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By Nicholas Alexander Papantoniou

ISBN: 978-1-84991-607-3
Published: 2013
Pages: 200
Key Themes: Mental Health, Mental Illness, Poetry, Obsessive-Compulsive


Nicholas was born in London on September 29th 1957.

In Athens, in mid-September, 1977, after a flash of
inspiration, on a bus, on the way home from Kiffissia, to
Metamorphosis, in the suburbs of Athens-he wrote his first poem.

He was nineteen.

At the age of twenty-nine, during June, 1987, he began to get
sudden bursts of inspiration and started writing poetry very
frequently. Being obsessive-compulsive, he noted the time
that he began and ended each poem. He writes poetry in
exited haste, trying to get it all on paper while the inspiration lasts.

In 2009 and 2010 he had more flashes of ‘inspiration’ than ever

Sometimes, he calls them his ‘visions.’

Book Extract


Heather was thirteen,
A green-eyed, red-haired, pale-faced girl.
I saw her once-once long ago,
She was so pretty, sweet and sad-
Where did she go?

Susan was fourteen,
A brown-eyed, brown-haired, pink-faced girl.
I loved her once-but never told-
When I was young,
She was so beautiful, merry and bold-
Why did it ever fold?

Anne was fifteen,
A hazel-eyed, dark-haired, pallid-faced girl.
I smiled at her-just passing by,
When a mere youth,
She was so lovely, winsome and shy.
But she did die.

Sharon was sixteen,
A blonde-haired, blue-eyed, freckled girl.
She won my heart-when I was a teen,
She was so gorgeous, wild and free-
Her face-it always stayed with me.

Karen was seventeen,
A chestnut-haired, grey-eyed, milk-faced girl.
She spoke to me-to my surprise,
A single time-when I too was 17,
The path to joy was in her eyes-
And what did it mean?

I feel that they must still exist,
As perpetual, everlasting, teenagers.
Floating or flying in timeless space,
As they so richly deserve to-
For the calibre of their innocence and hope,
And the poignant truth,
Of their ephemeral loveliness,
Sweetness and new-dawn beauty.
Or for the strange assonance,
Of the remembered moment when I saw them,
Knew them-understood them each.
And for the brief glow,
They gave to the world.
To this evil and wicked and beautiful,
Wonderful, transcendent world.

Heather, Susan, Anne, Sharon, Karen.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
You’re teenagers, forever.
And I am too, with you.

Dancing on orange-pink, sunset, clouds.
Or in the silver-blue, moonlit, summer skies.
With such infinite teens delight.
It was the best light of living,
That I loved,
And you loved too.

And that-I think-
Is the way that it should be.

Still-when I think of all those and other,
Beautiful-departed, teenage girls.
Of yesterday, today and tomorrow-
To me-it seems such an awful,
And terrible crime.

For they never, never learn,
That you cannot earn,
The slightest boon-
From time.


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