This is a poem dedicated to inspiration that bloomed from a party, of all places. I haven’t written for a while. Did I drift to laziness? Hibernation? Down on confidence? A mix of these and more? The theme for the night was mirror white and we all dressed in white. Silent fruits relates to the quiet, unnoticed seemingly little things we do for people that are actually quite fruitful. Instead of ‘flowers’ I used fruit, of which stem from flowers. I won’t give too much more away but the fact that love is quiet, unobtrusive and unseen until it touches us unexpectedly. Impressions welcome and a gift.
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
I 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
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
Oh 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. It was where I had my portrait done and where I returned again and again for various reasons in my life. When in doubt, I always 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.
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.”
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
The thought remains in my head
To let go of it
And free it
Is a symbol of love
Freedom of self,
A vision of self
Is a hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
And there she was
I saw her from afar
I looked back
And there she was
I saw her below
And I thought that was me
I saw her near
Enclosed in a city
In a coffin
I saw she was
It was a coffin for me
Like the flowers he gave
The frozen flowers,
Like the photo
Of the love
That buried her head
Two decades apart
She unlocked her heart
It was a place
He buried his head
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
Malena was her name
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.” http://www.johnmangos.com/biography
Texture of his voice
In a world I longed
if I was seen
the world I wanted
I wanted that
I could burst
My heart ran
& my passion sang
As the words created a texture
of a world
I found myself
This is a poem that caresses the soul
By Maria Grujicic
Copyright 26th February, 2013
I know I’ve connected to my soul when I have written so much. It keeps me true to who I am, a poet! Please let me know your thoughts, don’t be shy. I love reading the comments and appreciate “likes”. If you could build texture for your ideal world, what would it look, feel, taste, sense, sound, smell like? Keep on dancing!
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.
This is a letter from Venus to Mother Earth in my first novel, Do It Like A Dance. Read it like a poem.
Hand me downs
The gifts my mother returned
I gave with myself in mind
In idle youth,
My mother’s gifts
mirrored the woman I always wanted her to be
grace, beauty and womanhood
I coaxed her with the possibilities
A life she deserved but sacrificed for me
Relevant only now
I opened my eyes
When gifts became hand me downs from my mother who recognized
I gave a part of me
She kept me preserved and new
Sorted in scattered bundles all over the floor
The dresses, skirts and accessories
My mother had no occasion for
My reward and anguish of giving to someone who sacrifices
Is a lifetime of hand me downs
to my mother who holds my memories
I’m at her mercy
It takes courage to write honestly
When one is open to the unknown
Though I do
because happiness is a habit I try to share
upon a swift turn of my head and a glance
Who would have thought
I finally wore the clothes a real woman was born to bear
By Maria Grujicic
This poem is dedicated to my mother, the most giving soul I have ever met. Like every giving soul people do take advantage, but even so she is so beautiful that it doesn’t seem to affect her. Her goodness lives on in her, she has grace, she has virtue, but she has her true self. She has lost her youth but she is still alive and strong. And she gives this power to me.
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
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
words appeared in your ever-lasting glow,
your gentle words encompassed me about
They held me closer than close
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
It’s OK to breathe
The wind will catch it and play
I won’t misinterpret the indication it creates
It’s a symbol, a part of you
that anyone can manipulate
It isn’t you
By Maria Grujicic
This is a poem part of my new collection, Poems That Touch The Soul. I titled the book this way because I am often told by people that my poems touch their soul. They do the same for mine as I write them and read them again and again.
I have a few more that I wrote and haven’t shared just yet, I haven’t had the courage to publish them on my blog.
Let me know if you’re a poet, what kind of poems do you like? I find most of my readers are anonymous. This is OK.
It takes courage to write, and honesty isn’t always the best way because it isn’t easy to write honestly when one is open to the unknown.
This is why I love deeply the simplicity of a poem.
A poem is like philosophy, open to interpretation. Or at least, this is my view. It has eternal, timeless and universal meaning to life. My poem, It Isn’t You illustrates this thought. Do you see it in the poem?
The number of kisses differ
with each daily dose
It has to be so
for an authentic glow
in her cheeks
in her eyes
She leaves unforgettable replies
to be seen, to be felt
is the cause of variety
An authentic glow
unforgettable replies are left unknown
by the spices of daily life
Written by Maria Grujicic
26th December, 2012
This poem describes an authentic kiss and the kiss itself as an authority on the daily spices of life. My poem addresses kissing experiences, what makes them unique?
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.
Afterwards 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. My poems are designed to touch a soul, 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.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. Anaïs Nin