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A touch

At the smallest pit

I knelt to drink

a drop of faith

a clear solution

But I couldn’t touch

how could I bare

a heart of lonesome

with just dispear

Though all intetions

have been so pure

there was no limit

to stop the need

A fear to dive

all in the deep


Beyond the sea

A bus. A little blue bus stopped at her feet. And she jumped in, no second thought. “I’ll take you to another world miss”, driver said. At the back there were three pale girls with freckles and orange hair. A boy with big green eyes was staring out the window at the park. A couple was holding hands, like they were afraid to let go, not to lose each other. The driver turned to her again, “Is that all right miss? Are you comin with us?” She nodded affirmative.


Parts and pieces

On the street, she was all alone. She was wearing black on top. And a blue dark pair of jeans. She had her hair up and her eyes looked big. Like she hadn’t slept all night. Like dragons were chasing her all night. And she was running to hide from them. Unable to fight them back.

She was standing. Her hands crossed in front of her. Like they could protect her from the cold. She hadn’t thought about the weather. Only the color. She couldn’t find the right colors. So, just dark, black.

A pale white was covering her face. Only the two red cheeks and the brown fiery eyes could make you believe that she was still there. She was facing the street. The cars going. One way street. Going.

She was looking around, but her gaze was lost in her own images. Every now and then she would breath deeply a taste from the freezing air. The tree above her head still had green leafs on. The lights from the display windows and the street lamps were giving shapes to the pavement.

She gasped. It was unexpected in her silence. And the serenity her figure was exuded was trapped and gone at once in the tears. Silent tears, but all so loud. And her hands clenched around her torso, trying to keep her self one piece. The fingers looked like they were gonna get through her flesh.

But then, she took another deep breath. For moments she was just taking air in. And it was like her whole body and existence filled with strength again, with life. She wiped the tears, not to cold her cheeks any more, and raised her eyes straight. Looking at the moment.

She kept walking. Like she never stopped. Only she knows now about it. She can only say if she did, or not stop.


You take a path you used to know as a kid. You used to hate it. You were always trying to find another way to get there,at the top,were you could see the view. But you didn’t really care about the view. You didn’t wanna climb all those steps to get to the top.

But now, the steps are the best part of the route. Your cheeks are all red and your heart is jumping in your chest. And all you’re waiting for are those final hundred steps that will make your legs burn and your breathing sharp.

The view is beautiful. Your clear mind though makes it even more worthy. You feel your body in harmony with the warm weather, the blue sky, the sun that sets behind the mountain, the little waves in the sea. You are free of your panic about tomorrow for a moment. You are ready to start all over again, everything. Make a new beginning. Make things right this time. Pin the smile on your face.

We learn to love the paths we disliked as kids. Because they show us different things. Things we see with different eyes. We didn’t really have panic and anxiety in our hearts when we were little. No need for a break of the routine. No need to get away from all the things troubling our minds.

So now we walk, we even run, fast. We climb those steps two by two. We look forward to that moment of freedom. It’s a short moment but, what I love more is the memory of it. Until I take the way back up there again the next day..

Give us a little love

We get/have/take/feel: borne, raised, fed, school, languages, marks, exams, anxiety, failure and disappointment, success and joy, university, google, ideas, dreams, lost, wondering, facebook, needs, money, work, routine, same, same again, same again, money, needs, emptiness, despair,  boredom, tiredness, no dreams, no energy, no faith, no life..

missing clue: love

Love is an emotion of strong affection and personal attachment. In philosophical context, love is a virtue representing all of human kindness, compassion, and affection.

Fallulah – Give Us A Little Love

Where do we belong, where did we go wrong
If there’s nothing here, why are we still here?

It’s another time, it’s another day
Numbers they are new, but it’s all the same
Running from yourself, it will never change
If you try you could die

Give us a little love, give us a little love
We never had enough, we never had enough
Give us a little love, give us a little love
We never had enough, we never had enough

Pour it in a cup, try to drink it up
Pour it in a well, you can go to hell
We’ll get it on the way

Where do we belong, where did we go wrong
If there’s nothing here, why are we still here?

Leave it by it’s pain, leave it all alone
If I never turn, I will never grow
Keep the door ajar when I’m coming home
I will try, can’t you see I’m trying

Give us a little love, give us a little love
We never had enough, we never had enough
Give us a little love, give us a little love
We never had enough, we never had enough

Storm children

Sun and then..rain. Big, heavy, cold and fierce raindrops. They came fast. They were reflecting the light, shinning like crystals. They were magic. They washed everything away. And then they hid the sunlight behind their curtain.

They disappeared in the soil as fast as they appeared from the sky. Everything was clear. Everything was clean. No dust to hide the bright colors. No smell of rotten leaves. No insects flying in the air. Clear. Fresh. New. Vibrant.

A cold rush in thunders and the sound of millions and millions of tiny unities touching the ground. Black clouds loaded negatively. The panic under the pressure of the sky coming closer and the water drops soaking the clothes to the flesh.

It’s the summer showers. Unexpected. Unpleasant. Necessary. Sacred. Blessed.

Angus & Julia

“Be my lover, my lady river, can I take ya, take ya higher”

This is a song for a girl I met next to a river at a festival in the US. I liked her very much, but I couldn’t stay with her and she couldn’t come with me. So, I wished I could take her away on a Big Jet Plane..” Angus

Just a few meters away from the stage, sited on the floor, we were singing along with Angus about his lady river that smells like daisies..

She smells like daisies..

With open windows the sun and the aromas of acacias were jumping in the car, playing around on our hair and eyes. Carpets of tiny daisies were spreading along the big, flat fields of Emilia Romagna and the little mp3 was playing sounds of folk fairy tales..


We couldn’t think of a reason why they chose to come all the way from Australia to sing in a small town like Ravenna, at a venue that you have to ask people from the area to find where it is. We didn’t get an answer, but, we didn’t need it anyway..

It was like a “prive” concert. 200 people waiting to be carried away by their music. We were happy now about their choice of location.

Yellow light bulbs were hanging from the ceiling like fireflies trapped in fragile glass spheres. Trees of lights were standing on the stage lighting softly the guitars and the violin. Clouds of artificial haze were trapping the shades of the carefree figures. And there was a smell of strawberry on the air every time the haze was coming out new.

Silence. And only her fingers on the keyboard and her voice had captured everyone’s attention.

They took their guitars and the notes were calling For You..Applause from the couple hundreds pairs of hands..

The stage was low, close to the earth and if you were at the first row you could touch them. We were singing along the songs we had been listening for two hours the way driving and every time we recognized the first notes of our favorite ones, a rush was coming up our spine and the smile was getting bigger, stretching our cheeks.

And they sang about their Santa Monica Dream to us, to say goodnight and everyone’s heart melt, like gelato melts on the hand on a sunny day of summer..

You could see happiness and  contentment on every face, even the ones who came without knowing who those siblings from distant Australia were.

And we were singing about a boy that wants to feel things he’s never felt before cause he’s Just a Boy  and a girl Wasted from love and a Paper Aeroplane.. all the way back with a new moon smiling its pale smile above our old car’s rooftop..

Carrots & bunnies

All the trees are already green. And the lilacs have blossomed. What an aroma dear?! And like them, the love has blossomed for some as well. They were young, again. On his bike they were kissing goodbye under her house. His friend was waiting on his bike, trying to be discreet, looking at the street ahead.

On the other hand, two old, very old ladies were staring at them. Almost hanged from the balcony railings. Staring and commenting. Most possibly feeling a bit jealous, a bit annoyed or a bit nostalgic.

Kissing, saying goodbye again, again, once more. And he will see her again. And she will hold him again. And they will kiss when they will say hello again. Tomorrow. Or the day after.

And it’s so sweet saying goodbye every time. Like it’s the last time. And so precious every time.

And we were eating carrot cake on the rooftop. After a big Easter festive table. The sun was setting behind the blocks of flats. And the sea at the end of the horizon was reflecting pink and gray highlights.And all the faces looked so beautiful under that magic blue of the sky. Little purple and pink hearts had landed on our treats. Our hearts.

Sunset Carrot cake/muffins

For a cake and 6 muffins

♥ 1 cup self-raising flour  ♥ 1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

♥ 1 1/2 cups sugar(white or brown) ♥ 3 medium carrots

♥ 200gr sour cream  ♥ 120 gr olive oil

♥ 4 eggs  ♥ 3 tea spoons ground cinnamon

♥ 1 tea spoon vanilla essence ♥ 1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Mix flours and cinnamon into a bowl. Add sugar and carrot and stir to combine. Beat spur cream, eggs, olive oil and vanilla until smooth.

Combine two mixtures and the walnuts. Pure into the muffin cases using a small soup ladle and in a cake tin buttered and floured or covered with baking paper.

In preheated oven at 160oC, let the muffins bake for 45-60 minutes and the cake for about 1hour 30minutes.

When they cool, cover them with cheese icing.

Cheesy romance icing

♥ 250gr cheese cream  ♥ 210gr icing sugar

♥ 1 tea spoon orange zest  ♥ 3 tea spoons orange juice

Beat them all together using an electric beater until light and smooth.

Best eaten by friends on a spring day..


Butter & orange

Tradition. Too old and dusty. Or too cute and creative. When it comes to food, it’s always the second for me.

Traditional nostalgia

Even today, at some small villages in Greece, women take the large baking pans to the local bakery, to cook the festive food. When we celebrate, the tables are long and the plates on them many. A small pan is not enough for a lamb or a piglet. And 60 years ago, not many houses here used to have an oven. The streets around the bakery were filled with delicious smells. And the women were leaving the bakery early in the morning with their food already cooked. And the red eggs in big plates were adorning the tables with the strand buns in baskets and the flowers in vases.

And I love the fresh dough. Τhe way vanilla, orange and butter aromas fill my nostrils as I make the delicate strands. It reminds me my child years. Easter time at my grandpas countryside house. Grandma and her daughters cooking in the kitchen, grandpa preparing the fire for the spin and us kids playing in the garden with buns in the hands and dirt on the clothes.


My back hurt after doing 8 trays of strands for the whole familia (3 sisters with a groom and 2 kids for each one of them..and a grandma!). But, the smell in the house as they were baking, the taste in my mouth as I’m eating them and my friends’ smiles as they are asking for another one are enough to reward me.

Easter buns

for 4 pans(about 80 bans)

♥ 500 gr. butter

♥ 500 gr. sugar

♥ 4 eggs

♥ 2 tea spoons baking powder

♥ 1 kg 350 gr flour

♥ a pinch of salt

♥ 1/2 glass orange juice

♥ zest from 3 oranges

♥ 4-5 drops vanilla essence

Put butter and sugar in a large bowl and mix for 6-7 minutes. Then the zest, the vanilla, the eggs and the juice. Mix to combine. Slowly putting the flour with the baking powder in too. When the dough is soft, let it rest for at least 30 mins in the fridge.

Make small, medium or big buns as you like them and let them rest for 10 mins on the baking trays (I prefer using baking paper instead of greasing the trays).

Brush buns with egg  and bake in preheated oven at 170oC for about 20 minutes depending on the oven.

They go everywhere, they fit in your pocket, they don’t stain, kids love them, they smell like spring, they taste like childhood, they are very lovely pieces of tradition. 

Best eaten with milk..


Lights and lenses

Brown envelops. Photos. Faces. Places. She was looking at the past of lives that had been meant to be different. Threads got carried away. From the wind of reality. From a power stronger than dreams.


But, there’s no power stronger that the one of the dreams. She dreams at night. She dreams at daylight. She dreams alone. She dreams with friends. She dreams with lovers. She dreams with family. We dream together, for all and for one. We live together, for all and for one.

Lives take different paths. We get distant. We get strange. We isolate in our microcosm. She comes closer. To touch the stars above her head. The sky is not her’s. But, she goes for it. She tries, to reach, to hang, to shine.

No other shine brighter than the smile. Smiles made of dreams. Shines made of wishes. She doesn’t make wishes to the stars. She makes stars with her wishes.


Photos old. Older than her existence. The light in them looks faded, but yet more charming. And the colors all turn to brown and red. The colors of earth. And the faces are familiar. But they are young, like her. 

Her finger follows the soft, round corners of the mat photographic paper. She wants to leave snapshots of her life back, like that. Snap!

Blossoms & petals

It was everywhere. Smell of honey that’s not honey. A sweet aroma. Mesmerizing. You feel it in your mouth and it goes all the way up in your head and make you dizzy from sweetness.

And it was just a small street. And there wasn’t enough space. No air free of their hypnotizing poison. Fleshy, pure white petals of flowers between the green leaves and the orange fruits. Small wonders of nature.Neratze trees.

And the moon above her head, the chilly breeze and the voices of life gave her shivers. From the knees up to her spine and to the back of her head. Sweetly numb. Sweet.  Sweetly painful. Sweet.

Hello Spring, welcome back..

Old & loved

It smelled old. That smell of memories scattered at every inch of the space and time. A wooden table with chairs dancing around in the melodies of poems.

An old watch in her hands, standing, staring, thinking. Like a small treasure, shinny, but true . What can its history be? Who was the lady wearing it? Was she once a young girl in love? Or the wife who kept thinking of him, the husband, the father of her children, every time she would look at the time. Not to know the time, but to find his face between the numbers of the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks, the months…afraid to say years.

Rusty skeleton keys from doors of rooms full of life. Secret lives finally revealed, but yet unknown. Whose is which and what’s for whom? Magic of things hidden and lost, only memories now and for the future.

Pieces of puzzles on post cards. The pictures have no meaning and the words are not in love. A quick hello, a thank you for your kind letter, a wish for good health. Searching for sentimental letters the eyes scroll on the simple but yet so lovely way of expression. For faces in lands far away.

And the smell of old wood and worn fabric. Of paper torn and yellow from the time. Of mint tea. Is making that very moment a past moment. Is making her treasuring her moments. Keeping them close to her heart. Living them, one by one.

And her lips, silently, repeat poems she fills with thoughts.

The Poem

early in the morning, i’ll come calling, i’ll come calling after you
darling if you answer, oh we’ll wander, down the garden where it’s cool
later we’d discover, all in covers, children silent as the stars
early in the morning, in the morning, everything at once is ours

early in the morning, i’ll come calling, i’ll come calling after you
though you seldom answer, still i wonder, what will pass here when you do
delicate in grasses, bright and ashen, breathing sweet a ruby nest
early in the morning, in the morning, withered, singing we will rest

early in the morning, in the morning, i will call for you
even if the words arent clear,
and even if my voice seems cruel
early in the morning, in the morning, red and almost true

dressing in my finest suit
my cleanest shoes
making sure the crease is true
pressed and fresh and blue.

(Early In the Morning by James Vincent McMorrow)

Sweets & treats

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While hop-hopping to the Lands of the North when the summer hasn’t arrived yet, your nose becomes a frozen little button and your fingers are looking for some warmth in the pockets of your jacket. Your cheeks are red and your heart feels like it’s beating slower.

In those lands I’ve seen simple lines of glass and ceramic, hosating treats so pretty and cute, like they’ve just jumped out from the hands of Willy Wonka. Chocolate and wipped cream, berries red from the big, cold fields, cocoa and butter, pastry and muesli..

This is my trip to Berlin, Copenhagen and Lund in “café goodies” photos..cause food tells enough about a place..

Ice & land

Future of Hope

This beautiful documentary was screened today at the 3rd day of the 13th Thessaloniki Documentary Festival. It’s the first movie by the young Henry Bateman, who manages to put his fresh view of things that are happening in Europe, and especially in Iceland, on the financial and environmental sectors. He shows how a bad turn can bring a new, better beginning.

The great photography focusing on worried but positive faces and the breathtaking landscapes of the Iceland keeps the eyes on the screen as great ideas and plans unfold one after the other. The music also follows the youngish character of the documentary.

Future of Hope – 13TDF

The sun had just set over the sea and the spare light from its rays was mixing with the city lights. They were walking, talking about the land of Ice from the film they had just seen. With a cup of hot salep in their hands warming their voices, maybe for the last time for this year, they were heading to their bus stops. And at the last corner, there was a stove with warm roasted chestnuts and the mister with his gloves and cap on (a bit overdressed for such a lovely spring weather) said: “They are sweet as the last chestnuts of this winter, there won’t be any more from now on”.

That means only one thing, when the mister old fashion-out from another time-residue of the past says such thing..

Spring has officially arrived in this city!!

And I might try to make these macaroons if there will be any chestnuts left tomorrow. Mum loves them a little bit.

When the Spring comes, hearts can’t stay in any more. They need space, they need air, they need love. And they were young and a bit excited and a bit confused. In the quiet streets of the city they were arguing, walking, stopping, thinking, talking, kissing and the cold was freezing as the night wasn’t young any more.

And when it’s not love that makes you sick, it’s the cold, the lack of sweet sleep and the thought of tomorrow. I don’t have a remedy for the strong disease of love. But, I sure do have one for the flu.

Thanks for the research and for the old good nostrums mum.

For the best flu spice tea, you will need to put in your tea pot

♥ a cinnamon stick

♥ 1/2 tea spoon of cloves

♥ a few cardamom seeds opened

♥ 1/2 to 1 tea spoon of ginger powder or a 1cm piece of fresh ginger

unfortunately dad had thrown away the ginger root I had in the fridge cause he thought it had gone bad…DAD!!!

♥ the quarter of a lemon

♥ a liter of water

bring them to boil, let them sit for 15-20 minutes and enjoy with some nice honey.

Its mesmerizing aromas make the house smell like a fairytale bakery and it saves the runny little noses and the sore throat of the lost voices from a bad, annoying cold. Who wants to be sick when the weather is getting warm? Finally!!

Spring & snow

And the flowers on the almond trees have lost their fragile petals, cause they have the snow now to replace them. And it snows in March. And the spring has her white dress now. And everything is confusing. Joy. Sorrow.

Sweet & sour

Waiting for news, waiting for a voice, waiting for your dreams to come true. When your hands are empty and the hours feel so long. Bake. Take out the sugar and the flour and bake muffins to fill your waiting times. And put some sweet&sour lingonberry jam to match your disposition.

Longing Muffins

♥ 2 cups of flour

♥ 1 1/2 cup of sugar

♥ 2 eggs

♥ 1/2 cup of milk

♥ 1/4 cup of butter

♥ 2 teaspoon of baking powder

♥ 1 teaspoon of vanilla

♥ lingonberries jam

Preheat the oven to 180o C. Beat together butter, eggs and sugar. Mix flour and baking powder and shift into the mixture. Milk in too. Mix well. Blend in the vanilla.

Take your greased and floured muffin utensil and half fill the cases. Put a full teaspoon of jam in the middle. Top them with mixture. Bake them in the oven for 30 minutes.

And one day our place will smell like muffins, made to celebrate every day without longing. Every day living our dreams.

ps. love the new silicon muffin case!

Sugar & kisses

They come in a small plastic bag. Small enough to fit in the tiny coin pocket of jeans. They can be red or green. I like the red. They look like kisses in my mind, if you could make kiss a picture. Tiny, sugar sweet kisses made of arabic gum, eucalyptus and mint that make every breath you take feel like the air is crystal clear, icy almost. And it makes you wanna breath more than before, till your brain hyper-oxygenate and you are ready to faint.


Fainted Vision: You were tini-tiny in your grandma’s old tea cup, among big red sugar treats. You were hugging the big sweet dreams and you were happy. There was no other hug in your life so sweet. And then you were biting them, one after the other, till you ate them all! And your tummy was full and hurt. You were not happy any more. Grandma used to say “If you eat all the sweets your tummy is gonna hurt and I will have to call the tummy doctor to make you well.”. And the doctor had a round metal magic phone that made your belly tinkle. And you still hurt but you couldn’t stop laughing. And the doctor said ” Don’t laugh kid, we have to examine your tummy, this is not a game!”. Oh Mr Grown Up Professor! Let us kids play! Let us eat our sweets, let us hurt, let us run, let us fall and bleed, let us laugh, let us make everyone call “shsssss”..there’s no smile without a tear.


I didn’t like the plastic bag. I found a new house for my kisses. A tiny jar of  Bonne Maman strawberry jam. And if you love me much one day, I’ll share my kisses only with you, always.

Buttons & yarn

Background track

Jamie Lidell-Compass

She took the bus to the town from the terminal. She was sitting next to the window with headphones in her ears. She had big brown eyes with lashes dark and long from the mascara. She had two lips at the color of sweet burgundy, like cherries when they are ready to be harvested in July.

Before the bus started, she took out of her bag a spool of thread with a needle pinned on it. She unreeled thread long as twice the size of her palm and cut it with her teeth. She passed it carefully through the tiny slot and pulled it to halve. She put her hand in the front pocket of her tan leather bag searching for something as her eyes were wondering outside the window. She took out a black button with embossments on it, like the ones on her blue marine coat.

With gentle, synchronized movements of her pale fingers, she started sewing the button. Under, through the woolen fabric, up, through the button and then down again through the coat. She was pulling the thread tight, so that the button wouldn’t leave the black line on the cloth again, not too soon.

With her shinny, silk hair in front of her face she was concentrated at her task like there was no one around her. She was an image of an old time placed in the modern life.

Midway she was finished. She buttoned the button. She pinched the needle on the spool again and placed it in the inner pocket of her bag, zipping it up to captivate the precious tools. She took out a book and slowly looked around and then outside the glass for a second, to orientate. She opened the book and let her self get detached again.

The song in my ears finished and let my mind and my eyes move to the usual, ordinary images of the routine bus route.

Milk & cookies

The day of “love” was on a Monday. The sky was gray but had a softness. Sheens of light were warming the smiles of the enamored in the city. From the bus window staring at the stop,  a couple kissed and she jumped in. She was a teen. She didn’t glanced back, not to ruin the perfect goodbye. She dipped her ticket and stood aside standing. A big, unforced smile wrote “in love” on her face. I caught my face responding to that image of absolute happiness. A smile was painted on my face too. The subconscious was disinterring the memory of the feeling.

The Feeling:

Other times, is butterflies tingling your guts and giving you wings to reach the cupid with his sweet arrows and go meet the person who keeps the poison of your arrow. Other times, is pinches on your heart making you feel numb from the strong emotion and they keep you down, close to the earth, close to the kisses.

I thought that I ought myself a piece of the sweet treats of that day before I let myself in the hands of Morpheus to dream of dreams. I had a heart of chocolate and a cup of milk to raise in the name of “love”.. and the calendar wasn’t saying 14th of February any more.

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