Inhalt

Content

-1.Words of Love.................................page 3
2.Metaphysics...................................page 4
3.The Snowman...................................page 6
4.Dance of Love.................................page 8
5.Sunset [ double Quintain (English and Sicilian)]....................................page10
6. One for My Baby.............................page12
7.Bleeding words................................page14
8.Moonlight Sonata..............................page 15
9.The Blue of His Face...............................page 16

10.The Eagles....................................page 17
11.The Lamb.....................................page 18
12.The Passing of Time .........................page 19
-13.The Non-Existent Truth...............page 20
14.Spaces of Faith................................page 21
15.The Echo of the Highest Peak....page 22
16.I'm no Longer Blind (Quatern poetry)....page 23
17.You Ask Me to lLeave (Pantoum poetry)..page 24
18. Queen Anne's Lace (Choka poetry)...page 25
19.My Crying jJail...........page 26
20. The City....................page 27
21. In the Same Space(Concrete Poetry).......page 28
22.The Computer Tree- Algorithm (Sextuple Crystalline Poetry)........page 29
23. Metaphysics (Triple Cinqku Poem).....page 29
24. Pacific Trash Vortex (Triple Tetractys)...page 30

25.Araucana Chilean...............................page 31

26.The White City.....................................page 32

27.Variable Reality.....................................page 34

28.Summertime............................page 36

29.Odd Sensation.........................page 37

30.The Stone........................page 38

31.Natural Thrill..................page 39

32.Clinical Death................................page 39

33.Roses' Scent............................page 40

34.The Blue Cafe.........................page 41

35.God Breaks the Chains..........page 42

36.The Shadows of the Trees..................page 44

37.This Universe..............................page 45

38.Flamenco Dance.......................page 46

39.Bible, Franz Kafka, and Mayan Popol Vuh.............page 47

Words of Love

I have seemingly missed your words of love,
Those words that were written in the sand
And erased by the first wave.
Do you remember, my love?
I have enclosed them hermetically
With that last kiss.
And after that,
Another kiss
And another exotic beach
And another feeling, autumnal feeling,
Of another ostensible seemingly love
Fulfilled my nothingness...
Among corals and shells,
Dried by the winds of the sea,
I awake in following my forgotten steps,
Taken by the waves
And redirected to the great unknown in the sea,
That great eternal.....
I still love you,
I love you more, miss you more.
Yes, I still miss you
And I realize that all I can do now
Is to lodge near the moan of the sea's sand,
Which feels like a worn-out

silk slip dress,
When I touch it.
And slantingly I elect the oblivion,
When
I want to kiss again and again
Your gray-haired temple,
But, in reverting, I receive only
The kiss of our child...

Metaphysics

If we combined
The perfectly good and the perfectly evil,
We would obtain imperfection.
If we took
A piece of paradise
And a piece of hell

To gather them together,

Our souls would become less beautiful
Because the truth would swallow the lie, and
The absolute truth would become relative.
If our love swallowed our hatred,
We would love each other less than usual.
If we formed an amphora
While trying to find the absolute truths
In a new and perfect love for Him,
We would need all our faith
To remove
All the lies and all our hatred of us.
If we lied and our hatred
Became two trenchant
Weapons,
And if we could chose Lucifer for hitting
Our relative truths,

They would mathematically fall to become
Downright uncertainties.
The wounded love would disappear from us
And we would turn into new salt stones,
As Lot's wife turned while seeing Sodom burning.
And if the truth was equal to the lie,
And our love was equal to our hatred,
We would become
Absolutely nil persons,
While dying slowly and while melting ourselves
Into nothingness,

While the absolute truth and the absolute lie
Was in no touch.
The reason to save the self
And to search for the purity
Is that their arguments are always perfect....
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Snowman

The snowman doesn't know why
The reasons are balanced perfectly by feelings.

He was dealing last week with a snowstorm
Wondering how many snowflakes could fall..

The snowman thinks of
The pure joy of being alive.

Now, the rain comes down in trickles to melt the snow,
And he wants to let all the weight of life fall to the ground

and to become a part of it.

He shines like porcelain now,
And he knows that he has nowhere else to go.

He makes an effort to distinguish between
These two incommensurable realms, nature and freedom.

He examines the black hearses spanning out of white.
He discovers the twilight sky, the rising sun,

and this inconsequential world.

He understands that flourish of innocence and simplicity.

He makes an effort to distinguish between
His own immortality and his existence.

The snowflakes begin to fall so softly upon his icy heart.
The gentle snowflakes begin to fall again.
A blackbird starts to hang the darkness of the night.

The whole world constitutes for him now a

great ambiguity and elusiveness.
He remains tightly closed with his owner inside.

Significantly, the night begins to kill the day's seconds.

He makes an effort to distinguish between
The ineliminable input of external and internal sensations....

He begins to have his own consciousness.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

Dance of Love

The wind scraps our deep love dance off with the sudden gusts.
Our swift flicks it several times, its tip just touching the wet sand.
The sky is blue, and the leaves of our tree are covered with rust.

My hands move down your body before reaching your hips.

The predation tremor is the early life dance of thrills flounder.
Cradling my body in your arms, my lips are warm against your lips.
Your thoughts make me shiver as my eyes wander endlessly over.
You take steps, and make the turn into, and become a part of my dance.

An explosion of dawn light and the stirrings of happiness herald.
You take me to a loving place, take me higher, I fall into a trance.
I keep the new world in the grain of green having eyes of emerald.
You keep close, love whispers in my ear; I fly to the heavens’ high.

While touching me, you dance your lips in many orbital circles.
It's a rip in the space-time continuum, and I hear the love sigh.
Love makes slain the sentinel, a deity surrounding our corpuscles.

It is a connection between the hearts, the soul, and the body.

We dance our feelings, our tears, our thoughts, and our passion.
Dancing in the rhythm with stars, our love we need to embody.

Dance is deep, intricately intertwined, the impetus of our vision.
Ecstatic moments are rumbles of our minds and our souls.

We swallow deeply each other; it is like madness
And like a naturally flowing rhythm of our existence to feel
Every part of our molecular structure and to relieve the sadness.
You fulfill my desire, and you get my heart on a string.

We understand the language of our bodies having polar reactions.
Without you, I’m like a little star losing its mass and its rays.
When I’m with you, your love enhances me and gets me in a trance.
We become two souls dancing our love dance in the same clay

Sunset

( English and Sicilian Quintain )

While the bud butterflies melt their wings
Within the light red poppy chain,
The pink-gray clouded, sad sunset rings
In this lost sky, the sun’s light vein
Is almost thrown in a bloody pain.

The leaving sun abandons the sky
For the moon, and in the cricket crawl
The leaves of the oaks whisper “goodbye,”
While the coming night has a dark shawl.

She looks at the stars with a black eye.

The sun and the stars find synergy,

In the regolith on the moon,

But with helium fusing energy,

This moon looks like a big balloon,

Or like a fragile, silky cocoon.

And like those thoughts enveloped in words,

Or like angels carrying their pure love,
Are the Feathers of the Holy Birds
In that rain dropping the divine globes,
On the strong souls needing love’s rewards.

Any epistemological sphere
Is pouring up to the Holy Book,
Or is falling down to disappear.
The reverse arch gets a killer look.
Tries to provide fragrance of fear.

The fluid, wicked waves draining in sight
On Earth to meet at infinity
Are like the dark rays in the pure light.
Light rays are arches of Trinity.
Dressed in the wind seems to be the night.

Stars are candles and night lights them all,
The colors withdraw in the last light.
In the black darkness, they look so small.
The dream seeds germinate for a fight,
Becoming real for breaking their wall.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

One for My Baby

His single-mindedness has been gone.
Became contradictory.
Relinquished to fight with
his chimera.

Now, he denudes, takes off his self.
Dismembers.
His lulls have to give shape
to his own abyss, as well as to open
the portal of enlightenment he does
not have without identifying the image of his emptiness.

All his convictions are to be cut off.

Nor is he not inaudible while he has to summarize
his own epic—a life being
not even wrong,
nor any sigh can be heard.

She is like no one else.

In the casino, the piano swallows all the heavy notes
instead of him, while
dropping them one by one into an
imperceptible mouth
until the culmination.

A quarter is lost.
She is forgotten.
She is no more
In his mirror.

Her age is wrapped in wistfulness.

His robotic carrion needs
life for raising the balance of his moneys—
nickel rocking rocks to change the destinies.

He has never hoped to be a better one,
but he forced himself to become a true story
of life.
His entire life,
he has been a poetic dreamer
locked inside his oppressive subconscious.

He has never stopped questioning himself
about the world around him
while he was afraid to live.
Ceaselessly, he has balanced his beliefs as he would
like to bend some sounds
for no more sadness about the true stories of life.

Now, she is no more his tomorrow,
albeit he is still in love with her
while trying to be
a compassionate one.

Bleeding Words

Your life with him was really horrendous,
a prolongation of a sad wishful thinking,
waiting to spew out his whole
stupendous spiral of love, and much
more, waiting to carve his
icy bloody memory on some
wave-washed wet shores of your mind.

All that had transpired as a sad part of this
numb reality
has truly died.
That invisible wall between you both

had been merely built on hip thrusts,

until finally,
you awoke alone
as after a horrid dream instead of love.

With a bloodshot eye and a fatigued bone,

you understood your anxieties and confusions.
The wind of change waved down

your moldy dreams.

You lost your hope,

being under delusions,
even you could survive as well as a golden
oldie.
You’ve been told that nothing good may happen
after a crude awakening in your
deep life abyss.
His sense of life meant only
power and rapine.
The reality still contorts and
deforms your bliss.
“What could have been” remains
a never ending effort to be yourself again.
You still hope to survive
within your lackluster woman
structure, pretending
that your unique dream of pure love is

still alive.-

Moonlight Sonata

The cold winter can't destroy the miraculous invincible seeds.
The germination fundamentally changes them in the earth's maternity.
It is a new life running time when the cold snow irreversible recedes,
While a new spring embraces the deep mysteries of magical fertility.

When the seeds germinate, they always throw out a few anchor roots.
Those splintered cracks of the deep roots try to hide inside the soils.
The tall trees need deep roots and branches to bloom and to bear fruits,
While the whole land receives and nurtures the life it essentially contains.

When the divine spark leaps from the divine hand to the human hand,
Making the human roots so deep that they can face the rage of each stormy clime,
Moreover, taking an ultimate shape in the law of the very green land,
This life becomes a moonlight sonata, which is always sublime.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Blue of His Face

This angular house
is flooded with silence and solitude.
The blue on his sad face
is a photograph
hidden in the darkness,
whether ’tis love
in my dreamless sleep,
or ’tis suffering in my sleepless dream . . .
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.

The Eagles

The eagles can never know

The secret of the volcanoes
When they seemingly fly carried
By the sliding winds
Over cupped peaks of mountains
With the fire of their anger inside
Smoldering in the carcass of history

The eagles don't understand why

The green still suckles the spring's teats
And why the scream can be an echo
And the echo can be a scream.

But the eagles can hear

The cubic rocks which roll for rolling out
Their song
And the brooklet ripples which fall
With murmuring sound

And the eagles can see

The winding forest path
Which is apparently suspended
Like hanging wall thoughts
On the slope fringe
In a rock bizarre climbing story.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Lamb

The blossom of the blackthorn and the lily had the same

Glow in the shepherd lands, where I stay'd to think o' Your name.

I heard the lamb's voice, when I pass'd the green grass in that field,

Waitin' for the bleating o' lamb and for life to be heal'd.

I saw a flash o' light more white than I'd e'er seen 'fore,

Descendant deep inside, 'till I've perceiv'd Your divine chore.

When I heard the angel's song in the darkness after all,

I understood that You would come to break my sinner's wall.

You've shown me all the debts I had, and all I did in vain,

You left, but I would stay waitin' for You to come again.

Now, if I'm green, happy, tired, and yet alive I am,

It's 'cause clean is my soul, and pure is the blood o' Your lamb.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Passing of Time

The passing of time through the changing pattern of our thought
Is like a fish passing water over its gills,
Or like a cosmic engine
And not unlike the stream of light passing through pictures
It is leading to our irreversible changing,
It is triggering our memories,
Those emotions that are often evoked
When hearing a piece of music from our past.

The time is perfect..
Present perfect, past perfect, future perfect...

Every time we understand more about ourselves.
We are going through an invisible portal
In our awareness.
And every time we think about our awareness.
We understand that our cages are within,
Created by fear and by the walls we
Have built around our heart.
It is our imperfection the place where our story lives..
We pretend to be perfect, but we hurt each other and
We fail to live up to our own standards...
We are so imperfect and have so much love of ourselves..
Maybe this is why we need to create those perfect moments
For glorious memories,
Resisting the passing of time through the changing pattern of our thought...
Maybe this is why our time together is so precious...
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Non-Existent Truth

The defined and undefined truth,
Endowed with knowledge or without knowledge,
Sometimes real or unreal,
Certainly including being and non-being,

Accepting that being is true,
Accepting the non-existence of being,

When the absence of existence means the negation of being,

Accepting that truth did not exist,
And it would have been true that it did not exist, at the same time,
Understanding that truth is eternal,

Imagining the idea of a non-existing world,
Before its own existence,

Accepting the universal and immortal truth,
So interchangeable with being,
While the universal never ceases of itself,

Recognizing the truth always existing in an eternal intellect,
While the created truth is not existing,

Understanding the created truth as not existing,
Remaining truth, when the true things have been destroyed,
Or remaining truth, when all true things can be destroyed,
Or remaining truth, when our minds cannot see the truth itself,
Truth, being in a sense, always as a consequence of its act.
Truth, not being in sense because
The sense does not know the truth it truly judges,
Even it judges truly about things,
The existent and non-existent truth.......

Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.

Spaces of Faith

Spaces of faith Holy of Lord
There is a joy soul is waiting
There I will bear my pain

There the pain is free from tears
In the peace in His grace
Keeping the word of faith

There my pain is free from tears
Where The Lord shares always love
Found peace the soul of faith

There my pain is free from tears
Lulled to sleep on a dreamy wing
Found in a soul of wisdom

Leap of faith far from uncertainty
Far away from any evilness
Far from the worldly grief
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Echo of the Highest Peak (Oxymoron Poem)

We've been in the burning frost o' the highest
peak to unlock the open secrets, and to leave
the sweet sorrow. In my upward fall, I told the
pure evilness, ''I want nothin' more and ne'er

again''. I hung the word in that eloquent quietness.
I hung the quietness in the air. I found its own sense
and the opposite. The word and the quietness were
like the hole and the star. In that spiritual freezer burning,

I found the insomniac dreams o' my destiny and the
waking dreams o' my un-destiny. You made them
become numb feelings and vice versa much more
than a lyric song becomes a music sound to be a

the lyric song again. In that magic realism, my silent scream
was moved into its echo to become deafening silence
forever. Fairly obvious, the down climbing evilness
echoed, ''I want nothin' more and never again''

Embarrass me so tightly and I begin to cry. Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

I'm no Longer Blind (Quatern Poetry)

Dear Lord, please have mercy on me
You're always near my painful soul
You are my focus and my goal
In the falling rain, I'm your tree.

Help me for I am a sinner
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me
'Cause I'm Your humble devotee
Asking Christ to come for dinner.

Guard Thou with light this pain of mine
I'm no longer blind I can see
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me
Your words through me will always shine

Save me by Your grace, set me free
Keep my way, truth and life in Christ
And so I'll know that Thou exist.
Dear Lord, please have mercy on me.Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

You Ask Me to Leave (Pantoum Poetry)

And you ask me to leave all behind
Now, when our moment in time is done
Going nowhere with nothing in mind,
'Cause you're my world and my special one.

Now, when our moment in time is done
I love you like there's no end in sight,
'Cause you're my world and my special one.
You're still on my mind all day and night.

I love you like there's no end in sight.
You're inside me filling my soul's space.
You're still on my mind all day and night.
I feel still cuddled in your embrace.

You're inside me filling my soul's space
Going nowhere with nothing in mind.
I feel still cuddled in your embrace,
And you ask me to leave it all behind.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

Queen Anne's Lace (Choka Poetry)

It's great Queen Anne's Lace,
Curling inward her 'birds' nest',
Closing her umbel upward,
With spines of love fruits,
White like snow, with pink shyness,
She touches the lips of the sun.
These lips are bees and
He drinks her nectar, his teeth
Are caterpillars, eating
Her leaves with passion.
Each white flower has two seed
Making him desire her core
And her hairy stems,
After blooming in clusters.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

My Crying Jail

Sometimes I'm over and often inside
My crying jail
Like two spiritual hands
Encompassing a corporate body,
Both belonging
To that irreversible sadness.
An inflexible realness
Forces my eyes
To speak
Against that malignant silence,
Situated upon your lower lip.
Moreover, it forces my blood-curdling
Inner scream to be
An outer space song,
When it's pushed through fractured teeth
Into a totally weird reality
Like a shadow of
An incomprehensible dream
With inlaid hopes.
This reality is slipping out,
When I awake alone
To nurture my love
In my painful freedom.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The City

Love
Shifting through dark channels
And illuminated signs
Sounds
Sifting through
Cubic's power amplifiers
Human walking angles
Tactic direction changing rhythms
Variances
Transfixed steps
Breaking the long loud silence
On human tongues
Hopes
Owing to the existence
Of silver enwrapped surrounding hot stars
And hot feelings
Unavoidably reflected upward
Appearing just as a lightning bolt
Or like a peculiarly fierce faithfulness
Gray clouds
Dropping their snow bracer
Ringing bells
Dropping their sad resonance
In death
For love.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

In the Same Space (Concrete Poetry)

Nothing ever happens.......................in the city.
A man is beaten and robbed..............on the street
But passers go further........................nothing had happened
And marathon runners are silent........beside parking cars,
So hard on themselves, .....................in a race against time.
Close-circuit cameras.........................in subway stations
Show the same video........................on the screens.
The walls are closing in......................painted in the same colors.
The air smells......................................of fear, anxiety, and simplicity.
The willow trees grow.......................until they are looking so green
Nothing happens for a long time........until it is all too late..
Nothing ever happens.........................if we don't make it happen.
But it happened that
We felt in love each other....................in the same space
And our love is growing.......................every day,
Our unconditional love
Making us a whole.............................. for true happiness,
In a profound
The sense of fulfillment...............................and reason to live.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

The Computer Tree- Algorithm (Sextuple Crystalline Poetry)

A free tree is never rooted
Infinite complete binary tree

A finger tree has internal nodes
Each one in this tree has child nodes

And their connection is a walk
Parents and children walking the tree

Nodes without children are called leaves
While roots are leaves for the finger trees

Very intelligent words tree
Trees-no one-to-one correspondence

Adaptive merging operation
Implementing finger searching trees.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

Metaphysics (Triple Cinqku Poem)

Love
Virtue
Braveries
Understanding
Human synthetic acts
Conscience

Mind
Thinking
Transcendent
Things in itself
Objects being-thinking
In self

And
Humans
Perceiving
The world in self
Through prisms of transformed forms
In light.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

Pacific Trash Vortex (Triple Tetractys)

Waste
Sea green
Wavering
In slimy traps
In woozy circles
Gushing at the deep water horizon

Melody still rooting in bluesy rock
Gloppy red icing
Crooked letters
Violet
Colored
Dream

Fish
Yellow
Flimsy boats
Lanky white man
Muzzy from the work
Cloudy indigo sky hanging round all.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.
2010.

Araucana Chilean

I look into your eyes and I can see
Those wonderful Amsonia tabernaemontana.
You have so much trustworthiness and confidence
And when I look into your eyes,
I swear I can see your soul.
I look into your uplifting spirit and I see
The sunny sky and the soothing ocean
Of your sunny love and your soothing melancholy.
I make love with you,
You make love with me...
A little more, harder than before,
I look into your eyes and
I see that all my blue dreams come true....
I see two little birds of Araucana
Trying to leave their blue eggs....

Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.

The White City

I'm in the white city.

A dense fog

Disintegrates all my hopes.

There are people dreaming

Of nonexistent worlds,

There are disoriented people

Walking on the terminal's sidewalk.

There are lights turning on and off so erratically

In this white city.

There are hidden screams in the night

Covered by the heavy rain sounds,

That rain falling continuously

And monotonously.

In this white city,

The victims

Don't understand that they are victims yet.

There are flowers,

There are fast food kiosks,

There are botanical gardens,

With beautiful exotic trees,

And there are horror movies in the theaters.

As shadows emerging from the fog

Are the last steps.

There are steps searching each other,

And there are steps that are separated forever.

The rain's sounds

Vibrate the eye of the windows,

Vibrate the burial stones,

Vibrate the dreams,

Those dreams

About better days.

Apparently,

Someone screams

In the white mist of the night.

Maybe he's the victim of an aggression,

Or maybe, he's someone who has lost his love.

Maybe it's just an echo...

I'm in the white city

And I'm searching for you in the darkness...

Variable Reality(Postmodernist Poem)

I see my snowy steps disappearing into the
snow. The coldness will swallow them.
The wet winces the snow, wetter than any wince.

I am more involved in a sharp snowless stretch
than I was ever. I forgot that I'm existent.I try
to remember. A cloud is tossing its white to rain.

Nothing never rains outside, everything rains
inside. Everything is tossing firstly before raining.
The trees always feel this. They are existent.

The trees need to be existent. This freezing rain
is breaking the tree limbs. Their branches are
encapsulated in glaze ice. I need my steps back.

I hear a song coming from the coffee house. There
is a coffee stain on my right shoe. I take a taxi to go
nowhere. This rain falls down over the snow blanket.

The snow is existent until it becomes a bed for the
falling rain. I can be existent as long as I'm not cold.
This rain is not a tropical one, and I cannot care less.

There is something moving toward. It's my body. There
is something having no beginning and no end. It's the
movement in losing time. Rain and snow need time

to prove their similar personality and their different
appearance.Time is existent. I'm not existent in another
particular time. I can't come into existence twice.

Summertime

It's summertime. The saxophone jazz
sounds are pirouetting the waves
to find their own balance. It's a mauve

inner dance in almost everything around.
More exactly, the melodious movable
sounds become a soundable movement

needing a reverberation time to dissipate
the energy. The movement releases its own
purity to become simple fecundity. The pulsed

sound waves are also old memories lost in the
natural green. The saxophone looks much
more like a Tahitian prince dancing his love

on the sand. The singing mauve sea waves
have a sadness taste at sunset. The last one
is a watery mermaid and he embraces her

while searching the high. The sounds need
touch and life. They need to dematerialize
and to disappear into the universe. The

saxophone remains a solitaire keeping
alive his evanescent hermetic equilibrium.

Odd Sensation

I heard your steps.I had a feeling

that red leaves knocked to the
ground while falling from an imaginary
tree. I simply knew that they became
frightened in the fall. I had the feeling that

I heard your steps, I had that odd
sensation that you were still alive.
But, in the next moment, I was sure
that I didn't really hear any step.
I saw my Ligustrum vulgare losing
its leaves. I saw myself in the mirror.

I couldn't hear your steps.All I knew was
that I loved you. All I could hear was
the fall of the leaves.But in the next
moment, I felt your kiss on my incurable
and irreversible wound.

I heard the church bell ringing.

The Stone

A stone rolling herself from a mountain peak
apparently falls. Actually, she seeks the deep
meaning of life. She ends by sinking to become
river rock memorizing the history in her fossil.

This stone has feelings. She feels the tears
of time, and the drops of rain. A river rock is
cheerfully shining in the sunlight, but she's
sad in the shadow of the mountain, melancholic

in the moonlit, and dreamy at night, especially
when the river embraces her with his waves.
This rock remains lonely in the dried up
riverbed for a very long time to reflect on

her own existence. She is the same stone
cracking, staying in the altar of sacrifice or
becoming the head of the corner, as Jesus
said. But, sometimes, she may become a

symbol as a philosopher's stone or she
may be the top of a pyramid. Regardless of
her structure, she will never bend, and she will
never change her being because a stone will

always remain a part of the mountain from
which she was detached.

Natural Thrill (Alexandrine Poetry)

The sun can rise again, the moon bitterly sleeps.
Nor friend nor foe tonight, the day merrily calls.
The trees, the grass, the lakes, their lip tenderly keeps
The moonlight kiss, when a night in dreams carefully falls.

The stars still dance all dreams with grace in their light twist.
In trees, the wind may swing the truly changeable greens
To shake and wake the flower buds' murmuring mist,
When to love as a sense of self for him turpitude means.

Clinical Death (Ottava Rima Poem)

Scrapin' along long bars, her cup of tea
Was sweeter than honey and the honeycomb.
There were gleams in her eyes and her esprit.
A breeze was comin' from a funeral home.
The Moon's hollow eyes climbed the night to see
The ashes of dead and the fire filled with foam.
From dawns o' hope to sunsets o' despair,
The leaves were shadows dancin' in the cold air.

Her rigid body was a glassy slight.
Ne'er dying white lilies threw one off the scent.
Tearin', roarin', she felt her soul in light,
In a sweet, pink death with pitiful lament.
Her soul had terrified wings for her flight.
She was confin'd, lagged in fears by devil's night.
She bestrode the abyss holdin' the pain.
She could 'scape of whippin' memories in vain.

She felt a scent of garbage and perfume.
The fog was in her eyes; she wheezed in fear.
She searched the Heaven to dispel her gloom,
But she couldn't overpass her last life frontier,
More than real, o'er her new returnin' doom,
She lost her happiness, but she felt her tear.
She was aware of all she had to leave
Through her hellish paradise startin' to reeve.

The Roses' Scent (Sonnet)

The rose's scent for the royal highness
Is like red for the York running away
Forever to live in his white blindness
His throne being lost in the spring of May.

In oblivion, Elizabeth had bent
Her strange memory, while wanting to cry.
Don't blush her shame and the white rose's scent
Don't stir the scent of any open lie.

The indifference and the hatred twist
The power of the queen into a pawn,
'Cause the tear of the roses still exist,
When we search for it early in the dawn.

The cruelty of any slick black heart
Is to make a blame of any work of art.

The Blue Cafe

In the blue that becomes palpable,
only words can separate the happiness
from the unhappiness such as the finite
is bounded in the infinite. We touch our hands
and a tear stubbornly stops to run on the
face. We touch our bodies on the petals
of time. A baby bird is learning to fly. I
remember the first night on that white
bedsheet, I remember the flight and those
two chandeliers lighting on the table, while
we were searching for the lost paradise
like Adam and Eve while feeling the passing
of the seconds. I remember that the moon
shone too high to illuminate us. I remember
the trembling stars in the black universe.
I remember us making love until everything
inside became God, until our awakening.
We had something special inside, but we lived
our days as nothing had happened. In the
same blue cafe having the same shabby
tables, we used to drink the same coffee
as drinking water with a bitter pill, while
trying to find a meaning in life. I remember
the same empty, invisible, and apparently
absent space, where our words used to
remain for a node and complicated dance
in our absence. I remember the same
narrow street, on which we used to go home,
that apparent paradise, in reality, an illusion of
happiness and an evidence of our existence,
where we loved each other in despair hoping
that someday we would be able to sense a
new life. I remember that the same people
were around us being more or less indifferent.
I know that what will survive of us is love. Baby,
love me one more day, love me one more night,
love me one more farewell. I want to feel again
that divine infinity, which is included in the
finiteness of life, which is included in the
the infinity of the universe until I become as you...

God Breaks the Chains (Sestina Poetry)

Even when nothing ever goes my way
I try to keep my goals within my sight.
I hope that they can lead to joy someday,
While overpass this metaphoric night.
Among those crazy things leading to doom,
I am quite melancholic in the gloom.

My life may be infected with the gloom,
When darkness spreads its wicked wings on the way.
In waiting for the approach of next doom,
I am the girl in search for nature's sight.
When jagged rocks pinch and stick me over night,
I search that something lifting me someday.

My faith grows stronger, and I hope someday
That winds of change will enlighten the gloom.
Faith, love, and truth will be like stars at night,
Life will be as bright as the Milky Way,
As long as rightness will be brought to sight,
And lie will be a sticky bomb of doom.

I utter an impending sense of doom
Like poison killing everything someday
Or wet flowers shaking at the wind's sight.
We end with hope, and we begin in gloom,
While we're changing our lives along the way.
We're making sense of all from day to night.

As fears are left unspoken in the night,
We feel this ending as a latest doom.
Sad minds still try to find a living way,
Hoping that they will save themselves someday.
They make important changes in the gloom.
Religious leaders teach Christian sight,

When wisdom is the synonym of sight,
And blind guides are to lead the blinds at night.
Some begin with the hope to end in gloom,
Between those sinful acts leading to doom,
Praying to God to save their souls someday.
Against all odds, they try to find their way.

At Siloam, the blind received his sight.
In working faith, the blind could leave his night
God breaks the chains, we need to leave the gloom.

The Shadows of The Trees (Kyrielle Poetry)

Ships at the horizon look black-white in the game
Wet rocks through the crisp air reflect the sunset light.
The sky painted in mauve spreads foamy clouds in flame
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

In searching for the sea, which is so far away,
And running over rocks, the river holds the night.
The man is standing guard in waiting for the day
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

Behind the horizon, the sun is red like Mars.
The moon embraces life, which looks like anthracite.
The ancient years of light are coming from the stars
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

Some crackling, popping sounds are coming from a fire
Sparkles shine in the deep pitch black sky of the night.
The man makes his woman burn with true desire
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

A river full of feelings flows in their embrace
Illuminates their souls to reach the divine height.
Lovers swim in their sea of happiness with grace
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

Confusions, fears, knowledge, courage, and wisdom are
The threads of the couple in weaving thoughts to fight.
The image of the town seems to rock very far
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

Out of this world of madness, searching for the day,
Never finding their way back in the lost moonlight,
Letting their mind be free to reach the milky way,
The shadows of the trees remain forever white.

This Universe

I want to describe this universe.
I want to say that I found it absolutely useless,
More useless than the hidden green
In the fecundity
Of those flowers without petals,
More frightening
Than a snake
Uselessly writhing
Near the petrified image
Of the Medusa,
And more painful
Than any frightening funeral kiss,
But much higher
Than my thirst for knowledge,
And much deeper
Than the whole ignorance,
And much more profound
Than the whole existence,
And much more real
Than all the truths I know,
But never much brighter
Than the Divine Knowledge,
And never missing much more happiness
Than sadness misses.
And never much more fundamental

Flamenco Dance (Mirrored Nonet)

A 'juerga' with flamenco guitars,
With fires blooming like red flowers,
Corpses dancing in moonlight
The dance of wounded souls,
Vibrant red dresses
White shirts like birds,
Falling shawls,
Dancers,
Sky,

Claps,
Cubic
Movements of
Color, music's
Seeds, hands being wings
Shadows on the white wall,
From soul detaching passion's
Lights, motion vibrating the string,
Resonance for a new dimension.

Bible, Franz Kafka and Mayan Popol Vuh

Drinking wine, because the
Wine is for the spirit, eating
Bread, because the bread
Is in the flesh of the body,
Needing to be alive, needing
To be able to use the words,
All the words belonging to
God at the moment that ''God
Said, Let us make man in our
Image, '' as the Bible says. So,
The Lord gave us the words,
As a great gift. So, we are
Drinking wine and we are
Eating bread to be with Him,
Because without Him, our words
May become silence. Moreover,
We may be unable to use them,
We may ''turn into monkeys'' as
Mayan Popol Vuh says. Who really
Knows how many kinds of species
Talked? Why did the serpent talk with
Eve? Did the serpent belong to a
Talking species? What Kafka really
Wanted to say in his ''Metamorphosis''?
I understand that we can die all and
We can be created again by Him,
The Great Creator. The Darwin's theory
Of evolution and Mayan theory of
Involution may be false, but the
The power of God is true. All I really know
Is that we need to be good people
And really faithful to be existent.

Biography
The poems of Marieta Maglas have been selected and published in some anthologies at Ardus Publications, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, and others. Her poetry was published in Tanka Journal edited by Glenn Lyvers, The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry Book Five edited by Aquill Relle , A Divine Madness: An Anthology of Modern Love Poetry edited by John Patrick Boutilier, Near Kin:A Collection of Words and Art Inspired by Octavia Estelle Butler edited by Marie Lecrivain, Three Line Poetry #25 edited by Glenn Lyvers, Contemporary Poetry: An Anthology of Present Day Best Poems and Literature Today: An International Journal of Contemporary Literature, both being edited by Dr Pradeep, ENCHANTED - Love Poems and Abstract Art edited by Gabrielle de la Fair, Intercontinental Anthology of Poetry on Universal Peace and Love edited by Madan Gandhi and Chryssa Velissariou, and many other books.
Her work has also appeared in some journals including Poeticdiversity Los Angeles edited
by Marie Lecrivain, The Velvetillusion Literary Magazine Alabama, The Secret (La Revista)
in Italy, FWM Magazine in the US, Trần Thu Trang in China, GNOSIS - A Poetry Journal™
in the US, I Am not a Silent Poet edited by Reuben Woolley and so many others.
In 2013, Marieta Maglas has been nominated at The International Festivals of Poetry in
Canada and Mexico.

Impressum

Widmung:
My poetry is a melody of the heart and a voice of the spirit.This book is dedicated to my readers... "Words are alive; cut them and they bleed." Ralph Waldo Emerson

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