Biography of James Papastamos
Where there is tragedy there is art. Lyric poetry is tragic, intense, and an emotional powerhouse. This is what I wrote after undergoing four brain operations in 1990,1991, to remove a brain tumor at the base of my skull. I wrote when I was sad, and when I was angry. Now, I am battling cancer. I intend to win. I want to live. I put my trust in God, and this cancer has strengthened my relationship with our heavenly Father. In the beginning, I wrote mostly bound verse, using iambic tetrameter, with an ABCB rhyme scheme. A few poems got published by Cader Publishing, the International Library of Poetry, and by Noble House. Now, I write mostly free verse. Poetry is, perhaps, the greatest art form, because it allows the reader to peer into the writer's soul, more so than any other art form. Poetry shall never die. Let art be as timeless and enduring as the legacy of its master. If you want to read some of my blogs, visit my Live space: http: //thepoetineye.spaces.live.com
James Papastamos Poems
Coffee And Tea
A cup of coffee for us all this morning sun to brew its taste We wave our hats, salute its wind the steam now rising, we fan its haste
It Rained On Me
It rained on me one lonely eve the skies were blue, her skies as grey; With drops of rain to dry my soul self-pity was never this gay.
Where The Winds Hath Blown
A rose, a single rose, slowly but surely bled to death, by thorns, merciless in their cruelty, merry with passion, feasting on my garden’s
A rainbow of leaves to colour the truth that nature's wrath must darken one's youth The leaves doth whistle while winds blow near embrace its echo, embark mid fear
Waiting For God
Their eyes reached for light Any light Amid the darkness of Uncertainty
What Might Have Been
Whom I could have become: I think about what I might have done A famous poet
A shade of burgandy, like wine now ripe with authenticity; The word of God doth write my way and pens its sword by such decree.
From Heaven...With Love
The sun rose before Dawn. Our kitchen Was the warmest room in the house.
Fog! ! scantily clad, its naked truth for all to see, wearing nothing but deception on its sleeveless cuff.
Homeless yet sheltered by thought A rush of eager anticipation Collapsed veins burst with enthusiasm Fear surrenders to occasion
Ah! The power of dreams! ! New York harbor Tickles the feet of Broadway, with Waves of obscurity who ride her
In Just A Moment
The darkness of such distant nights now filled my universe with non- Existence and such fatalism that only God could answer why
I am God's sacrificial lamb Burning embers embrace the Steam that rises from my frozen corpse,
By Love Of God
These eyes have seen a day of night my ears receive its echoes far; Disease distorts my sense of light my soul, it cannot touch nor mar.
The blood of bondage,
Bonding a brotherhood,
Breaking its unrelenting will.
On His command, the Nile would rain a
Pharaoh’s tear, if on His word
Its waters could speak a current of
The land of Milk and Honey…beyond a
Wilderness to fog their only view. Sacred