Vasilios Theodorakis – An Online Author

It was thought we lived upon the downs.
It was thought we chose life’s own breath;
Yet we look, we gaze, we seek to crush;
As though the peace was just a dream,
Not known to minds or souls of quest.

Twist away, and tear your heart…

Strike at the evil and blind the eye;
It must not see the hell we preserve;
It must not see the source of strength
Which drives the revenge of the wounded soul,
And shatters life, which had shattered zest.

“We are Christians!” we shout to the cause.
“We are holders of truth and of glorious light!”
But darkness dwells behind greying suits,
Bitterness reigns within the sight,
And daggers are drawn to advance the time.

What way to live a life so short!
At best seek out the tactics still;
At worst cut down the kicker’s hand,
And quell the pain through raging force,
Struck at last in conquered air…

Irony wins above both fields;
As neither sees their blood stained hands,
Which answer silent to the call,
And cast out codes and words of warmth,
And raise a crown that neither claims!

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1989
(Exact date of writing unknown.)

I speak of the world on a frosty clear morn,
When all else becomes, but a magical dream;
Awaiting a wand raised up in the air,
And tapped by a zest and quaintness of speech.

I speak of the moon on the steps to the stars,
Where teddy bears rest in their travels of sleep;
And gasp at the horrors of peopled new hats,
Which darken the rooms of classical souls.

I speak of the sun that spins through our hearts,
And tares at the scars lodged deep by the air;
Which presses and leaves in bursts of fine wind,
Then runs and hides when all else is done.

I speak of the warmth that’s lost to the cold,
And the cold that leads to competent pain;
Yet the march to its death is not of ‘our’ heart,
And should always but end like the knife in the grave!

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1989
(Exact date of writing unknown.)

For our hearts flow freely with the earthly wind,
And our souls rise up to thin the clouds,
And there upon the cushioned beams,
Lie waiting still our childhood friends.

Once left behind in air of want,
They shadow walk till life’s own end,
And then still sit as canines do,
Awaiting steps on woven ground.

In spite of this they share our dreams,
And hope again to raise their voice,
To speak as one like children do,
In praise of us and living well.

But most adults can’t see them now,
Their freshness and, brightness calmed,
These friends are lost in time and space,
And drawn far out of contacts slack!

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1989
(Exact date of writing unknown.)

It was like she knew the world’s own pain;
Had touched its heart in times of need;
Had shared its sorrow, loss of love;
Had cried a tear through courage wrought.
And yet, she left no load above;
Used no threats to reach her goals.

She sat and smiled,
Her beauty real,
Her face did glow and light its words.
A sadness though,
Smeared her eyes,
And haunted them as laughter left.

She breathed a sigh,
Not quite heard.
She raised a hand to free her mate;
I rose to help –
Got waved away.
She stood alone, before the storm.

How often, had she braced her frame;
Had bared the brunt,
Of the wind?
Which knew no easing
Back just some,
As gusts raised up their linen fists.

Many times, it is said;
As she paced to ease the strain.
But now and then I caught a glimpse
Of palms raised up to her chin;
Resting thoughts and inner sense;
Shared out loud for a time.

I didn’t know, that she had passed,
Had slid right down clay filled walls;
Her battle grounds,
Now memory laid;
Her heart held weapons, sheathed by death;
Are still alive, through holy words.

Inspiration was her sign,
Raised upon her everyday;
She touched each soul,
Through brilliance born;
And clenched each hand to hold back fear,
Compressed by time, and muddied planks.

No strings reached out, from her gifts;
She never asked for favored wants;
She was as was in her heart;
For in it lived the warmth of love;
Suspended now for all time,
And drawn from treasures world’s apart.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(12th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

How do we know if love has yet touched?
If words can’t convey its inner most warmth;
Whose glow overwhelms the saddened lone heart;
And makes it as young as that of our birth.

How do we know if it will be true?
When world’s accept passions in its fine place;
And know not of peace freely bestowed;
On physical beings and their spiritual space.

Will flaws such as these always but rise?
And taint the fair souls of flowing clear hope;
As the serpent had done in times of once old;
Where loss was first touched, in our oneness to cope.

It need not be as many believe;
For the rainbow still lives in the mists of the fall;
And dreams do come true in the depths of our eyes;
As do wishes exist when our smiling does call.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(11th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

To speak of a longing in the quietest times,
Would erase a warmth of magical zest,
Laid down in the corridors of the endeared,
Where silence enchants, the tranquil air;
And touches the heart of the unknown friend.

To silence a longing in the rarest of times,
Would miss our strength and magical love,
Raised up in the corridors of the endeared,
Where speech still enchants electrified air;
And touches the mind of a now known friend.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(10th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

To look upon the desert plain,
And see a clearness, freshness
In the morning’s light.

To look into a golden sunset’s eyes,
And find there beauty, born
Of the world’s own mind.

To look through a creek’s sweet smiling face,
And be mystified, by a reality
Of unfathomable depth.

To look at the words of an autumn breeze,
And be touched, by a leaf
In the blessing of time.

Forever should such be in bloom,
Not taunted by the mark of age.
And live in growth through wondrous zest,
Of warmth, of friendship beyond the ebb
That tides the everlasting wave.

Dedication (For C Finnigan)
Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(9th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

A soft breeze touched
Her silken gown,
A soft voice whispered
Be not profound.

Reach up to heaven
And touch the sky,
Be yourself
And not a lie.

For it is a time of freedom,
A time of reign,
A time to live,
Not quite the same.

A time to sing,
A time to praise,
A time to listen,
And be amazed.

For to pass it by,
Would be a crime.
To waste a thought,
In hidden mime.

Thus heeding words,
Of royal pure light,
She mastered self,
A soul’s delight.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(8th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

There existed a pond an illusion to be,
A wishing well, reaching into one’s mind.
There lived a froggy, amnesia had he,
Diving underwater, seeking his kind.

“Why is it?” said the froggy as the sun rose above,
“That futile are my searches for a friend here today?”
Unable to grasp such a question of love,
He dangled his feet, sighed, splashed his worries away.

Soft footsteps were heard on the moss far behind.
Turning his head, a tear fell below.
“Why do you cry?” said a voice, sounding so kind.
There stood a princess whose radiance did glow.

“I am lost,” said the froggy, with an innocence of pain,
“I do not know who I am, or why I am here.”
“I am filled with a longing, I cannot explain.”
“Maybe for a friend, for a spouse, for someone quite dear.”

“Could that friend be me?” flowed her words bathed in light.
“I’ve known a frog or two, in my time, in my play.”
“Yes, yes!” said the froggy, captured by the sight,
Of a princess who ignored what others might say.

Thus many a day, was born to abscond,
And was filled with their games, and stories of dream.
By a princess of silk, and a green frog by a pond,
And a happiness that could close such a book it would seem.

But all is not heard and the epic not told,
Until is revealed the fact of the kiss.
Which should have transformed as in stories of old,
Our froggy on rock into handsome young prince.

So, forward she bent, lips touching his chin,
But nothing did change and she turned right away.
“I’ll be back in the morn,” she sighed with a grin,
Though never returning, to once again play.

“Why me?” cried the chivalrous, gallant little frog,
As he tossed up the thought, his bare elbow on knee.
But unanswered lay words until sank his own log,
And strange noises were heard, behind hide-me-now tree.

From his world did he spring, to a branch in the clouds,
Where shattered were views by scenes far below.
Thus shedding his youth, like a lifting of shrouds,
His heart lost beat, lost warmth, lost innermost glow.

And so slumped the froggy, near his water filled home,
Not seeing the Folklore whose petals now turned
To touch the stooped shoulder and mortified gnome,
And trigger an explosion of colour, of sound, of light yet unlearned.

As the cacophony cleared, from the air all around,
A crowned couple stood by castle and glistening stream,
While a cloaked rabbit, sat groping amongst forested ground,
Near a vulture, still grappling with her golden gown’s seam.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(7th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

Upon the wind rode his thoughts,
In search of ways to quell the pain;
Which tore apart his lively youth,
And plunged his future in the grave.

Which way to turn while on the path,
Lay the quest before his eyes;
But nothing showed the lighted way,
Bar shadows draped in deathly downs.

He slowed his ride to a trot,
And stood before the parting plane;
His heart did pound and die at once,
As clouds drew forth beyond the fields.

The pain and choice were but one,
Unknown to this confidante;
Who camped before the branching dust,
And waited, hoped, he would yet know.

Alas he missed even this,
And died in wait for that change;
Which could not come unless he took,
Either path – for each was right on its day.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(6th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)