The continuation of the article With her, at the very beginning of the school year, we had made a small window out of hard cardboard. We had painted all around it. In mine, we had made a swallow's nest above its windowsill. In the place where...
Charoula Verigou - Badiou
November, you will forget me.
"The moons are crying," a child whispered, do you hear? They whisper loves and silences, from the cracks of time and are so afraid of guilty forgiveness... And in the south and in the north, complaints shine the same. You will remember me sometimes... Recklessly and unrepentantly,...
My eyes are watering.
And my humility is laced with pride, without knowing if it's for my grandmother and what she teaches me, or maybe because the teacher pays attention to me. The mind throws sparks and then the sparks become words and the words come to the lips, memories...
My eyes are watering.
Part 2 I remember the first time I cried when I handed her the spelling test and she signed it and next to it a ten with a tone. "Why are you crying, my child? What happened to you? You haven't made a mistake. Not one, in fact, and what beautiful letters! What a grade you have...
My eyes are watering.
Times that passed counting silver moons and stars that were forgotten on the balconies of dreams along with the jasmines. A shell of memory full of those summer spoils that we collected on deserted shores and thought we were the only ones who had stood so...
Master Stavros the Milk-built
Nature is quiet. You realize that the entire Plateau has always been an object of admiration, not only thanks to its special aesthetic value and unique beauty, but also because of the many caves that are scattered throughout the nature of the Lassithi land. ...
Spinalonga
There is little dry soil, and that is fermented with sea scents and tears. You will encounter only stones, collapsed castle walls and overgrown graves, still open reminders of a life that once passed, shipwrecks of time, scattered spoils of the ages. ...
Cyprus 1974… in the unfair light
The earth is still a monster from the sea of eyes and from the blood of innocents. A monster. This deep sorrow, the heartbreak, the memories are a fountain in the soil. The pain has filled the hearts with time, the bitterness has become a leech on the open lips to swallow the smile insatiably....
Respite from lies and deception
He used to stay alone, sheltered from lies and deception, he limited desires, needs, colossal plans, an untamed river, he knew the value of the emotion of sunrise on a wild, treacherous peak, a raging wave in the open, in the moonlight, he won, in...
Grandpa, my heart is overflowing with your innocence.
Grandpa, my heart is overflowing with your innocence, my eyes are clouded, before me I still see you in the pride, proud, in the abundant abundance you brought forth "on the white stone cold water, on the black jasmine and on the peak golden apple with a bone pen". As long as I am tired of life...
Charoula Verigou - Bandiou, prose writer and poet, (literary pseudonym Zoe Diktaou) was born in Agios Nikolaos, Crete, in 1962. She grew up in Tzermiadon on the Lassithi Plateau. She is a graduate of the Corfu School of Tourism Professions. She has worked in the Hotel Sector, as well as in Tourism Education and Training Schools. She collaborates with the Online Magazines: Poein, Fractal, Peri ou, Open book, etc. Her lyrics have been set to music. She has participated in several conferences and seminars. Her work to date includes the books:
Tomorrow, an olive tree in the middle of the homeland, Poetry collection
Lassithi, Topos Megas – The Cup of the Gods, Narrative
Tomorrow, the words are a touch of salt, Poetry collection
Athivoli cloves and memory cinnamon, Short stories
Tomorrow the words will be ears of corn, Poetry collection
The others are hanging out clothes and you are hanging out roses, Short stories
A Race for Harigenia, Novel
Tomorrow, autumn is falling, Novel
Moon Stories, Children's Literature
In digital version:
"Tomorrow, the old reasons for the oyster", Mantinades
"Neither the first in Paris, nor the last in the world" (Short Stories of Women)
"A poetic tribute to autumn"
"Corfu, chisel of the soul, light in the rain", Short story, Bilingual edition (Greek + English)
"Sugar is your name and your kiss is sweet", Short story
He also participates in the following collective projects:
Letters of poetry,
Monologues,
Literary Paths,
Literary Hologram
Our Erotokritos (testimonies)
Tomorrow, an olive tree in the middle of the homeland, Poetry collection
Lassithi, Topos Megas – The Cup of the Gods, Narrative
Tomorrow, the words are a touch of salt, Poetry collection
Athivoli cloves and memory cinnamon, Short stories
Tomorrow the words will be ears of corn, Poetry collection
The others are hanging out clothes and you are hanging out roses, Short stories
A Race for Harigenia, Novel
Tomorrow, autumn is falling, Novel
Moon Stories, Children's Literature
In digital version:
"Tomorrow, the old reasons for the oyster", Mantinades
"Neither the first in Paris, nor the last in the world" (Short Stories of Women)
"A poetic tribute to autumn"
"Corfu, chisel of the soul, light in the rain", Short story, Bilingual edition (Greek + English)
"Sugar is your name and your kiss is sweet", Short story
He also participates in the following collective projects:
Letters of poetry,
Monologues,
Literary Paths,
Literary Hologram
Our Erotokritos (testimonies)
Charoula Verigou - Badiou
My eyes are watering.
The continuation of the article With her, at the very beginning of the school year, we had made a small window out of hard cardboard. We had painted all around it. In mine, we had made a swallow's nest above its windowsill. In the place where...
November, you will forget me.
"The moons are crying," a child whispered, do you hear? They whisper loves and silences, from the cracks of time and are so afraid of guilty forgiveness... And in the south and in the north, complaints shine the same. You will remember me sometimes... Recklessly and unrepentantly,...
My eyes are watering.
And my humility is laced with pride, without knowing if it's for my grandmother and what she teaches me, or maybe because the teacher pays attention to me. The mind throws sparks and then the sparks become words and the words come to the lips, memories...
My eyes are watering.
Part 2 I remember the first time I cried when I handed her the spelling test and she signed it and next to it a ten with a tone. "Why are you crying, my child? What happened to you? You haven't made a mistake. Not one, in fact, and what beautiful letters! What a grade you have...
My eyes are watering.
Times that passed counting silver moons and stars that were forgotten on the balconies of dreams along with the jasmines. A shell of memory full of those summer spoils that we collected on deserted shores and thought we were the only ones who had stood so...
Master Stavros the Milk-built
Nature is quiet. You realize that the entire Plateau has always been an object of admiration, not only thanks to its special aesthetic value and unique beauty, but also because of the many caves that are scattered throughout the nature of the Lassithi land. ...
Spinalonga
There is little dry soil, and that is fermented with sea scents and tears. You will encounter only stones, collapsed castle walls and overgrown graves, still open reminders of a life that once passed, shipwrecks of time, scattered spoils of the ages. ...
Cyprus 1974… in the unfair light
The earth is still a monster from the sea of eyes and from the blood of innocents. A monster. This deep sorrow, the heartbreak, the memories are a fountain in the soil. The pain has filled the hearts with time, the bitterness has become a leech on the open lips to swallow the smile insatiably....
Respite from lies and deception
He used to stay alone, sheltered from lies and deception, he limited desires, needs, colossal plans, an untamed river, he knew the value of the emotion of sunrise on a wild, treacherous peak, a raging wave in the open, in the moonlight, he won, in...
Grandpa, my heart is overflowing with your innocence.
Grandpa, my heart is overflowing with your innocence, my eyes are clouded, before me I still see you in the pride, proud, in the abundant abundance you brought forth "on the white stone cold water, on the black jasmine and on the peak golden apple with a bone pen". As long as I am tired of life...