tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-303061312024-03-13T21:12:03.610+02:00International PoetThe Online International Library of Contemporary PoetsΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-32781392214600237412011-08-03T21:12:00.000+03:002011-08-03T21:12:43.660+03:00Art Tolentino (ArtDax)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_n7lf10="95"><strong closure_uid_n7lf10="138"><em>Greek Maiden</em></strong></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="95"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="95"><em closure_uid_n7lf10="148">I saw a Greek maiden who set my heart aflame</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="119"><em closure_uid_n7lf10="147">A beautiful Greek maiden, I never knew her name</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="118"><em>Through her portrait I saw a smile and eyes that gleam</em></div><em>Oh I hope I won’t offend, if I pursue her in my dream</em><br />
<div closure_uid_n7lf10="155"><em><br />
</em></div><em>When I look at her picture my mind starts to fly</em><br />
<div closure_uid_n7lf10="121"><em>Towards Mt. Olympus, above a cloudless sky</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="122"><em>Towards Meteora, the pillars of Parthenon</em></div><em>Towards Stomio beach, the cloister of Komnenion</em><br />
<div closure_uid_n7lf10="156"><em><br />
</em></div><em>When I look at her picture I hear a mellow voice</em><br />
<div closure_uid_n7lf10="124"><em>As from someone who loves to worship and rejoice</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="125"><em>As from a poem that speaks of the birds and bees</em></div><em>As from love songs of Beyonce and Alicia Keyes</em><br />
<em><br />
</em><br />
<div closure_uid_n7lf10="157"><em>Oh lovely Greek maiden, what I feel words can’t explain</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="127"><em>Kingdoms may rise and fall, your beauty shall remain</em></div><div closure_uid_n7lf10="128"><em>Lucky is that guy who will end up as your groom</em></div><em>But you will always be mine in the darkness of my room</em></div>Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-54535726576650065232007-09-12T18:18:00.000+03:002007-09-12T18:23:34.358+03:00Raymond Alan Reid<strong>Already Departed</strong> <br /><br /> In the cold room we stepped<br /> Into the smell of warmed polish<br /> Well rubbed into the grain<br /> It was just as before<br /> Maturity did not grow new<br /> Eyes or smother truth with <br /> The trades material magic<br /> The silent music that creeped<br /> Out of the walls blended like magic<br /> Those sensible open-curtains<br /> That always draws attention from<br /> Saddened pity to empty dullness<br /> Swallowing lumps that pierce<br /> Tears at the thought<br /> Of entering the next room<br /> While gripping ones own fists<br /> Until white with surrounding<br /> Tear-shaped red marks<br /> How the moments of being<br /> Alone with nothing less<br /> Than two bodies without company<br /> Is it love, respect, pity<br /> Or just extreme curiosity<br /> That draws us here?Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-89960474902648860052007-08-07T20:00:00.000+03:002007-08-07T20:04:32.094+03:00Felino Soriano<strong>According To Darkness, Silence Dons A Halo</strong><br /><br />The spinning enjoyment<br />of dusk's communal culture,<br />whose language of content<br />spreads its contagious<br />calmness<br />through the winding metaphorical<br />maze of regard for existence,<br />the triangular connection<br />of movements,<br />spaced between<br />etching fragrant gifts toward a purpose<br />of its own meaningful motive.<br /><br />As in the movements<br />of monarch butterflies,<br />their orange wings with<br />adorning black-white ornamental<br />displays of<br />transferable sections of moving,<br />circular light.<br />Antecedently<br />to dawn's open mouth,<br />darkness in the safe idiom hides below<br />the highest halo,<br />golden hanging light<br />not yet born before the pushing of<br />the orange slant,<br />its genesis causes separation,<br />shedding myriad of variant<br />colors to escape into<br />mesmerizing mannerisms.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-81188687655158491782007-07-09T13:25:00.000+03:002007-07-09T13:30:47.871+03:00Gerry Mattia<strong>Yuppie Dragons And Paper Mountains</strong><br /><br />Climb mountains!<br />Slay Dragons!<br />That's what I did<br />When I was a kid<br />Now it's too much<br />All this grownup stuff<br />Amalgamations<br />Corporations<br />Business-like murder<br /> under the guise of merger<br />Micro-second chattel battles<br /> waged on computer panels<br />Flash before my eyes<br />In a plate glass high-rise<br /><br />Now all my mountains are made of paper, and<br />all my dragons wear tiesΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-21770038806144897362007-07-05T12:50:00.000+03:002007-07-05T12:53:41.814+03:00Bernard Alain<strong>Quiet Tower On The Hill</strong><br /><br />a bronze<br />horse<br />rears<br />in a susurrus<br />of<br />familiar<br />maples<br /><br />where<br />stone giants<br />sleep beneath<br />the<br />mossy patina<br />of<br />copper clad<br />hats<br /><br />I can<br />hear<br />carillons<br />of autumn<br />past<br /><br />crisp as<br />leafy<br />zephyrs<br /><br />dancingΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-51969937134571331982007-06-27T20:21:00.000+03:002007-06-27T20:22:33.077+03:00Alexander Chang<strong>That Beauty</strong> <br /><br />The world boasts an ever changing face of garden<br />Plants fall in and fall out of favours<br />Set trends come and diminished fashions forgotten<br />Preferences confuse taste with choices of colours<br /><br />Like an ever altering cinemascope<br />In this mindscape of flux<br />Some mysterious favourites remain a thin hope<br />An instant release attracts keen emotion influx<br /><br />Amidst the numerous stars, moon may stand aloof<br />To dwarf the crown Queen of roses’ simmering fun<br />But when evening primrose invites for hard proof<br />I dream only the daughter of light with fragrance of sun<br /><br />That beauty conquers with confidence and insight<br />That beauty also makes night an easy delightΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-72746112346984783752007-06-03T00:35:00.000+03:002007-08-07T12:46:10.338+03:00Thom Woodruff (World Poet)<strong>Some Things More Important Than Poetry</strong><br /><br />Life,and people-work and family<br />Commitments made to be honored-<br />Births,deaths,funerals,pain-<br />Witnessing at the passing of others<br />Periods of necessary silences<br />Times when all poems blow away<br />Times when one must be lost -<br />in a crowd or alone/on Internet or phone<br />Times when to shop is of utmost importance!<br />Eating,drinking,sleeping,dreaming<br />Whole lives when nothing particularly happens!<br />Gaps between-travelling.Growing into rituals-Reading,listening,absorbing<br />Praying,meditating,waiting<br />Every participle participant particle<br />Every authenticated distancing mechanism<br />Poetry must wait<br />at the intersection of thoughts and feelings<br />and feed upon the scraps again.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-48079832330251376482007-03-25T21:36:00.000+03:002007-03-25T21:44:32.224+03:00Lisl SteinerWhy did I love<br />and now hate<br />Photojournalism?<br />Always looking back<br />at old snapshots,<br />obsolete,<br />deja vu,<br />caduco,<br />Alter hut.<br />no more<br />the big strugle<br />is there,<br />always standing<br />in front of<br />soon-to-be-shot so-called heroes<br />one is caught<br />in a ring, not unlike<br />Prostitution<br />Which most of<br />the press is<br />more and more<br />becoming back to<br />Stanley and Livingston<br />when it took<br />2 months<br />for the news<br />to filter<br />out of Africa.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-85470631443355749412007-02-23T22:25:00.000+02:002007-02-23T22:43:14.701+02:00Jan Theuninck<strong>Yperite</strong><br /><br />late at night<br />a mist<br />fills the valley.<br />without knowing<br />it suffocates<br />like a dark power.<br />on the fields<br />our dead bodies<br />and under the grass<br />a brown soil<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WDspTMIOzXSevOYQIno38RFq1hNctM5IJ8f8tasJpdHjtwvxBfeGJM3JeCLY-y3Q4_ttsfOPCvPKU5O-m6Sl01SyYy7LkWQ-uUbFVmqfzY7cSsd1ruL5Xs34MTYNcC9Eg0fJgA/s1600-h/yperite___2004.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034829256832573154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WDspTMIOzXSevOYQIno38RFq1hNctM5IJ8f8tasJpdHjtwvxBfeGJM3JeCLY-y3Q4_ttsfOPCvPKU5O-m6Sl01SyYy7LkWQ-uUbFVmqfzY7cSsd1ruL5Xs34MTYNcC9Eg0fJgA/s320/yperite___2004.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;">© Ekphrastic poetry (poem + painting) by Jan Theuninck </span></em></p>Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-83877922819050534352007-02-14T23:52:00.000+02:002007-02-14T23:53:57.357+02:00Nilanshu Kumar Agarwal<strong>Memory Is Being Blurred</strong><br /><br /><br />Memory is being blurred.<br />Images are getting dim.<br />I shall forget everything oneday.<br />Everything,everything,everything.<br />I don't want to.<br />But,I'll.<br />New life has so many challenges.<br />Daily new adventures.<br />Daily new behavioural patterns.<br />The present putting the glorious past behind.<br />Bad coin drives the good coin out of use.<br />New patterns,new associates.<br />Responsibility destroying emotion.<br />I am weeping.<br />I want to come back.<br />But how?<br />I can't. I can't. I can't.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-76161388448921925152007-02-07T23:52:00.000+02:002007-02-08T00:03:15.441+02:00Oluseyi Adewale Adekoya<strong>An Extra Death</strong><br /><br />For every breath is an extra death<br />For every spice of life taken is another spicy death given<br />For every celebration begat an unborn mourning<br />For every brighter morning lies a darken moaning<br />What joyful tears fall in my shadow of fears?<br />When does my trailer of labour and stress<br />Eventually bore unclaimed bountiful years<br />Why does untold relief come in her brighter colour of deceit?<br />That our unborn years would embarrass us trouble free<br /><br />For every birthday that is here<br />Our deathbeds are near<br />How joyful how sad<br />Whether fat, thin or black<br />White, bad, thirtyfive or ninety five<br />Our every breath sucks our extra life<br />Vanity just vanity, ignore not this pathetic tale<br />Like you ignore you nagging husband or wife.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-58257384906409371962007-01-07T15:16:00.000+02:002007-01-07T15:17:34.597+02:00Pedro Fuentes<strong>Penmanship Blues<br /></strong><br />As we consider all we've lost and all we've gained<br />we must recall the cost and pay the debt<br />to whom it had concerned, to whom we owe<br />to those whose soul was earned, and those who stole<br />we know those who convene and dream of life<br />the same as those with fizzled days and burning nights<br />we ask ourselves, tonight a sonnet? perhaps a verse<br />as life proceeds, tonight a blessing? perhaps a curse<br /> we all agree<br /> what it may be<br /> it's certainly<br /> avoiding lies<br />it's what we hear when voices lie<br />it's what to do when tongues are tied<br />and quickly we propel to dark<br />even if small, we'll leave a mark<br />we will proceed to write down life<br />even if just by scraps of light.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-68329298589958545882007-01-04T20:26:00.000+02:002007-01-04T20:39:27.849+02:00Jamal Juma<strong>The Anchor's Song</strong><br /><br />I am the anchor<br />No one touches the depths as I do.<br />Only the waves and water moss<br />know the beauty of my fall.<br /><br />I don't reveal my secrets<br />except to the drowned<br />I don't say goodbye<br />except to the migrating fish.<br /><br />I chose the sea<br />that my echo would not be lost<br />as I hit the bottom.<br />I chose the sea<br />that I may not forget the water<br />as I head for the ground<br /><br />I chose the sea<br />to camouflage my tears with water<br />that no one may see them.<br />I'm the anchor<br />falling freely in countries with no name<br />sea shells and oysters only<br />are my friends<br />and everything hard wrapped in light<br /><br />I was born like you were born<br />from steel, dust, and gold<br />I will die like you will die<br />but the ground will not forget me easily<br />not as long as it is filled with all these scratches<br />that my traversal creates.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Translated by Nathalie Khankan</span></em><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Jamal Jumá:</strong> Member of World Poets Society (W.P.S.).</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>Bio:</em> </span><span style="font-size:78%;">An Iraqi poet, born in Baghdad and received his academic education in Copenhagen, where he has lived since 1984. He has edited and published numerous manuscripts of Erotica, including The Perfumed Garden and A Promenade of the Hearts, and The Forbidden Texts. This infuriated some religious and political establishments around the Arab World, resulting in the confiscation and banning of these books in Arab countries.<br />He has published collections of poetry, including Book of the Book (1990), A Handshake in the Dark (1995), and Diary of a Sleepwalker (1998). He has been translated into Danish, English, Swedish, French, German, Persian, Turkish, Tamil and other languages.</span>Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-91523725725733405412006-12-26T16:56:00.000+02:002006-12-26T17:00:12.685+02:00Osumune John Chinedu<strong>Living Hope</strong><br /><br />When I heard the spurring whisper<br />Like a numinous euphonic jangle<br />My spirit harkened in blithesome tremble<br />The line of nexus<br />Though in swooning spangle<br />Like starry speckle<br />I deciphered, but in eerie medley<br />My heart a glowed<br />But in triumphant bundle!Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-18631504729526012932006-12-15T20:26:00.000+02:002006-12-15T20:36:49.250+02:00Sachchidananda S. Kore<strong>Love Loves The Spring</strong><br /><br />Everything in the physical world<br />Has its own congenial and genial<br />Season and love has its own season<br />And truly is it the sprightly season<br />Of spring that causes and controls<br />The mighty mainspring of love in<br />The honey-comb of the haunted hearts<br />Of passionate lovers and lovely beloveds.<br />Lush and luxuriant vegetation puts<br />On a green garb of fresh foliage and<br />The wise wind willingly wafts away<br />The pleasant perfume of fresh flowers that<br />Sweetens the hearts and noses of young<br />Lads and lasses who fall in love<br />With each other ardently and avidly<br />And who are in the good graces of<br />Cupid-the lusty and mighty God of<br />Love who adds love's loveliness to<br />The vernal beauty of external nature.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-24361897873421786632006-12-14T09:28:00.000+02:002006-12-14T09:31:20.703+02:00Ibukun Abraham Lawore<strong>Masterpiece</strong><br /><br />You are priceless and<br />one of your kind,<br />i have a mixed version<br />of your eulogy on my mind.<br />I have your fine name<br />written in my diary,<br />i have your beautiful picture<br />painted in my gallery,<br />i have i thought of you<br />beaming in my memory.<br />You are a great thing<br />the lily of the valley,<br />the most beautiful thing<br />i have ever seen,<br />the natural source of being happy.<br />Your graceful smile left me convinced<br />perfectly created and a must to have,<br />you are-all just<br />because you are a masterpiece!Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-59346817459169761152006-12-12T17:43:00.000+02:002006-12-12T17:46:22.133+02:00Amitava Chakrabarty<strong>Insane<br /></strong><br />Small bits of myself was shattered on the floor<br />And scattered it lay smeared with blood of pain<br />I gave the healer time to nurse the sore<br />To pick my pieces and recreate myself again;<br />Thus up I stood with fractured inner core<br />Where wound did heal but gaping scars remain,<br />Inflicted soul sought to escape the gloom<br />And cool the careworn veins where nature bloom.<br /><br />Oh! Words Oh! Words had tormented my nerves<br />And made a perfect orifice through my ribs,<br />What love did breed such vengeful venomous barbs?<br />And ripped the strands of closest relationships;<br />What divine purpose the lashing tongue did serve?<br />Those scurrilous, vicious, cruel adjectives,<br />Today in tranquil lap of mountain vale<br />The curses impinge me in gusty spell.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-50397272000913665002006-11-28T10:29:00.000+02:002006-11-28T10:30:15.905+02:00Teresinka Pereira<strong>Poem For Someone<br />Who Is Sorry For Me</strong><br /><br />Just a moment, please!<br />The night sleeps calmly.<br />Why do you want to annihilate<br />the silence of the infinite?<br />Leave my anguish alone,<br />let me protect myself<br />from your perfidious hopes!Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-86899760777358415572006-11-25T19:23:00.000+02:002006-11-25T19:34:08.379+02:00Margaret Brown-Bailey<strong>What's The Matter With Her?</strong><br /><br />What's the matter with her?<br />Why doesn't she comprehend?<br />A simple task shouldn't take till the day's end,<br />How could they say she's brilliant,<br />It's more like she's starting a dumb trend,<br />What's the matter with her?<br />Does she take dope?<br />Is her mind fogged with bubbles of soap?<br />Doesn't she process information like everyone else?<br />I swear it's like talking to stuffed animals sitting on a shelf.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*A little patience goes a long way with an autistic child.</span>Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-60491377191251467742006-11-22T23:38:00.000+02:002006-11-22T23:39:58.700+02:00Michael A. Wells<strong>Vertigo</strong><br /><br />There is no east or west sun.<br />Indifference blankets the sky<br />In smoky haze, leaving me<br /><br />To feel my way homeward.<br />A thousand protrusions<br />Slapping my outstretched tentacles<br /><br />Silly, twisting me one way,<br />Rotating another.<br />This way- that.<br /><br />A blind needle<br />Of a compass<br />Bobsledding a labyrinth.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-20378569446791749502006-11-21T18:29:00.000+02:002006-11-23T00:29:18.961+02:00Brandon Magorka<strong>The Beautiful Garden</strong><br /><br />You can come into my garden, full of secrets and insecurities,<br />Buried deep down, where you will never see them,<br />All you will ever see is the surface,<br />Brimming with its beauty and confidence,<br />When one man died, another rose,<br />Where one man is buried, the other visits,<br />While one man smiles for his fate, the other cries,<br />I have killed myself trying to change,<br />That I no longer know who I am,<br />As I stand in my garden, I ask,<br />Can that one man be the other as well?<br />Past and future live,<br />While the lonely present is never,<br />If I let you into my garden,<br />Are you going to dig?<br />Ruin the beauty of the surface,<br />Just to find out things, that you do not want to know,<br />Or will you be content to lay in the flowers and clover,<br />In the middle of a rain storm.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-23995113434244694362006-11-20T00:23:00.000+02:002006-11-20T00:26:55.960+02:00J. Scott Malby<strong>Point Conception</strong><br /><br />Something in this landscape of birthing<br />before it collides that swells in us waves<br />sweating their chaotic cadences consuming<br />accumulated testimonies; the secret tensions<br />transformed from confrontations into love<br />for this headland of discarded inhibitions<br />and primal screams.<br /><br />Here, the world confesses itself. We are<br />its echo, chorus, its refrain, borne by private<br />confessions of unrest to seethe with the sea<br />between our thighs with hope like steel<br />piercing our hearts.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-58412937411049033452006-11-19T05:23:00.000+02:002006-11-19T05:26:54.914+02:00Nina Gabriel<strong>Only In My Dreams</strong><br /><br />It used to be only in my dreams,<br />That I would become a butterfly,<br />And fly to the places that,<br />I could not visit walking on this Earth,<br />But, now it all became a reality,<br />Since I truly transformed myself into a Butterfly,<br />Because the time was and is too short,<br />To live only in my dreams,<br />And now I am free and I fly,<br />Wherever and whenever I want to,<br />But there is this place and the one,<br />That I still cannot visit as yet,<br />And it is you, and those magic moments,<br />That I will live only in my dreams for now.Δημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-90303050222576945332006-11-18T16:51:00.000+02:002006-11-18T16:52:46.561+02:00Maurus Young<strong>Sunset And Grief</strong><br /><br />The setting Sun<br />Has been holding by the ocean<br />Casting golden light at sea and rosy clouds in the sky<br /><br />Spring thunders in rain<br />Has been blockaded by the mountain when traveling in valley<br />Made the world shaking and frightening<br /><br />Your sorrow<br />Being caught by me<br />Left bloody marks in my heart<br /><br />My grief<br />Being taken away by wind<br />Drifting away as cloudΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30306131.post-79068217389909604652006-11-17T14:33:00.000+02:002006-11-19T05:20:02.045+02:00Silent Lotus<strong>Here Lies The In Between</strong><br /><br />Yesterday<br />Was never<br />My view of the future<br />And i never had a collection of broken dreams<br />So when i walk through fields of head markers<br />My soul knows here lies only the in between<br />And if you ever come looking for me<br />Let the silence awaken you<br />To eternityΔημήτρης Π. Κρανιώτης / Dimitris P. Kraniotishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13656625827149735479noreply@blogger.com0