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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
Happy solitude.
Waterfall of dreams crashing
upon my heart's gates.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
A new poem was born.
Its cry, flash of wild lightning
rips through winter’s howl.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
Gospel on my desk.
Birds chirping their happiness.
Dawn knocks on my door.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
A star has fallen
a brush of light
that painted
a little corner deep
in the firmament
before it turns
into dark.
A dream that vanished
before it even became
a glisten of wish
a bud that withered away
before I study it
or it was just a breath
which sacrificed itself
for other breaths
and shone like a Sun
before it unites itself
with the Infinite Being
the 'Ancient of Days'.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2013
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
A lizard rushing
to hide. Scorching sun. I can't
hide from scorching needs.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
New born poem snowing
its flakes on my sunburnt heart.
Great expectations.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
The minstrel and the rubbish
To a homeless in N.Y., who had a guitar to keep him company
But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.
(Matthew, 23, 11)
The rubbish was blown aside
by the arid marching of the wind
leaving the whole street clear
for the minstrel who was crooning
his latest composition
to the street’s dream-recipients,
while the voltage of the wind
was going down at intervals
under the burden
of the unexpected stave.
The night was watchful
- you’d say she dreaded –
lest she bumped into the chords
and crush their solitary waving.
Breastfeeding music the minstrel
was opening up new pathways
to the question marks
of his melodies.
Me, what was I then
I still haven’t found.
Wind, rubbish, onlooker
or something else?
The minstrel ’s mute audience,
the rubbish, transcended its nature
at Time’s attendance register
and, after all, it would not
have always been rubbish
and some of it would have had
its own illustrious past, too,
and it must have known
what it means to have
eyes that leave Love
as a map to find them back
and warmth that has left,
as a memorial,
its fleeting past,
with Hope
as its one and only stamp.
All alone the minstrel,
homeless with his homeless guitar
housed his trivial dreams,
under the yoke
of the obese city’s wind,
in his Heavenly Melodies.
(translated by the original ‘O ???a??d?? ?a? ta s???p?da’, by the poet, from his book of the same title.)
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
A heart ajar
a dream half seen
in a chest
whose lid was
quickly fastened.
A heart ajar
a smile half
delineated
upon a flake
of snow
which in
no time melts.
A heart ajar
a long beautiful sentence
whose verb
never dared
to come out
in the light.
A heart ajar
a poem half read
before you reach
its climax
and touch
its heaven.
A heart ajar
a love
drawing near
like a ray of sun
you try to catch
but will
always flee.
Love
and it may
open,
though.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
Sliding is the twilight
into the silence of the sea.
A multi paged book
calling for me
to milk its poetry
verse by verse.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2013
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Vassilis Comporozos Poem
Summer solstice
A new born poem.
The cock heralds far and wide
the dawn of this day.
Copyright © Vassilis Comporozos | Year Posted 2012
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