Submissions are accepted until March 25, 2026 from the Submit your poem page or via the harmonia-philosophica@hotmail.com email.
Anyone who wants to also recite their poems to the community, can do so by participating for free in the 2026 2nd POETIC PHILOSOPHY GATHERING, the details of which are shown below.
Event Details
2026 2nd POETIC PHILOSOPHY GATHERING
Date: Saturday, March 28, 2026 Time: 18:00–19:00 Greece time Location: Online (Google Meet)
Following the wonderful energy and deep connections made during our first gathering in January, I am delighted to invite you to our second meeting. As the season shifts, we return to this intimate space dedicated purely to the power of your own words and the recitation of original poetry. No lessons. No critiques. Just original voices.
Whether you are a seasoned writer or have just captured your first philosophical thought in verse, we invite you to share your work in a supportive, reflective environment. As always, if you aren’t ready to read, you are more than welcome to join us simply to listen and experience the “symposium.”
How to Participate:
To Recite: To help us organize the flow of the evening, we ask that those wishing to read submit their poems beforehand. Please send your poem(s) via DM or via https://poeticphilosophy.com/submit-your-poem/ by March 25th. Please state that the submission is for the 2nd Gathering.
To Listen: No submission required—simply join us at the link above!
REGISTER your participation in the relative Facebook Event at https://fb.me/e/dcsUtPaPl ! Feel free to share with your friends as well.
Let’s welcome the arrival of Spring by once again bringing the philosophy of the heart into the harmony of the spoken word.
This is the January 2026 community poem collection.
Submissions are accepted until the end of January from the Submit your poem page or via the harmonia-philosophica@hotmail.com email.
Anyone who wants to also recite their poems to the community, can do so by participating for free in the 2026 1st POETIC PHILOSOPHY GATHERING, the details of which are shown below.
Details you can find at https://fb.me/e/7gewbiiZ5. Feel free to document your participation there and share with your friends as well.
The event is free. Just join and have fun, by either reciting your poem or connecting with others. Feel free to contact us for any questions.
Submitted Poems
BALTHASAR’S UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE
we took the long way home knowing not everything had gone well later we followed the reports from there
of course it weighed on us, heavily it turns out that knowledge of the stars was not accompanied by knowledge of people
we kept analyzing those days how it might have been played better and also what to do or not do next
we had already been burned once, our desire to confirm the result, to participate cost the blood of innocent people
we even wondered whether it could have spoiled everything at all, we joked bitterly about balthasar’s uncertainty principle
opinions differed, either to let go, to trust or, since we had intervened, to return there was some teenager there
in the end we returned to dimmed lenses and the study of scrolls, a view emerged that everything is unfolding as it must.
~ Zofia Koścień
TREVOR
A passenger pigeon named Trevor, Felt the thud of a slug under feather. With that single shot, The hunter knew not, That he’d wiped out a species forever.
~ Stephen Dennis
Without reflection
I went to the lake shore in search of peace But the lake did not want to talk this morning And so my questions remained unanswered:
What does a duck think when it sees a swan? What does a cattail think when it sees a cat? What does a spider think when its web is covered with dew? What does a water lily think when the sun goes down? What does a reed think when it is carried away to a dam? What does a water strider think when all the water has been strided? What does water think when it cannot see its own reflection? What does the lake think when I leave?
~ Emma Daniela
Untitled
By night, the half past twelve steps up.
The garden its ears gathers.
Hides its years in the ping pong ball.
The garden thrills its voice.
Time shouts: I’ll never be able to return.
A hug wakes up.
A birth flirts with life.
~ Athiná Stylianí Michou
Fire-born light
Upon Priam’s Steps
Pale Pallas, adorned, set up her dance
Upon unmade beds
With swallows shaped by thought alone, amassed
On marble floors and asphalt roads
A verger sought amaranthine gold
Perhaps she wandered lost in swamps
in her quest to taste the holy water in markets as such
And from the immortal one there grew
Basil and myrrh in courtyards of the few
O blessed hunters of the dragon’s lair,
I praise you for the poets’ care
Somewhere a chanter melodiously cries:
“We have won!” with his clenched fist raised high
The crowd approaches now in silent awe
The leader who with holy candle’s law
Sets fire to the walls built through the ages past
Those walls used to befit true Laestrygonians at long last
Fire-born light through our black-veiled nights
Bullets of white into our sight
~ Nadia Papaioannou
Now
If all there is is now and nothing more No anywhere but where we sit or stand No heaving seas upon a darkling shore No other sun to shine on distant sand
No other breeze to tangle in your hair, Such gentle tendrils, brown and softly curled Around your neck, then there can be no care No sorrow strong enough to shake this world.
But feel each pulse, each flutter deep within That transient, eternal metronome, A touch of fingertips and lips and skin And in your breath I hear the sound of home.
Come, lover, let us cherish every now No need for expectation, promise, vow.
~ Liz Balfour, 16th June 2014
The Playwright’s Hammock
On a random October morning,
I awoken to the sound of phantoms from my attic,
Sleeping, mockingly, at least, on my comforting bed,
A whispering canvas spoke to me,
Escaped and immersed in such vivid dreams,
Slightly slumbered songs on strength,
Smug skipped my face and I lay down my weapons,
In disbelief, I let whatever happen, happen,
The rising Sun, from wherever it came,
A condescending playwrights hammock,
He sits and reads and writes,
Disgustingly knowledgeable but drowning in destruction,
‘The world’s smallest heart,’ one of the marvels of lovers,
I pulled the Moon closer and the seaside rose,
My chicken fillet burnt and I chose noodles,
With an oyster card I fixed London’s Underground,
I sailed the seven seas and solemnly swore
It was a pirate’s life for me,
Of riches and agony and walking the plank,
And everything and nothing and all-between,
Mad men, mad mad mad men,
“Please, come quick, Orion,
The smell of these Lilacs hidden behind mad men of business,”
And trickled down like filtered coffee,
I become tucked in a world made up,
Filled with lust more than love,
The Sun and Moon finally fell from above,
Dragging such a heavy corpse,
One that was once a beloved,
Clubs playing light atmospheric techno,
The bourgeoise set ablaze my attic,
‘Burnt corpses fed rats, and the rats fed the humans
Till rats were no more, and the humans ate corpses,’
My fingers giggled and cackled;
I’m a belly of greed and I’ve hardly seen a quarter,
Safely seeking stars,
From rooftops, streets and bars,
Through crackled jingles and broken jars,
We dream of Mars and healing scars
~ Nadim Dabdoub
A light breeze
It seems such a delicate thing Air that supposedly caresses But I feel only the cold And the hidden threat To lull me into false serenity That isn’t there
That breeze has a voice It leads me on yo who knows where I know I’m lost But there is no choice So gentle..so devious
The skies watch me as I follow The whispers of that breeze Walk on Through day to night Time does not exist It takes me away Until I am gone
~ Harriet Coppard
Untitled
In the bathroom mirror Every time I wash my hands I carefully practice Forming my most obese face. If you drill a little hole in my chest You’ll see I can no longer hold back My lips, they twitch and with difficulty arm An ironic and idiotic smile. My teeth are rotting at their roots. At the second little hole I drill into myself I hastily step into my bathtub and slip On the remains of cat vomit I didn’t remove And I don’t even have hot water to rinse myself away. Would you want to step out for a moment then? With the third little hole, it’s too late. The doors are locking, The window latches are shut tight. A shiver will interrupt your last thought.
~ Kostis
Untitled
The endlesness of nighttime sky The vast domain of how and why
I hold the questions in my heart, Where heaven (on earth) Has a place to start A house for angels and for love For down below and up above
Yet if it is the path, the purpose of man What does it mean or measure then, When I stand here face to face With the boundaries of projected space An open question, an open book Enjoy the ride, observe and look!
For life will only make us sense When sensed or lived, or even seen As the beauty of shape And measure and mean Defining a void, that allows life to be In the empty space between you and me
I hold your hand and meet you there In endless times and everywhere Thus, release the future’s burdened past For eternal Now is all that lasts
And in the essence of the here and now Majestic sky, to you I bow Geometry of space and time Perpetual motion, rhythm and rhyme Reveal the distance, so close apart A living soul, a beating heart
Where it ends, well … no one knows, Eternal motion and on it goes From here to there, from now to here, From far away and nowhere near From the cosmos and from you and me And in every presence a place to be
Infinite and everywhere.
~ Inez Wijnhorst
Wind Down
Lover, your sweet coming used to be mine— it was comforting, mild, and a pleasant form of procreation, noticeable and most fulfilled through your affection that softens a hard day. The warm touch of your hand and moonlight moments, often linked to timeless memories like the midnight calls of birdsongs that blend the blooming fragrances of jasmine blossoms and other brief beauties of the breathing earth to behold in the dark, constantly changing sky. When will I ever see your ethereal love again? Tell your secrets, so I can feel you even more, and I will offer the story of “I, me, and myself.” I will not forget you exist and the nice feeling of knowing enough to be able to identify you. I will tend to conclude that, although the buzz of a past love prelude like a sound of summer was always omnipresent in my own heartbeat, you were undeniably a god—a calling to mind. Just thinking about you makes me feel wicked, and I honestly cannot wait to stir your impulse to perform well without thinking with a sigh of longing that sits patiently somewhere between “yes, no, and wait”—for what will we become from the mutual light of “love well, mate well.” Where is the warmth and aroma of your breath, and will you come, oh Zephyrus, if I invite you to have tea with me in the gentle wind at morn and make my call up a little bit less important?
~ Ernesto P. Santiago, Greece | Philippines
Thoughtful Bulimia
I will call you an extract of pleasure
I will scatter a thousand burning words Where your gaze falls To burn, spelling out Love
I will endure a thousand vigils Digging in endless silences to discover The buried debaucheries of your thought
I will raise a thousand huge waves To wash away your dull and unfathomable secrets And to moisten your mind from profane reflections
I will free a thousand stray winds To drag you into the sweetness of lawlessness To subdue your unruly body with flattery
I will converge on you a thousand voluptuous glances Ruthless, raw, unrestrained To tear down the faded walls of your modesty And without resistance, without shame To surrender to me.
I will seduce a thousand depraved pleasures To pour my fever into your blood And to get drunk, stray savage, from your soul
I will call you an extract of pleasure And I will drink you-white bottom-of-monotony A rough and unstoppable soldier who became Unexpectedly defeated On your bare, spring, flowering meadow.
~ Georgios Atmatzidis
A LIGHT, GENTLE BREEZE
A light, gentle breeze enters the quiet air, The mighty roar of day grows hushed and still. It clears my thoughts in loneliness and care Of thirst for wealth, for power, lust, and will.
I strictly follow this refined design – The law by which all nature holds its sway. And slowly I perceive, reflect, align: Why I am here, and what is asked of me today.
I merge myself with nature, vast and strong, That shifts its seasons endlessly in time. For weak is humankind – to chase so long The empty dreams it calls its highest climb.
I cross the heights of earth, both low and high, Within a breeze of light – be it warm or cold. On star-strewn paths beneath the open sky, The universe awaits me, as foretold.
~ Radka Lyulyakova
RESPECTFUL NIGHTLIFE ANIMISM
Late summer night. The nostalgic ear captures tight the respect for the things of Nature. Through the Valley the Tramontane blows arrogant and pressing. The reeds kneel in chorus at the ostentatious passing. The rustling sound echoes the Undertows in its fragility. While the Ocean bows, unrequited, in nocturnal gallantry.
~ STEFANIA CONTARDI
MY GIRL PASSES BY, AND THE LEAVES OF THE TREES TURN INTO EYES TO SEE HER.
There are no days and nights; there is something that disguises itself as light or darkness.
The stars are tiny holes in the eyelids of my little girl as she sleeps; On her small body the sewing machine of time stitches moments.
Stretched on the tips of my toes, I lick the clitoris of the night; the stars swoon and fall into my palms.
I follow bloody traces. All night it rains teeth; suddenly, a little fox with a severed leg! —my wild little beast. “I cut it off with my teeth and fled.” Hop! I step on her shadow; she cannot escape. “Fuck me and maybe you’ll love me,” she says sadly. “The body is the only road
~ Larry Cool
Sweet Violet
A soft breeze drifts through the night, carrying the scent of sweet violet and distant rain. Stars sprinkle silver across the sky, their light trembling like a whispered secret. We sit, shoulder to shoulder, feeling the gentle tug of air around us, a rhythm that matches our quiet heartbeats. Laughter floats up, dissolving into the night, and for a moment, the world holds its breath. Even the trees lean closer, as if they too want to listen, while the breeze curls around us – a tender, invisible thread that says: here, in this hush, we are home.
~ Eva Voss
A LIGHT BREEZE
Travelling through space without a care in the world
My new life had begun and was being unfurled
Through galaxy’s and past stars I travelled
Watching secrets of space being unravelled
Planet after planet I passed by
Then the Earth I did spy
My radio began to crackle as through the atmosphere I did tackle
All my power was demanded then a message came through to say
The Eagle Has Landed.
~ Rich Palmer
Winter Watch
A red fox steels low and lean, quiet as the pines across the mute fields, camouflaged by autumn colours yet his imprints remain in a carpet of moss all along the path. He slinks unhurried towards the evening stillness and the dusky winter light when out of the frozen trees swoop a tidings of Magpies all teal and petrol blue, wings flap in a flurry of panic, they chase and spin, peck at the fox’s long bushy tail, usher him into the ditch, and the ruffled lake beyond where he softly merges and disappears completely into the fiery sunset.
~ Maire Morrissey Cummins
Perseides Station
Perseides passed me by though I, at night waited at their station where tree canopies glowed in union with the cosmos my careful eye below and native body, pale as the physique of clouds naked in solemn prayer wind on my skin, at least a god’s breath in darkness with eyes closed then I saw a single star, falling towards a further station on wings of milky light.
~ Russell Hiroshi Jokela
Untitled
The kettle wants to whistle, The corners want warm light, The frost upon the window pane Wants melting from the night.
We want a ” golden kitchen” And warmth inside our house- escape from such a heavy winter The living fire gasps…
The yard is long and muddy, The wind is sharp as glass; We watch the frozen woodpiles while the winter hours pass…
Our hands are tucked and hiding, The chill begins to sting; We want the gift of embers Without the heavy things.
A rough and splintered burden, A chore we’d like to pass To drag the weight of comfort Through the threshold of the house.
We dream of “Living Fire” To wash the spirits clean, But we’d rather wait for someone To bring the fire wood in .
We want Hope and Healing, The body – light and free, But no one wants to shoulder The burdens of the tree…
~ A.A., January 2026, Stob, Bulgaria
Mi amor
You are my rough sea My pretty orchid my shining star I am singing for you in the dark while caressing you You are ready to give birth to an orgasm The fragrance of spring is here with thousands of larks poppies kisses quick breathing waves of laughter winds trees sandhills Who is sobbing silently ? You are among all these innocent fragile and brave Holding the white bull by the neck as an ancient priestess in front of an altar Seven knives shine in the dark Sweet pain and blood come out of my mouth It’s already late for cosmos
~ Poppi Pantelaki
Today
The clouds over the valley today have formed a range of snowycapped mountains.
Like I’m living in the Himalayas with the Tibetan monks.
The tops of the snowy mountains have a tinge of pink from the rising sun.
My illusion is ruined by a man jogging in dayglow green. It looks like he’s in pain.
And also a Pikachu lunch bag that has somehow been forgotten and left on the doorstep of a local pub.
I hope the child had a locking in.
The illusion is further ruined: one cloud has split away, taking the pink with it.
~ Tim Boardman
SURVIVE
Survive, may the light enfold you in golden swaddles, gentle newborn. Rage beyond the darkest gloom of existence and rejoice in the sparkling summer nights of your carefreeness. Grow, spread your earthly roots until they touch the weary clouds that fly and cry. Cry with them when the storms of the soul will pour down in flashing bursts to stab your heart. Endure the cowardly locked doors of immature maturities, the whims of those who have already won yet still long to see you fall. Survive the deadly aged terrors: may the afterlife not bury you, but lead you into new universal mysteries.
~ Lorenzo De Luca
Untitled
It tore my heart apart, But I didn’t utter a word. I remained silent, Even until today.
Words—scattered, meaningless things, Carried away by the air. They would lose their weight, Pointless, As you wouldn’t understand.
You know, It hurts. It’s like a bomb, Struggling not to explode within me. Like a thousand stabs, Blood spilling from open wounds, Never clotting.
I wish it would. I wish it could.
But still, I believe: Some things Are better left unsaid.
~ Elenalda
Yours to claim
The hard road was your choice. Now, nothing stands in your way. Neither the thorns that stung you – whose pain you know too well – nor the bitter draughts you are bound to taste again.
You know deep down this is what you want. You live it, it is yours, and it will be yours to hold.
Though the world’s bitter wine parches your very soul, and the blades of grim warriors tear you apart, shattering you into a thousand pieces – you do not falter. It is yours and you desire it.
And when the light of true day breaks, your two hands- bloodied, aching, strong, and brimming – will turn that bitter wine to balm, and those knives to purest silk.
It was yours and you knew it all along, and now, it is finally yours.
~ Sandy
MY HOLLY OAK
Bonding mine and my neighbour’s citric orchards explodes in foliage green a Holly Oak, huge, copious, nacreous clouds her holy cloak, wood-tower refuge for mice, squirrels, songbirds… Nowhere else, not in the entire seedless universe grows, glows, such a show of Titanic nature to shade, protect, if only we protect her ! Days in bird (nights in owl) song she’ll converse in chorus of life ; cicada chirr symphony sparks her lush, verdant, rainbow-warbling canopy. Grandiose mother of our planet, relief from man’s poisonous gassing of our air. Words don’t encompass her poem in leaf ; her verse bursts from below, tellurian flare and like a father is proud of his firstborn, I saw the season’s first acorn this morn ! I water her with care, about her hover, not ashamed to admit I hug branch and bark ; that’s right, chuffed to be known as a tree hugger, I even trill, my soul all in a lark.
~ Eugenio Cappuccio
Untitled
I recognise you by renounced prayers, by chimaeras in exile.
A bed of molasses binds us, winter advancing with its sickle.
The sun bleeds into the sea, chokes and knots itself to the island— we call it home.
~ Sabrina Tolve
Present Continuous
I live in the Present Continuous. No other time do I remember, nor will I ever know. Only my mirror whispers to me, claiming it holds the power to enclose the tenses of Time. And yet, I live in the Present Continuous.
~ Nikos Panteris
Sabotaging Time
It was during invigilating an exam that it happened. Time seemed to stop— the second hand on the clock was stuck. Unable to summon the energy to move round, held by gravity, twitching at six or just past six, to be precise.
The sky was a clear blue, not a single cloud. Traffic slowed on the bend into town, or maybe the hospital.
Two cleaners were packing up a car, finishing their chores for the day, loading sprays, liquids, cloths.
A Deliveroo man was dropping off his meals several Big Macs at student housing.
Our students were lost in their exam papers, or in thought, or simply lost, staring, forgetting.
I picked up my book by Karl Ove— I hadn’t touched it in a while. I’d used a birthday card as a bookmark. It read: ‘You are the love of my life’
~ Tim Boardman
Hey
You are here and now, forever and a “how”. you give and forgive all and almost live the life of a why so serene, so try, be as you utter be your own master. Fully succeeding, Purely enjoying Who -you -are: One -in -a -million-star!
~ Alina Elena
If you knew
If you knew That life is beautiful, Would you still go on like this? Keeping your head down? Avoiding starting what you like? Rushing to put aside what you want more and more?
~ Oana Chisalita
THE WOMEN OF THE SEA
What I write is an interrupted sea, without its dry, ferocious pulse. The sea has no name, but breathes birds. The women stare, fearless, waiting for the sun to return the ashes, waiting for a new germination. They taste the water until it is salt, they stretch out their bellies and their clothes, drenched with bleach. They lift, at the hem, the sheet of the sea to mourn the death of their children. There is fire in their breasts — in those mothers of foam and clay, I know there is a white light escaping from their bodies, opening their memories, their wounds and their sorrows. I bite the silence, in the last nudity. And the women of the sea wound their veins with saliva, squeezing out cold blood and mud onto the soft earth. Love warms their hearts, searches their memory, in the tears that slip from their lives. It embraces the violence of remembrance. And the women smell of salt, their skin creased by lime-heat. And the men dash into the sea through its naked roads. They tear it open to satiate the hunger of their souls. And there is thirst in the sand, in the old wrecked boats, in the fishermen smoking cigarettes, smoking life beyond the horizon, when memory is an immobile, dense gesture that violates life, that fractures words and hurls the sexes into the water, down to the last loss.
~ Luís Aguiar
Lethal Fluid / In Memory of a Claustrophobic Dream
I prefer to exhale rather than inhale. In this purple castle within my heart, hidden by hills, In a desert strewn with stones, Barricaded by walls.
You look like a swimmer just before jumping into the water and I Drink a glass. A glass of you. I begin to see walls filled with bottles, filled to the brim With you. And I refuse to sleep until I empty Another one.
My head is empty like the glass. The turbulent waves inside me Calm down. It happens in sleep. Or maybe in a dream. The next performance in the theater of my soul is about to begin.
The bed trembles before an abyss. Don’t move. We’ll both fall Into an abyss or maybe just onto a carpet, Soft, full of yellow roses among forgotten ruins, Or perhaps the corpses of flowers.
We share a candy. We pass it from one to the other Until our kiss is as sweet as pure cocoa chocolate, and our eyes, Open, follow the scent of love floating above A bitter Nightmare.
Suddenly the walls are bare and the wine in the vats has turned sour. This mountain of loneliness whose magnetic pole is your eyes Was it only
An unwritten
Dream?
~ Anisia Evelyne
One Way In
The door was locked bolted blocked against the entry of the merest draught shut tight all gaps closed against the ill wind Don’t let it in, they cried we’ve blown it away, then closed up the gaps.
But what about the gentle breeze? That should have space to enter. And will we know which one is blowing when we feel the first touch. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Blow it away, the ill wind. Don’t let it in. But if there’s a sweet breath within it that should have space to enter and there’s only one way in. for both.
~ Lynn White
Verge
Standing by the river of doubt reaching out to your looking glass self Climbing the hill of riddles where the answers never answer just pricking like a skelf Walking on the edge of you, on the borders between madness and want just a step before the fall in the chaos where you will be dissolved This is the moment to recall the seagulls’ flight over fear the written pages of the leather red book you once had to tear. And through the storm yet to come let the savage song awake from the veil breathe the frozen wind, the purest rain, Kindle with force the lighthouse flame and follow your path to the shores that lie beyond darkness and haze
~ Magdalene
EDEN ME !
at night when turmoil stopped and nothing disrupts anymore when day has sunken down into abyss then…gradually… mystery rises exhaled.. silently…from the deep core of earth breath rising steaming spinning webs of essences weaving holographic tissues –only to grasp– by a witness of truth –enter through the doors if perception– with awe …or else under seel at once bound to wait for the next wave of breath…
During the last days of December, we all think of the past year and the year to come. Within the heart of the winter, our inner thoughts come to the surface, whispering in silence all the things that will come…
We invite you to share those whispers with us. Submit your poem to be featured in our official “Winter Whispers” digital collection on the Poetic Philosophy portal.
No costs. No competition. Just pure expression.
Let your words be the light for someone else this winter.
Poems Submitted
Untitled
Sun rise, sun crossed.
Another beautiful day
~ Brian Skelley
Spring Explodes
The earth is one and not two And here on earth where I found you we only have this chance
Politics looks at me with its crooked eye like an old ferret and work always wakes up with a groan like an expired love
but when in spring the flowers outside the windows turn slowly into fruits it would be good to enjoy them together Let their juices slip carefree over our delicate breasts
Otherwise the fruits wither and we alone think and struggle
~ Bill Hunchback
618
The beaches in the middle of winter
smell the rocks above them
that emit no smell at all.
The wind carries away seaweed, pebbles
and a farewell scarf.
It’s the tide that afterwards
changes everything.
~ Gelly Ntilia
The road
It is a challenge as a gift. It is more than enlightened. The road to the dreams is stiffed but full of wonders and desires. It is a self estimed project, it is awareness within the day. It is more than un object, it is the only right way. The road leads to the stars, it is a perfect line ahead. The road to the dreams is like a bar which is built in wonder land.
~ Dessy Tsvetkova
Lethe
Heaven descends within reachable grasp Slithering snakes and blindfolded followers Voices from beyond relay and echo each other . First dawn on the river of Lethe.
Thoughts bleed into one other a withered leaf in reappearing days. Scented luxury of a willing blindness Vistas past on the peripheries of my vision.
A former moment to reoccur in a distracted gaze Disertic sands of a lasting present moment. An eternal instant, it stirs me to respond: “ This is not an ending”.
Alive and yet still a doll thick watered river in cogs and wheels a shape that lifts and disperses as it should
in the dark
~ Evi Platitsa
Blessings
I found my self in a wild and distant shore waves and sounds all around
Hidden secrets in the sells as corals lying by the sand A blessed day !
~ Xrisoula Papavasiliou
U N I Q U E
The Earth now shines in snowy, radiant white, Snowflakes are dancing softly through the sky. And whiteness brings a sense of cleansing light, Washing the soul where hidden sorrows lie.
One snowflake gently reached my waiting shoulder, It stilled—and just before it slipped away, Confessed to me a truth both warm and bolder: “Look—unique as me, you are,” it seemed to say.
No two snowflakes here are ever the same, Yet joined, they form the carpet soft and bright. Your DNA, a diagram of flame, A unique code—unmatched in form and light.
“You too are one of kind, the same as I, But now I turn to just a drop of rain.” It whispered truthfully, just passing by: “In life, be sure to leave a lasting trace.”
That I am unique—I truly know today, A snowflake was the one who told me so. Within my endless light-code, faraway, The sky reveals its wisdom, soft and slow.
~ Radka Lyulyakova
Whispers
In the silence, the breath of winter is heavy and the windows fog up. In the corners of its cold landscape, the words that were not spoken, the dreams that froze, the wounds that were not healed begin to gather timidly. But winter kept them imprisoned under the snow. And these became forgotten shadows and fell into hibernation. But memory did not forget them. It whispered softly to awaken the forgotten dreams, the unspoken secrets. But the wind stole the whispers and confessed them to Spring. And that spark of fire ignites and transforms the whispers into seeds of life, so that the light that will melt the ice of winter may emerge.
~ Bania Sofia
Stateless Outis
“My name is Nobody. Nobody I am called by mother, father, and by all my comrades.”*
I am Outis, a nowhere citizen nowhere a home, nowhere a country. Surviving this branded time ignominy stalked me,
to escape death, I fled with nothing but my blood to identify me.
Stateless fears, I have a language, I have a culture but no nation as identity, I run, innocent, to keep my sanity.
I get busted between borders my bones are broken in this buffer zone the bane of nomads.
Statistics ignore stateless counts, Outis’ secret wish is to relish being part this fair society, she wants protection from cipher assumption
to take away the “less” in stateless Outis will slave in a host land until she comes to nothing,
dependable nobody, an unrecorded death, She never made it to the statistics.
No costs. No competition. Just pure expression.
Poetic Philosophy 