MARIETA MAGLAS

MARIETA MAGLAS

THE PICTURE

She descended from the picture

to sit down on her

empty chair.

Her geographic tongue

kept silence.

She was in the middle

of nowhere. Her

cubic dreams

dissolved in the reality of her

fashionable loneliness - a mask.

In the still air,

a bird like a huge cross

made of icy love brought

transparency.

She took her personal diary

and started to jot down

phrases about

a life in pieces. Some old words

that have been

deposited there

looked like those dried leaves

of any herbarium.

Her diary was not green at all

while keeping safe

her unique love, longing for a little life -

two elementary cells

subsiding into a

biochemical contemplation,

seeds growing

in the humungous womb

of the earth

to become

future flowers.

On the retina of her eyes,

lost worlds

were still existent,

still green.

She looked into the mirror

to see the unseen.

She understood her death.

She would leave that space to go

somewhere where

she could hope against hope

to find a little happiness.

She would go, but

she did not.

She disappeared

into the picture.

THE SEASONS OF THE SUN

I am in the shadow of that reality

that will become existent.

I feel the solar spring

when the glaciers

continue to melt at the poles.

The words are alive;

they don't burn yet,

but still, I prefigure their blistering heat.

I do know that God is watching over us.

He is watching over everything

and over the disoriented people

needing to find some love around

when their hearts are

empty or emptied.

Meanwhile, the sun orbits

its own hot star;

this rotation is egg-shaped;

makes new spirals

to blow the best out of it.

Meanwhile, the earth speeds through its

northern summer quarter

of its revolution.

In the summer of life,

the liturgical Sundays

become concave

to bulge the thoughts outwardly.

'Tis green outside when the wind

becomes a force to

whip everything around.

I hear the crunching gravel sounding

around that Church of St. Peter

where the people don't enter

to laugh, but to listen to The Lord

while the priest tries

to catch up with

old words that have been ignored

so many centuries.

These parishioners

have always dreamed

of hiking up a spiritual mountain

to purify the true inner self.

They gain a sense of each individuality,

which is always unique.

From time to time, this earth is

in the shadow of the sun-

illuminated.

'Tis not about that darkness

belonging to those trees

reflecting the mood of their forest.

There, the mushroom grows up

from a seed of self.

Ban Chao Gang Moo unveils their secret.

Ban Chao Gang Moo is not a forest.

People still try to mess with

the powerful devil

in the coming Apocalypse.

This Apocalypse is hot, but not green.

It is solar summer, not winter.

In winter, the glaciation comes.

'Tis about that glaciation

freezing everything,

especially those waves

''of the sea driven with the wind and tossed''-

freezing, not igniting

the shadow of the life.

THE OBJECT OF LOVE

Love is not

what we are calling an object.

Yet, it is still an object.

It has functions & variables.

It is so fundamental

in the sense

of thinking

and builds peace.

Missing love is a suffering lion -

extended vowels

in the absence of The Lord.

Love needs shapes

to express itself -

wide, heavy words.

Sometimes, it continues

beyond the limits

in searching for happiness.

Maybe happiness is

a Bentham's principle,

but not an extended illusion

in a dream-

pleasures, pains, sexuality, morality.

It is hedonistic when it doesn't let us

realize what we ought to do

in order to be

what we need to be.

Love is an object

needing a language

to scream for freedom,

that kind of freedom giving

identity.

It is so ontic in the hands

of God

and makes us be children again-

His children.

MARIETA MAGLAS

Ardus Publications, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, Silver Birch Press, HerEthics Books, and some others published the poems of MARIETA MAGLAS in anthologies like Tanka Journal , Three Line Poetry #25, Three Line Poetry #39 edited by Glenn Lyvers, The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry edited by Yossi Faybish, A Divine Madness edited by John Patrick Boutilier, Near Kin edited by Marie Lecrivain, ENCHANTED - Love Poems and Abstract Art edited by Gabrielle de la Fair, Intercontinental Anthology edited by Madan Gandhi, and Nancy Drew Anthology edited by Melanie Villines. Her poems have been also published in journals like Poeticdiversity, I Am not a Silent Poet, Our Poetry Corner, and Antarctica Journal.