Curved Eyelash
I could feel the vibration of your screams in the air.
I could perceive your sight touching this vibration, by curving the time.
I could understand this vibrating touch.
I could realize the sense of curve
And the sight of the second curve, the sigmoid curve.
The air would be very much compressed, it would beget the sound..
The twinkle in your eye would be aslant
Through an opening and it would reach the ground,
By gliding rapidly along your very long, curved eyelash...
You would re-enter your own world, deep inside you,
You would become the curve in itself.
Love would become an unstable point of equilibrium...
A grey cloud would form when the air would be heated by the sun
And a sphere of incumbency would engrave your insular thinking.
I wouldn’t be able to keep that second anymore.
The second would glide between my fingers
My praying fingers.
The horizon by the sea
Would be photoengraved with corals and shells..
The eye horizon would receive this for comprehensiveness....
That would shiver the universe...
You would be awake, you would be able to be revived.....
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The Learning Curve
I reach with my eyes
The light curve and the variations in light intensity
From eclipsing binary stars.
The time becomes a phase
I touch with my soul
The curve of love between me and you
Ephemerally being, I still believe in eternal.
I carry the new life.
The curve of love, like a painful river
Between death and life
I can swim in its water of faith and piety
To reach the understanding.
We are getting old
And all we can do
Is to deep-freeze our memories.
We learn to love.
Catholic and Orthodox,
Pentecostals and Baptists,
We learn that only love can change our souls,
We learn to become eternal.
I reach the curve of rainbow with my eyes,
When the water droplets after the rain
Sent out colors at different angles.
The water droplets are prisms, my eyes are prisms.
I understand why God made a promise
To the people
That 'never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.'
Making the rainbow the sign of His covenant.
And we ought to do the same thing-to make promises to God.
Between the light curve decomposed into rainbow colors
And the mobile marine blue curve of the horizon,
God's tears
Falls to earth for our life.
I let the soul to soar to the High
And I remove the sin blocks that keep me stuck.
I understand the primordial sin.
I know that we are descendents
Of Adam and Eve,
But we are also
God's sons and daughters.
I understand the learning curve.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Deadmans Curve
The street was desserted late friday night
We were buggin each other while we sat out the light
We both popped our clutch when the light turned green
You should have heard the wine from my screamin machine
I flew past la brea, down to crescent heights
And all the jag could see were my six tail lights
He passed me at doheny and I started to swerve
But I pulled her out and there we were at deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve
Well, the last thing I remember doc.
I started to swerve, and then I saw the jag slide into the curb
I know Ill never forget that horrible sight
I found out for myself, that everyone was right
Wont come back from deadmans curve
Deadmans curve is no place to play
Deadmans curve you best keep away
Deadmans curve I can hear them say
Wont come back from deadmans curve
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rainbow, Much Beyond My Reach
Up on the horizon
Beyond the clouds
There shines the rainbow
the colours lovely
violet, indigo and blue
How can I not love you
Your colours are so true.
But you belong to the skies
And much as I would want to
You will always remain
Much beyond my reach.
There where the sky
Bends to touch the earth
Preached on heavens pedestal
The colours
Green, yellow, orange and red
How can I stop dreaming of touching you
My hands go mad.
But you belong to the horizon
And much as I would want to
You will always remain
Much beyond my reach.
Someday beyond the clouds
If I ever reach,
Someday in the horizon
If I ever tread,
Would love to hold you
Rainbow
Your arch
A curve of smile on my soul
Your colours a myraid
Of my varied emotions
But till that someday
Remains a distant dream
As much as I would want to
You remain
O raibow!
Much beyond my reach.
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Flight
When the sacred kingfisher is flying,
It is frantically flapping its wings to
The sand of the sea,
In a form of a deep curve as a rainbow.
Its flight is most like a deep, steady wing beat
To fly higher and higher.
Its wing seemingly bites the air.
So skilled at flying
Is the sacred kingfisher
And so naturally suited to the sky
That it can frantically flap its wings to
The sand of the sea.
In a form of a deep curve as a rainbow.
From that deep curve comes its screaming
And the white bleeding rain,
While the bird is frantically flapping its wings to
The sea water
To eat its silent prey
And to become a broken winged bird,
That cannot fly
Any longer.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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I am just at that stage of wondering where I go from here. I came into this business almost by accident, but now it has become serious. What started as a bit of fun, something to do other than be a model, has taken on a different career curve. I have been forced to ask where that curve is going to end up.
quote by Cameron Diaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out of sight? What of that?
703
Out of sight? What of that?
See the Bird—reach it!
Curve by Curve—Sweep by Sweep—
Round the Steep Air—
Danger! What is that to Her?
Better 'tis to fail—there—
Than debate—here—
Blue is Blue—the World through—
Amber—Amber—Dew&mda sh;Dew—
Seek—Friend—and see—
Heaven is shy of Earth—that's all—
Bashful Heaven—thy Lovers small—
Hide—too—from thee—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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By moving them vertically, a representative mean curve could be formed, and individual events were then characterized by individual logarithmic differences from the standard curve.
quote by Charles Francis Richter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beds of Fleur-de-Lys
HIGH-LYING, sea-blown stretches of green turf,
Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea,
Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky,
And, curving over them as long they lie,
Beds of wild fleur-de-lys.
Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far,
Breaking the green like islands in the sea;
Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend
Dwindling over the horizon’s end,—
Wild beds of fleur-de-lys.
The light keen wind streams on across the lifts,
Their wind of western springtime by the sea;
The close turf smiles unmoved, but over her
Is the far-flying rustle and sweet stir
In beds of fleur-de-lys.
And here and there across the smooth, low grass
Tall maidens wander, thinking of the sea;
And bend, and bend, with light robes blown aside,
For the blue lily-flowers that bloom so wide,—
The beds of fleur-de-lys.
poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman
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Missing You! !
I lay awake
Deep into the night,
Missing you.
My heart
Loud!
Wonder if audible
Even to you.
My thoughts
A jamboree of emotions,
Some acquaintances
Some strangers.
Wonder if ever felt by you.
And then
even without a knock
You enter..
Vivid against the haze of
My open eyed dreams.
How I love
The lines
at the corner of your eyes
deepening..everytime
the curve of your smile
reaches the eyes!
How I love
The mischief of the twinkle
Illuminating
All the stars of my night sky.
Igniting
The embers of my deepest desire.
As I lay awake
Deep into the night
Missing you…
poem by Anjali Kakati
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My Beloved Guitar
The long solid neck,
With flowing, refinded strings.
A base of cherry; finished wood.
Defined in figure, exquisite;
Among other things.
Shaped with a curve,
Set down in my lap.
I picked up my guitar,
And made my fingers tap.
A symphony from,
Those melodic strings.
Part of my hearts amour.
My fingers graze along,
This coppery and bronze decor.
A roughness they slide.
Along the ends;
Roughness on my fingertips.
A sliding; an arry of refreshing sounds.
One that echos into the bottem,
And emerges to astound.
My arm embraces the frame work,
A base of refined finished wood.
Tuned to a sound,
Like a guitar should.
My fingers cradle those melodic stings.
The light strum of my hand,
Makes music;
The guitar sings.
From the mouth of a speaker.
Out comes a tune.
With a cadence strum.
Fingers pressed down,
Out the music comes.
A symphony from,
This rhythmic harmony.
A tone in my soul.
A note that's always been apart of me.
A feeling I once knew.
I recall, a sound in the distance.
A beauty that plays so smooth.
Shaped with a curve,
Set down in my lap;
I picked up my guitar.
It slowly starts to come back.
That feeling, I'll never forget.
I recall, a sound not so far.
I recall, the feeling that day;
The day I picked up my beloved guitar.
poem by Jessie Jett
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Flight Of Stairs
Stairs fly as straight as hawks;
Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing
At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching.
Stairs sway at the height of their flight
Like a melody in Tristan;
Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers
Before they close them.
They curiously investigate
The shells of buildings,
A hollow core,
Shell in a shell.
Useless to produce their path to infinity
Or turn it to a moral symbol,
For their flight is ambiguous, upwards or downwards as you please;
Their fountain is frozen,
Their concertina is silent.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
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Japa-yajna
Carrier wave; sine curve; you see it
on the heartscan lifescreen
in the intensive care ward
as if with no regard for you
it’s self-sufficient; sufficient to the self;
the same curve that the flute’s note makes onscreen,
pure as Krishna’s smile; his lips
making breath into sound
hear that, hear that which
runs day and night; repetition
that always never does repeat
and only when you’re still
will you know with Krishna
the sound of inner sacrifice
that never ends and yet
so pure it’s given beyond sought;
flute’s sound beyond all sound;
how still the room is now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Her Passion
i see the passion in your eyes
i feel the warmth of your embrace
i see every curve and crevice
in the beauty of your face.
i've seen the passion in you rise
to a boiling point of no return
and the touch of you
to my skin burn.
in you is the beauty of the stars
and the depth of the universe
and at the same time
the emptiness of space
to capture you, a long frenzy race.
for your beauty is far beyond compare
and is something that i'm willing to share
Except for the love that i know is locked up inside.
for when this love is finally set free
you will hear all church bells ring.
this love will touch every mans soul
and the core of all their hearts
and pull up feelings which they
did not know could exist.
and turn their lives into 'heavenly bliss'.
this is the passion that you have within
and if not reached, a downright sin,
poem by Louis Rams
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The Innocent Louse
The louse can live its entire life
on the curve of a cat’s tail
boring tiny burrows
for homes and suburbs in the flesh
with a body and a system
made for sense
and perception of a world
made of nothing but long cat hair
cat skin, cat marrow and blood
living a life of curve and wave
and bristling burrowing luxury
breathing mere inches
from quick forelimbs with scratching nails
and pursed lips ready to press and taste
tongue salivating
a jaw made to press and spit
dead husks and rendered shadows
the mouth stained
dripping
with teeth
poem by by unknown author
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Bitter Sweet
(dedicated to the unknown singer)
Your voice becomes the sound
A bitter sweet one,
The sound vibrates in self
Bitter sweetly,
Your guitar is tearing that sound
And your fingers seem to say
A story of their rescue
A bitter sweet one,
Being known only by them.
Sometimes,
Your voice beats the vibration of the guitar
And the guitar grasps
The vibration of the voice
To convert it into tears,
Giving birth to the melody.
A bitter sweet one.
The song disappears
Somewhere
Toward the Saturn.
The souls entwine.
From the stellar symphony
Something detaches and fall off
Deeply inside of us.
Your voice becomes a signal
Of life and death.
The sound becomes the motion
And vice versa.
I listen to the inaudible symphony of your fingers,
In touch.
Something is born in us irreversibly
And lasts until the end of the time.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Waited All My Life
What to do
When I've waited all my life
She cuts the thread
Uses a bloody knife
Where to go
I've taken all the flak
I know I am stabbed
With deep wound in my back.
Her words haunt me
Like a far cry in the dark
Her eyes taunt me
Lika a reignited spark
-And won't go out.
Solutions from all around are rife
I wantv to shout but silence screams
Do they know i waited all my life
To watch love
Fall apart at the seams.
So now I'm drinking
Some say that it's abuse
It stops me thinking
- Take the pills and slip the noose.
For just her touch
I waited all my life
The pain's too much
Never did become my wife.
Her distant kiss
God, how will I get through
One only bliss
Now lost in azure blue.
She brought me passion of a stormy sea
I'm out of fashion
Right now i've ceased to be
Our crimson sun too soon is going down
-On black horizon
But she is out of town
And dreams just serve to fuel my strife
Some learning curve!
And I waited all my life.
poem by Kevin East
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Nights Of Love
love it when you come in my dream
love it when i make you scream
love it when into the bed you crawl
love it when your face turns red
love it when those curve my hands trace
love the evil look on your face
love it when you undress
love it wen your demands
love it when our lips meet
love it when you rub my feet
love it when you turn me on
love it when you go bit down
love it when you take me in
love it when we perform the sin
love it when i touch your bust
love it when your eyes are full of lust
love the aroma in the room
love the sight of yours under the shine of moon
love it when to climax we reach
love it when every moan you preach
love the every moment of it till the end
love your every such ritual and trend
poem by Rishiv Vinayak
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Annihilation
While the blue noon above us arches,
And the poplar sheds disconsolate leaves,
Tell me again why love bewitches,
And what love gives.
It is the trembling finger that traces
The eyebrow’s curve, the curve of the cheek?
The mouth that quivers, when the hand caresses,
But cannot speak?
No, not these, not in these is hidden
The secret, more than in other things:
Not only the touch of a hand can gladden
Till the blood sings.
It is the leaf that falls between us,
The bells that murmur, the shadows that move,
The autumnal sunlight that fades upon us:
These things are love.
It is the ‘No, let us sit here longer,’
The ‘Wait till tomorrow,’ the ‘Once I knew —’
These trifles, said as I touch your finger,
And the clock strikes two.
The world is intricate, and we are nothing.
It is the complex world of grass,
A twig on the path, a look of loathing,
Feelings that pass —
These are the secret! And I could hate you,
When, as I lean for another kiss,
I see in your eyes that I do not meet you,
And that love is this.
Rock meeting rock can know love better
Than eyes that stare or lips that touch.
All that we know in love is bitter,
And it is not much.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
poem by Robert Frost
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A Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
poem by Robert Frost
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