Silent Fruits

The Gift of Appreciation

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.

Silent Fruits

Night rose to meet its bloom

All who played with it subtly died

But you were the exception

White in the garden

Brightening as night rose

You danced among the green

Highlighting the unseen

An elevated smile elected mine

As humble eyes slid to a close

Softly penetrating me to a close

Under the light of the moon

Synchronizing all as night rose


-Maria Grujicic-

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

Nameless World

Texture of his voice
Created interest
In a world I longed
to belong
I wondered
if I was seen
the world I wanted
to be
I wanted that
so much
I could burst
My heart ran
& my passion sang
As the words created a texture
An interest
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!

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.


The Guilt Of Loving You

Let’s talk about nothing in particular
I want to see how your mouth moves
I feel guilty loving you

My gaze drifts to a different place
In case we might be seen
I hide you in the enclosure of my life
A place where I can be free

By Maria Grujicic

This poem is part of my collection in my book,
Poems That Touch The Soul

The Reward Of Giving

Hand me downs
The gifts my mother returned
I gave with myself in mind
Years ago
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
Years later,
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.

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