Hello my fellow writers and artsy friends,

I am taking some time off to work on my new project: my poetry book which has recently been accepted by a new and upcoming publishing company 451Press from California.

For some reason, I never thought I’d do it, but somehow or other it happened. It happened oddly enough, when

there was death and sorrow surrounding me, it happened one day in my kitchen when my niece grabbed my phone and made me ( despite my arguing against her and Metaxa drowning) an Instagram account…one thing led to another and timing and place and time exploded like a magical night of lovemaking. I can compare poetry with lovemaking because for me that’s as close as I get to it. It’s in my blood, as Greek and alive as that has made me feel, poems have created a world for me that I can delve into and understand. It’s a sort of gift, but at the same time I write every day along with my morning coffee. I write in my head and when I sleep…believe me the words don’t stop…

As a teacher as well, this is the crazy part of the year so I am taking some time off of my blog to put together my pre-k end of year activities/graduation/ gifts and all the fun stuff that go along with this amazing job of teaching young children.

Don’t forget that my book Crush can be found on ( paranormal romance).

I really want to thank you all for inspiring me to collect my poems into an anthology, without your encouragement, perhaps this book would never have come about. I know it’s just another book of poems and who buys poetry books anyway, right?. Who cares? Believe me, I’ve heard it all…but, the few that do, are right here and I am grateful.

Peace. Love to All.

Chrissy x

i bear words

you’ll see i’m gonna make it, i said

you’ve been making it for years, he replied

wear my tie and nothing else

and there i was. back to the beginning

of twenty years. it’s easy to

love someone who never stops

loving you. who sees you

every day without makeup

and metaphors. it’s hard to

give your soul to strangers

for a few days and get it

right back. you made

it easy to disappear.

you make it harder to come

back. don’t let the bastards

get you down, i told her.

i can start my own poetry club

without stars and re-tweets

and favorites and blocks

and haters and jealous

bitches that block, that stalk

and track my sales. i can flee

but i’d rather watch you

sleep. wake up to your

i love you’s. confuse all of

them and hate none of them.

whisper secret goodbyes and

good morning sorrows to whoever

gives a fuck. submit my life

in one hundred pages

to print and out of print presses.

wear my bangs and old

jeans tighter and sexier

because age does not matter

to souls. you don’t get that

part of me. the bohemian.

long-skirted girl, jumping over

fences to meet you. you get

that sweet spread your legs

girl. the one that never rests.

it’s complicated to admit

defeat. i bear arms. words.

swords with pills. i gulp.

i fast for you. days. months.

years. it keeps me sane.

insane. but not common.

not boring. so take back your

words. i’ll never read you


Piling mistakes like old poems

you should not have let

me in. i will eat you

alive. and

you will

want more.

while i run

in the opposite direction.

dive into all the

oceans. list of highways.

skip crossroads. until

i stop in front

of the moon. and

close all the roads

that lead to you.

you should have known

it would come to this.

i can’t wake up at

three a.m in the rain,

wind and confusion. it

could be insatiable. lust

and greed. forget the money.

it doesn’t exist between the

metaphors. jewelry and crosses

under the mats with the keys,

sex is the drive, desire

and A+ awards

on poetic shit means

nothing here. touch

and unwritten poems

can burn. find the words

i need to hear and

fuck the rest.


in the middle of the day. Jack sings

while I wrap gifts, get paint in my

fingernails, no fake colors here.

you talk about me as if

i can’t hear or read. follow or not.

do whatever pleases you.

i’ll be here, listening to the

same ol’ songs tapping my foot

any time of day. jumping

naked on the bed. bra flung

over your tie. panties

long gone (did i even wear

them?) did you forget

i write stories? i invent

scenes, acts, characters.

did you forget i have a

problem? label me

hypersensitive; crying over

everything you say about me.

i ignore for a second or two

and then i’m running

as usual, you say. don’t forget

to bring milk, you shout

as i grab my purse and keys.

you’re going out like that?

yeah, and fuck off.

fights, trash talk

bite me when i come back

with my bag of skim milk

and tight shorts.

you know you want to.

the drive, the music,

the wind made it

all better, don’t you see?

i came here for you

and i’ll leave here

in spite of you. and all

you say is you’re not

impressed with any of it.

sell my life away.

sell my thoughts.

my peach bra, my almond

eyes, sell it all like

a whore. isn’t that what you

think? i forgot to make supper,

i forgot your shirts at the

dry cleaners, but i remembered

how you touched me

while I was sleeping.

Sunday morning portrait, 2015

You may wonder

who I am

or who you are

or who we are together.

or apart?

leading highway lives

from the end to the start.

I saw you first

you were talking with friends

embarked on your high horse,

the room was hazy,

smoky, jazzy, of course.

Did you forget your desire?

At first glance,

was there a burning fire?

Were you in a poetic trance?

or a real life dance?

I am no one you want to love

been there and done that,

let my need float up above

blend with the sky

I fall out from

like a gift from the Greek gods’ nectar pie

here to ease your numb

feelings from life,

the blended coffee strife…

which to choose?

I forgot, you take no cream,

you never lose,

you are high above all the sports’ teams

the judgement call

you like to watch me fail, fall –

admit it –

nothing would please you more

than to hear me


like a paid whore

You do not have to put

your hands in your pockets,

I am free, I need no wallets,

no words of lies

please wear your secret lockets

and cover my eyes

in seductive disguise.

I should be asleep

but the words are heavy, knee deep

in your sweet-smelling mud.

I like it

when I am drowning

in my own flood.

Not any closer to who I am

just take my fucking hand

eventually we will land.

I was asked

I do not read minds

but have paid others

to tell me where my jacket is,

the size of the sword

above my shoulder,

the scent of the candle

you lit in my absence. When I die

I will come back, I know I am

one of those that linger, watch,

observe the present

for signs of the past,

think of the future

for split seconds.

I can be such a tart, a well-balanced


a sour drink

your favorite slice of cheesecake-

you be the warm apples

and I will be the pie.

Top us off with the universe’s ice

cream and dabble in bizarre


while I am drunk off caffeine.

Yes, too much of it

and hence the trivia questions,

the sleeves of tattoos

with no meanings.

Angels have no wings

even if you call me one

I know you poke fun

with your poker face. Lies

are convincing,

deceit a shaded charcoal

of my first art class. Yes,

I rode a motorcycle

and was that girl, with a sketchpad

and a journal.

I was asked to write

a poem

about myself


nothing is true

I do that already,

I replied.

I lectured on Canadian Literature

I have done more

than you googled

or is written

so much goes unwritten



so much is detached

from this microscopic world

of fine hairs.

I leave mine messy

and forget my brush

on purpose.

What happened

to all those questions

you never asked?



“The air I breathe in a room empty of you is unhealthy.” John Keats

Originally posted on Writing & Poetry by Christina Strigas:

It does not matter what
I say to you
when you bring
down the pain
and hug it
like a newborn
needing to relive
every spiteful word
she said
taking down
picture frames
to create new ones.
It does not matter
how I see it
because my green eyes
ignite you.
I feel your
sadness now
when you ache
encompasses me
that’s how I’m made
with loyalty and heartache
with knowledge
and truth.
I can see through
cracked mirrors
I can write in your mind
trace your body’s shape
on top of mine.
I let you in now
it’s too late
to change fate
I can feel the walls
caving in
and I
can let you be
but, mon amour,
know that
no matter the state
you’re in
I can handle


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Last of the Butterfly Chasers

Originally posted on Syl65's Blog:

Still dreaming after all these years

Still lighting lanterns of hope

Heart on a string and still rising

Still spiritually energized

Everyday delivers something new

Still trying

The pace may be slow at times

Being patient is worth the wait

Looking to God for a breakthrough

The soul bathes in grace and understanding

Dreams flutter with butterfly wings

The chase continues……

~ photo credit:

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Originally posted on Cameron Lincoln:


I love the things our bodies do,
When we’re alone and bare.
The way they bend and undulate,
How they mix and share.

Interlocking in delight,
Fitting, flush, in time.
Our symmetry unparalleled,
We’re the reason, and the rhyme.

The shapes we form amidst our joy,
The fluidity, the noise.
The way your walls spread open,
Your defenses now destroyed.

The way we breathe in unison,
How our flesh bonds and sticks.
The lessons we can teach and share,
While learning new and naughty tricks.

The blissful and romantic things,
We say and do and think.
The dirty and the deviant,
Forever interlinked.

Cameron Lincoln. 2014

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