Crysse Morrison writes prose, poetry, and drama, and finds the Greek islands essential for her creative wellbeing.
Crysse Morrison’s first performed play was set in Skyros where she visits each year ‘to irrigate my soul’ and she has led creative writing courses too on Kythira, Zykynthos and Crete where she also spent five weeks walking the south west coast.
They seduce you utterly, shamelessly,
almost banal in their obvious guiles:
the moonpale beach, dayglo blue sea
that ceramic smoothness of the sky,
slow swirls of mist in the ouzo glass,
warm air and laughter in the night.
And everywhere, like meshing spider webs
on thorny hills, a fragility of longing.
And there is always a moment
when myth and fuse,
amber resin of then, and now.
I remember my first epiphany.
Burnished hillside, a priest
stroking a cat in the vine leaf shade
of the monastery door.
Sun slashed the shadows,
cicadas shrilled, and on his transistor –
– the Beastie Boys played
‘You gotta fight for your right to party!’
Greek islands are like that.
Tainted enigmas, sainted sluts,
smells of jasmine and lust.
Poetry in this post: © Crysse Morrison
Published with the permission of Crysse Morrison