View allAll Photos Tagged tinytales
What comes remains a sweet mystery.
We hold on, but also let go,
because wishes and reality dance in the sun.
Find the balance and take what you wished for.
⁛ In quiet waters, the heart opens its sight.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Sometimes, the smallest things, like a butterfly landing on a moment can hold the whole meaning of time.
⁛ Haiku, fragile time, silent change
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Every thought I think is a brushstroke with which I paint my life.
Feelings carry shades, subtle where they touch the heart's quiet space.
Vivid emotions bloom into vivid thoughts,
and those wrapped in shadow stain the mind with deeper tones.
⁛ The soul sees in color long before the eyes do
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
My inner compass always knows which wind to catch, guiding me along life's careful path.
But what if, in this moment, I chose to follow my heart instead?
What if I spread my wings and soared
toward those places I've dreamed of so often?
Would anyone even notice
if I dared to fly beyond the expected,
into the landscapes of my deepest longings?
⁛ Spread your wings and journey into your dreams
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
When you realize that your inner truth
is not what you truly feel,
it's something you pretend to be
just to please others.
Then you'll realize that you're living in a fiction
that you've created for them.
⁛ Soft as dawn, the truth is revealed within us.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Gentle gravity, a mother's love. In her arms, the world slows its frenzied pace. A mother's love is something special, something like a divine presence.
She walks through storms with lanterns in her hands and protects dreams like shells from quicksand.
Each of her gestures hums tenderly, powerfully, with devotion and love, a lullaby that stays forever in the heart. Anyone who has heard it once knows what a mother's love is.
⁛Written in the language only a mother's heart speaks ❤️
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me,
a piece that will always remind you that these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you change them, it is still my soul that lingers and whispers to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and therefore you copy what belongs to others.
Morning silence, a gentle ray of sunshine, a patient moment in the here and now.
Nothing to chase, nothing to prove, simply being here, embraced by movements that make you feel alive...
⁛ where things remember you.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Here, where the shadows of the soul meet the surface of the lake, the darkness whispers its stories. Sometimes, our inner demons are as quiet as the water, yet always present.
A place where silence speaks louder than words. We all carry our demons, hidden behind the facade.
In the mist, the boundaries between inside and outside blur.
A mirror reflecting our inner struggles. Life is often like this image, sometimes chaotic, sometimes still, always full of contrasts.
We all carry our demons, but they make us unique.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
**My heart, my words. Please respect them.**
Dear reader,
These words you are reading right now, whether it's a poem, a short story, or a thought is a piece of my soul. I write with passion, each word flowing from my heart, deeply connected to me. My writings are not just words, they are alive, carrying my emotions and essence within them.
If you plan to take them without my permission, know this: you are also taking a piece of my soul. And with every stolen word, I will always be present within the lines you use.
So be mindful… You never know what lies hidden between the lines, for words hold a power that goes far beyond the visible.💫
The autumn path chills the air,
yet I carry the last roses of my heart
to place them on the bench that waits
just as my soul waits,
for you to return.
⁛ lonely bench that listens
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Sometimes life doesn't give you what you want. It gives you what you didn't know you needed. Not as a reward, but as guidance.
⁛ What blooms in silence often has the deepest roots.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
They draped her in golden chains,
as if she were treasure, not wild.
They thought the weight would silence her wings.
But she didn’t break them
she wore them. And flew.
To remind them Even bound,
a soul born free doesn’t walk it soars.
⁛ Freedom isn’t a condition. It’s a feeling.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
By finding inner peace, I bring harmony to the world around me.
From clarity, my posture is formed, from lightness, my path unfolds.
And whatever is healed within me, quietly reflects in all I encounter.
⁛ Clarity is the quiet force of change.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
The sky opens each time
I play the the melody of your heart.
As if my dreams shine closer,
and my notes grow wings to carry me to the placewhere everything is possible.
⁛ Echoes carved in golden chords
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
What the wind carries away becomes the song of the moment.
Listen to its tune, the wind sings only for you,
and what you believe you hear
is exactly what your soul longs to say.
⁛ Between sea and sky, there was a song
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A beautiful memory lives within each of us.
The beauty of life does not belong only to the past,
it is always present when mind and soul tune into the same frequency.
Imagine what you can become
each time you align with your higher self.
⁛ In quiet alignment, the soul remembers
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Perfection is not a goal on the horizon,
it is a light that shines in every moment when we are content with what is and yet strive to grow in humility and truth.
⁛⁛ A simple gesture unfolds into light
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, story, and thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me, a piece that will always remind you that these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you change them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and so you copy what belongs to others.
The black jaguar, a majestic shadow of the night, moves silently through the jungle. His coat shimmers like oil upon water, his eyes gleam like amber from a hidden valley.
A fusion of strength and grace, he rules with quiet dignity.
⁛ the wind’s confession to the mountain
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Let the autumn rain glitter on the leaves as the cat purrs with glee, She prances through puddles, paws a bit muddy, laughing at the windy spree.
The leaves claptrap the ground while she bats at squelching blobs of color, Her fur, a damp bronze kite, fluffs and flicks as she plays like no other.
Leaves go clatter against her paws “Only brave daredevil leaps,” she grins, She dives and slips, then pops up with a roostertail of rain on her chin.
A dragonfly swoops by in a comic, rubyflash cameo, “Missed me by whisker,” she purrs, and they share a splashy, sunny show.
⁛ Happiness paired with raindrops, *meow*
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Οι όμορφες στιγμές μετριούνται όπως οι στάλες νερού, όταν μπορείς να δεις πιο πέρα από αυτό που σε περιτριγυρίζει.
Γιατί το άπειρο δεν είναι μια αυλή στρωμένη με ασφάλεια, είναι ο κάμπος με τους ελαιώνες που απλώνεται πέρα απ’ το βλέμμα, εκεί που ταξιδεύεις με τα όνειρά σου.
Κι ύστερα, μέσα σε μια αναπνοή, επιστρέφεις πάλι στην πέτρινη αυλή, στην απλή της ομορφιά.
⁛ το άπειρο μέσα στην απλότητα
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
She walks the path, and no one dares speak to her.
In her lowered gaze, she carries a spark the kind that would burn too deeply if ever seen.
⁛ Written with trembling breath
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Among sunflowers and fluttering wings, they found a place of quiet wonder.
He lifted his camera and captured the beauty of a fleeting moment.
She turned to him with a quick kiss and a smile, then back to the horizon, to the sun that was setting gently.
No words were needed.
Every picture he took was a heartbeat,
and every glance she gave reminded him
that even the simplest day could feel like a miracle.
Together, in a meadow of golden blooms,
they let the sun brush their story softly
the day passed, but love remained.
⁛ In every shared silence, love becomes visible.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
You have always been the dream of many generations, yet no one has ever truly seen you, only imagined you.
Deep beneath the seas, in a dimension beyond human understanding, you exist… and I know it.
For beauty that cannot be explained is always present, somewhere, just where you least expect it.
⁛ A hidden truth shines quietly in mystery.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Within the youth of beauty,
a father stands.
His chest broad, filled with memories laughter, joy, and sighs with tears.
The beauty of time is measured
through the eyes of his heart,
where he sees beside him
all the magic of his life.
⁛ a father’s love carved in time
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Joy doesn't always come with noise.
Sometimes it sails in gently,
wrapped in golden light,
and speaks softly into your ear... You are home.
⁛ Happiness needs no reason, only presence.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
The line bends
and in that curve,
a question,
is it the catch that pulls,
or the weight of longing?
⁛ The heart sees clearer in the hush of waves.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Liquid Sunlight Between ink and gold, a village dreams in the light, As if the sea has sipped sunlight and turned it into wine.
⁛ from the diary of a wandering soul
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Hours pass like playful light, sunny moments fade, but a radiant glow remains.
The leaves fall gently, teaching time to swing, joy and loss mingle, then a new day dawns with new, fleeting situations that shape us.
⁛ In quiet waters, the heart opens its sight.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Two spirits side by side, they move with quiet fire, guided by instinct, carried by freedom.
free, wild, untamed.
⁛ Every leap, a heartbeat of wild freedom.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Τίποτα το ιδιαίτερο
κι όμως, να που ο ήλιος έπεσε αλλιώς στο περβάζι.
Ένα βλέμμα κράτησε λίγο παραπάνω.
Κάτι μικρό άλλαξε,
και ξαφνικά η μέρα είχε χρώμα.
⁛ Η ζωή δεν προειδοποιεί όταν ανθίζει.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
A small fishing boat sat abandoned on the shore, weathered by years of service. A large hole on its port side made it unusable, but the boat carried a heart full of memories.
"I may be broken," it whispered to the wind, "but I’ve seen beauty that will never fade." It remembered the early mornings, gliding over calm waters, mist rising as the sun kissed the lake. The old fisherman, with his gentle hands, casting the net, laughing as they brought in their catch.
They had shared countless days together, in silence and song, through storms and stillness. Now, useless to most, the little boat still held its worth.
"I may no longer sail," it sighed, "but my purpose wasn’t just to fish. It was to carry a life, a friendship, and a thousand stories." Though broken, it remained valuable for the memories it sheltered.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
The sky shrinks to make room for thought
Leaves fall and cover the earth.
It smells of soil and return.
Autumn:
The season in which one learns
to leave emptiness behind.
⁛ In falling, everything remembers its root.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
With every gentle flight, she carries life from bloom to bloom, binding together the harvests that will one day nourish us all.
More than honey, she offers us fruits, grains, and the quiet continuity of the seasons. To pause for a moment and realize how precious she is to us would take no effort, thank you for watching over us.
⁛ Deep gratitude for this enchanting creature
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
[This morning, the first snow graced the mountain peaks, quiet and beautiful. And yet, my thoughts drifted far from winter,
to the warmth of a beach, the touch of sun,
and the soft sensation of sand beneath bare feet.
That longing became today’s image and these words.
May they carry a bit of that warmth to you.]
If you want snow to feel like sand,
the heart will make it so.
Palm trees grow where thoughts dare not go.
The world isn’t what you see
it’s what you believe.
⁛ You choose the weather of your soul.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
What if I meant every word of my stubborn heart? What if the words I keep to myself were the truth? What if the pauses between us were doors I hesitate to cross? What if the pain I carry within me was a map showing where I learned to love?
What if I admitted the tremble in my voice when I speak your name? What if I accepted the invitations I didn't accept, the chances I turned down? What if the "could have" became a compass for a braver tomorrow? What if I finally, with rain in my eyes, finally told you... that I mean it.
⁛ Only those who feel deeply can hold gently.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Once, a proud, ancient tree stood tall in the middle of a vast meadow, blanketed with yellow flowers that swayed gently in the breeze. Deer grazed peacefully in the distance, oblivious to the passage of time, while birds soared silently through the sky. For centuries, this tree had been a sanctuary, its branches cradling countless lives, its roots holding the earth in an unbreakable embrace.
But even the strongest cannot escape the inevitable. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the tree, now frail and weary, gave a final, soft sigh and collapsed. No sound echoed, no trace lingered. Only emptiness. Everything, even the timeless, fades away...
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Cowboy Bill. He wanted to be a cowboy. So did I when I was a child. Cowboy, not cowgirl, because we know that Roy always had more fun than Dale, plus he got to ride Trigger (I watched Roy Rogers on TV in reruns in the early 1960s).
Whitman Tiny Tales.
Breath and heartbeat, clock and sky, the melodic hum of “is” that lingers near.
In this lightness arises a feeling I cannot chase, only feel.
⁛ Written in the space between what is and what could be
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
On a branch in emerald light they sit, two birds in love, their joys admit. They chat in tunes of happy sounds, telling tales as the breeze goes ’round.
A kiss from one, a joke from the other, clouds drift by the sky their cover. They laugh, the world grows serene and mild, for every word is love compiled.
⁛ a confession from the edge of a dream
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
For days his heart carried a joyful tremor, waiting for this hour, this sacred moment, when his voice trembled with emotion as he promised her a love for a lifetime.
Many summers have passed since then, yet still his heart takes flight every time he sees her.
I love you, my sweet one, forever.
⁛ Where love lingers, anniversaries bloom.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
When the silver coffee pot hangs in the center of the window…
…the scent of fresh coffee slowly fills the room as the first light of morning filters through the glass.
The pot swings ever so slightly, perhaps nudged by a gentle breeze, and tiny droplets glisten along its rim.
Maybe it’s a moment that stands alone, just the coffee pot at the window, timeless in its odd charm.
Perhaps the pot has found its place up there to observe the world from a different perspective.
Suspended by a chain, it dangles high in the window as though it were the sparkling centerpiece of a quiet ritual,
understood only by the mist swirling outside.
And so, gazes drift back again and again to the silver pot, watching over it all.
Was it placed there as a gesture of hospitality? Or simply out of pure whimsy?
There’s no answer, only a quiet pleasure in this unusual, yet wonderfully charming detail.
One can only wonder, perhaps it hangs there simply to bring a smile,
like a small greeting from someone with a taste for the unexpected.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Those of us who are a certain age will recall this cheerful book plate, found inside Whitman's Tiny Tales Books (the one this is from sold for 5 cents, but I recall them costing 35 cents each).
I cleaned out the scrawl left by original young owner so that I could have a bookplate to use in my own books, so I've uploaded it for you to use, too.
Just don't redistribute it in collage sheets or sell it as your own image. Print some out and put 'em in your books!
"It's about to happen, I can feel it," mused the magnificent cat, lying on a riverbank, wagging his tail in quiet amusement. He had a hunch that someone was definitely going to get wet today. Meanwhile, Rib-bit-ton the Frog, who was lazily sitting in a corner of the ladder, let out a satisfied croak.
"They have no idea what they're doing," his little frog grin widened. "But let's not spoil the fun. The sun is shining too well today to worry about it." The cat purred in agreement, and they both enjoyed the peaceful chaos unfolding before them.
Her two friends, always up to some mischief, had gotten themselves into quite the situation. One dangled upside down, paws barely clinging to the wooden edge, while the other leaned down, desperately trying to save her. It was an odd dance half clumsy, half heroic.
The lounging cat perked up an ear but remained calm. "They'll figure it out," she thought with a slow, knowing blink.
After some frantic meowing and a few nearly missed grabs, the two managed to scramble back up together, panting and wide-eyed. They looked at each other, a bit embarrassed, then burst into relieved purrs.
The resting cat smiled inwardly. “Life’s little stumbles,” she thought, “are always sweeter when shared with those who care enough to pull you up.”
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
The Whisper of the Walls
She didn’t ask why the cube existed.
She only asked, what if it bloomed?
With every splash of emerald and ember,
the wall remembered that it, too, had once been alive
before the rules, before the labels,
before the system built a system to forget itself.
And the girl? She wasn’t painting to escape.
She was painting to remind.
That within the codes, within the cold...
there is still a place for softness.
For madness. For art.
And that maybe, just maybe
the Matrix doesn’t fear rebellion.
It fears beauty it cannot control.
But what is beauty,
if not a question the system never learned to answer?
Not symmetry not order, not perfection.
Beauty is the crack in the algorithm's voice.
It’s the child’s laughter echoing through sterile corridors.
It’s a brushstroke where a barcode should be.
And as she moved, barefoot on broken tiles
the walls twitched. The matrix trembled.
Not from fear… but from something worse:
Longing.
Because even the coldest structure
remembers warmth. Even logic
remembers color. Even control
remembers the thrill of letting go.
⁛ words that traveled without a map
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Remember...
Not with the mind.
Remember with the heart.
Not names or books,
but the rhythm beneath your skin
when the Earth begins to speak
that is what you must remember.
It is an echo.
A call from the deep well of time.
The sound of breath,
born in stillness,
carried by the soul of the ancient South.
Let your soul speak.
Do not silence it any longer.
It knows the way
that leads you to wholeness.
Let go.
You’ve walked this path
so many times before.
Pause for a moment...
and remember.
Those who hear, will remember.
Those who feel, will understand.
Those who are silent, will return home.
⁛ Spoken by Lorrie Agapi, from a place beyond memory.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
The footprints you leave reveal your truest self. Everything you pour your heart into reflects who you are at the core. Even the way you move through the gray masses holds a glimpse of your inner light.
It is time to let go of the mask you've worn to protect yourself and allow your true self to emerge. Trust your heart, the path it leads you on won’t bring more pain than the burden of hiding who you are, just to meet others' expectations. When will you start honoring yourself, discovering who you truly are beneath the layers?
Release the hope that others might carry away your pain they are each carrying their own. We often wish for a soul to drift by and lift our worries, but where would they take them? There’s no place where sorrow is neatly gathered and cast away.
Reveal your true self, and you’ll naturally begin to shed the heavy weight you’ve carried for so long. That mask of protection will no longer be necessary once you recognize your own worth, exactly as you are. Those who don’t see your value can continue on their way, for you are finally free to live as your genuine self. It is time...
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
«Πρώτη φορά με σανδάλια στη σκηνή!»
Ζωντανά στο Πάνθεον, μόνο για δύο νύχτες
79 π.Χ. (ξαναπαίζεται μόνο αν ευθυγραμμιστούν οι πλανήτες)
Μετά από εκατοντάδες αιώνες σιωπής,
μετά από 42 προσκλήσεις από τους Ολύμπιους,
μετά από 3 εξαφανίσεις του Ερμή,
η ίδια η Μόνα Λίζα αποφάσισε:
«Ναι, θα παίξω τη λύρα μου!»
Με χρυσό μελάνι, υπογεγραμμένη από τις 9 Μούσες,
εγκρίθηκε απ’ τον Απόλλωνα με μία μόνο λέξη:
«Επιτέλους.»
Ένα διήμερο ταξίδι στην καρδιά της Αρχαίας Ελλάδας,
με συνοδεία λύρας, χορούς της αυγής
και αποθεωτικές κριτικές από Μούσες και Ημίθεους.
Μόνα Λίζα, λύρα, βλέμμα, ανεξήγητο χαμόγελο.
Απόλλωνας, Ήλιος στα φωνητικά και φως στα πλήκτρα
Ορφέας (ειδικός καλεσμένος) παραλλαγές των θρήνων του σε ήχο χαμηλής συχνότητας
Σαπφώ, ερμηνεία προφορικού λόγου: «αν μ’ αγαπάς, πες το με φως»
Ερμής, υποσχέθηκε να μην εξαφανιστεί στα μισά του προγράμματος
«Αν δεν τη δεις, θα σε κυνηγάει ο Ερμής με σημειωματάριο», έγραψε η Εστία.
Κώδικας ενδυμασίας:
Αρχαιοελληνική αναγέννηση με πινελιές Ντα Βίντσι
(προσοχή: οι θεατές με ιριδίζοντα βλέμματα θα κάθονται μπροστά)
Στο τέλος της συναυλίας:
Κληρώνονται 5 αυθεντικές χορδές από τη λύρα της Μόνα
(έχουν ευλογηθεί από τις Χάριτες)
Το γλέντι στα παρασκήνια θα περιλαμβάνει:
– αθάνατο μέλι,
– νεράκι μέντας για τους Θεούς,
– ολύμπια σκωπτικά στιχάκια,
και ένα μουσικό σετ από τον Ηφαιστίωνα τον Σιωπηλό.
Μικρή συμβουλή:
Όταν αρχίσει να παίζει... μην προσπαθήσεις να καταλάβεις γιατί χαμογελά.
Απλώς άκου.
Στην Πνύκα, ανάμεσα σε Ακροπόλεις και περγαμηνές,
η Μόνα σήκωσε όλα τα βλέμματα επάνω της.
Τότε ακούμπησε τη λύρα και ακούστηκε το πρώτο…
Πλίνγκ…
Ο Απόλλωνας έμεινε άφωνος.
Ο Πάνας… ξέχασε να στήσει πανικό.
Ο Πάρις αναστέναξε.
Η Αθηνά έριξε το κράνος κάτω.
Ο Δίας δάκρυσε λίγο (αλλά το έκρυψε με βροντή).
Η Αφροδίτη την κάλεσε για παρασκήνια...
Και κάπως έτσι τελείωσε η διήμερη συναυλία μας,
με την υπέροχη καλεσμένη μας,
τη μοναδική Μόνα Λίζα,
που όταν η Αφροδίτη τη ρώτησε να της φανερώσει
το μυστικό πίσω από το χαμόγελό της,
η μόνη απάντηση ήταν:
…ένα χαμόγελο,
και ένα…
🎶 Πλιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιιινγκ.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Each poem, story, and thought I share is a part of my soul.
They live, carrying my emotions within them.
To take them without permission is to take a piece of me.
Words hold power far beyond the visible.
In a village where time seemed to sigh, stood an old stone house, marked by a century of seasons and silent dialogues with the river. Its walls bore the memory of a thousand winds and a dozen winters, each crack a delicate thread in a tapestry of patience.
The house held the light with unusual delicacy. At dawn, the stones shone as if breathing gently, their rough surfaces catching the first blush of day and transforming it into a warm, patient welcome.
Around midday, rays of sunlight filtered through the small panes, painting golden patterns on the wood and casting shadows across the floor smoothed by generations.
As evening fell, the canal became a silent mirror, reflecting the stoic beauty of the house and the silhouettes of the boats. The air smelled of earth and fern, and a distant church bell tolled to the heartbeats of the residents.
In this small nexus of stone, water, and sky, every moment was pure beauty, and to experience it meant living more fully, more kindly, and more courageously.
⁛ Where walls remember, and every moment breathes courage.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.