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“Apopsis” is a Greek word, meaning “viewpoint”

Photo by Clayton Cardinalli on Unsplash

Within an unpleasant condition,
time seems to go by slowly; it lasts.
Within a beautiful situation,
we say we didn’t realize so many hours passed.
What is that condition we call “time”, then,
my fellow humans?
Is it plasticine we form egocentrically
to fit us?

When an inner flicker momentarily
shines within the conscience,
we say that time stopped;
it changed its pattern again(?).
Does it really move according to
our mood?
Or our subjective lens needs this
to go through
the difficulty of accepting things
as they are
and face now as the only time
we have?


“For the Sun to turn, it takes a lot of work…”.

Image from Wikimedia Commons

Your signature is engraved on the marble
of a whole era for the Greek society.
Your music embraced deep poetry,
bringing it to the attention of the majority.
Resistance to the Nazi occupation
was the “why” many people loved you.
You were a leading figure against
dictatorship when the military ruled.
Zorba dancing barefoot made your
sounds travel beyond the borders.
Struggle for freer and freer spirit;
on the path of widening, you did your best.
Standing against any type of fascism,
uniting most of the Greeks somehow.
Not all your choices were welcomed
at some point, but you know…
Whatever happened was the suitable
for lessons to be learned.
No one can deny you have a great

And back to awareness

Photo by Nick Karvounis on Unsplash

My friends the rocks just found Anthi next to them swimming.
She wants to become the sea to avoid the harsh of living as a human being.
She came because tonight her chest senses familiarity with their heaviness.
A rock has been formed in it by almost-words she didn’t say.
The potential combinations of letters stand next to the bones of her thorax.
This osteo-shield pokes her, sending a message of reaching space max.
Her bronchi pushed the alarm button, and the trachea prepares for battle.
The air flows like a 90-year-old man who tries to become a runner.
Its sweaty neck wants the medal, but the lungs…

Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

Thrusting waves of energy
from above my head towards my female gate,
going back to the brain
again and again.

Tears ready to flow.
Breasts’ actroteria tend to go towards you.
The pupils of your eyes are dilated.
Your lips adore the …view.

I look straight at your soul’s
and then down again.
A strange combination
Of naughty shame with no regret.

I see myself biting my lips.
I’m aware of my actions.
A conscious choice is made right then.
I’m present; no distraction.

That energy is pure and strong.
It needs a trained transformer. …

Start with the body

Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

How are you in your body?
How do you wear your skin?
Is breathing automated,
or are you aware of its rhythm?
Are all the processes on one side
with you standing apart?
Or these in you and you in these,
with conscious knowing of being one?
Do you often hit your toes
against the chair’s leg,
passing without understanding
how much space do you take?
Are your hands controllable
as you talk in a conversation?
Or glasses fell and others are hit
during your narration?
Have you noticed that your upper lip
rises when you are disgusted?
Watch out! You may do it
in front of something you said you liked.
Why do you hold your bag
instead of…

Syndromes presented through “fictional” stories

Munchausen Syndrome by proxy

Photo by Tatiana Rodriguez on Unsplash

Elsa is sitting in the waiting room of the veterinary clinic “2VETS”, having her head in her hands and her body moving back and forth. Four more people waited their turn for their pet’s appointment. She finds herself in the center of a comforting “hug” and tearfully recounts all the wonderful times she had experienced in the company of Champ — the wolf-dog that has been her companion for the past 5 years — while receiving the expressions of compassion from the bystanders who touch her on the shoulder, hold her hand and watch her in tears, expressing words of…

A poetic monologue

Image by nonbirinonko from Pixabay

Barbarians, Christians, Franks,
Turkish, Venetians, and British.
My wounds have many names,
but they were all barbaric.
So many people passed and left marks
of dis-respectfulness;
an egoistic need of signaling
that they were there.
No matter what you represented,
you‘re mine now.
I feel so weak and insecure;
who cares about a sacred vow?
Let’s come up with the greatest
I’ll put a cross, you’ll put a minaret,
let’s rape this!
I’ll throw a bomb, you’ll burn
it to the ground.
Elgin will come and say
“I’ll steal what I found”!
You may think I’m angry,
you may think I’m hurt,
that I am disappointed
by this species’ lost bet.
But while barbaric swords were raping
my sacred cup of life,
I stood…

prompt: “Write about a thing that makes your poetry unique”

Many unique connections

Photo by Federico Beccari on Unsplash

It isn’t mine anymore;
it’s free to meet the rest of the world.
So, as it walks its own path,
it comes across other’s lands.
They may feel coordinated,
or nothing, or maybe they’ll hate it.
While I synthesize it,
I don’t mind if it’s unique.
Because it satisfies other needs,
serving my inner processes.
If someone sees a special signature,
this has to do with them also.
It’s about the way they communicate
with the poem when they coordinate.
So, if I see any kind of uniqueness,
it’s just the one created by it and every reader.
Each of them is one and only,
and they connect uniquely with this poetry.
It’s like it takes many forms,

Photo by Matze Bob on Unsplash

Observing my mind’s geography
as I drink a glass of liquid curiosity.
Thoughts perform a continuous choreography.
Dots connect, lines run with fast velocity.
I think of a prompt many people use
“Stop your mind, empty it from your thoughts”.
I must be blind, crazy, or maybe confused.
Isn’t this prompt also one of the mind’s creations?
Mind is like an egocentric kid,
looking for 24/7 attention.
Instead of trying to vacate it,
just be detached from its automated creations.
Stand there, look at them passing by
as if they were buses that don’t serve you
while you are at the bus station aside,
not getting on them even if they call you.
The mind…


2 limericks

Photo by Matthew LeJune on Unsplash

Present through being absent;
two letters are missing from the accent.
An omission that recants itself.
Common sense fills the empty “shelf”.
We all know “__’cause” needs “be” to be content.

William J Spirdione tickled my hand
by inviting me to the Limerick-land.
He said I might like to be a cannon fodder;
What does he mean? I wonder…
Isn’t it obvious I’m a veteran who’ll withstand?

As you can understand, these Limericks are written in response to the prompt in which my fellow writer William J Spirdione invited me to participate.

They are both connected to “because”.
The first one…


“Apopsis” is a Greek word, meaning “viewpoint”

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