What is it?
Fastening coat, quickening steps,
Upon a stony road.

The sweetness of your demeanour
drops
off
the intellect of your lips
hangs
on
the balance
of a kiss

And then
the disposition
the correctness
of your ways
lies
with me
an idea
never fulfilled

For what is observed
never
beyond
the white
filled with black squiggles...

And here somewhere
I lay
despondent
forgotten
the man of loss
the lost
upon a green grass
a sunny day
I lay

Await
for that
that does not come
nor is invited
beyond what chooses
beyond the will

I see you
I see me
but still
nothing but white and
black squiggles

I dream

Volcanic eruptions of colour blue
Memories of red, once upon a time
Under grey skies we touch, limp

Green fantasies of white meadows
The existence playing with daisies
Being innocent as nobody believes

Black is the colour of presence
Dull, crisp, absolute, all-encompassing
Engulfs what you portray, nonchalant

How upon the sunny pines
Upon the sunny sunset
You would come onto me
And sing with grace and desire

Creole Breakfast at Brenda's

Atop the shrimp
tomato and bacon gravy
and grits
French toast and wheat
Sourdough toasted
Omelette Creole
with beef and spinach

Panic, not busy
Worker bees
diligent
There's that smile
I know a little Greek:
"Θα σε σκοτώσω"-
'I will kill you'
My neighbour’s kids
shout at each other
All love Greece
Long Live the 60's
Sex, Sand, Sun

Spicy Food
Tasty people
A system to sit down
only if you're altogether
So many people
so little space
so little time
Warm space and a bit
of vanity
Walls covered with mirrors...

We couldn't wait anymore
for you
We ate
And as we emerge
laughter and filled bellies
you appear jumping
clear blue skies
proud sun
Long lost trip
around the city
two hours earlier
you could have
enjoyed with us
Breakfast...

Esslingen Weinnachtsmarkt

I cannot speak
For what has been sung may not be spoken
This music in the middle of the Christmas market
A medieval market
A fantasy a re-creation in the middle of supermarkets and shopping malls
this open market stands
under the grey skies
As the music fills the air
it comes alive
A reality of the past
A true experience
This music is alive
it contains the people
and here modernity invades
3 guys and a woman
One of them looks like Wolverine
The other two like characters of Game of thrones
And her...
Tall and blond, dressed heavy guard against the cold
But in her eyes you don't see a travelling gypsy but a proud princess
She dominates the stage
The men seem to complement her...
This experience I want to be
I want to live in the middle ages...
When the men ploughed fields, worked the iron, and bled on the battlefield by the sword
When the women died in childbirth and the children were raised in mud...
The humans where more honest, more sincere
The blood was real
Now all we have
Is my Marlboro in my right pocket and my Samsung smartphone in my left hand recording these moments...
No brand will ever be able to recreate this
Our music is void of humans and our writing void of life
But as long as these outcasts keep playing
I will keep my memories
Of a long lost innocence...

Red Light District

Μen in the brothels
go in alone
leave alone…
Drinking in a bar
we’re also alone
all so alone

What is that
Mirrors
in your smile
a glint of light
madness

Yet all he cares about
is your body
I want your soul
your daemons
and your mind –
intellect – frontal lobes –
amygdala and hypothalamus

Under an alcohol dazed look
it’s what makes sense when
everything else fails
it’s what keeps me alive
even in the terror of reality

You laugh
I laugh
He laughs
A third one laughs
and I want to kill them all..

Violence hidden under some guise…
Usually that of language…
Kiss me or not
Anyway I’ll be drunk and forgetful
And you will not exist
next morning
but a distant cloudy memory
I went cruising with the boys…

Love Story

I discovered your handwritten note in the kitchen.
A cute shopping list, written in small, jiggly letters:

                    Potatoes
                    Barilla No.6
                    Corn flour
                (A small flower drawn next to it)
                    Franziskaner
                    Sauerkraut
                    Whipped cream for the chocolate...

                    "...should I write more..."

                    I will pay in kisses!!
                                                            Thank you Chef!

I went to the bathroom and took a shower.
I wiped myself dry with the blue towels you tried on last time,
wipe dry - use as a robe.
I remembered the blue fluff
spread evenly all over your body
like my towel was trying to usurp you...

Then, I sat on the bed,
undressing,
lying down to relax,
wait for you -
but this mattress -
this mattress -
it's so soft -
this is not our mattress!

I stood up and looked around.
And suddenly it dawned to me
I was in the wrong house!
                            (fantasy)

Femme Fatale

A spider's web is my love for you.
Like a little fly trapped in my threads,
stuck,
        unable to move -
                                  every move -
                                                     brings death one step closer.

And I, I am the great big spider.
The Queen, the majestic Black Widow!
I am what I am -
                       I kill my mate after copulation.

I feel so lonely,
                     and then,
You get caught in my web.
How I like to watch you struggle!
And I stay patient yet another day.
When is he going to kill himself?
Moving like a little insect...

And each day I grow closer and closer,
                                                            waiting,
                                                                      laying low,
                                                                                     until,
I decide that you deserve a sweet death.
Then I will consummate our fateful union...

Coping with Rejection

Don't take it personally
The doctor said
It is your weight son
My mother said
You know you need to conform to the norm
My friends said
Your target market is naturally limited
My best friend said
Then again I say these are not!

I am not sad
Or hurt
Although
The day that
Follows
Is always
A bit heavy
On my left side...

I asked him once
What am I doing wrong
"You 're chasing a dream and I respect you for that"
If the whole world spins to a particular tune
Why would you want to whistle another?
Truth is more important than life
And truth is always painful and ill-suited...

There is a simple path in life
Paved with corpses
You can choose
An eagle
A fishing spider
A mosquito
A mole
A vulture
A komodo dragon
Or your own corpse…

But when you choose
Make sure you can stand
Yourself,
And opposing whirlwinds...

You can be either a lost island
Or a lost ship
This little matters
Since essentially the journey is the same...
Who shall step on my lonely sandy shores next?
To which harbour will I find you at the docks waving your neckerchief?

Today I laboured
Burying yourself under tasks for execution is always...
And when I went back home
I put my feet up a chair
Draw a long full puff of my vanilla – cherry pipe
Exhale and close me eyes

And as i close my eyes
And dream
My pain loosens
Your figure as I remember lucidly
fades
in its world
That of ideas…
There my soul finds consolation
There the noise stops
There again I will find you
To fall in love with you
All over…