| Author: Issandros Aris | there, in the west,
how many purple memories
of Attica linger |
| Author: George Seferis | she had no eyes
the snakes she held
ate her hands away |
| Author: Tasos Corfis | gone for years,
the poplar he planted
is full of birds |
| Author: Vassos Papapavlou | the cyclamen,
embraced by snow,
is slowly dying |
| Author: Zisimos Lorentzatos | a diamond cuts
the extreme stillness;
the first nightingale |
| Author: Danae Stratigopoulou | and I always forgive
since there are sea-gulls
and cyclamens. |
| Author: H. F. Noyes | I love you this way—
all misty from the rain
in your eyes |
| Author: Chionis Argyris | you sad hand
hide your lonesomeness
in your pocket. |
| Author: Nikos Grigoriades | tree foliage,
my hands are cicadas
in your hair |
| Author: John Caravidas | at all heights,
only your hands have
stronger wings. |
| Author: Nikos Ladas | stone trees
and a bronze bird
on every branch |
| Author: George Carandonis | since you’re absent,
summer reminds of
autumn |
| Author: John Theocharides | crazy bird
of spring,
chirping verses |
| Author: Demetrius Caramvalis | to “bad” or “good”,
a great harvest opens
on the stars |
| Author: Otto M. Defner | blurred crystals
make things look smaller,
and make me feel like a God |
| Author: John Tolias | nocturnal fog
is falling onto your body;
I light up shadows |
| Author: Demosthenes Kerasides | writing a letter,
he stood awhile to see
the full moon |
| Author: Menis Kaladzopoulos | Sunday morning;
it is as if someone else
entered my new garment |
| Author: George Vlachos | the spring hail
is washing away
the dust of the road |
| Author: Athena Carataraki | the sun sword;
you lizard slipped through
the debris |
| Author: Panayotis Tsoutatos | the lark
sings with us,
mimicking us |
| Author: Evanthia Georgouli | a sparrow
in the mouth of the statue
counts the hours |
| Author: Pandelis Hydraeos | in the streets,
I saw unborn people
judging us |
| Author: Zoe Savina | like an unexpected
leafage, your tongue
encircles me |
| Author: Spyros Papadimas | at noon,
you have been caught
on a small cloud |
| Author: Melitas Charis | the psychologist
was very clear:
I leave my nails to grow |
| Author: Pitsz Galazi | we are forgotten,
the sea constantly narrows
and we run wild |
| Author: Yula Stamelou | grey clouds hover
over my soul’s island;
it’ll rain again |
| Author: Panayotis Capodistrias | it’s just fine like this:
with eyes pulled out,
you see internally |
| Author: Euridice Pericleus-Papadopoulou | a congested,
disorderly wind
turns up |
