Three Poems (The Ignored Place - Dadaist Poem, Moving Hieroglyphs, Dali's Painting)

The Ignored Location (Dadaist Poem)

The expanding grass slopes had been surmounted
by the sky of death, by confused
thoughts and by a smoking moon. Whilst taking a deep,
crouching breath, a greedy beast began
to eat the globe. There
had been incessantly blowing shadows
and a wind becoming emerged from them...
On a blind stitch of the evening, the man was
following his yellow horse.
His outstretched hand painted
the horizon with gestures
Although waiting to be filled with misery. The famine
driving via the naked reality became
the cry of this wind. Feared to see
and hoped to be
at the bottom of this unknown darkness with the levers
of stars threatening the horizon, the sadness
and the itchy confidences.
As a foot stone, his motionless horse
did not appear to endure. The old
man was speaking alone.
about his wariness, about the depths,
and about the evening of memories.
With brooding gestures, he attempted to comprehend
the immensity of the unknown.
He pointed a vague and ignored Location
populated by individuals.
The tabernacle wasn't accessible,
nor was it locked to hide a crouching god,
who wanted to bury his chin and his knees,
Whilst he was staring his eyes off.
Some gusts itched the man's back,
This wind could develop Though
the blown horizon continuously expanded.
A new dawn began to revive the dead sky
Although massive flames had been bloodying the darkness
with no clarifying the unknown.
The man lit a candle.

Moving Hieroglyphs

You compose that sonnet as you are eager
to analyze the exquisite crush
of some tips. There is a painting
with scissors by Henri Matisse. These birds flying
in the sky seem like
moving hieroglyphs. So diverse
appears to be this new Sunday
dawn in our old secreting sun
than the woven net of the golden rays
can kind a lot of intricate,
catching spirals of life.
You create about increasing dreams and falling
angels, Although this rocking
time is gradually whitening
your hair. On the chair, there is
a image of 3 Mizutani shears
forgotten on a table of
a reduce and curl salon
possessing spiral stairs
and becoming positioned in the Longing Street. The rickety
syllables of your poem lead elsewhere
on this Sunday;
a Location with a vanishing step...
There is a forbidden corridor,
where the endurance guards the trapdoor
to the hiding Spot of your secrets. Some tears
fall down from a sad
eye of a cloud.
This sonnet of yours is like a daybreak,
or like an undiscovered
hieroglyph.

Dali's Painting

The wind has bloody, long claws
to scratch the sensitive skin
of the leaves. They bleed inside.
The nature is wrapped in shawls
of fear. Slipping, shimmering,
robust rays break the cuticle
on the horizon. The ring
of the sun sends its miracle
in the clouds to make the lights dim.
They can not climb up the hill
of dreams, nor can the sun's limb
darken our field, but the thrill
is gone. The dawn is seeking
like the Dali's red painting.
A reclined picture is the sky.
The Day's touch tends to make him really feel shy.
The water seeps via cracked stones
washing fossilized old bones.
The wind has bloody, long claws.
The nature is wrapped in shawls.
Robust rays break the cuticle.
The sun shows his miracle.
He kisses the nature's skin,
The green gradually dies inside.

Use this hyperlink to study poems written by Marieta Maglas:

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