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CALLY2001@aol.com

Orania Hamilton (USA) is a three-time nominee for the prestigious Pushcart Prize – Best of the Small Presses series (in 2005, 2006 and in 2007), 
which has been awarded each year (since 1976) to outstanding authors. In addition to having won several prizes for her poetry, 
Ms. Hamilton’s poetic works have been published in a number of literary magazines and anthologies the past several years. 
She has also been featured as a guest poet in the US and in England on several occasions. Orania Hamilton is of Greek descent and, 
while she is a relatively new “exciting voice” in the genre of poetry (since 1999), her work proudly recalls and furthers the Greek 
tradition of literary and poetic excellence the world has been so graciously blessed with since ancient times. “Cries of the Soul” 
is Ms. Hamilton’s first book-length poetry collection.



 

 

Autumn  Leaves

Left to dangle with just your name,
yet I could hear your call, feel your need.
In the light of what could have been,
destiny now shivers with impulse.

You lie in the back of my mind, 
enfolded beneath my pages of time;
locked between shadows and the wind,
and whispers suspended in my thoughts.

Summer fades from the mountain tops
to engage with a cool autumn breeze,
that fills the earth with floating leaves
on grass that is wet with morning dew.

When distant drums of thunder sound
I will remember, what could have been,
and I will feel your silhouette
move invisibly through the night air.

As rain weeps on my window ledge, 
I will wrap myself in the blanket
of my dreams, and leave my signature
on the scent of autumn leaves.




Gentle Friend

When my days have all been numbered
and a voice calls me to His door,
wake me so I might once again,
see the ones I will see no more.
 
Come and sit here close beside me,
where I can see your gentle smile.
Let me hold your hand so softly
so I might linger for awhile.                                     

Bring my children to me closer,
so I might taste their tearful sighs.
Allow me to recall the days
that quickly pass before my eyes.

Light the candles so I might see,
dancing shadows of those to come.
Let me hear the little footsteps
and the children that they came from.

Snip the roses from my garden,
bring them to me without the thorns.
Air will smell sweet with their fragrance
that soothes the hearts of those that mourn.

Then, when all my light has vanished,
and my eyes can see no more,
take the roses that I cradled
and spread them on my garden floor.

Let the petals close forever
without sorrow or dismay.
Let the ones that stay behind me 
always remember me this way.

Take my ashes to the mountain,
let the wind take them to the sky.
Then promise me: the words I've written,
you will never let them die.



Love Is

It's the wine that sweetens the lips.
Intoxicates the veins that warms
the soul from the vintage of its grapes
with joy shared by the love we give.

When touched by its magnificence,
one must always remember
that love is a passion,
imbued with majestic emotion.
                                                                                                              
Neath a velvet sky with shadows,
lonely nights and empty dawns,
angelic , moves like the moon.  
Drifts softly like a gentle wind,
to encircle itself with our dreams,
so as to wipe away our tears.

Love is an enchanting madness
till all its music has been sung
and its notes chant on mountain tops
that fulfill eternal promise.