Vasilios Theodorakis – An Online Author

I look in the mirror – at the child by my side.
He chews on his toy – with in-depth concern.
What will he find in – the years up ahead?
Will ideals but shatter – his dreams in their crib?
Will emotions corrode – his chances in life?
Will his mind be axed – by the “other’s good will”?
Will he lose his belief – his link to the world?
Never finding balance – or knowing his wrongs.
Most heinous of all – I still have to ask.
Will love be snatched – from the warmth of his soul?
Through fallacy of self – death and delusion.
Through passionate lust – and boring confusion.
Oblivious to angst – he lies, and he rolls.
He gurgles and smiles – as I lift him to stand.
In spite of my prods – he’s blinded to see.
That death may consume – his Card King’s relief.
I mustn’t remain – and watch this again.
But turning away – he reaches to touch.
To grasp and to learn – to live and to be.
Unable to sense – know or believe.
A lifetime of thorns – so hard to foresee.

In spite of this cross – he crawls into gear.
Momentum builds up – advancing the clock.
But all that I have – to help him along.
Is hope that in time – the path will be paved.
And placement of feet – is not upon rocks.
As the weight of our life – is driven ahead,
By more than just him – depending on me.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(5th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

He could not see where life was going,
Or if it would go forward at all.
He stood to leave,
But sat down again.
He waited for a change,
For the curtain to be drawn
And the scene to end,
But it didn’t.
He hoped something would happen
But nothing ever did.
He did not understand failure or success;
Did not feel warmth, love and integrity.
He tried asking for a date,
But got snubbed for his efforts.
He was lonely and lost,
Felt robbed of his life,
Deprived by marauding shadows
Which hid themselves in the corners of his eyes.
His youth was now remembered
Only as a distant Epoch.
He was an old man
And at the age of beginnings, wished to die.

But what thoughts are these?
What form of reality is this?
Life was not created
For such things to occur,
Yet this, was what life had become.
Without warning,
The old child,
In the absence of thought,
Jumped.
My workmate could not be consoled – no matter how I tried.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(4th poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

Clear,
Bright,
Sunny,
Warm,
Friendly.

Atmosphere of a high school camp,
       Problems,
       Commitments,
       Work,
       Studies,
All put aside.

Enjoying life,
Enjoying activities,
Savouring every moment, as it comes along.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(3rd poem written in 1988 – exact date of writing unknown)

Why does one create a dream,
That takes two to lift its wings,
Yet in desperation,
Pilots
The vision alone.
Igniting the imagination,
       Pretending
       To move,
       To soar,
       To create meaning
When there is none to be found.

How does one describe the pain?
That’s unable to escape.
Caused by the realisation,
That the plane
       Can not,
       Will not,
       Will never,
       Come to life.
Will never ratter, and tatter;
Like the Willy Wag Tail,
Which leaps from gum tree to tin roof.
Will never leave the ground;
       To touch the sky,
       To salute the sunset;
       To tease the heavy face of earth,
       To leave a tear of laughter in a rain cloud’s eye.

How does one avoid
Such an experience as this?
       Does one turn their back,
       And wear a mask of cynicism to their grave?
       Does one laugh in a frivolous way;
       Ignore the shame, the embarrassment,
       And return again
       To fly alone;
       That which should be flown by two?
Or,
       Does one accept the truth?
       Test the present, not the crystal ball;
       Continue to believe in craft with wings;
       And hope,
       That someday one involving the person and another,
       Will soar into the blueness of the sky;
       Never again to return
       To the greyness of our world…

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(2nd poem written in 1988)

If secrets could be told,
To the whispering wind;
Of Love and Friendship
Locked within;
The world would be
A duller place;
To live our lives,
To run our race.

Instead we guess,
We wonder if;
The other feels the strength,
The gift;
That powers life
Eternal now,
And guides the future,
Within the cloud.

The pain, the sorrow
If we’re wrong,
But such is the risk,
To grow so strong;
That the test is time,
And time the guest;
Which introduces the one
For whom, we’re best.

If this charade
Could end today;
Revealing our soul,
In wide display;
Would our ultimate life,
As friends, as one,
Be robbed of Romance
And not begun?

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1988
(1st poem written in 1988)

As the dawn re-establishes its existence,
A due drop catches the twinkling of a fading star;
Magnifying the luminosity’s fragile presence,
Through internal reflections.

In time, the small condensation turns golden,
And compliments the beauty
Of scattered sunbeams along the horizon,
Such that, the radiance of life is augmented beyond imagination…

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1987
(5th poem written in 1987 – exact date of writing unknown)

Night falls…
Voooooosh… Da-Ping!
It’s thick mists of transparent black velvet
Envelop the earth’s surface.
It tenderly merges with all objects
Physical and spiritual,
And here,
Here I stand,
Cheeseburgers, French fries and orange juice in hand.
My mind wanders from the harsh outlines of the train station.
The termite ridden wood of the overhead beams,
Expels shavings as the wind rushes past exposed sections,
And the shavings…
Fall…
Fall upon me as snow flakes would.
Alas, they are unable to melt,
And stick to the wool of my jumper.
Very irritating this…
Very irritating!
Thus, as I was saying,
My mind wanders from the harsh outlines of the train station.
And dreams of the juicy tastes that will soon enter my mouth.
The spicy tomato source,
Easing itself over the B.B.Q. mince
And the melted cheese trying to escape from between the two buns.
The pickles tearing and squirting their sourness into…
But wait…
A light,
A light is approaching along the tracks.
And yes,
Yes, a train is attached to it!
An irregular racket precedes the standard non-chop caboose,
Clank, der clank, der clank, eee-k… eeeeee-k… splat!
And then,
The doors open – well, nearly.
        “Get your muscle behind that door handle lady, while I kick in this edging!”
Incredibly, the carriage has started moving,
But aren’t we supposed to be inside?
The lady hangs onto the handle.
Me? I find myself suction cupped to the door!
        “Hey”, I shout to the guard.
        “Nice evening”, he shouts back.
        “Stop the train!”
        “Oh… OK…”, der clank, eee-k… splat!
Doors are released – we crawl inside.
Cheese burgers, French fries and orange juice in hand.
Cheese burgers, French fries…
Cheese burgers?
Cheese burgers!
Everything’s still on the platform!
Doors slam shut.
Ahhh… Ahhh…
Tears begin to flood my eyes.
Oh the pain,
The pain of striving to be a Samaritan.
The pain of trying to convince your stomach not to commit euthanasia!
I take a seat.
Or, more correctly, the seat takes me as we jolt forward.
I gaze into the blank expressions on the faces,
Hoping to gain a sympathetic glance for my troubles.
Instead,
A paper plane hits me in the back of the head.
        “Who did that?” I bark in every direction.
A little Asian face pops up from behind a seat.
        “Allo…” it says
        “Me did it…”
What can you say?
I choose the authoritarian stance.
        “I want your name, rank and serial number!”
        “Huh…” he says.
        “Nothing…” I reply, exhausted.
        “Ni-ice evening is it?”
I glare at this unsupervised 5 year old,
My eyes are focused like a hawk’s,
My hands are itching to ring his neck.
And in spite of my obvious disdain,
He reaches into his pocket,
Carefully extracting two cotton covered,
Seven month old yellow jelly beans,
        And says, “Foo you!”
Oh… how I wish I had my own car,
Something to escape these cartoon characters!

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1987
(4th Poem written in 1987)

It began without knowing,
And the end is yet to come – what is life?

It is the pain, the gut wrenching feeling.
It is the laughter that needs no recognition.

It can be the most peaceful experience –
Like the breeze gently rocking the gum tree’s leaves.

Or – it can be ‘the noise’ which serves no true purpose,
But to tempt one’s hormones to tighten their grip.

It is the ‘once upon a time – lived happily ever after…’ story.
An illusion? Not totally – its reality lies in the extent we believe in it.

So where does it lead? Where does it end? No one knows.
The only certainty is that its resting place – is where one directs it to go.

And this, is not due to fate,
As some would have us believe.

Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1987
(3rd poem written in 1987)

He was but a sigh
Pushed past by the frenzied wind.
He was but a flicker
In the passing of incandescent light.

But his transient presence,
Served a purpose
Touching many souls
And sowing the seeds of self worth.

Much pain was suffered,
At no one’s expense.
Much was lost
Without them knowing.

No reward was ever given,
Or recognition bestowed.
No thanks, no handshakes
Or smiles of reflection.

He could have complained,
But never did.
He passed through life’s contracted seasons,
Ending in the sunset of a perfect summer.

Too simple a story for us today,
But simplicity, is still the strength of the world.
It powers life… powers purpose…
Powers the duality which is everlasting in the face of adversity.

Dedication (For A.B.Robertson at K.S.H.S.)
Audio Version (To Be Added)
Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1987
(2nd poem written in 1986 – exact date of writing unknown)

This caligraphy was created using old fashioned fountain pens and originally embossed the folder that housed the ‘Growing Up’ anthology – 1983 to 1990. I still have these pens but rarely get a chance to use them.

A lot has changed since 1987. I’ve been using programs like Adobe Illustrator and Adobe Photoshop to carry out font work like this, for over 12 years now.

Copyright © Vasilios Theodorakis 1987