George Trialonis is a translator from Greece. He studied psychology and philosophy in the USA and Canada and now lives and works in the town of Heraklion on the island of Crete. In his spare time he writes poetry inspired by the events that take place around him and in his country. Women are a significant source of inspiration for George. He holds their spiritual and intellectual aspect in great respect and admiration, while he is enslaved and tormented by their physical appeal. Testimony to his strong feelings towards women are a few of his poems. However, the most important source of inspiration for George is a universe of unintelligible, yet virbant constellations of ideas and feelings that push for expression when they are least expected, e.g. as he lies his head on his pillow at night, as he walks through the local market half-dazed by the noon sun or as he sips his morning coffee in the company of hibiscus trees. George believes that nature is an unsurpassed poetess, mysterious and lovely at the same time.

CrucifiXed between Hunger and Lust

I turned my head to the right and saw
Hunger enter a Bakery, her hair in long
braids carrying the sleeping soil and
the waving grass of the fields,
her clothes bearing witness to the aftermath
of Sodoma and Gomora.
“Father, deliver me from this hour!”

Her unsightly misery threatened to invade
the conscience of customers and employees.
She was begging for an eye-to-eye contact
which would give rise to sympathy
and sympathy to something to eat
If they would only look at her.
But they pretended they didn’t.

No more than three minutes had passed
than she turned back to haunt the streets again.
The redolent warmth of the premises,
the savoury aroma of fresh baked bread,
cakes and croissants were too much for
an ulcerating from want stomach.
“Father, remove this cup from me!”

I watched her tattered clothes flatter and vanish
like thieving crows around a corner.
Then I turned my head the other way and lo! Lust
came into sight, curvy and smooth she was,
well fed but not bread, hence more desirable.
with the hips and breasts bursting at the seams
of her skimpy dress; her look melting iron.
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Truly, the world is a stage, set up only for mine
to hunger and lust at the same time:
to race the hours for bitter bread
and blind my blind eyes for want of sweet bed.
What good is erection without the cross?
or the fangs of affection without some loss?