In the 239-bus

a ride for holding on

by the seat of one’s pants.

The smell of cabbage soup

kiosk type wrapped food

of rancid body odours.

Hopping along in a rhythmic

Hancock-bounce over grey

cobblestones of a Viennese

road design tradition.

At Holy City’s stop the wale of

the sickened bus spews out

its entire content.

People rush like a shoal of fish

gape-mouthed into the open

past casual news stands

the familiar homeless paper


The sound of knocking shoes

murmuring conversation

singing of a female refugee

echoes through the access

tunnel connecting to the trains.

Catching the next U4 train to

the city’s core many will rush

Time: Two minutes to take-off.

At last jockeying past the slow

walkers has ended

finding a red seat in traveling

direction of this train

noting down poetic ideas into

the red moleskine notebook.

For a Saturday lunchtime enough

passengers travel

while the poet misses his usual

yoghurt treat from Nica

more so to study new angles

for her portrait

she’d asked for cautiously.

Today’s a solo visit at boesner’s

artist requisite supermarket

where one finds everything

needed to express one’s own art

but let the postman deliver the

yearly comprehensive catalogue

as Mona has encouraged the

artist who lives close to the poet’s


A fortnight ago she left the party

too early and the artist found

himself as a lost soul drowning

in the red cabernet-sea of loneliness

where he’d lost his conscious to

reality and painted with his soul.

He fell from the heavens of solitude

like a stone –

That’s how Icarus must have felt –

Falling onto a sea made of

tempered glass.





you are everywhere and

nowhere/ the song goes

it is as oir life is/ love/ strong

and present in the mind

projecting you physically

into my bed

that is wide and keeps your


stroking the imprint of love

tactile and wild

gentle and forever waiting

for you _

you/ who are the smile that

has been promised to me

by the poetess’ soul

the poetess’ breasts

the poetess’ desire to live in me

forever –

the sweetest curse that promised

love that’ll never end.

she cited: ‘for mighty is love

the neverworld its fervour’.

“i have to live it’/ she said

i’ve read your own citation and

it sent showers of anticipation

up my spine/ as if she’d help me

now with love/ as if she’d touch me

at my sacral bone/ as if she’d

want me to feel this act of penetration

i have fulfilled on her in love

as i’ve done so many times

in fervour.


zjg poetry’21.

replay of names

dukakis.sikakud/ doxiades.sedaixod

how good these names sound on a

dull morning/ aching joints/ humidity.

at times the sun comes thru’ with

a punch of halogen-shine

then again clouds gather rapidly

grey with weighted water content

ominous/ shedding some drops

saturated with dust and chemicals

to dirty the windows of rooms and

cars/ menial cleaning jobs for little

pay/ nobody’s keen to clean.

why the two names?

the first an actress and singer

the second a famous greek architect

both talented and only recognized

once they paid a visit to cerberus

and back.

twice the poet dreamed this

clearly saw their names lit up

besides the poet’s dad was always

thought of as an actor –

the architect’s home was crete –

the preferred island of the poet

the town of galos.solag/ still on

the back of his mind/ a flash of a


along the way of traveling the

island of mountains and the sea.


zjg poetry ’21

still moving

with a sudden flash the artist’s life

had changed

besides the general showdown by

technocrats and rulers of public life

the artist had to re-establish his groove

of creative moods

work at it steadily day for day.

there’s no problem working away

in solitude

yet meet your mate now and then

or perhaps a good friend

a potential soulmate

visit exhibitions of art

let art-history scroll past your eyes.

your assembly of experiences

hover like a blue mountain

in the mental landscapes

your mind will assist/ but you/

dear artist have to dig restlessly

and mine it.

for treasures will come to light

you’ve forgotten about: romance


eros with his never tiring arching

to get you still moving.


zjg poetry’21.


where are the friends of the poet?

whereto have the friends of the artist

gone to/ who has painstainkingly

rendered his drawings for a follow-up


there are many scared people

the fright of survival bulge from

their eyes

and the few who preach and live

positive lives

have faded into the parisian blue

of the spring skies.

still/ the artist finds hope in using

more quality time

to complete a series of drawings

he had conceptualized fsome years

ago/ they have now matured for

publication without censorship.

without the tin drum of marketing

it’s only for the truth searchers

the style developers

the adventureres in writing

and the lyrical crowd of the few

looking for inspiration and for


for those who can read with their

hearts and souls

not only thru’ their eyes and minds

the artist will carry on.



zjg poetry’21.

wishes from the heart

ευχες απο καρδιας,

για οτι ποθει η ψυχη σας –

wishes from the heart

for everything your soul desires.

she said in conversation

with words chosen gingerly

the way we would come close

the time our souls would meet

a tactile experience had already

been decided on

some time ago

the poet recalls laughs and banter

at the boesner lounge

where the human touch could still

be felt

then/ togetherness at a lunch date

exchanges of interest in art

she sponsored me to carry on

my work: ART & LOVE

soon be finished as one of the great

lyrical poetry book in text

with many drawings this poet

had done durung the years –

as one step closer to a better poem

another step closer to a better drawing.

love has been there already

before the poet had placed the words

toward it/ step by step.



zjg poetry’21.

wide open again

a friend’s page wrote on facebook:

“eventually you’ll end up where you

need to be/ with who you’ll meant

to be with/ and doing what you are

meant to do”.

i share her thoughts in this regard

as a poet/ writing my journal poetry

day for day/ being inspired by suc

fine notions

besides i have opened up my heart

and have experienced love wide open.

for many years my heart had been sealed

of to feelings

with tons of pain and sorrow

having lost a true beloved one

praised in poems/ novels/ short stories

and elegies.

now/ as the aftermath of the passionate


and having scaled the high road

of creative success

that had been slowly cleared up

it’s time to reflect about my art concepts

bring to fruition all the sketches of art

and ideas of lyrical poetry

share it with all art lovers and friends.



zjg poetry’21.


in any relationships at times

one of the partners in love

just as in crime/ disappears.

in the circle of artists it is

ever more delicate

due to a geometry of triangulation

that rules over one’s emotional


the ebb and flow of inspiration

at its peak of success

opposed by the dark shadow

of destruction/ quite often from

the lips of a ghosting jealousy

partner in crime of the shadow world’s

members/ aka pilferers of art

sneaking into exhibition spaces

claiming selective pieces

as there are no watching drones

alerted to neutralize the culprits

somebody called the military arm

of the leaches of society. crash!

somebody crunching a watercolour

screech! it’s the slicing of a canvas

but these are also acts of artwork’s


built into the presentable frames

the new direction of art presentation?


perhaps a grand effect for the moment

of a work under the hammer of an


the art enthusiast will pick up the pieces

uncrumble the paper

re-establishing the sliced canvas as a new

diptych/ triptych/ multitych.

this’ the eternal repetitive circle in our

western culture

however/ art derives from able

if it would be from want it’ll called wable

art from abilities

tra from wanting.



zjg poetry’21.


can you see the sorrow behind

my smile/ the love behind my

my anger/ and the reason behind

my silemce?

as stated to trust only somebody

who could! the poet muses about

this quote by Love Wide Open on


perhaps his muse could/ or so

he may often had the feeling

deep inside him that she would

have that sixth sense/ so often

talked about –

especially if a poet had met

a potential soulmate

who cares about his art.

i’m blessed/ he muses/ as life

still may hold one or more surprises

in store for him

building-up a last ditched effort

for seeing thru’ a year of waiting

for a chance of exhibiting his art

an undertaking already been given.



zjg poetry’21.

pink moon

who is this woman?

calling with a short breath’s consternation

in midst of a snowstorm that turns out to be

white ash from a hydrogene bomb trial

in the atoll.

of course for the militarist

she’s just a replaceable person

and she doesn’t matter.

for the humanist/ the artist/ the poet

her life is important and she has not deserved

to end thru a nuclear fission

and its aftercauses of contamination.

And so these happenings continued


from the chenobyl disaster to fokoshima

japan –

and the world still carries on with

such madness nation clambering

for ownership of joining the nuclear

league of ruling the world thru’ fear.

who is this woman?

calling in the midst of a furnace-like


that explodes in her heart

and she sends her mind to join the


who’ll write down their dialogue

for years to come.

is it the muse who had a sudden

call of duty to serve her patients?

is it the tragedy of ageing that dulls

and confuses feelings

and pushes libidos to the back-burner

of life’s kitchen?

it is patience and endurance

during these testing times of forced

indifference between humans

that’s needed/ the muse stated

donating paper and pen to the bard

during this pink moon state of mind.

a lafontaine drawing block for the


with a set of rotring fineliners

to create works of art.



zjg poetry’21.

naked lunch

he has not yet hada good look into

the depth of her eyes

but recalls quick glances at a luncheon’s


she had set up celebrating his birthday

no 81/ he shook inside hit by a quiver

that ran down his spine.

what did he make of it?

she/ with crystallic-blue eyes

offers him friendship

he took wholeheartedly.

reflecting on her appearance :

her skin like porcelain

his eyes searched for her breasts

she kept hidden below her wide


although he senses generous sizing

in indicative outlines.

she rises quickly to serve some

french baguette and cheese

the artist in him is stirred by her

full-moon derriere

reminding him of an ernst fuchs

sculpture called erotic goddess

with strong feet her shapely body

well supported and the artist wishes

to study her most imposing nude

he tells her

but she would still shy away from

that notion

taking instead portrait fotographs

of the poet/artist in different

positions she asks for.

would she also take image-snaps

of his nude?

one day/ the poet muses/ one day

they will have sessions of drawing

their nudes followed up by lunch.

naked lunch?


zjg poetry’21.