She Be a Poet ~ Epiphany Floats

Image Credit: Kate Anderson – Woman Floating Under The Full Moon

I’m tired of pondering on the past,

I mean, I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to feel bored, that’s not like me at all.

That third eye manifestation is real, I see it and it sees me, hello epiphanies, I’ll take your hits,

I love being awakened as you sprinkle sense and grit.

Always the same format though, I get down to get back up,

Hmmm…

But what if I rise instead?

Floating would be a heavenly change, the idea of ease is appealing,

Weightless, free from the bruises of repeated kneeling.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2021

Give me a word, any word and I will show you the root of that word is Greek ~ Chromophobia

(Irrational fear or conditioned response to colour)

The Greek Cypriot in me occasionally awakens with words I have never heard of before; even though their existence has manifestations in many forms. It can take just one Grecian word to open a kaleidoscope of topics for discussion, debate and provocative thinking. The word Chromophobia was introduced to me by a dear friend who has made a career out of creating beautiful colours whilst changing perceptions in the process.

Maybe, you have an irrational fear of the colour green? Unable to eat your peas or any vegetable with a greenish hue for fear they will choke you. Perhaps red is the colour you avoid? I mean red is dangerous, isn’t it? It commands you to stop and forbids you to go there; wherever there may be. There are symptoms of Chromophobia and hate is one of them. Hate through fear, hate because Chromophobes see nothing but dark, foreign bodies and not the full spectrum.

Generally, we all see things in black and white, right and wrong. These views may be part of our genetic make-up, ideas without foundation from our teachers or peers; misguided without a full understanding of the global pallet and its variety of colours. If we choose not to live in colour the canvas will always be blank. If we choose to explore and understand, we lose the fear imbedded in our psyche long before we first opened our eyes to see complexions.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2015

She Be a Poet – In My Room

I hide in my room from noise I can’t bare  to hear,

I close the door, my own company near.

I talk to myself sometimes, is that weird?

Maybe so but who will know.

Solitude it seems is my true friend sometimes,

My choice so no one else to blame.

I hold myself captive, locked away,

My cell is a room full of books and dismay.

To break out would mean I would have to face,

A world which is harsh, I don’t want that embrace.

Time is ticking, the clock is slow,

I wait for the hand that strikes,

To awaken my soul.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2014