17 March 2018

anxious Times

that anger shivered like an autumn leaf
as the angler celebrated his pyrrhic victory

paths diverged to opposite sides of the day
and wounded by the barb


I glimpsed backwards don’t you know?

to a strut, to a stroll,
to a cup of coffee
and a plaid mother

08 March 2018


Snowdrops in snow
An anthology of them
At the clearing the wind howls
Its sound spins, repeating itself

Fantastical visions — snow falling
A light brushing your passing stroke

I reach for spectacles: the world howls now
Colourful, less placid more silent

As I observe the plant’s growing habit  
A petal gets detached brave snowdrop
The stem pierces earth 

Long ago it broke through ice

Crowded snowdrops in bud in snow
One page, one, one page

02 October 2017


Nature isn’t graceful. Beautiful or fearsome it twists us in knots; let us then be sinuous
as a thunderbolt is, as a riverbank, the limbs and twigs ‘neath our flesh, as meaning is — not easy but sinuous

I saved up all I was, hadn’t done, not yet killed, forgotten games I had played, and whose fine afternoon unravelling by the book, both taking both, then you unceasingly perfect, we sinuous 

Sparkling butterfly, sylphlike innocence ensconced and rising lissom on lithe greenery, to you I write. Rose butterfly observe my inkwell: it’s not empty. The dagger’s tongue is not sinuous

At early blue, hope is at its weakest: perhaps a slow fall, silent the conscious drowning. Desired hope stays to mix with the day’s sweat and salt, to be inhaled in the lung, to proclaim: beloved, we fearless, we sinuous

Aged from time and weather yet defiant still to what is no:
I am carried to fire in a foreign hearth, a chambered forest, light blooming at night fragrant and sinuous his curls sinuous

I accept everything, I accept nothing. That yes, that no, that something: poetry like love is and isnt resurrection — does it change opinions, bring a change of heart? Lament and celebration, poetry and love: involuted, sinuous

13 September 2017

Images 3

This mountain
Stone beyond war
Enduring stone
At its foothills I live

I plait thread for lace making
Winding it in spools
Filigreed designs I’ve yet to wear

Evenings I gaze at the summit
Slowly it melds with night indigo

Such hours I long to hear your voice
a vine fragrant
beads of waterfall upon the parched

As I wait for you 
if you'll arrive I imagine
dappled river gleam 

tales of wild things nurtured in your solitude
tapestries of mosses
a unicorn roaming sleepless

And I rest quiet upon the unknown.

Ana Kyriou
13 September 2017

31 August 2017


I pick one up and score

each pole circling — but not too deep
I draw crescent moons
cutting superficially, merely grazing the orange with my blade

Tough skin

From slight incisions
dimples turn fragrant
at a moment’s notice or when the time is right

Peel it, taste

moist orange orange
lips and tongue, saliva and sweet juicy flesh all one
my green scent for love


postponement takes a knife to desire
unless I’d rather not
because I pretend I’ve forgotten how

Crunching the fruit, a crunchy orange