My First Piece Was a Sonnet

My first piece of writing was a poem that was lost long ago along with my early innocence. My first memorable piece, which is still with me a few decades later, was a sonnet (The Yellow Afternoons of October) in honour of Sigmund Freud, who I was reading (studying) at the same time that I was learning Shakespeare. What joy and sadness from both! They are still two of my favourite writers. I received a BA in English and a BA in psychology, although the latter was not as rewarding as the former, since Freud was being brazenly bashed, mostly by individuals in denial. Interestingly, my favourite course ever, and I have close to twenty years of graduate studies, was titled Freud and Literature. Those were the days, and nights.

The Yellow Afternoons of October

I would have felt it, his Light, in my mind,

And a bright colour spectrum to and fro

Would have kept shining, shining, till a kind

Wind would have turned my senses into glow.

I would have waited for him with my heart,

And an admiration upon my face

Would have greeted his natural depart;

Beautiful agony after his trace.

If only I could, I would have done it:

Watched the beauty that shimmers October

In those yellow afternoons, and then meet

Him, Sigmund Freud, standing alone, sober.

I would have looked him in the eye to cry;

He would have looked into mine and known why.

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I have written a lot of poetry since then, and numerous essays and short stories, as well as several novels, but the sonnet still remains my preferred type of poetry. The Bard left an indelible mark in my psyche, and Freud taught me how to interpret it.

How to Write a Sonnet à la Shakespeare

Someone has to die by the end or not

If the maiden is still being courted

Death in the Shakespearean sense is sought

Although foreign words can be imported.

O Anthi* may be a good beginning

If your name is M* and you moved to Greece

There is a state of human imprinting

M is an example with love and peace.

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day

May not be a good start unless ’tis hot

To be or not to be may seem okay

Though you will patently think if you ought.

O Athens is certainly sensible

With Athena standing unbendable.

* Anthi and M are two protagonists in many of my pieces (poetry, prose and two forthcoming novels).

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How Not to Write a Sonnet: An Anti-Sonnet Sonnet

No one can die by the end or almost

Except for love that has to disappear

Who am I kidding? Come on crazy M

You have to compose another sonnet

Anthi is a good beginning, I boast

Whether I am M or some other spear

No rhyming scheme should be used to condemn

A somewhat quick way out is a nonet

No need to worry about Shakespeare’s ghost

Since there is little chance it will appear

To be or not to be can cause mayhem

So refrain and you can wear the bonnet

Greece will always be my home from now on

Anthi’s there and my future had been drawn

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Sonnet after sonnet I wrote and will write, covering both love and writing as well as the love of writing.

Life of a Writer: A Lonesome Sonnet

The often lonely life of a writer

(or typer) is beleaguered by tighter

instincts of impending doom unless love

or a muse come into view like a shove

Love lasted up until death did us part

Luckily, close to thirty years had passed

together like hands always clapping heart

knowing they will tire or death will make past

Memories materialise almost

every day and night, sometimes intruding

upon moments of self-mirth marrying

feelings and thoughts foreign to any host

A baby’s photo only illustrates

years are like seconds between spread-out dates

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To Write or Not to Write About the Past

To write or not to write about the past

May depend on the present and a day

What is a day in the scheme of things asked

Writing can span an eternity’s play.

To write or not to write about your lips

Especially about the tongue within

As it rolls around my mind’s heart’s eclipse

Where all my deepest thoughts tend to begin.

To write or not to write about Anthi

Is surely not a question but a view

To a thought knitting a sonnet for thee

In any afternoon you carried through.

To write or not to write, to write again

About your words as they temper my brain

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I have written many alexandrines, mantinades, haikus and tankas, as well as other types of poetry, but the sonnet and Shakespeare seem to govern in many other pieces.

Why Do We Write? Because Shakespeare Will Never Die

Some write because they have something to say

something to tell, something to reveal

Others write because they have to write something

anything in some instances

as if writing was like breathing

we have to breathe before we can write

as if writing was like eating

we have to eat as well

not as often as breathing

as if writing was like dying

we only die once

writers write at least twice

as if writing was like living

some write to live

others live to write

some live till they die

others write because they’re alive

Why do we write

Because we will die

Everyone dies

Shakespeare will never die

as long as To be or not to be

is written somewhere

even in someone’s genes

even as a tattoo on AI’s disguise

even as we stop writing and die

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Why Does M Write? Is This a Trick Question?

Two questions may constitute a great start to most conversations, although one seems to be optimal.

Why does M write? I mean me, of course, although sometimes I am not sure who I am. Only Anthi brings me back to reality. I have changed, for the better, so she thinks and intimates with her beautiful eyes and chest-filling smiles. I have a sensitive chest when it comes to anything Anthi. It is all in the chest sans le coeur (without the heart). I never liked cheap pumps (like mean hearts) and unmerited pompousness (like certain prophets).

M writes now because he has Anthi to acclaim from various vantage points, which he connects with painful passion. Love doth hurt no matter what Anthi presents. Even her feet can ballet-dance sans souliers (without shoes), yet his feet are those that ache. Luckily, the mind can compensate with the right stimuli, such as a meaningful moan or a long tête-à-tête. Το Μωρό μου (My Baby)!

M used to write to impress his Self and a few unsuspecting spirits, so he was told in a dream or a hallucination. He does consume cannabis every day to avoid so-called modern medicine: disguised butchery. Doctors (physicians, really) can be butchers and all are Latin spitters, and the Latin words were borrowed from Greek. All the roads lead to Athens.

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I always return to the sonnet, no matter what. C'est plus fort que moi (It is stronger than me).

Write Me a River All the Way to Greece

Write me a river all the way to Greece

There is no need for crying over me

For flowers I can only come in peace

They are blue and white within my Anthi

Life was never a long peaceful river

As it stopped too short of being cleaner

If in summer we can start to shiver

It may also mean humans are meaner

Why write anything at all if not true

As well-meaning words are flooded by lies

Specially that nothing is really new

Except the love that I see in her eyes

If not for Anthi, flowers still on trees

I would not be swaying in the Greek breeze

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Anthi Writes Without Looking at the Page

Anthi writes without looking at the page

Each word flows onto the place on the line

Most appropriate for it on the stage

Following a discrete predestined sign

Whether they appear in English or Greek

Her terms adopt olden rhythms and sounds

Dressing her divine beauty with mystique

Never leaving her steps circling the rounds

Anthi writes for herself but for me too

Finding new meanings on my lauding face

Our genealogical love of blue

Enables her to never lose the pace

I only write now to recount her art

From Ancient Greece to every other part

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Love requires humour from time to time, but not necessarily in the form of a sonnet.

How Many Writers Are required to Change a Lightbulb?

First make sure you are a writer

It may hurt a lot

even if you write every day

Just ask any honest typist or typer

You need at least one other reader

to become a writer

If you are about ten percent of Shakespeare

you are a writer

Shakespeare was God’s writer

Some consider that the Bard was God

Remember to acquire a lightbulb

A new one is usually smarter

Select the right socket

Call your muse for help

unless she is dead

If your muse is a man

you are not a writer

But Shakespeare was a man

Are you sure about that

Some scholars demonstrated

Shakespeare was a woman

If your muse is a plant

you better water her more than often

even if she is a cactus

The only other animal that can be a muse

is a female cat

meow for that

or a female river otter

For this one I am still a plotter

One writer then

One muse as well

How many writers

are required to change a lightbulb

Two

One to unscrew the bad lightbulb from the socket

and sit to write about it

One to screw the new lightbulb into the socket

get a coffee or tea and then write about it

It can be the same writer

at two different frames

The muse is a muse

She does not help with her hands

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A sonnet is a sonnet is a sonnet, but it can appear in many forms. It was meant to be sung, and danced. The Greeks do it best. While I am not Greek, I have lived in Athens, until recently, for over 18 months. I wrote two novels about Anthi and M, and Greece, of course. I love Greece for several reasons, but Anthi is surely my Olympus.

O Zorba, The Greek: An Acrostic Sonnet

O Pillars of Greece, Athena’s city

Zoning the remains of your past glory

Ordaining a stranger’s sphericity

Reacting to a God’s daughter’s story

Behind open horizons in science

Anti-establishment was M beset

Tying a few hearts in an alliance

Heading with flowers in a Greek duet

Entering a realm Anthi-filled with right

Galvanising anything seeming wrong

Reaching in for his and everyone’s might

Enacting together a famous song

Every figured pillar began to dance

Kanéna* is more than the eyes can glance

* Anthi's last name (coined by Anthi Psomiadou) in my writings.