Beetles That Cry

On your way home with some friends you notice a lady bug on the floor and a wasp lying next to it. You don’t know what to make of the coincidence. Two insects side by side on the same train- what are the odds? One of which is injured and can normally fly away. Not to mention- sting!

Nevertheless, the lady bug stays dutifully next to the injured wasp!

Worried, the beetle would get stomped on, you help it up onto your finger. Your friends have a laugh about it- you play along. Who would actually admit to helping an insect? There are millions of insects, why worry about these ones? One of your friends picks up the wasp with a plastic card, examining what might be wrong with it.

Finally, you gently put the beetle in your bag on top of some things, hoping no one would see. You don’t want them to think you’re crazy! You figure that if it is clever enough to enter a train full of busy people and survive, the odds would be better in your bag. You want to put it in the garden once you get home and so you hold your bag ever so gently.

You recall hearing that lady bugs bring luck and research some more. You found out the lucky person will then succeed in love, have good weather, experience financial success or simply receive some other desired wish. You get excited! Click here to find out more.

But now you wonder about the wasp. Your friend left it on the train. Should you have picked it up as well? This idea prompts you look up the symbolism of wasps and find this quote!

‘You are being reminded that simply thinking about your dreams will not make them a reality as quickly as going out and doing it. Make a plan, keep working towards it and let nothing get in your way. Perseverance, desire and action are what is called for. Apply your passion to the reality you wish to achieve!

Alternatively Wasp is letting you know that resistance to change is by definition self sabotage. It’s time to allow yourself the notion that all things are possible, and that you deserve to have all your dreams come true. Be the best you can be!’ Read more on the symbolism of wasps here.

The wasp was injured. It didn’t ‘fly into your life’ like the article describes. So what does that mean? You wonder now if the lady bug was feeling sorry for the wasp, like it was trying to save it.

Are you going crazy? No, actually this is the preparation for a new poem, and can’t wait for the weekend to have the head space to figure out the puzzle.

A few months ago you had a difficult time and recently you’ve been having some good luck. You’ve settled into a wonderful environment, enjoyed all that you do and you love the creative energy in your life.

But superstitious you can’t help wonder what the wasp might mean?

Coincidentally Maria Grujicic’ latest book has a red rose on the cover, with a white silk background. You wonder now about the symbol of the red rose. It’s special and after looking everywhere, the poet couldn’t find any other flower like it. The ancient Greeks associated the red rose with Aphrodite, the goddess of love.

‘You give a red rose to show love and passion, people who you have great respect for, and those who have shown great courage.

Burgundy means unconscious love, dark crimson is used to show mourning. A withered red rose is used to show that the love is over. A red rosebud symbolizes youthful love and beauty.’ Click here for more on roses. So you must be careful with the choice of rose!

For her book cover, Maria Grujicic used a bright red rose, which means love.

You have a theory about the meaning of the wasp you found but for ethical and personal reasons you keep this to yourself. Also, it’s not about you. In life, we need to let go of the things we can’t help, to help ourselves. You’re a happy person but have for a long time allowed others to affect your feelings and life direction.

Although you achieved a lot in your life, so people say, you’ve never been satisfied because you were doing more for others and leaving yourself for last. Familiar story?

Ever since you identified this, you’ve allowed yourself to move on. The provocations of your life prompted you to write differently. Your work is more intimate, revealing, and deep.

You enjoy writing poetry because emulating life, meaning becomes clearer as the themes go deeper.

The lady bug reminded you of Maria Grujicic’ poem ‘Beetles That Cry’. You gave it this title because of the emotions that are kept inside, that are trying to be released. Do beetles that cry? You wonder. Now you want to go back and read the poem at a different angle to see what comes.

The Grandmother I Never Met

The Soul I Want to Keep

What I do know about my grandmother is what my father always told me. “You have her voice, you have her eyes.” She had style. I saw a photo of her published in a book. She was posing for the camera in the most distinguished way with my grandfather next to her. I stared at the old photo hard, trying to see some of her personality that I could take away with me. I dearly wanted to know her and perhaps learn more about myself so I created her in my mind.

My grandmother was just 15 when she met my grandfather, who was much older than her. It was illegal to marry that young in Greece so they went to Marce, France. So the story goes.As a baby she sang to me. It was over the time we visited Greece. I have the vision of her cradling me in her arms and it won’t leave my head. Tragically she died young. She had diabetes and for some reason did not care for it so it spread. The doctors needed to amputate her leg because it got infected and she died because of the loss of blood.

If you ever visit the island of Kalymnos, you will find a statue of a woman holding a ‘laina’. She is the symbol of strength for the island. The woman worker who prepared the house. She gathered food, dealt with household chores and cooked for the family. How interesting that in such a male dominated culture a woman is the symbol of the island. She’s interesting to me because of her beauty, strength and grace. Likewise, my grandmother is highly spoken of and my grandfather who was great in his own way, seemed to be her shadow.

The Pull of A Spiritual Bond

Chasing My Roots

Kalymnos Independence DayI look and act like my grandmother. She is the one I hold onto. She is my dream of who I want to be; graceful and kind with a thorn by my side, that allows me to breath among human kind.

I remember her, I have a kind image of her. A young woman, the reflection of a mother of the past. Living a life of the now, holding onto that while everything else is destructive and in ruins.

The tension love holds, the veins I hold in place and the heart I guard for dear life. Oh how it plays in my mind, that thought I left behind in the anonymous land I love.

Every time I visit Greece I’m immersed in emotions that haunt me in beautiful ways. I yearn for these feelings when I am far. Do we all feel a spiritual bond with a specific family member? Or is it just me? Are my genes so strong that they are pulling me in her direction or am I over-romanticizing the thought?

I ventured abroad 10 years ago to find my roots as I searched for clues to my identity. It’s a funny ole thing to do because one might think they they already know themselves. But I needed to search my past and it wasn’t because of untold stories. I was drawn by my past spirits.

A home will always have this power of attraction. The problem was that I was pulled between Greece, the origins of my family and Australia, the place I was born and grew up in. The power of this pull eventually came from different directions as I made my home in different cities of Europe. And attracted me so deeply to Paris.

I have family living in France that I never met properly. I’ve seen them once when a few members visited my aunt in Kalymnos. It was the first time I heard Greek spoken with a French accent. It was delightful and I pondered about visiting them. But what would I say since they are now so distant? And besides, the bond I have is with my grandmother.

When I visit Greece again I will search for the photo of my grandparents and add it to my post.

By Bike To Australia & Back

Inspiration of Greece

By Bike To Australia & Back

A story of poems that illustrates a continuous beginning. Fresh and anew again and again. My poems are about absorbing the world around me with a pencil and paper in my hand. The way I see my life and the lives of others as I build my own outlook. There are poems for every mood in each chapter, sequenced like a story. A story of every day life, love, family and travel.


The Romance With My Art

A Portrait In ParisOh how I yearn to learn the language and live in France one day. Paris is the place for artists. It’s where one goes to create, to be appreciated, to discover and to be discovered.

Paris was where I had my portrait done and where I returned again and again for various reasons in my life. When in doubt, I turn to Paris.

The last time I was in Paris I danced! I wrote my impressions and formed them to created poetry. I love being with my arty friends because they don’t see me as weird. They yearn to have their senses challenged in the same way as I do. I talk to them about my ideas and I can see in their faces that I’ve triggered something. They speak with no words and I then know I’ve created a spiritual bond. Just like the one I have with my grandmother- perhaps?

Poems That Touch The Soul

“Sometimes we need to step away from our immediate surroundings for all to become clear and find truth.” I started writing to introduce my poetry book. Included are color photos of our dance adventure in Paris. If they give the same impressions as my own, you will experience unexplained emotions that can never be replicated or told again.

I continued to write, “This is true for myself. It is how I came to write my poems as I realised my subconscious love and passion for dance. My varied life experiences at home and abroad led to self-discovery and a realisation of a life of dance that I have always led that relinquished my disappointment of lack of pursuit.”

I explain my nomadic life and it is this life I have led in the pursuit of finding my artist self, the spirit of my grandmother.

“Life is dance, and without dance there is no life, and love for these are inseparable. I’m a dancer and poet at heart. Two inseparable art forms, one soul. “Poems that touch the soul & don’t adhere to the pattern of life”, refers to a nomadic lifestyle that lends itself to reach the unexplored self. This is an art form, one of its kind because it can dance and has always danced. It unites strongly through poetic philosophy that delves into ethical boundaries, aesthetics, education and love. A concept that encompasses and revolutionises a soul. It becomes true in its purest sense as every word put to paper is felt by my heart and a final breath celebrates creation.”


A Poem

This poem illustrates the journey of finding my artist self through my grandmother of whom I’ve never met. I can feel it.

I do have her voice, I do have her eyes. And what more, I have her name ‘Maria’. Traditionally girls are named after their grandmother in Greece. I chose the name Malena which represents my artist self.

The poem is published in my book, Sudden Clarity. Last night I created an audio for this poem just so I can share it with my readers.


Colors emerge with age
Rusty browns and creamy whites
Classic and timeless
Up to the present day

Poise and stance romanced
I searched for the thought in my head
Like an apparent fate
That raced to catch the bait
Only to return home instead

I went in search for you
I found you
And ironically returned without you
Hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
The torture runs again and again
as you,
The thought remains in my head
To let go of it
And free it
Is a symbol of love
for it
Freedom of self,
Alongside it
A vision of self
Within it
Is a hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
for it

And there she was
I saw her from afar
She was
She was
I looked back
And there she was
I saw her below
She was
She was
And I thought that was me
I saw her near
She was
She was
Enclosed in a city
High buildings
Like walls
She was,
In a coffin
I saw she was

It was a coffin for me
It was

Like the flowers he gave
She froze
The frozen flowers,
He gave
Like the photo
She took
Long ago
For preservation
Of the love
He gave

A curse
That buried her head
In love
they were
Two decades apart
they were
She unlocked her heart
It was a place
He buried his head
To rest
And watched
The times
People walked by
Without a care for a soul
A heart, a body
When it grew old
And youth, a past
A curse to bear
Use her, describe her
Find her!
She called
Malena was her name
Paris, France
Was her ultimate aim
Ich habe eine kofer in Paris,
Was her claim

I might be related to the Greek Australian journalist John Mangos!

Did you know that I might be related to John Mangos?

Whether it’s fact or fallacy, I’ve been told this all my life. Before I changed my maiden name, people asked me ‘Are you related to John Mangos?’ all the time!

“John Mangos has had a thirty-six year career in journalism, the past thirty-three years in television. He is currently a news presenter for the Seven Network and is a regular guest on the Sunrise and Morning Show programs.”

The Family Member You Feel Most Connected To


Imouna Meraklou!
She cried
I’m doing this for you!
She cried
For your youth, not mine!
& my woes of a lost life
Failed pride
Absence of essentials
A mattress is all I have
& I sleep with a ritual for company
It’s not about me!
She cried
I live for you
But without you
Kind words fail dutifully
Sifting through clothes & jewelery
A mother and daughter
for company
Relevant only upon death

By Maria Grujicic
Copyright 26th February, 2013

Meraklou is a woman who has style in life and fashion. It’s a word in Greek and knowing this will greatly help with interpreting the poem. This is a fatal end, though I assure you happiness is set in disguise. :) As always, likes are appreciated and impressions are most welcome. Feel free to ask questions, as long as it is respectful, there is no right or wrong in poetry.

A Letter To Mother Earth

Dear Mother Earth,

The day my soul was given a name, was the day I was taken away. Like a caterpillar, with one aim, to grow… change… fly, and find you again. Dying alone is delicately defined as dying in a loveless tone. My deepest fear isn’t the inevitable act but the unpredictable, lonely journey.

Oh if only I could have you near. Though, only … When love is still warm in my heart I can die.

And so I’m alive, I cannot stop until I find It. It keeps my light sparking the trail. It lifts me up high. And when it’s time to die I don’t feel alone with my beautiful memories. I sleep with my friends. Details are beyond my reach, but the feelings hold my peace.

I can smile. This is my Truth. It’s true because it is in my thoughts. I can feel It with all my heart that pumps the warmth through my blood. I’m dead in my head.

Sweet dreams,


This is a letter from Venus to Mother Earth in my first novel, Do It Like A Dance. Read it like a poem.


My Undying Love

It was you I saw from afar
an angelic phantom
I needed not the magic of sound
to feel the beating in your heart
it trickled and flowed,
it caressed my soul
and in time I became soaked in you
The softness of essence appeared,
dripped slowly into the years
I grew old with you
Upon death
The candle remained in my head
You were the living light
You weaved yourself deep in my soul.
In the half-light you were my whole
In full-darkness
words appeared in your ever-lasting glow,
your gentle words encompassed me about
They held me closer than close
Upon death
I could smell your melting eloquent scent,
feel your softness
& life of the unknown
I am speechless
You are my gift
Forever you will be
My living breathing beauty
who showers the heavens above
with sparkling light,
Your sublime presence and anonymous love
Has enough for everyone

By Maria Grujicic

An Anonymous Star

But know what it is in your mind
This is the key to unleashing
the wretched disguise of patterns
in daily life
I write and keep writing
This is what will remain of me
after I die
With a set of clues
Only to anonymous eyes
I place my soul in my own heart
& I will always have you
When I feel the rays of the abundant stars
Your words will always live in my head
Your body and mine will always be
This is the love I have
for an anonymous star

By Maria Grujicic Copyright 2012

I’d like to introduce you to a Serbian singer named Toma Zdravkovic. An unknown, Toma Zdravkovic started singing in a pub. You know the kind, a smoky room full of people, entertaining them while they drink, smoke, chat, laugh.

Memories of The Last King of The Pubs

He was inspired by women, alcohol… He grew up in a very poor village and started singing ay 15 years old. Because of poor and bad life he decided to go and move to a town close to his village. Frozen on the street he came across a female singer, Silavana Armelvic who took him to a pub close by the street.

Afterwards he went to a town called Tuzla and he spent 5 years in one hotel making the party room full every night.

A friend brought him to Belgrade and he got a job. He met his first wife in Novi Sad and he had one daughter. He got a divorce. His first love sent him a telegram in a hotel in Novi Sad that she was very sick in Bosnia. He decided to spend time with her up to her death. After that he wrote a song called Buket Belih Ruza, in English Bouquet of White Roses…..

He had cancer and the doctors told him he had only a few years to live. After I learned of him, the words of his life touched me so deeply, a sadness crept up on me.

Why didn’t I know of him sooner? Why didn’t I experience his magic? But a reply in my conscience realized his soul lived on by the words he left behind. The video alone one can view and sense the atmosphere that radiated through his charisma, his voice was like a touch that said all will be all right if we can live this remaining life together.

Toma Zdravkovic said in an interview that the pub was the place for his performances because it was like a theatre.

A unison of famous people joined with him at this pub, entertaining. Watch them in the video. He was an unknown, an anonymous star, he touched their soul, and he expected nothing more from that but another night of the same.

At the end of the night after everyone left he found some unknown to give all his earnings to. Incredibly it took him 15 years to produce his album. 15 years battling cancer, and other challenges life brings,  he wrote all his own songs.

He felt humiliated performing at first, he was laughed at in his first performance because he was so shy. About 5 per cent of the world population knew about him, people in a pub who loved him. He carried on and after 15 years he produced his album and he was on TV, and shortly afterwards he died of the cancer that he battled up to that point. I was further touched to find out that he had cancer of the throat.

I dedicate this poem to Toma Zdravkovic. The man I never met but touched my soul. His story alone, his music, his stance, the emotion in his eyes that he pulls away, seemingly hidden away, touching souls by his voice, his music.

It has been said that my poems touch souls, to reach the unknown, not to reveal the mystery of life, rather, be immersed in it. At times I give up. I had a spell of not writing for months, but after some soul-searching with Toma Zdravkovic I was presented by an answer.

There are those that battle to be rich and famous, and those that battle each day just to do what we love. Give me a chance of another life again and again, and I’d choose to pursue my passion.

The story is based on word of mouth because I don’t understand the Serbian to interpret his interview. If some details aren’t correct or if you have more information about Toma Zdravkovic please let me know.

The poem is part of my new poetry book titled, Poems That Touch The Soul.


The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. Anaïs Nin


Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
This is the world
According to us
Play the life
They command
Complexes mix
Head in the sand
A place
One cannot hide
The bush once was
Was left behind
My escape
The skies were all I could see
My place, My identity
It was true, once
A graveyard lurks beneath
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
This is the world according to us

By Maria Grujicic (Artist name Malena)

This is of a spirit that roams lost, and unable to find home. If origin is lost, there is no direction for destiny. Lately I am preoccupied by a pointless industrial development that plans to go ahead just across from where I live. The problem is that the beautiful bushland will be torn away, and what’s more, a sacred Aboriginal burial site and meeting place will also be buried.

If you’d like to help, no matter where you are in the world, please sign the following petition.

Thank you for listening.