Dimitris P. Kraniotis


Dimitris P. Kraniotis was born in 15 July 1966 in Stomio, a coastal town in central Greece. He studied at the Medical School in Thessaloniki. He lives and works as a medical doctor specialized pathologist in Larissa, Greece. He is vice-president of the Larissa Writers' and Poets' Society, the editorial director of the medical magazine "Hippocrates" and a member of the Board of Directors of the "Hippocrates" and a member of the Board of Directors of the Larissa Medical Association and Larissa Medical Society. He is a member of the Hellenic Literary Society, International Society of Greek Writers, World Academy of Arts and Culture (WAAC), International Writers and Artists Association (IWA), United Poets Laureate International (UPLI), Union Mondiale des Ecrivains Medecins (UMEM), International Society of Poets (ISP), Poetry Society of America (PSA) and The Academy of American Poets. Three of his poetic collections have been published: "Traces" (poems in Greek, 1985), "Clay Faces" (poems in Greek, 1992) and "Fictitious Line" (poems in Greek, English and French, 2005). Central theme in his poetry is contemporary man, his impasse, his worries, his fears, his hopes and dreams. His poems have been translated into English, French and Portuguese and have been published in U.S.A., Great Britain, France, Australia, Canada, India, Corea and Brazil. He won a number of awards. His email is:
dkraniotis@yahoo.gr
 

The end

The savour of fruits
still remains
in my mouth,
but the bitterness of words
demolishes the clouds
and wrings the snow
counting the pebbles.
But you never told me
why you deceived me,
why with pain
and injustice did you desire
to say that the end
always in tears
is cast to flames.



To the dead poet of obscurity
(In honour of the dead unpublished poet)

Well done!
You have won!
You should not feel sorry.
Your unpublished poems
-always remember-
have not been buried,
havenít bent
under the strength of time.
Like gold
inside the soil
they remain,
they never melt.
They may be late
but they will be given
to their people
someday,
to offer their sweet,
eternal essence.

© Dimitris P. Kraniotis
 

 Illusions

Noiseless wrinkles
on our forehead
the frontiers of history,
shed oblique glances
at Homer' s verses.
Illusions
full of guilt
redeem
wounded whispers
that became echoes
in lighted caves
of the fools and the innocent.


What I ask

A ball of threads
my prayers
whisper
frightened.
Foolish "I" s
are choked
without you ever
knowing
what I ask.

The "doníts" and "zeros"

The night
that strangled
he endless moments
I had wished
to live,
passed by
without my lighting up
the candle
I had longed to warm up
all the "doníts" and "zeros".


Rules and visions

Life counts
the rules;
the sunset, their exceptions.
Rain drinks up
the centuries;
spring, our dreams.
The eagle sees
the sunrays
and youth, the visions.



One-word garments

Waves of circumflexes
storms of adverbs,
windmills of verbs,
shells of signs of ellipsis,
on the island of poems
of soul,
of mind,
of thought
one-word garments
you wear
to endure!


Denials

A roar of cars
seals the dawn
with short-cut answers,
with unyielding denials
that are repeated
explicitly
every sunset.


Ashes

The fireplace
was eager
to put a full stop,
in the sentence
where the road
of my dreams
stuck
upon the word of happiness
with sparkles
of wet logs
I collected
from the inside of me
that I dared
to turn to ashes.


Maybe

The cloud struggled
against the sand
underneath the rain
of "no" and "yes",
forcefully treading
on the rationale
that obeys
the impasse of "maybe".



Limits

Fragments of glasses
in the empty room
of the inarticulate whispers,
bleed
our limits,
fill
with sores
the caress of our soul.


(c) Dimitris P. Kraniotis
 


 

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