Toast’s Update – Shortlisted, Fundraiser and Articles!

Hi Friends, a few cool new things happening in the next month or so!

  • I’ve just been shortlisted for Penguin Random House Write It fellowship!!! I am submitting the full manuscript on the 20th of May! A big few weeks of writing and editing ahead. I am so excited and grateful for this opportunity!
  • From 23rd to the 26th of May, I will be doing a fundraiser called ‘Pen2Paper’ for Story factory where I will be raising $300 to help students gain access to the agency’s creative writing workshops! Support me here!
    I also have been interviewed by Arnold B. Spencer. It was great time and he asked some really interesting question. I talk about my poetry, Dungeons and Dragons and why I drink water while I write!
  • Autumn, That Bastard is almost complete! However, due to the intense editing I am doing both for the manuscript and university, I will be delaying the next few poems until end of May/beginning of April. Grey House will be released next week with an updated release schedule.
  • I have contributed and created an article about Writing Queer characters in the Writing Community Newsletter! Check it out here and subscribe to it!
  • I have just finished and sent off my article for D.I.R.G.Ezine. The zine will be ready for publication in the coming months so stay tuned!

Thank you to all of those who have kept up and been engaged with me throughout this time! May will be a slower month for content in terms of blog posts, but many big things are happening!

Stay awesome!

‘Grey House’ – Poetry Sneak-peek (Autumn, That Bastard)

‘Grey House’ to be released Friday this week!

Exciting things are coming up! If you haven’t seen already, I am a part of a fundraiser called ‘Pen2Paper’, helping marganlised youth access creative writing workhops!

Support me here!

Follow me on twitter @Seductivetaco

Like my Facebook page @ Christoast Thoughts

Deity (Poem)

Website Version with Author’s Comments Here

By Christos Floratos

 

I happened upon God once where the trains all meet.

Some untethered opera,

Some backwater near Cronulla.

Home was only around when he showed his radiant face.

 

I found Buddha once in the closest of my mind.

A certain harmony followed my shut eyes

Where charity chanced my unsullied temper.

A gleam into a thought that was most aqua, and of eucalypti.

 

I thought I saw Vishnu by the pond on my street, once.

Their gaze, of all of them, critiqued my bones.

My teeth were hot, and I was sick of faded rainbows.

But they all accepted… eventually. Smiled… forever.

 

I once pondered Allah,

In a field scorn of ignorance; that White powdered most.

Five pillars untouched yet unfound.

I had only a broken encore to share, nothing they hadn’t heard.

 

Once, I was one with the dream time.

A flurry red and black dots that

linked me from Dharug, Eora and Ku-ring-gai.

Some stories weren’t mine to keep, but mine to know.

 

I concluded, upon a time.

Sitting on dragonfly-ridden fields,

That a singularity was never enough to consider.

How these worlds birthed a supernova,

 

A conflux now limitless, enshrined in shine.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019

There, We’re Whispers – What the Heck am I Rambling about? #7

There, We’re Whispers‘ is the first poem I wrote in the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ poetry collection. Originally titled “There Were Whispers” I revamped and remodelled it to focus on place rather than time. With that said, this type of poem I am more interested in what my readers perceive of it. I have mentioned ‘death of the author’ before, but this poem well and truly is a representation of that in the sense that I do not want to cast an image of what I think it is about.

Wooden Walls

Grey Jungle

Their doorstep

Humble Abode

Descriptions of place within the poem

Something really interesting I found is talking about why I changed the title so last minute. So ‘There Were Whispers’ focuses on time and ‘There, We’re Whispers’ focuses on place and individuals. Throughout the poem I refer to various places, but ‘humble abode’ denotes feelings of kinship and a homey feeling that has caused problems for the voice.

What are these problems though?

No, it is not that cold snap,
Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,
The houses left tender – just a whisper.
In howls of the past; here they entrap.

Rhyming Example

If you notice, the poem rhymes, stops in a peculiar place, keeps going and then ends without a rhyme. This is to symbolise rhythm with life once a previous assumption/pleasure is challenged. That we stop to think about it, try to move on with our lives but the activity/thing becomes irreparable moving forward.

Moving onto the last stanza, I want to talk about how it completely changed and how that affects the final meaning. Originally, it was meant to be:

There were whispers

and I was afraid.

Pre-production Last Stanza

Other than being a total rip-off ‘The Walking Dead’ comic issue, it felt like it did not serve the rest of the poem. Being afraid is only apparent if you make a few leaps and jumps over rivers of confusion in the poem. Being shameful is relevant with people asking who he is, the ‘spitting lights’ which casts imagery of him being lesser, the contrast with being salvation but also being Satan…

There, we’re whispers

And I followed that shame.

Published Last stanza

But as I say, I am a big fan of what people think! Do let me know what you think in the comments, social media, or even emails!

Thank you to everyone so far who has given comments and their thoughts on my writing! It has been a blast to read!

There, We’re Whispers

Website Version Here

By Christos Floratos

In grainy corridors calling distant lights

Where shadows erect pillars of blight,

The wooden walls beg down upon me,

And here I am left quaking at its fee.

 

No, it is not that cold snap,

Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,

The houses left tender – just a whisper.

In howls of the past; here they entrap.

 

Arsonists of hate and weavers of sorrow

They gather like dying moths to flickering toilet lights.

“Isn’t that him?” They whisper and spray,

With their stuttered voice and eyes disarray,

 

Like Satan is on their door step and all they can do

Is whisper and point at him.

The farmer of salvation dug deep in mud yet

No one utters a word to him.

 

Neon lights echo a howling gale through the grey jungle

Flashes flash as Utterers utter

“Tell us more.” They demand then hide,

However, they’ve been blinded by their gaze to the blaring sun.

Yet here I am in this humble abode,

Ants follow and sheep’s tune to anode

For you see,

It all came with one simple mist…

 

Because of those whispers

And those damn spitting lights

It shook me here in this necropolis disintegrating

And all those sheep are going,

And here in the back of the cities I must confess,

 

There, we’re whispers.

And I followed the shame.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019

This is one of those ‘death of the author’ poems I alluded too that would come in this collection. I am so interested in what other people think this poem is about, so shoot me a message on my social medias or leave a comment below!

Other poems of the Autumn, That Bastard collection:

The Penelope Complex – What the Heck am I Rambling about? #6

In ‘The Penelope Complex’ I use the character from Homer’s Odyssey to draw comparisons and reflect on my own fidelity to the craft of writing and my own literary identity.

You can check out the poem here before reading ahead!

As promised in the author’s comments section, I will expand upon the River Nile and Styx reference. Although this comes from Egyptian mythology, I also use Biblical mythology along with the more poignant Greek Mythology to represent the conflux of my personal writing identity. When writing, I often feel I need a period of going down a metaphorical ‘River Styx’ to get me to flourishing and blooming, similar to the bounties of the flood that the Nile produces. Usually though, it is hard to articulate this.

But who am I to suggest such a flow

A stream of vacant words is all I know

The most obvious reference to Penelope is about me standing tall and waiting for sailors. I say I usually wait for the right idea, wait the right prose to hit me, wait until I have free time to end up writing… but, yes you guessed it, that’s a lie. Focus is usually hard that erupts in life and usually I miss chances that I could use to further hone in on my craft. The cave I refer to that other sailors, which are interchangeable with other authors or other ideas for writing I might have, go to is a metaphor isolation that is often paired with the hobby of writing. Similar to that of a grave, which is why I use the rhyming scheme of grave/cave.

I wait, wait, wait. But wait, that’s a lie.

The alliteration of ‘typewriter’s’, ‘tent’ and ‘temporary’ attempts to produce the feeling of short-lived moment, such as the purpose of ‘tent’ and the nostalgia of writing on a ‘typewriter’. Unlike Penelope, I make the remark saying that I am unable to wait, calling back on the Adam reference in the last stanza with the rib. The quickie exorcist is reference to trying to find ways to revive old stories, that have been lost to my own dedication to my craft. Stories, characters and entire worlds I have cast aside to remain loyal to a specific piece of work. Below, I do see grass in terms of fertility of ideas but remaining forward, I will be burdened by not being able to tap into everything I would love to work with.

More ghosts undulate through this hall everyday
Scoured by a quickie exorcist who shall prey.

Thank you for getting down here and getting to know a little bit more of what I am rambling about. If you have any interpretations for yourself, I would so love to hear them in the comments or in my social medias!

The Penelope Complex (Poem)

By Christos Floratos

_

Perhaps (unlike the earth) I am still.

A foyer of glass.

This God’s broken – he’s ill!

I should take a seat for this pen-ship will be a while.

Perhaps from this River Styx

Flows the River Nile.

But who am I to suggest such a flow,

A stream of vacant words is all I know,

For what else will stem from my mouth’s door.

Resistance etches past like a broken claw.

_

Poor devil. Afar, He is so wounded.

I am not a sinner. I exist in this garden, guarded.

Pen to paper, and where I sit, a lost Eve.

The red bite of delights was added to my fee.

I am eager, I am complex, I am strong, I am indifferent to Adam.

And I am in no mood to forget this ill requited spasm.

_

This is a hero’s (Ulysses) hall which hails from the great south.

I am its champion as established by word of mouth.

A step forward should jilt the glass,

And I will fall through, the death-bed of the middle class.

_

Out the window the evening tide calls,

When I see a bulbous light on the horizon, I stand tall.

But cocky sailors arrive from beyond the grave

They go home, back to being buried in a cave.

_

I wait, wait, wait. But wait, that’s a lie.

Under the hollow fogs that sprout I must confide,

I have no time for consistency in my crafts construction.

See me in my paper hut, all is friction.

_

This typewriter’s tent is only temporary

Though I experience such a parry

When the birds, crickets, cicadas and barks fill my ear.

I cannot always hold beauty out of fear.

I like glass for its not opaque.

Nothing to tempt, no crimson quake.

_

I must not damsel on the notepad foyer for routine grows dreary on me,

It bags and sags, ages like skin, and Goddamn my old works weren’t the key.

In my wake as I move forward, I produce black smog

I cannot wait for you, take my rib now and sit like a dog.

More ghosts undulate through this hall everyday

Scoured by a quickie exorcist who shall prey.

Below me, I see grass.

Above, I shall fast.

_

© Christos Floratos 2019

When Winter Is Expected – What the Heck am I Rambling about? #5

“When Winter is Expected” is the poem where it all (conceptually speaking) began for the ‘Autumn, That Bastard‘ collection. I wrote this poem after my dog, Lilly, passed away. The poem is a reflection of both her and myself in the Autumn that is ageing and time.

You can check out ‘When Winter is Expected‘ here.

There is one or two characters in this poem, depending how you look at it. These two characters are, symbiotic. The only defining character trait of both that unite then is their genders being the same. This is a reference to both me and Lily being young and old, both of us being both of these things at once. I intentionally confuse the audience with who the girl is and who the other woman is. Although it does not make for crisp reading, its a way for met to express the discrepancy of ageing and how confronting it is in this situation.

Her eyes are washed with cerulean;
Of the stream and the moss afloat,
Of hybrids of delphinium, iris and hydrangeas,
Of afore her eyes, the girl’s yellow dress and the sky above.

Stanza 2

The river’s are another reference to our lives being on the same trajectory and slowly branching off and running away from the girls sprint ahead. ‘No false mower’ is a reference to not denying her favourite activity, which was to go on walks and be ahead of me (which is the girl is a head of the lady).

At every glance from the girl, she can’t help but turn aside.

Stanza 3

The tagline for the whole ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ collection comes from here. “Savour the warmth for winter is expected to come.” Savouring the warmth refers to keeping up the good times with her in her final weeks and preparing for the winter of grief that would come after. Again, this is applicable for both me and for her.

Run into the sun that sets, swallow the light.
Savour the warmth, for winter is expected to come.

Stanza 7

Thank you for checking out this little discussion on my poetry!

Follow my blog to be up to date with poetry releases and projects I am working on!

Check out other poems from the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ poetry collection.