Tag Archives: alienation


Stark geometric lines
intersecting clean marble
and steel;
horizonless concourses
deserted entrance halls,
empty corridors
vacant escalators
in relentless
Walls hyphenated
with reminders
to purchase,
to consume
bellowing mutely
into the void;
shimmering platform mirrors,
clipped automated announcements,
data screens streaming
their silent prophecies;
Inexorable arrivals
and rumbling,
debouching into
the gleaming Now
of a glass-towered
morning amid its
awakening rage
there on
the bench
face down,
his skin again

Alien Nation : Alienation

We went into the Valley of Elah

looking for victory and reasons to carry on ,

when we got there those reasons had gone ;

they’d quietly slipped away

leaving us with nothing more to say ;

when we got back

we didn’t recognise ourselves ,

we looked at our faces in the mirror

that only showed someone else ;

all our words too had their meaning changed

for something that we couldn’t understand ,

and we who were born here

became strangers in our own land .

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..

When Summer Returns

When Summer returns,

the last of the bones

will have been buried,

the endless lists of names

will have been erased,

even the memories of those names

will be forgotten;

When Summer returns,

meadows again will bloom

hiding their terrible scars,

under the green and growing

nourished by the dust

buried beneath;

When Summer came,

the gates swung open,

they poured in,

one vast tide of flesh.

The Last Cicada

The sadness scattered
over the walls resonating
with what was
in the heart
of the mountain.
No sound could be heard.
A myriad of eyes belonging to cicadas
were shrouded in mist.

A somewhat long-winded
like a speech
surrounded the sky.
Maybe it was an echo,
a sesquipedalian one.
It wasn’t breathless at all.

Nothing could have saved
nature around.
Neither of the forests,
neither of the birds,
and neither of the bears
could survive…..
Nothing more
could have been done.

All the moving peaks became
small stones, as solitary
as the moon,
at the fugitive horizon.
The last cicada

Everything became motionless.
There were only the shadows
of the trees
to follow the sunbeams.
The nature game
turned detrimentally
into a disaster.

In an illuminated city,
a man bought
a lovely bouquet of red roses
wanting to bestow
what it is considered to be
a symbol of romance.
This man needed
to express his love
and to let his woman know
how he feels about her.
This man disappeared.
He was the last one.
Nothing could have saved him.
Nothing more
could have been done.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The name of the painter is Adam Sturch.

Get Me To The Dream On Time

Get me to the dream on time,

the one I’ve just left behind,

the one that’ll still be waiting for me

in that somewhere otherplace

kind of space without time

reason or rhyme;

Just get me to the dream on time

and the clocks shall all move on,

up and over and over again,

When I’m there again as if I’d never left,

I never will so I never shall,

so I’ll not ask of anyone to get me

back there to the dream on time,

the one that’s waiting,



that leaves me


YELLOW taxicab lights
fire-flying across the
Gothic span pumping
metal adrenalin into
the heart of a City
surrounded by
skeletal Goliaths
their electric rage
surging down humming
wires criss-crossing
searchlighted avenues
and shuttered alleyways
cluttered arteries where
buzzing BLUE copcar lights
gasp for breath amid
rotten flesh late night bars
and crowded vibrant streets
aisles of reverence
down which worshippers throng
beneath clouds of incense
floating high above
the dark dark City and
its YELLOW taxicab lights..

Burn the Pages

Burn the pages

of all my poems

of all my dreams

of all my thoughts

burn them all;

let the flames consume them

reduce all my work to ashes

then let the Wind scatter them far far abroad,

till they are all lost

and gone and no longer mourned;

All that is left behind is the empty grave

of hope betrayed, desire abandoned, ambition thwarted;

Bereft of significance

slung with abandon onto the Pyre,

scenes from the flickering dusk

its orange and reds dance

across our implanted memory,

our specious thoughts thought by someone else

their currency forged,their lies spoken

as if they alone were truth,

but the flames only know anger

and they consume all.