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...Menelaus's Lament My beauty queen, on your knees before for your King. My clothes are made of denim— and my shackles are made of love. Your long black skirt is made of silk— now take it off and lie down. My chaste queen, your ways in the art of love astound and amaze me. I feast on your flesh you writhe and howl all night and your juices trickle sweet into my eager mouth. Ah, Menelaus, decrepit old king. Did you think you could have been her only lover? Wouldn't that have been a crime! And because you have a poet's heart, did you think you could have dreams like that? When she says she really loves you do you think she tells the truth? Menelaus, you are nothing but a fool. My faithful young queen asleep under the cherry tree blossom kissing her naked thighs; why does she have this impish smile playing shamelessly on her lips? Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

All that we buried deep has now risen to the fore. The anger, the fury and the rage. This reveals to me so much more than your rhymes will ever say. But my irate young queen, only you and I know just what the truth has been. I came to your garden late last night. How beautiful it seemed, in such a perfect kind of way. Everything was so cute and pretty. But where were the tiger lilies that nourished our fledgling art? All that noise and sabre-rattling . Really! And you threatened me with bloodshed at the trenches and the barricades. Swords at dawn, was your cry of war. But no, I'm not into that. I will just love you and bring you flowers instead . Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

You flirted so sweetly. Oh, how you laughed when he teased you and how cute you looked, blushing the way you did every time he said your name. So shy, so bashful! You glowed when he told you how wonderful you are. I could hear you; playful, warm, so coy. Yet all your words were so familiar. That's the way you spoke to me then but now you talk in riddles or you tell me we were never more than strangers. I so wanted to join in your brilliant conversation and to tell you how much in awe of you I am my rising star. But you know I'm a social misfit lacking skills in clever repartee and the sparkling wit of others. It occurs to me though that behind this façade our reality has always been you and I are so much alike. And we both know the truth when all the hurt is healed and all the anger's done maybe then, just maybe... Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

Across the ocean in a country far away a moth cocooned works night and day forging exquisite silk until a day in early spring she flees her yellow prison and the little butterfly flies free. She comes into the magic forest and gifts the king the colours of the rainbow her laughter and her smile and shackles made of silk. The King , at last, begins her song silence broken and lips unlocked. Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

Tonight the street is so dark that it seems it's nearly bright and a lusty giggly moon is crawling up the sky. The band is getting ready on the fiddle we have a chimp with the bear playing the drums and the canary is going to sing. The wine is flowing all night and the frog is feeling dizzy; he is jigging on the roof my God that could be tricky. The dog is feeling frisky with the cat that got the cream they are in love with each other and are dancing cheek to cheek. All the misfits and the oddballs and the creatures of the night, saucy girls and naughty boys they are having a good time. Old Nick is so distressed he is feeling rather ill cause he is getting no reply when he calls his little imp. Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

Unhappy and betrayed the butterfly has fled her shelter. Now the humbled wordsmith works late into the night weaving words to write a song but words do not come easy and their rhymes no longer chime. Part of the   mosaics   cycle of poems

I wandered into the orchard. I saw blossom on the trees and I thought of you. I wandered into the meadow. I saw a butterfly and a rose in love and I thought of us. I wandered into our street. I saw you at the window and my heart was filled with joy. A few words about the poem…   I Thought of You: A Coming-of-Age Poem Portraying Love and Reflection   "I thought of you," from the series “A Coming-of-Age Poem,” unfolds in three distinct, yet interconnected stanzas, each portraying a vivid scene that evokes emotional reflection.   The first stanza places the reader in an orchard, where the sight of blossoming trees triggers thoughts of a significant other. This image of renewal and beauty encapsulates the theme of memory and connection.   Transitioning to the second stanza, the poem moves to a meadow where a butterfly and a rose symbolize a delicate and harmonious love. This imagery deepens the sense of personal reflection, drawing a parallel between the natural world's beauty and the speaker's romantic relationship.   In the final stanza, the setting shifts to a familiar street, culminating in the sight of a loved one at a window. This moment of recognition and the resultant joy underscores the poem's central theme of love and the deep emotional bonds that tie individuals together.   The simplicity of the language and the gentle progression from nature to personal interaction create a cohesive narrative, making "I thought of you" a contemplative piece on love and remembrance.

I see their names carved in stone on marble crosses with roots of bone trees dripping with death and tears bloodlines buried for a thousand years perched forever on this barren hill obedient keepers of our Fathers’ Will.

I sprinkled stardust in your hair. You smiled and I was lost.

River at dusk, echoes of grief and loss Swallows still flew carefree in the August sky — ironic! Our summer had ended in July.   At the twilight of the day, we meet in the silent garden of the obscured.   We reach out but we can never touch. Shadows drift across her eyes, she whispers to me, but I do not hear her — I am terrified, will I forget her voice?   Decades in the Nether World. I breathe life into you and thousands around the world now know the tale. Yet I keep your name a secret.   The acacia trees still bloom in springtime; it was never meant to be our time. I smile for our days of May and grieve for the nearing days of winter. Part of the cycle of poems thirteen silk verses A few words about the poem… Cyprus Poems: A Summer Tale of Death, Grief and Loss “ A Summer Tale,” part of the wider cycle Cyprus Poems   and structurally aligned with Thirteen Silk Verses , functions as a threshold poem. It does not tell a story, nor does it resolve tension. Instead, it sets the emotional, temporal, and metaphysical ground on which the sequence stands. From the opening stanza, grief, memory, and loss are presented not as events, but as ongoing states. These inner conditions unfold against a natural world that continues without pause or concern.   The image of swallows flying in August is central to this contrast. Their movement is described as carefree and explicitly marked as “ironic.” The birds do not witness loss; they ignore it. Life continues with rhythm and ease, while the speaker’s own season has already ended. The poem does not describe grief directly. Instead, it allows the reader to feel it through this disjunction between personal devastation and external normality.   The line “Our summer had ended in July” is deliberately plain. It avoids lyric flourish or metaphor. Here, summer is not only a season, but a shared time abruptly cut short. The possessive “our” shifts the focus from individual pain to relational loss. At the same time, the pluperfect tense (“had ended”) creates distance. The loss is not unfolding now; it is already complete and beyond repair. Grief enters the poem as something final, not provisional.   In the second stanza, the poem moves into an uncertain metaphysical space described as “the silent garden of the obscured.” This is not a traditional underworld or a consoling afterlife. It is a place of partial presence, where boundaries remain unclear. The meeting between speaker and beloved occurs “at the twilight of the day,” a moment that mirrors the poem’s wider concern with thresholds. Life and death, memory and forgetting, presence and absence all remain unresolved.   Touch and voice appear throughout the poem as failed means of connection. The speaker cannot touch the beloved, reinforcing separation not only through death but through time. More unsettling is the failure of sound. The beloved whispers, yet the speaker cannot hear. This introduces a second loss: the possible loss of memory itself. When the speaker asks whether he will forget her voice, the poem moves beyond elegy. It becomes an inquiry into what remains when even memory begins to erode.   Later, the poem turns briefly toward its own public life. The speaker reflects on having given the beloved a form of life through poetry. Thousands may know her story, yet her name remains withheld. This tension between exposure and protection is deliberate. The beloved is shared, but never fully surrendered. Anonymity does not diminish her presence; it preserves it. The poem draws a clear ethical line between private grief and public art.   In the final stanza, nature returns. Acacia trees bloom, seasons shift, and time moves forward. Yet the poem refuses comfort. Renewal offers no healing. The line “It was never meant to be our time” rejects any redemptive reading of natural cycles. The world continues, but the loss remains. Seasonal change does not restore what has been taken; it only frames the speaker’s movement toward his own finitude.   Within Cyprus Poems, “A Summer Tale” serves as an orienting poem rather than a narrative one. It presents grief as atmosphere, not spectacle. Despair is not dramatized; it is lived. The poem resists consolation and avoids catharsis. It does not argue with death or seek transcendence. Instead, it endures. Memory persists, fully aware of its own fragility, and that awareness becomes the poem’s quiet strength.

Ophelia's Last Voyage | Photography by Dorota Gorecka Her white memory— the young forest the scent of apple blossom the taste of sunrise. In a frenzy of swirling passion we buried our fledgling sainthood deep in the walls of the pious chapel and together we fled to the safety of the lilac sea. Ophelia is so beautiful swimming in the murmurs of the morning and in the red and purple sighs of sunset. She has the blood moon in her hair and her dress and all her ribbons are nailed to the hardwood of the mast. Standing at the helm with the taste of brine on her lips and her pristine white collar abandoned in the freedom of the sails she steers her yellow boat to the porcelain altar of her newborn day. Ophelia is now lost to me darkening in the blurred horizon an off-key song across her shoulders and a grieving swallow at her side. Part of the cycle of poems thirteen silk verses A few words about the poem… Ophelia Lost: A Poetic Meditation on Transience and Tragedy - Cyprus Poems   In “Ophelia Lost,” part of the “Thirteen Silk Verses” cycle in the Cyprus Poems collection, the poet crafts a meditation on love, freedom, and mortality that reverberates with mythic resonance. Like others in the collection, it uses timeless archetypes to explore themes of tragic loss and youthful defiance against the inevitability of death. “Ophelia Lost” specifically draws on the figure of Shakespeare’s Ophelia, whose name has become synonymous with beauty overshadowed by grief and innocence tinged with despair. The poet’s use of Ophelia acts as a doorway into a world of ephemeral dreams and unfulfilled desires, allowing the reader to feel the lingering presence of Cyprus’s history and mythology within the poem’s lyrical language.   The poem opens by invoking "white memory," a phrase that conjures images of innocence, purity, and the quiet beauty of youth. Through symbols like the "young forest," "apple blossom," and "taste of sunrise," the poet evokes a paradise lost, an Edenic landscape that lies just beyond reach. This opening sets a tone of wistful nostalgia and primes the reader for the tragic progression that follows. Here, the memory is not merely of places or times but of a purity of spirit and hope that has since been overshadowed by grief. The poet subtly links this individual story to the broader theme of the "Cyprus Poems" collection, infusing the tale with the sense of historical and cultural memory tied to the island.   As the poem progresses, the lovers abandon "fledgling sainthood," seeking refuge in the freedom of the "lilac sea." This image of the sea, tinged with the soft light of dawn and dusk, suggests a yearning for transcendence, a retreat from the strictures of societal expectation. The chapel where their innocence is symbolically buried provides a stark contrast, representing the conventions they reject in their pursuit of unfettered love. The poet’s depiction of this act as a "burial" hints at the fate that awaits them; this love, like the memory of the forest, will eventually be consigned to the past.   Ophelia’s beauty, caught between the “murmurs of the morning” and the “red and purple sighs of sunset,” reveals her as both an earthly and ethereal presence. Her hair, entwined with the "blood moon," echoes her Shakespearean namesake’s symbolic relationship with nature and death. The choice of the "blood moon" suggests the dual forces of love and mortality that shape her character, as if her beauty and her tragic destiny are intertwined within her very essence. Like the drowned heroine of Hamlet, she is both a figure of vitality and fragility, embodying a life cut short.   The central image of Ophelia standing at the helm, her dress and ribbons “nailed to the hardwood of the mast,” encapsulates her defiance. She is no passive victim, but a sailor guiding her own destiny, even as the poem foreshadows her demise. Her “pristine white collar abandoned in the freedom of the sails” speaks to the ultimate shedding of innocence in the face of an inescapable fate. This is not the Ophelia of Hamlet, drifting aimlessly toward death, but an empowered figure who embraces her choices, embodying the spirit of youthful rebellion.   As she recedes into the “blurred horizon,” the poet captures the haunting image of Ophelia “darkening” and a “grieving swallow” accompanying her. The bird, symbolic of the soul, becomes a silent witness to her passage from the realm of the living to that of memory. This final vision of Ophelia with “an off-key song across her shoulders” encapsulates the themes of lost innocence and the sorrow that remains. The swallow’s lament serves as an elegy for all the dreams that die young, a song that resonates throughout “Cyprus Poetry” as a whole, where tragic youth is depicted as a beautiful yet fleeting truth.   Much like Eurydice and Giulietta, other tragic heroines who appear in "Thirteen Silk Verses," Ophelia’s tale links the poem to a timeless narrative of love and loss. These mythic allusions enrich "Ophelia Lost," infusing it with layers of cultural resonance. In these lines, the poet captures the spirit of Cyprus itself—its ancient myths, its history marked by conflict, and its enduring beauty, which, like Ophelia, exists on the edge of sorrow. The poem becomes a tribute not only to this tragic figure but to the enduring beauty and fragility that characterize much of "Cyprus Poetry."   Analysis of the Themes in the Poem   "Ophelia Lost" explores themes of love, memory, and mortality. The poem’s central theme of tragic youth resonates with universal archetypes, underscoring the transience of beauty and innocence. By invoking Ophelia, the poet ties personal loss to broader cultural narratives, blending the lover’s individual grief with the timeless sorrow found in myth and literature. The themes of rebellion and freedom emerge as well, particularly in Ophelia’s symbolic flight to the "lilac sea," where she escapes societal constraints in her final embrace of self-determination.   Analysis of the Verse   The poem's free verse structure allows for a fluid, dreamlike progression that mirrors Ophelia’s journey. The lack of rigid form reflects the theme of liberation from convention, and the poetic lines flow with a rhythm that seems almost to drift, echoing the motion of the sea. The verse is characterized by rich, symbolic language and a subtle musicality that complements the poem’s melancholy tone, creating an atmosphere that lingers in the reader’s mind.   Analysis of the Symbolism   "Ophelia Lost" is steeped in symbolism, from the "blood moon" in Ophelia’s hair to the "young forest" and "apple blossom" that signify innocence and paradise lost. The "lilac sea" serves as a metaphor for escape, while her ribbons "nailed to the mast" symbolize the painful yet resolute abandonment of innocence. Each symbol layers meaning upon the narrative, linking Ophelia’s fate to broader ideas of sacrifice, defiance, and the bittersweet nature of freedom.   Main Poetic Imagery   The poem’s imagery is striking and visceral, drawing readers into scenes imbued with both beauty and melancholy. The "white memory" of the forest, the "blood moon" entwined in her hair, and the "yellow boat" that Ophelia steers through the waves create a vivid tapestry of visual and sensory experiences. This imagery invites readers into a world where the lines between life and death, memory and reality, blur, evoking the surreal quality of grief and remembrance.   Religious Symbolism Impact   Religious symbolism in "Ophelia Lost" adds depth to the poem’s exploration of innocence and sacrifice. The "pious chapel" where the lovers bury their "fledgling sainthood" suggests the relinquishing of innocence and hints at a rebellion against imposed morality. The image of the altar and the ritual of burial connect Ophelia’s story to a sacred context, portraying her fate as a solemn and inevitable rite. These elements enrich the narrative with a spiritual dimension, reinforcing the poem’s meditation on mortality and the search for meaning in loss.

Brother, do you remember me I am the one before your life I'm the one without a name. I was cursed and banished from the garden of our fathers with a cross upon my shoulders— a burden for the sins of others. I had no bread, I had no wine and no redemption from the Sin. I had no flowers, I had no shrine under the elderberry tree. I was taken to the river with half a coin in my hand and on the bank I lay waiting for the ferryman to come. His face was a shadow he was as old as time itself and when I asked him for his name with a cold smile said 'guess'. We sailed across the river and entered in the marble gate. I was frozen; I shivered; I was abandoned to my fate. Brother, do you remember me I am the one before your life I'm the one without a name.