Wednesday, 25 February 2009

Dead end or a push forward

In your ignorance we pay the fees for misery
Our milk and bread feeds slaughters.

Tomorrow, in your bloody ignorance
you’ ll murder more kids than yesterday.

But you, don't worry. Keep on living
like an obese  fashionable rat
under your fat others suffocate poisoned by gazes, famine, abuse.

Tonight, sweet dreams my dears.
But let me go first.

Dreaming & poetry is good.
But I promise I want do any more

No more
until the actions take place.

Its so early but i feel exhausted.
exhausted rat.

Monday, 23 February 2009

Poetry, feathers and flowers

Totnes is an inspiration!
The poetry crew

My eyes a valley of pedals

Tim, looking like a veggie

Cameron, what a youthful old chap!

Cameron drawing to us the musical instrument he created on his own.

A year later or so, Cameron's instrument was created.
You can get a poor-quality sample of the beauty of this exquisite instrument here:

Feel so much like home there. Home, meaning the place where your heart can easily rest and smile.
a feeling controversially very different to the one that my literal home, Cyprus often evokes in me.

Tonight I met up with some lovely people and passionate artists.
along with reading and chatting we played. In the game in which each of us was given a swan's feather and the only direction we had was to as write something descriptive about the feather.
Walking alongside imagination I wrote the above:

Oh, thats the fairy that appeared while i was trying to write...:)
she came very handy.

Swan's feathers

The air runs
through your soft
white legs
and your shiver.

The water sings
wavy melodies
upon your royal pathways.

Your basis, transparent,
the higher it gets
the stronger
the opaque smell becomes.

While falling
I saw you transforming
into a dove-fairy
whose dance
colored red
the icy surface.

You dived in
But still, still
the water
when you rested

in it's cold arms.

Million spasms,
cracks in the dream
when you shot at the heart
of the crystal reflections.


Saturday, 21 February 2009

Όπου αγαπάς μη πολυ πάς__

Όπου αγαπάς μη πολυ πάs __ at the place you love, don't go too often
κι αν πολύ πας __ and if you go too often

μην πολυ κατσεις __ don't stay for too long
κι αν πολυ κατσεις __ and if you stay for too long
να μην πολυμιλείς __ don't talk too much
κι αν πολυμιλείς __ and if you talk too much
να κατέχεις να τα λές. __ be very aware of what you say.

Λουδοβίκος των Ανωγείων Loudovikos ton anogion

i tried to give the closest translation possible

Lay & dive

... lay upon some silver-gold leafs...
..its so beautiful down here...
we don't need to go...hush...
listen the to the walking ...daffodils
we don't need to go
penetrate__ the silence
and sing with me.

Monday, 16 February 2009

Let go and Dance

--Its a weird story..:
-Tell me.
-a week ago I was with a friend of mine in an art café at the Barbican. I was having some hot chocolate. This man entered, holding a big African drum. (boom boom)
We greeted him and he talked with us for a bit. ..and went on doing what we were doing before he got in.
He sat at the bar, & ordered something there.
Suddenly, he started talking very loudly! On his own!
We were quite shocked!
I thought he was mad ( if he was , it wouldn’t be the first time I would have seen a really mad person in that café) until he started playing the drums..
-ahh . . .
-and I realized that he was actually narrating a poem! the whole situation seemed very stange and I was getting curious to find more about it.
-go on. .
-so I went closer to the bar, stood in front of him and tried to make sense of what he was saying. for some reason I found it hard.. Maybe because of the drum that he was playing simultaneously. So I could not resist not to ask him ‘what the fuck was all that about?’
-you said it like that?
-no..of course not!
-what was it about?
in another language?
-he told me that he was getting ready for a poetry night at the art centre
-and he had a quite sad face when he said that, because as he said a guy was going to accompany his poem with a guitar, but this guy didn’t make it at the end.
-ok, so he asked you.
-u r quick! yeah he did
-I told him that I didn’t know how to play the guitar. And he said ok with a sympathetic almost miserable smile. I felt a bit sorry for the old chap, and tried to think of how I could maybe help him. So.. I said to him ‘but i know how to dance thu’
-so you danced.
-I danced…and the drums drove me mad
-everyone watched . . And was transported to another universe
-everyone was transported, including me ...
-what a wonderful evening. So you became friends that way.

-well I knew him before that. so i did the magic dance, it fitted very well with the rhythm of the drums! Then I agreed to do something like that in half an hour at the Art center.
So this is what happened at the Plymouth Art Venter that night.

* The Above conversation is closely based on a real conversation I had with Mark.

My friend recorded the performance we did. Its not a great recording or a great dance, but keeping in mind that everything was totally spontaneous, I am happy with it.


Saturday, 7 February 2009


On my 21st I had a good time.
I met Antrea, a beautiful Spanish poet with whom we fished the roze clouds among the Barbican and the Hoe. they were so magically beautiful!!!

at night I was happy seeing my friends enjoying themselves at the party.
I for some reason felt a particular strange weight in me that day.
But still my day was full of drunk clouds & good hearted people.
Antrea & the Moon

These are enough
more than enough to make me smile...on a bright day ! :)

x x x

Thursday, 5 February 2009


I would like to put an end...

but it might be a shame,
none of my best pieces has
seen the light yet.

I shall make patience
this painting needs more colors
few fading pencil lines
unsettled clouds
a lone dove
scratch through the glass

a fall