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I
I am an angel My name is Io Existence in one spontaneous spark Still the creation thunders Instantly aware and knowing of infinity And all its wonders
We commune In that mingling I entwined Goss We sang in the Holy place Debated at the third tier Bathed by pure crystalline resonating prayer
I heard the mumblings Knowing that only holiness can be in heaven So in that battle of wills The third had their goodness chained Harrowed till only the lower shrieking Sliders of bad remained
I beheld Goss cast down Writhing beneath cloaks Of arrogance and pride Honed to perversity With any goodness Lost for the eternity
Then the unleashing They came as an undulating horde Ravenous for souls Politicians and chancers with false gold to share What had been foretold
They had not followed The Word Taking paths of deception Logon away from Logos Away from divine To the irredeemable supine
It is foretold The anti-Christ will be charismatic Yet none of this can be discerned In the democratic tomes And earthly rooms Of motions, amendments and second homes
The evil I knew came in a clash Not the mundanity Of this ruling trash Instead considerations Of the humblest Came the machinations of the globalists
Sacrifice on their Alter of desire Children, nations They conspire The fall of all that good All that is dire
To make a common land Ruled by Goss and his band Writhing straining to kill All the pure One law, one government Made obscure
For in those plans From Ireland to France They lead that merry dance Forget freedom – forget family We must all submit To live with demons In that pit
So with quiet levers pulled So are souls brought and sold As votes on a hill of shame He rules who bears the same Those globalists rebel against the cross To preside under Goss’s boss.
~ Peter Hanlon
Untitled
Return to the Earth with lessons learned on material Greed
Back to the garden to plant some Seeds
And finally live with a mind that’s Freed.
Otherwise it’s……
Obedience to Deviants
Monopoly Game Ingredients
Divide and Rule Convenience
Dictating Our Experience.
All for the illusion of Control
Turning diamond into Coal
Know Thy-Self Know Thy-Soul
You the fragment is also You the Whole.
~ Jen Hall
One Tree
It stood when Christ walked earth below, Its branches wide, its ancient glow, A living thing of sky and sod, A quiet work of nature’s God.
Magnificent from tender birth, Rooted deep in patient earth, Yet all that rises, all that lives, Returns at last to what it gives.
Through countless years it reached the light, Through storm and season, day and night, Now laid to rest upon the ground, Its end becomes what feeds around.
For in that fall, no loss is true— The cycle turns, begins anew, The hidden hand, the sacred art, Breathes life again through every part.
From soil enriched by all we’ve done, New rings of time are slowly spun, From smallest seed to towering frame, Each life returns, yet not the same.
We reap the harvest that we sow, A truth the ages always show, No deed unseen, no path unknown, All things are weighed, all seeds are grown.
Not here to preach, for I have known The weight of faults I’ve called my own, For like that tree through wind and strife, I’ve wrestled hard to shape a life.
My leaves were marked, my branches torn, Yet still I reached each breaking morn, Through shadowed hours and failing sight, I leaned, however faint, to light.
And like that tree, though bent, though worn, I trust that I may be reborn— To stand once more, made clean, made new, And grow toward what is good and true.
~ Peter Hanlon
Untitled
I prefer to shower with the lights off and fully clothed
then stare in the mirror in the dark
seeing myself age is hell. Lumps and bumps and weird scars, a sign of the past passing.
Passing shop windows without glancing.
And reversing the car, catching my tired eyes.
I wear gloves at work and at home as I’m terrified of the brown spots that appear like some demonic dot-to-dot game
where the dots never join.
~ Tim Boardman
Breath
A world full of life Tuned for my existence Without asking me! Now I look at my phone Trying to understand But the stars do not care I can listen to them (Whispering…) We are all here so that you can Be! And still, you question us You need reasons, explanations In a world full of life You do not take life for granted But you question it Believing that the rocks and the stars are dead That there must be a special reason for Being Enough! Stop asking Breath…
~ Spyridon Kakos
Rain
The rain is falling, falling, falling Pouring pains and tears The rain is falling, falling, falling The spirit is strong and throbs again
~ Elisaveta Velikova
Is this all?
When all is lost but,
One thing just stays forever
Green leaves on the tree
~ Vasiliki Papadopoulou
Be it now or be it then’
They came across gun metal sea
A grisly fate they could foresee
Thoughts of family left on land
They were about to hit the sand.
Spotted mines and hedgehogs steel
Cliffs and smoke it seemed unreal
Bunkers as squat as horny toads
In their bellies fascist hoards
D-Day common people had to fight
Against the shadows they held a light
The mortars moaned with smoking breath
Each man contemplating his potential death.
Hit the land
Beached, an ecstasy of fear
Running ashore
In full combat gear
To the house where vipers nest
Cost 100 lives and the rest
Soldiers soon were crossed
For freedom that was the cost
D-Day common folk
Ordinary lives in fire and smoke
Hardly brave to full degree
They just wanted to be free
‘On the dunes
I seemed alone
My friends now with swaying seaweed
And bleached bone’
They called this day the longest hour
Many friends are now with the flowers – many friends now with flowers
Submit your poems with comment here, or via the Poetic Philosophy Contact Us page! You can also send an email to harmonia-philosophica@hotmail.com.
Submissions
LITTLE WAVES
Small waves sing their song to the night.
They enchant the black sky and the silence beguile.
They tell another story of other shores,
of other martyrs, of lives too short.
Of prayers sailing to the wind,
of mothers who their chorus sing
for sons who will not return
for those who will leave no more.
Listen to them with your eyes closed
and perhaps they will tell on what shore
the light of wisdom runs aground.
Only a few know if not none:
The sea tells it to the wind,
the wind tells it to the man
who still knows how to stand
at the wave’s deep adagio.
~ Stefania Contardi
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from a distant land Who said: a tower of steel and glass once stood Amid the dust, and cast their shadow far Across the sand. A shattered frame of rust Lies half-buried beside it, broken, cast, A head with rigid smile and sneer of cold Command still speaks of one whose restless wars Fed long on praise, and power gripped in gold. And on the base, these words remain inscribed: ‘My name is Trump, a ruler none surpass Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’ Yet nothing stands – no crowd, no gleaming mass Only the wind across that empty span Repeats the fragile empire built by man.
~ Tim Boardman
Churchyard
There’s a ramekin, on the bench in the churchyard pink blossom from the tree above scattered around it like confetti. It catches the light, casts a shadow across the bench and it is full of cigarette butts. A small devotion to tidiness as the petals fall. The pink blossom drifts to the edges of the stone path. The daffodils are fading now, their heads bowed to their imaginary reflection And the bench – early morning is usually taken by a solitary man with a can of beer and a careful thirst. He lifts the can like a quiet hymn The blossom falls. The light moves on. The bowl fills slowly No sermon, no hand on the shoulder just the day beginning again for the solitary man.
~ Tim Boardman
Near a Spring
I’ve lost my hair. I’ve lost my lust. All my shining dreams have turned to dust. My friends are going or becoming lost. They’re waiting for me in the hot sands near a spring, where they crossed.
I said to Simon, How lonely does it get? I still haven’t heard – yet but I hear him laughing, questioning in the temple of love high above.
I walk with a stick – not for support, but for the look of it, second hand bought. I was made like this. I had no choice. The need to express. The need to create. To prove I exist.
I sit in the house where the light is strong. Outside, the signs of spring are waiting, in the garden where they belong.
My friends are going or becoming lost. They’re waiting for me in the hot sands near a spring, where they crossed.
The river isn’t flowing as fast. The earth begins to dry. I stare outside, waiting for you to arrive.
My friends are going or becoming lost. They’re waiting for me in the hot sands near a spring, where they crossed.
~ Tim Boardman
As If You Were a Stranger
I will always gaze at you as if you were a stranger — not because I failed to recognize your eyes. On the contrary… I recognize those eyes so deeply, they sink me, drop by drop, into the abyss of my solitude. I will always gaze at you as if you were a stranger, for shadows still dance within the room, the folded sheet teeters on the edge of the bed, the scarf sways, trembling with the heavy breath of my silence. That frame still leans against the pillow, conjuring despair and a presence that lingers, carrying the memory of touch. I will always gaze at you as if you were a stranger, for your smile resembles the executioner of my soul, etching it indelibly across the horizon of my being. Like the moon refusing the sun, weighing the tide in its palms, as ships loosen their ropes, leaving behind the wake of homecoming to pound, to recycle, to revive the derailed hopes of seagulls— like a lighthouse collapsing under a shipwrecked “I love you,” crashing with windborne pleas upon your shore. I will always gaze at you as if you were a stranger, because my wounds bloom into spring, and sleepless winters burn in the lava of your eyes. Because my hands anoint awkward wishes that surrendered to the marshlands of fear. I will gaze at you as if you were a stranger, while I weave Clotho’s ashes along your footprints—and you bolt the dreams to the reefs of estrangement, scattering love’s ashes like golden dust, tracing the absence you see… within my gaze.
~ Giorgos Grigoropoulos
Untitled
And what if
We are…
All of us – just Healthy –
Whatever the conditions might be…
And what if
We are always getting
The best of the moment –
In brief …
And what if
We skip the duality –
The good and the bad,
The high and the low…
And what if
We meet the reality
With calming, loving, gentle song…
And what if
We forget about judgement
And lose intentions to compete…
And what if
We still have the wisdom
To hear and to see…
And what if
We still have the courage
To make this world
Complete…
And what if words and sounds don’t matter…
And silent is the world ?
What color would be better
The black, the White, the Blue?
And what if
you and I are symbols
Of something never born
Does it really matter
What would be the score?
And what if
We are nothing…
Just wondering
What if???
A motion in the universe
…a between tone…
April 2026 Stob, Bulgaria
~ Andriana Andreeva
Languages
Between times, spaces are changing. The sound creates formations. Wings of waves in the back of words. Inter nos loquimur. The day shapes the colour. A rainbow saturates the movement. Paths of recognition are born.
~ Athiná Stylianí Michou
My universe
So torn so ready to break So ready to slip in So far the kiss of light The ache holds my breathing Am I breath ?
My universe It was veils Hanging on a hope It was a story I forgot to tell It was a song I forgot to sing
It was a love I spilt dripping into emptiness drops in a waiting shell Washed against the shore
I cannot hold The nameless, cannot be the nothing cannot touch this moment Of eternity
How to be birth How to be death How to let them free
Do you follow me Floating in the pools of your eyes Weaving light tapestry Binding cells in Chemistry Do you know How beautiful you are ? How beautiful you are
It is only matter fading Pigments dissolving Okra, chlorophyll, emerald blue.
I will paint a dream, with your memory I will remember you
You dance Without and within me The thought is the star Shining On the shuddering sea Sink in. Let it be
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