Limits

Greek poet Dimitris P. Kraniotis is one of the most famous poets in the world. He is the winner of many international competitions, a member of the World nation writers 'union and the chief representative of World nation writers' union in Greece, founded in 2014 in Kazakhstan (Almaty).

Dimitris P. Kraniotis (biography of the poet was published on the website: http://writerscapital.org/ ) is an award-winning Greek poet and medical doctor. He was born in 1966 in Stomio (Larissa), a coastal town in central Greece. He studied at the Medical School of the Aristotle University in Thessaloniki. He lives and works as a physician (Internal Medicine specialist) in Larissa, Greece.

He was invited and he has participated in several International Poetry Festivals around the World. He has won international awards for his poetry which has been translated in 25 languages (English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, Italian, German, Polish, Dutch, Serbian, Albanian, Romanian, Arabic, Chinese, Bulgarian, Turkish, Czech, Japanese, Slovak, Bengali, Gujarati, Persian or Farsi, etc) and published in books, anthologies and magazines in many countries around the World.

He is the author of 7 poetry books: “Traces” (in Greek, Greece 1985), “Clay Faces” (in Greek, Greece 1992), “Fictitious Line” (in Greek, English & French, Greece 2005, “Dunes” (in French & Romanian, Romania 2007), “Endogram” (in Greek, editions Malliaris Paideia, Greece 2010), “Edda” (in French & Romanian, Romania 2010) & “Illusions”(in Albanian, Romania 2010) and the Editor-in-Chief of the international anthology into English “World Poetry 2011” (205 poets from 65 countries). Also he is one of the 76 co-authors from 26 countries of the Global Harmony Association’s book “The ABC of Harmony” (candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize 2013).

He is Academician of the Academy Tiberina of Rome and the International Academy of Micenei (Italy), Doctor of Literature (Litt.D.) by World Academy of Arts and Culture, elected President of the 22nd World Congress of Poets (Larissa, Greece 2011) and “Laureate Man of Letters” by United Poets Laureate International, Founder & President of the Mediterranean Poetry Festival (Larissa, Greece), Founding President of World Poets Society (WPS), Vice-President of United Poets Laureate International (UPLI), International Director of the World Union of Poets (WUP), Vice-President of Thessaly Association of Letters and Arts, Special Secretary of the Larissa Medical Association “Hippocrates”, Ambassador to Greece of “Poetas del Mundo”, Universal Peace Ambassador by the Universal Ambassador Peace Circle & the Universal Peace Embassy, former Professor of the Department of Nursing in the University of Applied Sciences of Thessaly (TEI of Larissa), former Vice-President of Larissa Union of Poets and Writers, former member of the Editorial Board of the Greek literary magazine “Graphi”, former Vice-President of the Larissa Medical Association “Hippocrates” and former Editorial Director of the Greek medical magazine “Hippocrates”.

He is member of several literary organizations (National Society of Greek Literary Writers, Hellenic Literary Society, Panhellenic Union of Literary Writers, Greek PEN, International Society of Greek Writers, Hellenic Society of Writing Physicians and international organizations (WPM, UPLI, IWA, WUP, WAAC, UMEM, GHA, Poetas del Mundo, SELAE, AEADO, etc).

Poems by Dimitris P. Kraniotis

 

In a flash

 

You violated the borders

which buried their

know thyself,

you destroyed prisons

behind curtains

turned ablaze by

the spark of your anger,

without cries,

without whispers,

in a flash,

that simple it was,

you gave birth to light

when you embraced

what isn’t told

(although written)

in darkness.

 

Moving

 

We ’re naked now,

we donned the colors,

undressed words and voices,

we ’re blind now,

we drank the light,

swam in death,

with alcohol and tobacco

in our luggage

we testified falsely,

forgetting who we are

we built our life on a bird

and we flew again,

simply we moved.

 

To the dead poet of obscurity

(In honor of the dead unpublished poet)

 

Well done!

You have won!

You should not feel sorry.

Your unpublished poems

-always remember-

have not been buried,

haven’t 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.

 

Fictitious line

 

Smokes

of cigarettes

and mugs

full of coffee,

next

to the fictitious line

where the eddy

of words

leans against

and nods,

wounded,

to my silence.

 

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.

 

Ashes

 

The fireplace

was eager

to put a fullstop,

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.

 

Sinful corners

 

“St. Nicon Repent-Υe”

on the calendar

of a cloudy morning,

with the rain to persist,

determined to wash away

the Erinyes of guilts,

victories and defeats

in sinful corners

of pavements and rooms,

of minor moments

and of similar, too.

 

Repetition

 

In the middle of the road

I came across

an old mistake of mine

and I went past it.

I rushed

to repeat myself.

 

To you I speak

 

To you I speak,

do not show indifference.

This moment

to me

is mighty.

I am happy.

These words I uttered

and all were sad.

They left,

heads down.

 

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.

 

Limits

 

Fragments of glasses

in the empty room

of the inarticulate whispers,

bleed

our limits,

fill

with sores

the caress of our soul.