Tag Archives: consciousness

Out of Synch

                 Out of Synch

Should I be doing something important?

why can’t I remember what it is?

was I supposed to be somewhere

for an appointment?

I’ve no idea who with;

Clocks stare at me

with empty faces,

refusing to give me a cue

they’re not pointing at anything

and I really don’t know

what to do.

Night Listener

Listening to faltering surreal broadcasts

serenading another Summer equinox,

the composition’s title eludes him,

Miles;haunting contemplative succinct

flags down thoughts mimicking melancholy,

Gil Goggins’ circumspect piano

embedded in the spent day’s residue

receding like the listener’s reverie

broken by random sniper-shots of glass,

endemic tension flowing,

burst-veined onto midnight alleys

of this midnight City,

frantic frazzled red ‘n’ blue

taking some more cold meat

away to the coroner’s slab,

away from midnight streets

haunted by ” Yesterdays”,

that title hunted down and

captured by a desire to

have words for that spell

cast on a night long ago

in a faraway City where

another night-listener

heard the night

with its surreal,faltering..

Frederick and Geraldine (Part 7)

Chiara, Arturo’s wife, approached them together with
Lucca and Francesca, the other Italian pair
Saying, ”Is Quare’s invention real? I think it is a myth.”
” His barometer measures the pressure of the air.”

Chiara wore a red big gown, with lace trimming the low,
A green velvet mantel, which was lined with some ermine,
Square neckline and sleeves, which were gathered at the elbow.
She spoke well Italian, Spanish, and German.

Italians wanted to disembark at Syracuse.
Bella and Miguel traveled to Barcelona home.
To find a new home, Naimah and his son had an excuse.
Out of their Turkey’s limit, through the storms, they would roam.

Tia, Athan, Megan, and Karsten would disembark
At Selanik, an Ottoman province, where Ahmed
The Third was reigning while his war was a fire in the dark.
They were Greeks being born during the reign of Mehmed.

Marco and Rosa, Cruz and Pedra, Pedro and Carla
Were Portuguese pairs coming home from America.
They had bought from the Pueblo Indians some ollas.
They gave one to the Russian pair, Ivan and Erica.

Ivan said, ”Tell me something about these Indians.”
Carla said, ”Their belief means dualism; they eat corn.
Some of them became Catholic due to the Spanish civilians.
They think they emerged from the underwater space to be born.”

Carla wore a black cap, having a veil, and a green gown
Patterned with acorns and flowers, and her sleeves were caught
With jeweled clasps on the lace at the elbow; her eyes were brown.
”The water is fresh in the ollas; I like their color a lot.”

She asked Ivan’’ Now, where do you go? ’’ ‘’We left the war.’’
”Ahmed and Peter the First! ” replied Cruz, ” tell me something,
How could you reach Constantinople after coming from a far ”
Zone? ””I do trade with them, but this war destroyed everything.”

”Did you lose everything you had? ” Marco asked Ivan.
”To make business in Turkey, I sold all my Russian goods.”
Erica tried this conversation to enliven,
”In Portugal, we’ll search for a job in cities and hoods.”

Marco wore a banyan with a patterned lining; his cuffs
Were embroidered in gold; his justacorps and stockings
Over his breeches were red like Rosa’s shoes and muffs.
All of them wore periwigs and talked a lot while walking.

(to be continued)

Poem by Marieta Maglas


Where does time go

when time passes ?

where do tomorrows come from ?

futures remind us of those days

we clung onto fleetingly ,

till they too were replaced

by an ever repetitive Present ;

we knew that it too wouldn’t last ,

for time passes only for time to come again ;

leaving us stranded on the axis of meaning ,

whirring silently in space

like a circle in a spiral ,

our own future far behind us

and our own past to look forward to ,

as time passes.

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 rain.
The leaving sun abandons the sky
For the moon, and in the cricket crawl
The leaves of the oaks whisper ‘good bye’,
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 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,
While dressed in 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 while breaking their wall.

© copyright Marieta Maglas

In The Night

In the night

in the stillness of the long forever

of long long ago ,

the now that we have lost forever

the now that that was then long ago :

The here where we no longer stand

the there and then that was taken away ,

leaving us standing

stood waiting forever for time to return ,

to the forever here forever now

retrieving those days lost from long ago ;

the there ,the then

the was ,the when

in the night

and the stillness thereof.

Child Abuse

Even devils act mild
Before a child
Something terribly wrong with man
Who has no inhibitions
In turning wild with a child
Uncles, fathers and grandfathers
Teachers and neighbours
All have turned slaughterers
Offering sacrifices of pious childhood
To procure blessings
For their ill desires
And the after-whispers
Pouring poison into little ears
Asking everyone
What they talking about
How ironical is this
Poor victim has no idea
Of the harm inflicted
A life burnt
In the fire of burning desires
A budding life revealed to
Devilish aspects of growth

Words and blows
It all shows
As they grow
And the snow
Of innocence melts
A wound on skin
Time can heal
What happens to
The wounds within
Life is not just
Skin thin
Violence is infectious
Why infect your child
With the disease
Ruining his childhood
Infecting his adulthood
With violence and indecency
God knows when we stop
Turning brilliance into violence


Twilight sky;
breezing clouds,
rare rain droplets,
circling eagle,
homing mynahs,
winging doves,
wet autumn leaves,
scenting blossoms,
flirting butterfly,
chirping nippers,
skating boys,
swinging girls,
floating kids,
unwinding babies
from strollers
and wheeling
on every floor,
from both sides,
all awakening my

The Heart Chirps

Within this body
lies an essence
that resonates:
an essence of new born
in the spring, ever scenting pleasant,
sighting nature
through an infant’s eyes,
fading worries
in the chill wind,
floating fearless
like an untied kite.

I resonate with this essence,
when being alone,
weighing like a first raindrop,
until autumn loneliness
and winter mist
shape the memories of
embarrassments buried
deep inside into
pondering weaknesses.

But I never stop to
weave my verses
to kindle
my inner voice.