sunrise, a few clouds -
a beautiful spring morning
to look at the snow!

fresh snow on pine trees
nothing but a late birdsong -
mid-winter calmness

life – but in the end
the only thing that matters
clarity of mind.

we think we're lucky –
look at the swallows! they sing
they dance in the air

πλάκα έχει να'χεις φτερά


νά'ρθω μαζί σου?

unlocking little beauties
revealing the hidden
interstices between
words


like discerning
some time ago
the different smiles
of a lover's lips.

a life full of
elsewhere

is everywhere

but here.

hold
her heart


in your eyes



and
whisper




the first word
of a secret




(a little
exploration



of silence.)

to pine for the blithe spirit
of childhood spring

a soul's tatters
mingling with the sound of rain –

appropriating such memories
in a futile attempt

to avoid realising the truth of things:
the moment is all you have.

happiness is
to delight
in a little gecko

enjoying a moth
for dinner

under the stars.

castles in the sky
dimly lit
by playful sarcasms

flowing bliss
touching softly the core of my being


reminding me the gift
that it is

when an almost stranger


gently unties a knot and releases
a desire for being in touch
with your aliveness.



to smile in return –
an act
of effervescent gratitude.

the simplest beauty


(a mutual understanding)


this little implausibility
of just a few millimetres

a stillness only unbroken
by silence


and such a long draft
of moonlight
beaming between our lips



to know
and not to kiss -


enticing
intoxications

of a long night's minute.

The sound of rain now,
so soft on the snow –
almost like silence.

This is a poem


to live


in the essence




of solitude
of dreams of clouds
in skies.

and then

between numbness of existence
and caring

(for the names of trees)

arrives a moment, in which
so clear

that nothing but music
could have better set

the moment to
art.

the discrepancy between male and female is what I choose to live for.

stillness of mind
if it exists

must be found in late summer lakes

almost like a line of poetry

hitting you as the cold water
shocks your skin

making you see how your existence

is but a ripple
on the fabric of life

here


















now.

tangible -


what a nice word


to use




in a
poem