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Marieta Maglas Nov 2014
If you were a spring without flowers,
probably that all my trees
would be lethargic.
If you were a wind coiling without leaves,
possibly all my trees would be already fallen,
and if you were a sky without its sun,
certainly no other tree could
germinate to grow from seed.
And I could not be able to exist any longer,
for I am the forest.
But in the snowy winter that would follow,
and in the churches with empty bells,
not ringing in the frost,
God would be still existent.
But you were my springing spring,
my whispering leafing wind
and my sunny sky.
And, in the winter,
in your absence,
I did not cease to love you while
craving for the melted snow,
craving for the blossomed trees,
craving for the ringing bells...
Marieta Maglas Nov 2014
Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors
From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine.
In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors.
The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine.

The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress,
While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around.
Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse.
From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound.

Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate's game.
In life, a complete circled awareness needs time.
In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same.
It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme.


This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall
Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door.
The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball.
Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor.

Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green.
In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life.
Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean,
Because all the main complementary colors are at strife.

The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp.
The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor.
Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp.
The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.
Marieta Maglas Sep 2013
sunset of lifetime

red apple in sunken sea

sunniest **** beach

I invite you to read my poem at: http://www.poemhunter.com/contest-vote/pygmalion-and-galatea/
Marieta Maglas Sep 2013
This antique mirror boosts no confidence. Concave

reveals its magic tricks with an incurvate

red surface. Some human hair



blending braids are there to fancify your boxers, your removable

metallic silver suspenders underwear and

her red bra underwire slips. It is a new style.



I feel anguish, when I touch the pull locks. Her picture

of the antique statue is hidden between all those things. She



enters the mirror to kiss you every time you look at it. Like jelly candies



are her lipsticks on that silver, but

they have different taste. For me,

they look like isoquants, or indifference curves. I want

to leave you. What do you think?



The water that drips from the mirror, when I wash it, is like crimsonblood. Scary



optical illusions split the reality into two variants through my woe,

and create a much looser and less direct relationship

between us than ever. You live for

your comfort and versatility. You cannot change it.
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
It was a kid-glove orange, a

leaf, or a Dancy tangerine

falling from the tree. I didn't



see it. I was watching a dance

of anger on TV while learning

to swing in a way that left me



needing my forlorn hope. The

change did not occur. Outside,

a drunk driver wearing zipper-skin



orange driving gloves swerved

sharply and hit my old, gnarled

tree during imbuing my hearing



with ****** innuendo. He could

not escape his awkward accident.

Much later, I heard that he had



suffered from Saint Vitus's dance.

In time, no one was able to heal

the wounds of my soul. I wanted

this Duvet day to end quickly.
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
The sun burns the sky.The steps
crush the red of the leaves.It's an
incomprehensible mystery in the
structure of the leaving green.The
sound drums the holy bell of light.
It's an unbearable restlessness in
the structure of white.Red and white
snapdragons smother their preys.
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
piercing the veil of her tears

a burqa

the secret of her smile

hidden

the yellow of the sun growing

in her eyes of night

in search of

her black sun

blindness

busted being her dream

dreaming about something busted

her soul

and her watch

for icy dreams

penetrating the eye of mind

a talking blindness

yellowing her secret

growing

in flames

happiness

as a smiling sun

or flaming curves

gestures imitating curve words

flamboyant gestures

folks

flaming talk

piercing the veil of her tears

August 21, 2013
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