A hero of our times - a poem by Chris Zachariou

A beautiful young woman

My imagined life:

All the photos in the hall
football games in the park on Sundays
birthday songs and squeals of laughter.

The mind of a tortured genius - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Symbols of Societal Conformity

The crazed painter dips his brush
into the hues of his squalid mind.

He pours his twisted visions onto the temple walls—
putrid green to drown the lamb,
red and black for the demons dancing on the towers.

Mary Magdalene - a poem by Chris Zachariou

My love for The Son of Man and Christianity as a way of life is infinite, however, I find it impossible to believe in a metaphysical world.

This poem is my own personal view of God, Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Please do not continue reading if you are easily offended or intolerant of other peoples' views.

This poem is largely inspired by the novel 'The Last Temptation of Christ' by Nikos Kazantzakis.

Mary Magdalene

My Lord, my life is yours. Since I was a little girl, I’ve lived for the day you’d come.

When I was but thirteen, and you fifteen, both almost children, your gaze sealed my fate. You held my hand and spoke strange words I'd never heard before, words I would never hear again. Then you pressed your lips on mine! I kissed you back, a child's kiss—innocent and chaste—yet we both sensed we had crossed forbidden boundaries.  You caressed my hair, our lips met once more, and in a daze, you breathed in the fragrance of my aching breasts.

Consumed by fear, you fled—a trembling soul possessed—stumbling and collapsing. I wiped your brow and cleansed your mouth, yet each time you quivered like a startled dove. I wept and beseeched Him to release you, but Jehovah, a cruel and jealous God, ignored my child’s pleas.

Seven sins came riding from afar across the Galilee knocking on my father's door. He cursed me, told me I was the bride of Lucifer, and commanded me to leave his house.

Since then, a red light burns in my window, and countless men defile my body night and day. I lie on my soiled bed in this room of shame with my face to the wall, feigning love’s cries—a love without love. Bites and scratches mar my flesh, and my tattered scarlet gown, always open to all the colours of the world, forever reeks of the stench of shameful sex. I search for you my Lord each night in all the insatiable mouths and in all the vile hands crawling on my thighs and breasts, and even though each morning I scrape and bathe in myrrh, the smell of paid-for sex still lingers in the air.

My Lord, all the nations of this earth have passed through my bed. I’m tormented, scorned, and shamed. I'm abused and always sold to the highest bidder, yet I'm still that little girl, unsullied by any man, waiting to be your beloved bride.

And now, you knock on my door, and you walk in with downcast eyes blushing like a virgin. You bleat like a lamb and call me sister, you say my shame is your shame and you tell me you want to save me. But tonight, I don't want sainthood or your God. Put out the red light, fall into my bed, and save my flesh. My soul will not tarry far behind.

The Migrant's Journey - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Distressed Migrant Mother and Baby

Our homes lie in ruins

and our daughters are abused

by the soldiers of a corrupted faith.

Children are forsaken by the angels

and mothers with babies yet unborn

are drowning in the darkest seas.

Talk with me - a poem by Chris Zachariou

loss

Talk
with me.

Silence!

A taste
of darkness.

The wedding song - a poem by Chris Zachariou

A Frida Kahlo-inspired Wedding

unblemished

the rose blooms
on the bridal bed
with no other chart

to guide her but
for the chart of love

The Moon Child and the Fairies - a poem by Chris Zachariou

moon child

the moon down beats a beat
on her shiny skinless drum
she beats a tune with without a beat
on her drum without a skin

and the fairies lure
a moon child to the forest
with red berries

The Sound of Christmastide - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Cyprus refugees 1974

Swarms of locust
shade the midday sun;

they burn the trees
they devour the dove
they rape the land.

“The Archangel is dead,”
the town crier whimpers.

The Moon Child and the Angel - a poem by Chris Zachariou

moon child

impish fairies
bait the child
with handfuls
of red berries

‘don't eat the berries’
cries her father
‘don't eat the berries’
begs her mother

Bacchus and Ariadne - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Bacchus and Ariadne by Titian

Bacchus dressed in
skins and fine purples
comes riding to the shore;
debauched and sinful
he craves the willowy nymph
drowning in a sea of lilies.

Flowers for Leonard - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Leonard Cohen

Thank you

for the beauty
the word
and for the song

the wisdom
and the light

Aberfan 1966 - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Aberfan 1966

an avalanche
of death slid

down the mountain

crying..

screaming..

choking..

voices fading

The Virtuous Owl - A Poem by Chris Zachariou

A studious young girl

Our wise goddess, 

you craved sainthood

but doubts racked your body.

A tortured mind, 

you lived a sinless life

in your books and abstinence.

The Half Moon - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Picture of a Young Hippy Girl

I drifted to The Moon
last night looking for my life.

Mister Barman if you please,
a bottle of your best red
my ghosts will soon be here.

You smiled - a poem by Chris Zachariou

I sprinkled

stardust

in your hair.

You smiled 

and I was lost.

A brutal war - a poem by Chris Zachariou

A Brutal War

We fought a bitter war

a war of sheer brutality.
She, with bows and arrows 
and I, with songs and wine.

For you - a poem by Chris Zachariou

I carved a poem

on the moon for

you then tethered

it on fertile land.

Gongyla - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Sappho

I loved you in the passion

of the summer months

yet the kiss of March

still danced in your eyes.

You smiled; I was beguiled.

Desire swelled inside me

and fever burned my loins.

Notes From Andalusia - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Lorca

In Alfacar
under the melancholy shade
of a cypress tree, the guns are resting.

The poet is dead.

Breathless in an empty coffin
he laments Ignacio.

Riding on the wings of lemmings - a poem by Chris Zachariou

butterfly

Damn propriety,
I want you in my bed tonight.

Take off your long black skirt,
unbutton your pristine blouse
and I shall crawl inside you
like a beast possessed.

Why not? - a poem by Chris Zachariou

loss

Friends?
No.

Why not?
I still love you.

Mary's lament - a poem by Chris Zachariou

My love for The Son of Man and Christianity as a way of life is infinite, however, I find it impossible to believe in a metaphysical world.

This poem is my own personal view of God, Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Please do not continue reading if you are easily offended or intolerant of other peoples' views.

This poem is largely inspired by the novel 'The Last Temptation of Christ' by Nikos Kazantzakis.

Mary Magdalene

You knock on my door,
and bleating like a lamb, you
call me sister.
Fall into my bed, blow out
the red lamb, and save my flesh.
My soul will not be far behind.

Mary's story - a poem by Chris Zachariou

My love for The Son of Man and Christianity as a way of life is infinite, however, I find it impossible to believe in a metaphysical world.

This poem is my own personal view of God, Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Please do not continue reading if you are easily offended or intolerant of other peoples' views.

This poem is largely inspired by the novel 'The Last Temptation of Christ' by Nikos Kazantzakis.

Mary Magdalene

The softness of the girl

the hardness of the boy.

We kissed—

a touch, a sigh, a whisper

and my fate was sealed.

The troubadour - a poem by Chris Zachariou

I go back to that

graveyard where all
my dreams are buried—
a prison in my head
I made to keep her;

A life looking at the door - a poem by Chris Zachariou

You are my memories
when life was strawberries
and cream in June, of scars
and wounds unhealed and of
unending days of sadness.

A very serious altercation - a poem by Chris Zachariou

a beautiful butterfly

A fragile child with bruised wings

you found refuge in the caverns

of my troubled mind.

I kissed your broken hopes

I warmed your broken wings

and prayed to the gods

that you would never leave me.

You dazzled me
with a splash of bright colours
then tried to shock me
and demanded my response.

A coupling of minds, we fed
each other's need for loneliness.
At ease —we both knew
we were never destined to be lovers—
we revelled in the sin of happiness.

I was terrified.
Strike out first, push the button,
wreck, destroy.
Banish this deceptive dream.

I plunged into that pit
and painted all thoughts of us
on the walls in black.

How I miss your song.
Your face is now a prisoner
trapped in a hopeless screen.

I wonder, did I ever really
know you or was I just
a stranger in your brilliant life.

I put my head above the parapet
and look at your happy world.
I speak to you but you stay silent
and I sink back into my lonely life.

Till we have built Jerusalem - a poem by Chris Zachariou

The White Cliffs of Dover

Cotton fluffy clouds
sailing in clear blue skies
English roses blooming
in perfect English gardens.

Perfect English oak trees
rooting to the Magna Carta
in this perfect English village
with its perfect village green.

Atthis Abandons Sappho - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Portrait of Sappho

I'll always love you Sappho,
my love of yesteryear.

A graceless child you thought me
but you took my hand and loved me
with a kind of love that burned.

The Migrant Song - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Syrian refugees

in boats with broken masts
they come looking for a manger
but our inn is full tonight

the inn we built
on the skull and bones of Africa

Sappho and Anactoria - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Sappho

Sweet Cyprian Goddess!
A wise fool, yet I did not see
when lust was turning into love.

I must die tomorrow - a poem by Chris Zachariou

My love for The Son of Man and Christianity as a way of life is infinite, however, I find it impossible to believe in a metaphysical world.

This poem is my own personal view of God, Jesus, and Mary Magdalene. Please do not continue reading if you are easily offended or intolerant of other peoples' views.

This poem is largely inspired by the novel 'The Last Temptation of Christ' by Nikos Kazantzakis.

Death on the Hill

Lover of the wife;
father of the child;
seducer of the bride.

All my life, you tortured me.
The father I love, you crippled.
Now he splutters in the corner—
a voice without words.

Rumours of your sainthood - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Reflection on the Quay

A stranger's face leaps

out of the looking glass.

In a panic, I peel
the layers searching for
the girl I knew, the girl
with the flower cotton dress.

I thought of you - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Love - Alex Stoddard Photo

I wandered into the orchard.

I saw blossom on the trees

and I thought of you.

I wandered into the meadow.

I saw a butterfly and a rose in love
and I thought of us.

I wandered into our street.

I saw you at the window

and my heart was filled with joy.

Dreams beyond a poet's heart - a poem by Chris Zachariou

beautiful butterfly

..Menelaus's Lament

My beauty queen,

on your knees before for your King.

My clothes are made of denim—

and my shackles are made of love.

Your long black skirt is made of silk—

now take it off and lie down.

Death of a dream - a poem by Chris Zachariou

lilies

You feed me slices of Madeira cake,
I roll two cigarettes and pour us mulled wine.

When the wine and the cigarettes
are done, we go down to the rocks
and dance to shy cicada love songs.

Nitah - a poem by Chris Zachariou

Love's Timeless Blossom

Once upon a time
when we were almost children…

Do you remember walking in the park?

A merciless queen - a poem by Chris Zachariou

cruel butterfly

With a simple brush stroke,
the master painter builds for you
a castle of vast rooms with high
shelves all stacked with silent heads.
You always sought to live in such
a weird world of silence with a moat
of angry words around you.

Every time I come to you, you scream:
"There is no room for you in my inn."
But why do you leave your door
unlocked at night, can it be that you
really miss me and maybe neither of us
wants to be on our own tonight?

I devour with a poor man's hunger all
the poisoned words you shoot at me
each day from across the pond and gorge
on them with a rich man's greed.

Why did you summon me to your court today?
I was certain the next time you’d meet with me
would be where failed poets go for shelter.

Admittedly, my provocation
was thoughtless, I sinned against the meter!
Can you not forgive me though and pack me
off to art school in Vienna?
After all, you prescribed this for another.

Casualties are mounting high,
hostilities have never ceased and so far
you have refused all my offers of a truce.

Look out of your battlements, I'm on
my way riding an old steed, my armour
is getting rusty and the only gifts I bring
to you are the words of a jaded scribbler.
We both knew one day I would return

braving your moat and high walls.

You broadcast to the world I'm simply
an inconvenience, and that you are happy now.
My merciless young queen, I never had selfish
ambitions for you like that, I like you too much
to want to make you happy, and you know
how much alike we are, both blessed with sharp

wit and the precious gift of loneliness.