Headache


Head made up of weariness
and hollow steel,
do not resonate my small memories

Honoré Daumier:The headache
Honoré Daumier:The headache

in your cracked walls.
Head moored in double blankets
for a few rainy hours,
do not emerge from the half paved dream
the rhythmic drops of patience.
Head addressed in the guilt
of future misdeeds,
do not rant with unintentional grin
for the present successes.

Chris Nasios

Original Version of the poem “Headache” written by Chris Nasios in the Greek Language and can be found right underneath

Πονοκέφαλος

Κεφάλι καμωμένο από κούραση
και κούφιο ατσάλι,
μην αντηχείς τις μικρές μου μνήμες
στα ραγισμένα τοιχώματά σου.
Κεφάλι αραγμένο στις διπλές κουβέρτες
εδώ και λίγες βροχερές ώρες,
μην αναδύεσαι από το μισοστρωμένο όνειρο
στις ρυθμικές σταγόνες της υπομονής.
Κεφάλι απευθυνόμενο στις ενοχές
μελλοντικών παραπτωμάτων,
μην κομπάζεις με ακούσιο μορφασμό
για τις παροντικές επιτυχίες.

(XIXXI) Parallel Universe


Night which do not flows
Clock’s indicators cut
Frozen smiles
Tears stopped on frozen looks

A Parallel Universe by Cellarvee
A Parallel Universe by Cellarvee

Laughs wordless
Solitude
Black blood, like this night
Time that does not float
Persons who never existed
Motionless bodies
Standing in the street
Waiting
Yelling, but not heard
Looking at you, but you do not see them
Ruins
Sound off
Cries implied
Images from dreams
In eyes, forgotten
Alexandra Zevgiti

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

Tannery


The secrets of friends
Showed their dirty breath
at the old tannery
their smell stuck on the sticksαρχείο λήψης
nailed on the roof
so as not to fall and hurt the heart
the secrets of friends!
Saturday night
devastated area
they came by taxi
in the neighborhood
with a lame dog
looking in the garbage
there was not anyone around
to gather strays
secrets of friends
and I am sitting sceptical
on a soft pillow with a compalsion
supposedly I have nothing to say for my life no more!

Sofia Piperou

Original Version of the poem “Tannery” wriiten by Sofia Piperou
from a collection of poems named “Tannery”
Βυρσοδεψείο

Τα μυστικά των φίλων
βγάλανε τη βρόμικη ανάσα τους
στο παλιό βυρσοδεψείο,
κόλλησε η μυρωδιά τους στα παλούκια
τα καρφωμένα στην οροφή,
μη πέσουν και πληγώσουν στη καρδιά
τα μυστικά των φίλων!
Σάββατο βράδυ
ερειπωμένος χώρος
ξεπρόβαλλαν με ένα ταξί
σε παλιογειτονιά
με ένα κουτσό σκυλί
να ψάχνει στα σκουπίδια
ψυχή δεν υπήρχε τριγύρω
για να μαζέψει τα αδέσποτα
τα μυστικά των φίλων ,
και εγώ καθόμουν σκεπτική
σε μαξιλάρι μαλακό με μια συμπόνια
τάχα δεν έχω τίποτα να πω για τη ζωή μου!

Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as 'Sodeia',  'Bacchic' etc. Sheis managing the blog 'poetry and literature' since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled "juvenilia night words."
Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as ‘Sodeia’, ‘Bacchic’ etc. Sheis managing the blog ‘poetry and literature’ since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled “juvenilia night words.”

The Fate of the Poet


Remorse dressed in black
in the lush field of my dreams
slender women eternal painted with lipstick
with necklaces, gifts in the chest of time
handing newborn feelings.
And this woman with the purple scarf at the waist

Franz Marc
Franz Marc

different kind from the others seems to me
embroidered on the edge of the scarf, an E
that I interpret as the hope
but it is known that people die
and slender women age
eternal painted with wrinkles.
The youth always mourn the old age
the pale life, cries for death.
Forgotten should you leave but better young!

Sofia Piperou
Original Version of the poem “The Fate of the Poet” written by Sofia Piperou
from a collection of poems named “Tannery”
Η ΜΟΙΡΑ ΤΟΥ ΠΟΙΗΤΗ

Μαυροφόρες τύψεις
στον καταπράσινο του ονείρου μου αγρό
λιγνές γυναίκες αιώνια βαμμένες με κραγιόν
με κολιέδες χαρίσματα στο στήθος του χρόνου
μοιράζουν τα νεογέννητα αισθήματα.
Κι αυτή η γυναίκα με το βυσσινί κασκόλ στη μέση
αλλιώτικη από τις άλλες φαίνεται
κεντημένο στην άκρη του μαντηλιού ένα Ε
που εγώ το ερμηνεύω ελπίδα
μα είναι γνωστό πως οι άνθρωποι πεθαίνουν
και οι λιγνές γυναίκες γερνούν
αιώνια βαμμένες με ρυτίδες.
Τα νιάτα πενθούν πάντα το γήρας
και η ζωή τον θάνατο ωχρή πως κλαίει.
Λησμονημένος θα φύγεις καλύτερα νέος!

Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as 'Sodeia',  'Bacchic' etc. Sheis managing the blog 'poetry and literature' since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled "juvenilia night words."
Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as ‘Sodeia’, ‘Bacchic’ etc. Sheis managing the blog ‘poetry and literature’ since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled “juvenilia night words.”

Show


See thus my youth
On the road came out
and now how they are gathered lazily
in a cloth they were set up!
Here
A five-hour showencaustic_art
with no break
a homeless dream
that cranked is falling
falling in a carton
and frozen is breaking
My youth on the ground
On the road they died
and they are picked from there
From those who spells were doing!

Sofia Piperou

Original Version of the poem “Show” Written by Sofia Piperou
“Show” is from a collection of poems named “Tannery”

Προβολή

Δείτε λοιπόν τα νιάτα μου
στην αγυιά πως βγήκαν
και τώρα πως μαζεύονται τεμπέλικα
σ’ ένα πανί στηθήκαν!
Ακολουθεί
πεντάωρη προβολή
με διάλλειμα κανένα
ενός αστέγου ονείρατου
που λυγισμένο πέφτει
πέφτει σ’ ένα χαρτόκουτο
και παγωμένο σπάει
Τα νιάτα μου κατάχαμα
στην αγυιά πεθάναν
και τα μαζεύουν από κει
αυτοί που μάγια κάναν!

Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as 'Sodeia',  'Bacchic' etc. Sheis managing the blog 'poetry and literature' since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled "juvenilia night words."
Sofia Piperou The pepper Sophia was born on 24-07 of 1991 and lived till her eighteen years in Nafplio .Since then lives and works in Athens She is a graduate of Primary Education department! SHe has participated in many poetry contests and short story contests as well! Her works have been published in many electronic and printed literary magazines such as ‘Sodeia’, ‘Bacchic’ etc. Sheis managing the blog ‘poetry and literature’ since 2013 and has published her own poetry collection entitled “juvenilia night words.”

Life is Like a Dream


Life is like a dream
And we are caving inside of it

Life is like the magical water
That we drink it eternally to survive

But my love, what is life without you?

EYESTRANE
EYESTRANE

Without you, life is like a voyage in the eternal ocean
Water everywhere
And you are thirsty
You need it
It will save your life
Water
But you cannot drink it
And you are slowly dying

And if life is just like a dream?

If it is a dream
Hold it tight by his hands
Not to leave him ever alone

And because it is a dream
And eventually it ends
Just look him in his eyes
And then he will understand how deeply your love for him is

Alexandra Zevgiti

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

The Stumble


It was one more ordinary day as always. A day, that he would woke up at seven o’ clock in the morning, would wash his face with cold water, would hastily drink a coffee, would dress up in a hurry, with one of his pair of jeans and one of these unforgettable sweaters that his mother had made for him, and have stayed for years in the closet, would take a look to see if his grandfather was alright and if he sleeps peacefully in his bed or have already opened up the TV and being informed early in the morning, about the mess in the country and finally would take two trains, one suburban and one subway, to go to his work at Marousi.
He arrived in the family business, where he worked as an IT operator – apart from all the other things he was doing for the business – at nine to ten. Always punctual, always right. On time. The big boss was there early in the morning as always. His children usually arrived lately, from ten o clock and after that. He said good morning to the big boss, who smoked a lot and drank Greek coffee, being as usual moody and with a long face, but he got no answer. He sat at his desk, opened the computer and started working.
He did not understand how time passed. It was half past ten a.m. It was the time that the daughter of the big boss entered the office. She had at least the “courtesy” to say good morning to him. She always said good morning to him. Hey asshole, how is it going eh? Good morning! Have you printed the e-mails? Do we have any new order?
He often thought that her father had spent a fortune for her studies in England. Bachelor and Master’s degree in Economics and so on and on. But she never obtained manners though. He thought of his own father, who spent a fortune in women and card games. He was prone to passions and addictions, spending in general. He never spent any money for his son’s education nor care for his current plight. He spoke with him rarely and by pretending that everything was fine, in the phone. He had now grown old and lived alone, widower for five years now, in the province with his pension. And so his son never went to college, nor had “typical” qualifications. There was no “Certificate” in his hands. The only qualification that he had was what we call simply ‘experienced’. In that way he struggled to survive.
We had an order. From the state of Bironas. He replied to her and immediately printed the relevant email. He marked with bright color the background information for her. They wanted everything printed. They burned down whole forests, and put many papers into huge binders. They did not care. They had money. After a while her brother also appeared. He was along the same lines as his sister as well.
Good morning. Is my father inside? He was always smiling ironic and not respecting anyone. He only feared his father that he had the money and made the shots. He was not counting anyone else.
Yes … he replied. He’s inside his office.
Go and tell him that I arrived, but I will leave again so as to go to the bank.
And so he did. He could not do otherwise, anyway. He got up from his chair and headed for the boss’s office that was at the end of the corridor. Before having made five steps, suddenly and without realizing anything he was sprawling on the floor with his face down. He didn’t even have a clue of what had happened. He had stumbled somewhere? Stepped on something? Did he slip over? But where?
No sooner that he even stood up and searched for the cause of his fall, he heard hysterical laughs. It was the boss’s son. He burst into the laughter because of his fall. He was staring at him, waiting for him to get up. Just to see his reaction.
For God’s sake! He had stumbled him! Oh well! Wasn’t he supposed to go to the bank? How did he get back there, and why? When did he managed to go from the other door to the hallway? Did he lie about the bank? Was it true, but before going to the bank he wanted to make some fun? Why he stumbled him? Why did he stretch his leg like that, while he was hiding behind the door? What’s for him to blame? Were they children in the primary school? Maybe in the context of his duties, also was a jester’s service.
His sister also arrived soon. What have happened here? Ah well you both are total animals! And she laughed with the well-known ironic style of the family, while she was doing the masturbation gesture.
He stood up without speaking, without protesting, without making any comment. Fortunately he wasn’t injured. He swallowed it and returned to his office. He continued his work as if nothing had happened. Embarrassed. Embarrassed against himself, against his grandfather who hosted a forty year old man in his house. For a moment he remembered the past. He was married to Olga once. For ten years. Having no children. They divorced. Just like that. It wasn’t getting anywhere. He never saw her again. They lived quite well then. He had his own business. His own business with men’s clothes that left him flat broke. Fate had ruined him back then. He returned briefly in the present time.
We had a second order. From Piraeus this time.
And what are you waiting for? Print it out and bring it on here! The daughter said.
And the day passed like that. As always. He was there in front of the computer and the bosses, both younger and older ones, identical and unchanged, sometimes carried on by nerves, sometimes disparagingly, sometimes sarcastically, and that day also tripping.
It was almost noon. He was getting hungry. He took the toast with cheese and tomato that he brought from his home. The son entered the office. He had indeed gone to the bank. After tripping him. After the joke.
I was late but it was crowded. I also went to the tax office too. Crowded and there … Hey! Your salary! Take it! Count them. Six hundred euros. Take them and spend them well…
It was 25th of the current month. Payday. Fortunately it was always consistently. Six hundred euros. He looked at the son, he said shyly a “thank you” and looked intensely at the computer screen once again.
He finished his work as always, at five o clock. He got again two trains to go home. One subway and one suburban. Before returning home, he passed from the supermarket to shop some necessary things. He opened the door of the old ground floor apartment in Ano Liosia and saw his grandfather watching TV sitting in his armchair in the living room.
Good evening. I brought you, your favorite cookies. The round ones with the chocolate chips inside. Let me make you Turkish coffee as well like the way you like it. He asked him tenderly waiting his the positive nod.

Marina Apostolou

You can flnd the original short story written by Marina Apostolou in Greek Language right underneath

Continue reading The Stumble

There is Nothing Left for Us


A cold season,without life
A vacant look, darkened
A cheap love, fallacy of eros
A hug without wings

Fake Love Painting Acrylic Prints - Post Modern Intimacy I Acrylic Print by Alison Schmidt Carson
Fake Love Painting Acrylic Prints – Post Modern Intimacy I Acrylic Print by Alison Schmidt Carson

Everything is nothing
Or maybe nothing is left for us
Everything is fake
Like the eyes I dreamed of

A speechless time, without voice

A love of a thousand crumbs
A hug without a price
Everything was just a dream
There is nothing left for us

Alexandra Zevgiti

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

The End Of Us


To deny any thoughts of her…
turning back time
laughing with the funny moments
moments…
wondering where did all of these go6a00d8341cce2253ef0147e22c797d970b-500wi
joys with sorrows
the loves and the quarrels
Efforts…
But yes, the efforts!
For something impossible
the elusive
the impossible
Difficult thing romance my little one
wants sacrifices
wants fights
wants you to be here for me and me there for you
you to be with me and me to be with you
But yes my little one
I know, I kicked you out of my world
A world that you can not
you cannot stand…
Because my kind of love tightened you
ringer was my love
and you got lost a beautiful afternoon
because of the end I gave myself
Dust our love my little one
Dust ….

Michael Moustogiannis

Original poem “The End of Us” Written by Michael Moustogiannis in Greek Language

Το τέλος μας

Να αρνείσαι κάθε σκέψη της…
να γυρίζεις πίσω το χρόνο
να γελάς με τις αστείες στιγμές
στιγμές…
που πήγαν άραγε όλες αυτές
οι χαρές με τις λύπες
οι έρωτες και οι τσακωμοί
οι προσπάθειες…
Μα ναι, προσπάθειες!
Για κάτι το αδύνατο
το άπιαστο
το ακατόρθωτο
Δύσκολο πράγμα ο έρωτας μικρή μου
θέλει θυσίες
θέλει αγώνες
θέλει να είσαι εσύ εδώ κι εγώ εκεί
εσύ σε μένα κι εγώ σε σένα
Μα ναι μικρή μου
Το ξέρω, σε έδιωξα από τον κόσμο μου
Έναν κόσμο που δε μπορείς
δεν αντέχεις…
Γιατί η πολλή αγάπη σε έσφιγγε
κλοιός η αγάπη μου
και χάθηκες ένα όμορφο απόγευμα
εξαιτίας του τέλους που έδωσα εγώ
Σκόνη η αγάπη μας μικρή μου
Σκόνη….

Εν Ιωαννίνοις
16/11/2014
Μιχαήλ Μουστόγιαννης

Michael Moustogiannis is a student at the Faculty of Philosophy of the University of Ioannina. Born and raised in the heart of the Peloponnese, and in particular Tripoli Arcadias. From a very young age he was depressed in writing and reading poetry and literature.He is one of the first members of the Literatology team and he is contributing either his own poems and stories or even many articles that he loves to write.
Michael Moustogiannis is a student at the Faculty of Philosophy of the University of Ioannina. Born and raised in the heart of the Peloponnese, and in particular Tripoli Arcadias. From a very young age he was depressed in writing and reading poetry and literature.He is one of the first members of the Literatology team and he is contributing either his own poems and stories or even many articles that he loves to write.

Andromache Street


She looks him in the eyes. She cannot take her eyes of him. Even if he doesn’t know what he is saying, within his delirium. It is not obvious what she likes in him. Incomprehensible with what he pulls her close to him.

Only the three of us have stayed. They are now in the center of my frame. Shadows, more than human beings.

The station deserted. The whole town deserted.
Moonless night. The darkness gets inside us.

Two dogs are ripping a mattress in a park. The two of them sitting in the terrace. He wants to drink more, and she is trying to prevent him. In vain. His stubbornness hasn’t left him still. Suddenly, he gets up to leave. She gets up and starts to follow him.

My journey begins.
I remember my love. We have lied on the pebbles. Proudly trees would send us the “Hail” and willingly meadows, in the seduction of the wind, with flowers we have left in our path. My beautiful eyes, my world was created for you, and how can I even forget you?

A bottle breaks, and the pieces of it reaches me. Silent laughter, she is still in his side, and always look him straight in the eyes, the night deepens.
I’m on the seabed. I have uninsured my eyelids and I can hear the sound from your big seashell. My body doesn’t exist anymore. A coral that doesn’t move, I am standing here waiting for you, my love.

And now voices that turn to screams. The sky is ripped in two! Heavy words, countless hordes are coming upon her, really, for how long he had well hidden his words, terrible words that break her heart, words of no return, but still bears. Her castles are collapsing, one by one, she insists, there upright still.

Andromache Street. At the traffic lights. Boldness without wisdom is destroying.
Silence. Only his breath to fizzle like a horse’s, now frantic.

And she? Her eyes that did not stop staring at him? What is she going to do?

She said nothing. She only caressed his hair. A faint smile, that didn’t stood joy than sorrow. And then she turned and disappeared into the black night.

Lefteris Deverakis

You can read the original short story written by Lefteris Deverakis in Greek Language right underneath

Continue reading Andromache Street