Poetry from Astra Papachristodoulou


This camera has an eye that cannot see
the act of toxic scrolling that can be
an agony of the mind that’s driven me
miles from “amour de soi” that’s all I need
to find my peace and spread prosperity
to those who I see and see me as rarity

These lenses can keep flashing filthy BANKNOT£S
for people who hide behind their idle followers
of photographs they’ve taken to promote
their “soulmates” with whom they’re asymptotes
projecting life as seen by the Kardashians
with selfies in a shell that’s rather porcelain

Insta-society needs velvet antidote
to filter trash and help one to self-love


I think of you in my appliqué lace dress
which is jammed to the stitching of your gentle abyss

I think of you as the embroidered silhouette
that betrothed my everlasting thirst for nostalgia

I think of you as the opulent cataclysm of youth and disaster
that cascades amongst the floral lies we exchanged

I think of you as tomorrow’s midnight overdose of yesterday
needled on my twitching lip that doesn’t let go
of the vow we gave in the waters

Depressed is the lace
Bitter is the gown
Adored is the aisle we crossed
We tied shabby knot

Ragged is the dress after the dry clean service
Yet it remains the exquisite outfit of a prima donna


A breeze of suffocating alacrity
She stands
Caryatid sculpted with scents of fresh jonquils
She seduces all that dream and fade
To urge – and to upstage
Commuting scopes dafodilled to her aura

Miss V picks card of oysters despite her lethality
She passengers
Hula hoops her way into Ruislips and pepper mills
An epicurean, gulps pebble and sand – homemade
To pleasure – and to challenge
Virgin hearts listen to her aria (and she to theirs)

Is there a soul free from humanity’s apathy?
She smiles
In danger she hides her scent in decayed anthills
She tries to protect her purity from crumbling
To confront – and to live
Dreams on a tube seat sizzling in aurora

So velvet is her touch
That awakens the coronas resting in fields of December