sofia-kioroglou - Hello Poetry

I remember laughter rippling around the streets amber of eyes aglow, brimming with hope children cutting a caper impishly in Aleppo dad squinting at my fiddling around with his computer Today, our shoulders are hunched with fear kids no longer splashing in puddles knee-deep in rubble and smeared with blood hollering out war cries, looking for relatives Some crucified, others beheaded no hearse waiting to deliver our people to burial places Rachel weeping for her children rising out like a phoenix, splintering husks of shells around Walking through the cemetery while a couple are muttering into their swirling Chardonnay two words collide, two paths diverge the road to hell is paved with good intentions

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Dec 28, 2016

Dec 28, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC

Rachel weeping for her children

I remember laughter rippling around the streets amber of eyes aglow, brimming with hope children cutting a caper impishly in Aleppo dad squinting at my fiddling around with his computer Today, our shoulders are hunched with fear kids no longer splashing in puddles knee-deep in rubble and smeared with blood hollering out war cries, looking for relatives Some crucified, others beheaded no hearse waiting to deliver our people to burial places Rachel weeping for her children rising out like a phoenix, splintering husks of shells around Walking through the cemetery while a couple are muttering into their swirling Chardonnay two words collide, two paths diverge the road to hell is paved with good intentions

16

My dad’s unwilting enthusiasm does little to reduce my anxiety actually quite augments it as I try not to hit the pavement I am only 7 but feel very responsible not only for the things I do, like cutting the roses from the garden and having my mum get mad but also for the things I cannot do like grabbing the handlebars assuredly and keeping the bike under me trying to perform some kind of conjuring act Lowering the seat does help, feet now firmly on the ground with loose elbows and a light grip on the handlebars I close my eyes and, lo and behold, now I am a ballerina swirling around like in a satin-lined jewelry box My reverie is soon interrupted by my dad’s gentle voice I tell him I did the splits, even touched my toes “Seems like you don’ t wanna ride,” he says with eyes of blue, a hint of a smile I can still hear his voice in my ears “Don’t try to do things you don’t like just because anyone can do them”

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May 17, 2016

May 17, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC

Swirling around like in a satin-lined jewelry box

My dad’s unwilting enthusiasm does little to reduce my anxiety actually quite augments it as I try not to hit the pavement I am only 7 but feel very responsible not only for the things I do, like cutting the roses from the garden and having my mum get mad but also for the things I cannot do like grabbing the handlebars assuredly and keeping the bike under me trying to perform some kind of conjuring act Lowering the seat does help, feet now firmly on the ground with loose elbows and a light grip on the handlebars I close my eyes and, lo and behold, now I am a ballerina swirling around like in a satin-lined jewelry box My reverie is soon interrupted by my dad’s gentle voice I tell him I did the splits, even touched my toes “Seems like you don’ t wanna ride,” he says with eyes of blue, a hint of a smile I can still hear his voice in my ears “Don’t try to do things you don’t like just because anyone can do them”

23

THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA THE BLUE SEA PAR EXCELLENCE THE MARE NOSTRUM OF THE ROMANS THE TURQUOISE BLUE OF US GREEKS. IT SOOTHES ME AND CARESSES ME WITH ITS GENTLE BREEZE, WAFTING MY MIND’S FOG THROUGH THE MYRTLE FIELDS.

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May 5, 2016

May 5, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC

In the Myrtle Fields

THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA THE BLUE SEA PAR EXCELLENCE THE MARE NOSTRUM OF THE ROMANS THE TURQUOISE BLUE OF US GREEKS. IT SOOTHES ME AND CARESSES ME WITH ITS GENTLE BREEZE, WAFTING MY MIND’S FOG THROUGH THE MYRTLE FIELDS.

8

I know I am not much of a poet myself I just love to describe what I see what touches my heart, what leaps to mind. When the words do not come out quite right and the rhythm is a bit off-key I don' t get my knickers in the twixt Poetry is not about the best masterpiece but about letting my words flow like a river allowing the pen to scribble all over a blank page

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Apr 13, 2016

Apr 13, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC

WHAT I CALL POETRY

I know I am not much of a poet myself I just love to describe what I see what touches my heart, what leaps to mind. When the words do not come out quite right and the rhythm is a bit off-key I don' t get my knickers in the twixt Poetry is not about the best masterpiece but about letting my words flow like a river allowing the pen to scribble all over a blank page

9

Jerusalem The city of Gold Jerusalem Where Jesus walked O’ Holy city, Holiest of all The land where Lord on the Mount of Olives would stand to talk. You appear so beautiful, with beauty so singular no master wordsmith could capture in verbal form, no painter could accurately paint on canvas with oil colors so vivid and glorious as its past. © Sofia Kioroglou

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Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC

Jerusalem

Jerusalem The city of Gold Jerusalem Where Jesus walked O’ Holy city, Holiest of all The land where Lord on the Mount of Olives would stand to talk. You appear so beautiful, with beauty so singular no master wordsmith could capture in verbal form, no painter could accurately paint on canvas with oil colors so vivid and glorious as its past. © Sofia Kioroglou

17

I fell in love with a frog, who was sitting alone on the banks of the Nile, mooning over the premature decease of his beautiful wife. He was sobbing his heart out, his lips convulsed with woe, dripping emotion, his chin atremble, the words buried in a raven black but deafening silence. I instantly knew he was the find of my ultimate search for love. A bathos unknown to those seeking earthly pleasures, a poignancy knocking vulgarity off its temporal pedestal. My dear love, dearest of all other loves, my love for this frog, please become a wreath a halo, a redemptive power to soothe all pain

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Mar 8, 2016

Mar 8, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC

I fell in love with a frog

I fell in love with a frog, who was sitting alone on the banks of the Nile, mooning over the premature decease of his beautiful wife. He was sobbing his heart out, his lips convulsed with woe, dripping emotion, his chin atremble, the words buried in a raven black but deafening silence. I instantly knew he was the find of my ultimate search for love. A bathos unknown to those seeking earthly pleasures, a poignancy knocking vulgarity off its temporal pedestal. My dear love, dearest of all other loves, my love for this frog, please become a wreath a halo, a redemptive power to soothe all pain

12

No shock, no engulfment... Just the natural corollary to physical birth. Death is standing on your porch screaming out and beckoning you to come downstairs. Unbudgeable and unbribeable. The eternal, unbiased judge is holding the Book of Life, Your name no longer written in it. The great leveller not paid for favors is riding triumphantly his chariot The dead, the great and small now standing before the Throne.

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Feb 23, 2016

Feb 23, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC

The eternal unbiased judge

No shock, no engulfment... Just the natural corollary to physical birth. Death is standing on your porch screaming out and beckoning you to come downstairs. Unbudgeable and unbribeable. The eternal, unbiased judge is holding the Book of Life, Your name no longer written in it. The great leveller not paid for favors is riding triumphantly his chariot The dead, the great and small now standing before the Throne.

12

Death never forgets. Your sins will find you out and come home to roost So, "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap

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Feb 12, 2016

Feb 12, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC

Be not deceived...

Death never forgets. Your sins will find you out and come home to roost So, "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap

5

I go around in circles around myself having lost my destination I am stuck in my mind's morass so icky and gooey that every time I try to find my way back home Laistrygonians and Cyclops will always pop up on my mind.

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Feb 9, 2016

Feb 9, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC

Laistrygonians and Cyclops

I go around in circles around myself having lost my destination I am stuck in my mind's morass so icky and gooey that every time I try to find my way back home Laistrygonians and Cyclops will always pop up on my mind.

8

Woe betide the unwary engulfed in worldly pleasures Accustomed to seeking the material well-being For if we had been blind we would have had no sin. Woe betide the complacent basking in evanescent earthly delights Thereby adorning ourselves with a millstone instead of raiment white as snow reflecting the effulgence of God's glory

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Feb 5, 2016

Feb 5, 2016 at 10:14 AM UTC

Woe betide the unwary

Woe betide the unwary engulfed in worldly pleasures Accustomed to seeking the material well-being For if we had been blind we would have had no sin. Woe betide the complacent basking in evanescent earthly delights Thereby adorning ourselves with a millstone instead of raiment white as snow reflecting the effulgence of God's glory

10