A fool's game
It was a fool's game that should not begin
And you played it without honest rules
If you thought that you will always win
Well it's wrong 'cause it's a game for fools
If you thought that you can get me easy
And you tried to do this without honest rules
If you thought that my way to be is sleazy
Well it's wrong 'cause it's a game for fools
If you thought that you can hunt me slowly
And you danced this without honest rules
If you thought that I will love you only
Well it's wrong 'cause it's a game for fools
It was a morbid dance without real feelings
A dance of wishes without honest rules
If you thought that love means mutual dealings
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Unknown color
I use the colors to recompose your image,
By enclosing and opening the space alternatively
With relevance and traceability....
I'm like a painter seeking her own color,
Or like an artist seeking her own voice,
Or like a philosopher seeking her own self...
Neither like nor unlike a white dream between ultraviolet and infrared,
Neither like nor unlike an ultrasound crystal between
Crystallized soprano and bass,
Or a pulsating line, and an upbeat dance groove,
Neither like nor unlike a fusion of individuality with being and God.
And you're there.
It's like you place yourself directly on top of the front of my sight.
And I can see you.
It's only me who can see you.
You're the color without any name.
You're my eternity..
And I defeat my dream as I defeat an illusion..
And I receive the reality of light...
I close my eyes and I feel its warmth..
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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About words entwining themselves within
There are so many tears
In this black void of your silence
'Cause you have been hurt so many times.
There are so many painful memories
In the gray shadow of those seconds
' Cause the world around you was crumbling,
So many times, the world inside you.
I am drinking the pain from the cup of your soul
Until the cup is empty,
Leaving a bit love at the bottom,
Looking like the coffee grounds.
Your love is sweet
Like acacia seeds.
I eat the seeds,
Your love seeds.
In that cup of your soul,
Your love is looking like a true love song,
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Poem for a Victim Woman
Your life with him was a real horrendous
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
had transpired as a sad part of this numb
reality has truly died. That invisible wall
between you both had been merely built of
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.
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Curved Eyelash
I could feel the vibration of your screams in the air.
I could perceive your sight touching this vibration, by curving the time.
I could understand this vibrating touch.
I could realize the sense of curve
And the sight of the second curve, the sigmoid curve.
The air would be very much compressed, it would beget the sound..
The twinkle in your eye would be aslant
Through an opening and it would reach the ground,
By gliding rapidly along your very long, curved eyelash...
You would re-enter your own world, deep inside you,
You would become the curve in itself.
Love would become an unstable point of equilibrium...
A grey cloud would form when the air would be heated by the sun
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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My emerald dreams
The rain falling down for whispering my silence
That silence breaking my emerald dreams.
And those clearview shields with rising bubbles and flutes of renaissance
The rain falling down onto our round stones, keeping our kisses,
Coming down onto petals....
Those petals more than yellow sun...
Those petals of the sweet lemon flower,
Blooming as doves that fly in clouds...
And those birds searching their freedom in the unlimited horizon...
Your eyes water, thinking of me
Allowing the door to be left open
While allowing viewing through the window from the inside....
Feeling the sun growing cooler,
Understanding your passion of flame.....
Trying to milk it - drink from it-deeply
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Edge-incentric (Antipoem)
(Anti-poetry is an art movement that attempts to break away from the normal conventions of poetry. Early proponents of anti-poetry include Nicanor Parra.
Parra, known as the father of anti-poetry, published his first collection of antipoems in 1954 (Poemas y antipoemas) and sought to reject the belief that verse holds any mystical power. The poems have been described as prose-like, irreverent, and illuminating the problems of human existence)
Outside of words
Laying down in sense
Against that
Highlighting for more than
That dreamweaver
Wrapping down and up behind the time
In a sigh
Embracing balance over power
Self-contradiction in over-praising
Pointing out in concave delusions
In yelping for no particular reason
Bounding out of essence
Into tense
Hunting its heraldic memory
Bearing down on burden
Infringing on those elemental rights
Sculpting that charismatic sphere
With upbeat wishes
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Dedicated to Paddy Martin (Rondeau Redouble)
It's time to ring Church bells on this new day,
When dawn still means sad tears for a friend,
A very dear friend who's gone away
'Cause fought a fight of faith until the end.
The bark and leaves of willow tree still bend,
His time on death row found another way.
His spirit into heaven will ascend.
It's time to ring Church bells on this new day.
Though gentle wind through branch of tree would play,
He stretched his clouds to rain upon the land.
We need to cry with him, we need to pray,
When dawn still means sad tears for a friend.
In words sad tears learning how to bend,
Let roses live their dream of yesterday
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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I'm no longer blind (Quatern poetry)
(A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It is
similar to the Kyrielle and the Retourne. It has a refrain that is in a
different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second
line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fouth line of stanza four.
A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow
a set rhyme scheme. line 1 line 2 line 3 line 4 line 5 line 6 (line 1) line 7
line 8 line 9 line 10 line 11 (line 1) line 12 line 13 line 14 line 15 line 16
(line 1)
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,
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Latina Time
This game is the way in which slaughter becomes an end in itself.
Acta est fabula plaudite
The play has been performed; applaud!
Surely, less obvious ways exist
The Darkness seeks to manipulate us into its service.
Actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea.
The act is not guilty unless the mind is also guilty.
Once all of them have won a very special princess prize,
the game is over....
and they will never buy another one.....
Alis grave nil.
Nothing is heavy to those who have wings
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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