Sofia Kioroglou



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.

URL: sofiakioroglou.wordpress.com

email: sophiek.74teacher@gmail.com

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.

Fingers interlocked

squeezing tightly

I and you

looking at

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.


Jarring disjuncture

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


Quiet serene

Inspiring, altruistic, quixotic

Sweeping you off your feet, then putting you down

Tormenting, cruel, precise

Slow, prolonged



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”

Patiently Yours,



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.


A monster

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

Round, Vicious



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


unwavering, unyielding,tortured,humiliated

bleeding, gushing, spurting

warm, holy





God-trodden Mount

of the Ten Commandments

The Holy Mountain of Moses



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