Sofia Kioroglou is a writer, translator,
lexicographer and painter born and
bred in Athens, Greece. She is an
avid reader and iconographer of saints
and believes in human kindness and
sacrifice. She would be a cave recluse
in Raitho or Sinai had she not met her husband Peter in Jerusalem at
the Holy Light Ceremony in 2012. As for her poetry, she was one of
the winners in the 4th Ceasar Dapontes Poetry Competition and
her poems have appeared in many international literary journals such
as Silverbirchpress, Verse-Virtual, Ashvamegh, Poet’s Corner,
Writink Page, Bonsaistories as well as in many anthologies like
the Poetry against Terror Anthology, the Spiritual Horizons
Anthology and the Universal Values Anthology. Her poetry will
soon be featured in the Poetry Against Inequality Anthology
published by Fabrizio Frosini, a famous Italian poet and publisher.
She is also a historical novelist and writes flash fiction for fun.
I fell in love with a frog
I fell in love with a frog,
who was sitting alone on the banks of the Nile,
mooning over the premature decease of his beautiful wife.
He was sobbing his heart out,
his lips convulsed with woe, dripping emotion,
his chin atremble, the words buried in a raven black but deafening silence.
I instantly knew he was the find of my ultimate search for love.
A bathos unknown to those seeking earthly pleasures,
a poignancy knocking vulgarity off its temporal pedestal.
My dear love, dearest of all other loves,
my love for this frog, please become a wreath
a halo, a redemptive power to soothe all pain
Christmas on Hydra
Christmas on Hydra.
I and you
the shimmering sea
kissing each other as
passersby are surreptitiously
stealing a look at our eternal bliss
swathed in mufflers
with breaths misting up
the crisp winter air.
I and you
into each other forever
during this holiday season.
As wide asunder from pole to pole
My Eastern and your Western
in jarring disjuncture I am breaking
laying to rest the yawning divide.
East is East and West is West
and never the twain shall meet.
In dissonant chords and yodeling voices
My North I cede to your South.
The ice is cracked open
melting our hemispheres’ differences
into oblivion, engulfed eternally
in an ocean of seamless convergence.
Big and rowdy,
loud and lovely
it stands on my porch
sprawling with filiform tentacles
the thorn-armored canes
my bougainvillea uses as
claws to etch indelible memories
of unforgettable summers on my mind.
Don’t lie to me
So don’t lie to me
It is better to hurt me.
It will be the only Truth.
Love - Poem
Inspiring, altruistic, quixotic
Sweeping you off your feet, then putting you down
Tormenting, cruel, precise
Your tears a mini Lake District
streaming down your cheeks
from obsidian spheres
now geysers spurting jets of water.
Patiently yours, Nietzsche
It smells like winter.
The hot tea is steaming in the mug
Peter got from Hong Kong on his last visit,
along with a pinkish scarf.
I am anxious to see him back on terra firma.
He called to say he’s lost his visa.
But rest easy!
It is three in the morning.
The hands of the mantel clock another sting
in my anticipation.
He must be heading home.
I won’t fall into the arms of Morpheus tonight.
I will listen to some Nietzsche on the radio.
The actor begins the recitation.
His staccato words walking on a tight rope.
A musical piece to take a breather from my obsession.
I ‘ll close my eyes.
I won’t spend the night biting my nails,
waiting for that flight to arrive.
“Since I grew tired of the chase
And search, I learned to find;
And since the wind blows in my face
I sail with every wind”
The Looking-glass self
Your stabs hit me exactly where you hope they would
with such ferocity that gouges out all vanity and conceit.
A knife thrust through the illusions of my bloated ego,
An ugly distortion of an inner image through a plastic glass
which finally crumpled with me looking at the looking-glass self.
On the verge of tears
I try to put my thoughts in order.
The buckets of thoughts too messy
to put in the box of oblivion.
The cobwebs of my mind
gathering dust, befuddling.
The bales of past experiences
tumbling down memory lane.
Too many photos of you and me
walking into the sunset hand-in-hand.
Our perfumes as evanescent
as the dreams of our youth.
Guns and bullets
Eternal world redeemers try to save the world
with guns and bullets in people’s heads
with endless obituaries of innocent people
entombed in epitaphs of dreams and hopes.
Sugar-coated venom purported as nostrums
to cure all pain and eradicate symptoms
of an ostensibly robust epidermis
reeking of visceral galloping putrefaction.
In today’s world, creation means destruction
Unravelling time-honored values means fixing
bombing for the sake of peace charitable work
By strangling free speech, you create a monster
which you then call a Savior
I am a journalist,
I simply report the facts as I see them.
Dark and Lethal
Shooting, bombing, killing
Blood, Corpses, Chaos, Anarchy
Encircling, Circumnavigating, Enclosing
Woe betide the unwary
Woe betide the unwary
engulfed in worldly pleasures
Accustomed to seeking the material well-being
For if we had been blind
we would have had no sin.
Woe betide the complacent
basking in evanescent earthly delights
Thereby adorning ourselves with a millstone
instead of raiment white as snow
reflecting the effulgence of God’s glory
More blessed are the fallen mourners
than those who have not fallen,
For they have fathomed the error of their ways
and have repented of their sins
to be bestowed upon the gift of a sure resurrection.
That which is born of the Spirit is spirit
You come with nothing and you go with nothing.
Nobody escapes the way of all flesh
and is dead in the tresspasses and sins
in which they have walked.
Don’t love the world or the things in this world
as the world is passing away along with its desires
but do the will of God and you will abide forever
as that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.
A doleful ditty
Disturbers of the earth and of heaven
nothing weighs on our conscience.
Let’s sing a doleful ditty and then weep
as ye sow so shall we reap.
“Hic de Virgine Maria
Jesus Christus natus est”
so remarkably unimpressive
and yet so holy.
I long to visit you
Small and humble
but great and glorious.
Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est
an inscription reads
as I get to a grotto.
A fourteen-point silver star
embedded into the marble
is now indelibly embedded into my memory
scorching its way into my heart
burning that moment into my brain.
The city of Gold
Where Jesus walked
O Holy City,
Holiest of all
The land where Lord
on the Mount of Olives
would stand to talk.
You appear so beautiful,
with beauty so singular
no master wordsmith
could capture in verbal form,
no painter could accurately paint
on canvas with oil colors so vivid
and glorious as its past.
The Pool of Siloam
As blind as a bat
I don’t know where I am going.
Such stygian and gloomy darkness
I pray to see dissolved.
Two heavenly hands the torch
of eternal light will suddenly snap on.
The Alpha and the Omega
In the pool of Siloam, the mud out of my eyes
I am bidden to now wash
I was blind, but now I see
The Way, the Truth and the Light
I was lost, but now I am found.
I have found Eternal life.
I have found my Savior.
Sophia the Martyr
What a weighty name
I must live up to!
A martyr and a saint
a widow and a mother
back in Roman Times
just as dystopian as our era
when Faith, Hope and Love
are tortured and burned over an iron grating,
then thrown into a red-hot oven,
finally into a cauldron with boiling tar
before bending their necks beneath the sword.
A grievous torture indeed to watch
the suffering of your daughters.
How could anyone
so little and small
like me be worthy of that martyr’s crown?
Agatha of Palermo
wealthy and beautiful
bleeding, gushing, spurting
of the Ten Commandments
The Holy Mountain of Moses