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The Owl's Wise Eyes

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Earth

Agios Sozomenos 

Over the healing hills of Agios Sozomenos my grandpa Antonis would stand with binoculars for a chance to get a glimpse of his village Tymbou. Now part of the turkish occupied area, everything that once belonged to him and his family were lost…only left in blurry images to be viewed at a distance. The house my grandparents Antonis and Nikki had built, now belonged to someone else, the land still ripe with fruit now picked by foreign hands…but let us not dwell in the past. Let us start at the very beginning…the magic. Before Antonis was born, his father Demetrios owned very little, so little that his family had barely anything to eat. These were poor times, where people were forced to survive out of hard work and determination. Demetrios invested in farmland in his village Tymbou but the land proved barren and dry. Day and night he prayed for a miracle, yet nothing seemed to change. Despite it all Demetrios never gave up, his iron will always pushed him forward. One morning, while digging in the land, Demetrios stumbled upon something strange. It was a wooden frame, when he turned it over it was a silver-plated icon of Saint Marina. It looked very old, almost 100 years old or so. A strong believer in the mystical, he brought the icon back home as he took it as a good omen. That night, he had a vivid dream, a woman dressed in white spoke to him telling him to plant cotton in the land and that it would soon turn to gold, in return she wanted him to build a church in her honor. A few weeks went by…everything in a constant standstill, Demetrios prayed to Saint Marina and asked for help as he decided to plant cotton in the fields. In the coming months a miracle happened, the land prospered in cotton…leading to Demetrios receiving profit…business flowed so well that he soon hired employees of his own…leading to him buying more acres of land…leading to him practically owning most of the land in the village and becoming the richest man in Tymbou. He hired people with the kindness of his heart, offering them a stable pay and even food for their families. And in the land, the first piece of land he bought he built a church in the name of Saint Marina, a home for the icon he had found. This was a church later known as a miracle giver, people would pray to the Saint and give her offerings as she performed their miracles. My grandpa Antonis and his brothers inherited the land when his father Demetrios passed over, and kept it in prosperous conditions as they also had the charm of hard work, blessed with the gift of kindness. In 1974 everything was lost after the war but what surprises me the most is that my grandpa never ever lost his smile. It still shines bright to this day, his face is one of gratitude and grace. 

© Nicoletta 

Life is Life


©Nicoletta

Today, we lost one of my favorite people in the world, Mrs. Clementa. The sky was even crying for her loss today. She was a power house, raising 9 children on her own and working multiple jobs never for herself but all for those children. She could even scare the devil away, that woman was afraid of nothing. She peacefully left the world today and her memories remain with us, stories we shall keep forever in our hearts. This poem is dedicated to her and to all lives, which are so wonderfully precious. Cheers to our life then, let us live and keep on living.

Face of the Sun

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I felt her roots firmly ground me,

Morning dew

Washing the pain away.

She shied her power

With a humble smile at the Sun.

 

The light on her face

Healing forests afar,

A single seed of hers

Greeting seven generations to come.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

 

Photo by @hellenmangseth: Norway

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Skye

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Tears roll down my chin
Like the raindrops on my window.
How to describe this beauty
Oh Lord
I try my best to sink it all on paper.
The fairies song
Ring my heart awake
As I stare at endless green
Above me
Below me
Turning all around me.
I am the greenness of this place
The greenness is me.
The higher the hill
The freer my breath rises.
My soul redeemed
In the shelter of each turn.
My head rests
On the comfort of sheep coat.
My body unravels
The mysteries of endless castles.
My eyes fly in the arms of raven wings.
My feet ground roots into the earth
Becoming one with it.
I am forever this land
And this land is forever me.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo by Nicoletta: Isle of Skye, Scotland

Song: Lost Patrol- Big Country

City Dreams

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She woke up to the noise of the city
Bothered by the trouble inside her.
Like a traffic jam on a Monday morning
Her heart spilled with emotion.
Candlelight flickered on her bedside
It’s romantic haze drawing near to a close.
Show must go on.
Creativity sparked her senses awake
As if that was the only thing keeping her going in this world.
Midnight shackles locked her in dreams of facades and illusions.
Morning light she was alive
To be the person she was born to be.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

Photo by Nicoletta: Calgary, Alberta 

Song: Angela- Lumineers

Oh, Mother

Mother-Earth

In your hands I call the pain
To succumb to the tears
Of your rainfalls.
Oh, Mother
Forgive us
For what we have done.
Thousands of years
You have made this home.
And what have we done in return?

Mother, I breathe your air
In gratitude.
I bend down on two knees
As I thank you
For your trees.
I thank you
For all the blessings you have filled
In this beautiful land of yours.

Green and blue I worship you.
Mother, your grace
Joining us with the power of love.
Are we too blind to see
All that you have left us
Out in the open?

Mother, forgive me
For not praising you sooner.
The days birthing
My eyes awake
How could I have missed
That my skin and bones
Are one and the same as yours?

I thank you once again
And a million times more
For waking me up.
Mother, shake them all from slumber
To see how alive you truly are.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

Your Song

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Ringing in my ears

Is your song

The tune plays on repeat

Through thought and dream

Your song

Plays on repeat

On and on it plays

Greets me in the day

Tucks me in at night

I hear your song

On and on it plays

On repeat.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo by Nicoletta: Edmonton, Alberta 

Willow Tree

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Can it be True

If I were not me,

I would be you?

And Two combined

Three?

Underneath

A Willow Tree.

Our eyes would meet

Like once before

Tumbling times

Too long ago.

Where I was You

And You were Me

Not two,

But three

Underneath

A Willow Tree.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

All the Difference

Diverged in a wood

Two roads

Implanted in our genes.

A seed paints it’s

Own picture of destination.

The sun brewing

A beam of light

Steaming forth

Steps

Dragging dripping trails of mud

Along the way.

Trampling riddles

Shedding fragments of solitude.

Lonesome travelers

Stamping footprints

Of stories they once called companions.

Tales tailing their way into

The slippery tunnels tailored

By fashionistas,

Pinned by layers of dress.

Two roads.

One choice to make

He described

Never invoking a prescription.

Mercury running down a thin

Line of craze.

One slip,

A single cut of wrong direction

Crippling the skip of a mad hatter.

With a cringe,

Each lift of leg

Stinging its way onto the path

The beginning always,

Never the ending.

Finish line

A bird’s eye views the Exit

Far off in the distance.

Tempted to jump the hurdles

Reach the finale,

No longer can pretend.

A hint further,

In the steepest of the woods

There lies the One.

The One

Description.

Imagination prescribes itself.

A difference

Crafted in art,

Stagnated in the minds of

Endless dreamers.

An all knowing eye

Seeing the choice as wise.

A prophetic ray,

Slyly hidden in the seemingly gloom.

Torn between a choice of two.

With only the courage in their hearts,

The path decides their way.

Paving sight for those willing

To look with a direct precision.

Condemned to blindfold

Those shadowed by the mind.

They.

Those few

Took on the creative genius

Of a Bard.

To prove

Through stumble and fall,

Shaking off gravel of abrupt turns

Stepping steep stones of uncertainty

Lessening lifting loads of lessons.

That One

Dear Sir,

Though tempted by a curious few.

Does make all the difference.

 

© Nicoletta

 

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