photo by richard lee miller
Marieta Maglas is a Romanian poetess. She has appeared in some journals, including the Velvetillusion Literary Magazine, The Secret (La Revista), FWM Magazine, and Thu Trang. She has been nominated at International Festival of Poetry in Canada and Mexico. Her poems were selected, and published on some anthologies at Xlibris, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, and others.
There are colors of
blue embracing those of red
to vibrate in harmony.
There is a sense
of their movement above
There is always a feeling in the sense.
The feelings are things.
Maybe the things have a beginning,
because we believe it,
there is neither beginning, nor end.
In the spring rain,
there are kissing statues.
In the silent houses
shadows of shabby objects
on the walls,
there are lonely people
meditating about their life.
There is a time frame of vulnerability
for everything that is good
and for the hungry birds
in searching for seeds everywhere
as for those cancerous youngsters
having unimaginable pains,
still needing to be cured not till experience.
In the stories,
there are riders of the past
dressed in armor
to enter the mind's imagination and
all that is not the mind's imagination.
In the spring nights,
there is a moon becoming a curtain
for the great show
of the stars
form'd from the other stars,
no two alike,
like beautiful women
wearing masks and
wide necklines, nor
like those worn by ballerinas that like to dress
in white to suggest
dandelions dancing to spread their seeds.
In the luxury shop windows,
there are gems looking like flowers
and flowers looking like gems.
In the Sysiphos dimension,
there are tired eyelids in abeyance.
Nothing bends from above ,everything falls down.
There are emerald northern lights.
In a puddle of sun,
there are emerald green, tattooed bodies
There are cubic dragons,
and there are things that have been taken apart
to be put, then, back together in a wrong order.
So, there is self-loathing,
and there are feelings of worthlessness
in a life spent earning filthy lucre.
There are resentments to destroy the lives.
There are the wrong things that fall apart and
the wrong things that fall together with those
that are right.
There are words coming out in a wrong understanding
to be incorporated into bad memories.
There are wrongly imagined riders of the past.
Ascension dove feather and prying eyes
get at the meaning of the truths in the uprights
( there are many truths left ).
But there will never be
and eternal bodies .