Sunday, March 29, 2015


It never would have crossed my mind,
before having been informed,
that the tall, heart leaved tree above me
was the subject of a religious storm.

Σπόροι Κουτσουπιά

Adorned in shiny clusters of magenta,
its lanky branches are transformed, into
bracelets charmed with hot pink gems -
  arboreal arms impossible to ignore! 


Legend has it, that this sparkling tree,
whose flowers were once dressed in white,
blushed with shame upon discovering the
horrific sight, of Judas, one of Jesus Christ's
   disciples, hanging from a bending bough, 
sick with guilt that he'd betrayed the Lord,
having failed to keep his sacred vow. 

I sympathize with the history
behind this rosy coloured tree,
its sweet appearance so incongruous
with its unfortunate notoriety. To me,
 it's just a cheery, pink umbrella, 
dotted with silky, stellar petals,
and not a canopy of blasphemy.

Cercis siliquastrum, or Judas trees, 
are presently blooming on the island.

 Thanks for visiting!


My interview, at
Poets United 
MY INTERVIEW AT POETS UNITED, (click on image to read)

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Sunday, March 22, 2015

A Sprintime Story of Grandeur and Glory

Daisies arrive on the patio, completely unexpected.

Between marble columns,
burnt orange daisies secure a
 hot spot in the siesta mid-day sun,
to bask in the warmth of its healing
 rays - a spritz of springtime therapy
 after withering away from winter's malaise.

A bubble of almond blossoms
bursts on to the scene, waking
 olive trees and buttercups bored
 with the usual. It shocks the serene by
splashing some rosy white on the green
  and suddenly, the meadow looks awesome!

From rooftop ruins, lemony daisies sprout
between wide cracks in the sandy stone,
cheery, open - air dwellers of a centuries
  old home, which shows no traces of its 
'once upon a time' life. A structural array
  of climatic strife, this abode, a tragic 
example of 'open concept' design, is, 
alas, a model of rubble in rocky decline.

 On ground level, a red poppy stands 
alone, in a field of cliquey colour.
Crepe paper frail, its silky petals
shiver in the cool, March breeze -
surely, an SOS of a flower in distress,
in dire need, of some TLC, from its own,
 faraway, siren hued sisters. I wonder,
will they heed its weak and woeful
 whisper, before it wilts and shrivels?

 Close by, predatory branches claw their way 
towards an unsuspecting, naive bell. Can't
they tell that this metal's heavily guarded?
Why don't they back away, before it starts
to sway, and alert all those around it?

Echium plantagineum in purple, and more
daisies, this batch in butter and cream, 
spice some life on the bones of a new build,
 and perk up a faded patina in peach.

 Yes, spring has arrived in the
Cretan countryside, bearing gifts
of bucolic grandeur and glory.
I am grateful for Mother Nature's 
generous offerings, and her 
miraculous, annual, dowry. 

 Happy Spring,
my friends!
Thanks for 

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Thursday, March 12, 2015

Covered in Crayola Colour

'Chapped and chippy' aquamarine and
'orange peel' tangerine, are what I
named these bright, bold hues; bet the
Pantone people would not be amused. 

  Covered in crayola colours,
this public school built in 1900,
is more reminiscent of a charming cottage
  than a place that houses ABCs and numbers! 

Stucco, stone, wood, and iron, the
 stars of this scholastic structure,
  together teach a lively lesson in
classical Cretan architecture.

A few villages over, a farmhouse,
 pebbled in earthy, faded tones,
 shows signs of having weathered
storms; no doubt, due to the 
soldiers set in stone, still
 standing at attention.

Meandering through mountainous terrain,
I eventually reached the northern coast, 
where sailboats, bobbing on bouncy waves,
 didn't stray too far from sandy shores.

Back among fruit filled trees,
branches blowing in the breeze,
bare vines, (the black sheep
 of this gnarly brood), being in
 a gloomy mood, refused to budge.
Alas,the sweet and juicy fare
 they bear, not there to dress
their lonely limbs, left the
pruned and prickly trunks, feeling
 desperately miserable and grim.

Thanks for visiting!



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Sunday, March 8, 2015

Raindrop Roses

Roses on my table,
floating in a puddle of dew,
petals layered next to savouries,
and a bittersweet, Greek brew.

 Posing on my dresser,
 claiming centre stage,
  they're luscious leading ladies
among gentlemen jars of sage.

They sparkle in the sunlight,
eclipsed only by a gingham shade,
 basking smugly in the fleeting limelight,
until their striking beauty fades.

Too much sun for a starlet,
can the process of aging start,
 wilting her vibrant spirit,
and breaking her tender heart.

Left with traces of her brilliance,
(when youth beamed on her face,
 allowing her to upstage those
 tattered, and time embraced),
 she, now uprooted, muted and diluted,
was replaced by fresh cut hopefuls
in a curvy, half-full vase.

when scarlet petals 
snap from brittle stems,
then tumble to the ground
 like drizzling rain,
  tiny, blood red teardrops,
stain their souls 
with endless pain.

 Thanks for visiting!

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