Biographical Account:
Stella Kyriacou
born: 23.2.62
Married + 3 children
Although for the past 10 years I have been living in Cyprus, I was born
and raised in London, where I attended school and further education.
At 10 years of age, my teacher spotted my talent for writing and wrote
beneath one of my essays
' I am sure that one day you will write books
and be an autheress - perhaps like Enid Blyton was!' Dear Mr Clark, I have
indeed done just that, not quiet Enid Blyton though! I still have my
English book in which his suggestion was written. The pages have now tarnished in colour
with
the passing of time, but it is one of my most treasured possessions. I would
dearly love to know if Mr Clark is still alive, I would love to contact
him. He taught at 'West Green School' in Haringey/Tottenham, London,
England. around 30 years ago.
My love for writing revived from a very young age whilst at school via
essays, short stories and poetry, a feature which has remained a very prominent
part of my life. I often see the world through the eyes of a particular
persona that I feel inspired by therefore frequently write in the first person
giving the impression that my work is autobiographical.
My work reflects the experiences endured by everyday life and of the
intricate emotions aroused by them. I strive for a deeper understanding
of life and try to make sense of what otherwise seems senseless. My
ultimate aim through my work, is to try and make people aware of the misfortunes
of others throughout the world, hoping that even through such a simple
thing as verse, compassion and understanding will arise.
Work Completed:
My first published collection of poetry was Reflections Of Time, and
prior to these I had numerous pieces published in various international
anthologies.
I received awards for the first two poems published in 'Reflections OF
Time.'
I have also completed a new poetry manuscript titled 'Light OF Life'
which is with publishers in England at the moment.
I have also compiled a new poetry manuscript in Greek which will be
published shortly. It is the combined translation of poetry taken from
both 'reflections of time and light of life.
I have also co-written a novel with Tina Kallis titled 'Broken Carousel'
which is at present in the hands of our literary agents in America and
is also in the process of being translated into Greek, given the title of
'thihos avrio'
Currently, I am working on a new novel, but due to its early stages I
cannot go into detail about it at present.
Poetry Here
Weeping Island
Spare A Thought.
Reflections Of Time
Scars Of War
Yesterdays Child
For Every
Bundle In Need
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Weeping Island
Beneath the sky,
concealed neath the shadow of the moon,
rests a land,
an island minute,
sculptured in resemblance of paradise.
It's golden sands
encased by the crisp blue waters
of the shimmering sea,
glow as an authentic aura
of mystique.
Slender palm trees
lace its precious shores,
casting shadows with the gently swaying
of their monumental leaves.
Oh island of paradise,
portrait of perfection,
master of disguise.
I know so well your pain.
Deep are you scars,
buried in the core of your heart.
Oh sacred land of our forefathers,
release you tormented waters
on your grieving shores,
and cleanse for eternity all pain.
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Spare A Thought.
Spare a thought
for those less fortunate,
the poor, the destitute, the orphaned.
The exhausted children
whose mournful eyes cry out despair,
savagely trapped in a sheath
woven with words of starvation,
unfairly revenged by natures anger.
Spare a thought,
for those defenceless victims
ridden with fear
caged in the hell of battle.
Where yesterdays nightmares
are today's hauntings
and mistrusting tomorrow spells betrayal.
Spare a thought
for the dying,
whose wasted limbs stand monument
to modern plagues,
deceived be 'trusting' medicine,
deprived of hope,
banished from joy.
Spare a thought,
for our brothers and sisters
thrust in the forgotten worlds of yesterday.
Spare a thought,
that they be remembered tomorrow.
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Reflections Of Time
The years have passed so quickly
it's hard to contemplate,
so many things I'd yet to do
but now I fear's too late.
Was beautiful then, a little vain
with long and shinning hair,
my life was filled with compliments
I'd walk and all would stare.
Now, wrinkled, frail so very weak
I have no strength to walk,
I've nothing more to do but wait
can even barely talk.
A tear drop stains my pillow
with thoughts of past events,
I long for lost adventures
that dreaded time prevents.
Once warm and cosy corner
is now so very cold,
I must accept that I've become
so very, very old.
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Scars Of War
So stale the air
with echoes of cries,
twisted melodies
to questions and whys.
So stale the air, with echoes of cries
twisted melodies to questions and whys,
life but destruction has come to be
now in limbo where once so free.
To taste but bitterness all around
a blanket of corpses engulf the ground
false insecurities, shivers and fears
exhaustion, anger, blood stained tears.
Weakened limbs and hollow eyes
no longer trusting for fearing lies,
horrid stories one day to tell
of days once spent on living hell.
Tormented souls of innocence past
never for ever does happiness last,
knowing no longer how to smile
except to exist someway, somehow.
Tortured flesh, scars so deep
longing miracles for quantum leap,
for times beyond when all would heal
and life no more would others steal.
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Yesterdays Child
No more can I dream a fantasy existence
of fairytale, excitement and play,
for yesterdays child, carefree and wild
is now a woman today.
No more can I screech and attention to reach
no more can I tease or pretend,
for innocent years with entwined childhood tears
have so soon come to an end.
No more can I surrender for comfort at night
to the warmth of my mother's breast,
with soft gentle strokes, and love uppermost
so tenderly aiding my rest.
For I once that child, carefree and wild
weep at how time's passed me by,
reflecting a life of innocence past
for yesterdays child that is i.
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For Every
For every girl
there is a boy
for every child
there is a toy.
For every bird
there is a nest
a time to work
a time to rest.
For every smile
there is a cry
for every truth
there is a lie.
For every joy
there is a grief
for every bud
there is a leaf.
For every fruit
there is a tree,
for every you
there is a me. |
Bundle In Need
All that I need, is a change and a feed
to be cradled and loved for a while,
for I shrill when I hear your footsteps draw near
and see you reach out with a smile.
Warm is my crib, with linen so fresh
and trimmings of ivory lace,
though pretty to see, it can be for me
the lonely of loneliest place.
I need to feel wanted and loved by you
instead I'm left here on my own,
for after all, this is as much
for me as you my home.
Talk to me, play with me when I awake
so that I with contentment could sleep,
and I promise that I , would no longer cry
and be perfectly good for a week!
I may only be small and twelve inches tall
but I have a heart and I feel,
I depend on your kindness and warm understanding
for this little baby is real!
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