Biography of danae kavouridi
My name is Danae, I live in Athens, Greece and I work as a psychologist in a Dementia day care centre. I write since my teenage years. The last seven years I wrote Poetry and short stories, even blogs.
I have lots of inspiration but my personal time is around two hours a day. I am a working single mother.
My first readings and inspirations were many. I will always distinguish Gabriel Garcia Marquez as my favourite writer also Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Herman Hesse and many others. As for poets, Pablo Neruda, Federico Garcia Lorca, Vladimir Mayakovski and many Greek poets such as Yiannis Ritsos and Tasos Leivaditis (my favourite) .
danae kavouridi Poems
Throw a pebble on the water and let it jump three times. Bring her a flower, not a dozen of roses. A living flower, a cyclamen rooted deeply in warm soil, just place it on her window,
The sky was blue and it was night, The road was full of cars wandering like crazy glow worms. She was standing right in the middle of the street,
Here's To Luck!
We are all tiny pebbles at the end of the beach, next to the rocks where the wave angrily splashes.
Lullaby Of Sorrows
Whisper to me a song goodnight and place me in your hug the hug that has the limit of starry skies. I don’t mind that you have muddy wings
Smile to me the land is green, cherry blossoms, mandarin, the greatest things are to be seen, come and hold me be my queen.
The Advice (Cancer)
There were three, cancer beds on the old house with the grey crumbled walls.
The Taxi Man
Wet eyes, but no tear on this youthful part of skin, the part where tears go, when they drop. The taxi driver said: baby, you look so young,
It's Time To Sleep
It’ s time to sleep, Fall in the nest of broken sorrows Don’t come back home, Don’t bring your abusing footsteps
Song Of D
All alone like a tiny stone who can see this part of me? All I have been until this dawn. is a little tree- great and green promised to be.
You know these types of love that are like teenage dreams filled with pink ink hearts, on a school notebook,
I had a tattoo with your name on the skin surface, between my thumb and my forefinger vein,
I am trying to write something about you that does not sound like a cheap pop song, what is more popular though than being alone!
If I was a good painter I would draw the air I have stopped weeping now and scribbling my dreams. Someone told me a story, it was about his dogs they were locked in cages in his big green garden for half a day.
The Great Bear
It’s been a while ago, that my path was filled with silent sorrow. Blocked all the joy,
I am trying to write something about you
that does not sound like a cheap pop song,
what is more popular though
than being alone!
My moods are gripped with pegs
lonely hanging in the rain,
clothes that flutter in the cold air of the garden.
Rain is painfully melting them
and I am only sitting behind the dripping glass window