Latest items:
poetry
Salvatore Ala, 14 march 2015
Mother Son Song
Tell me a story mother
All the hospital windows
Are black with snow
Tell me a story mother
Nurses are gathering fire
Doctors are measuring wire
Tell me a story mother
When does our care
For what is ours wear
Tell me a story mother
What we lose in time
We receive in kind
Tell me a story mother
Memory is a medicine
Exceeding what has been
Tell me a story mother
Soil is buried in soil
And grief in toil
Tell me a story woman
Death is the meaning
Of mother in my flesh
Tell me a story mother
The sick are waking
It is night and it is morning
Satish Verma, 13 march 2015
CONCORDIA
Peace at stake,
it worked.
Withdrawal of rubber dolls
playing with fire.
Empty bowls in lunar month.
Concords were flying very high
noiselessly crossing the peaks
of great grudges.
Pure golden hair –
of grief.
It really was miracle.
Bald eagle was waiting.
Enough time to steer a murder.
The irresistable desire
to rub with a paranoid.
Extracting a genius from mediocre genera.
Life had become too genteel.
Gert Strydom, 13 march 2015
Time held me
(After Dylan Thomas)
Time held me
while I was still young and green
not yet knowing the man
that I was destined to be.
Time held me
while I was forced into war,
even before by law I could drive a car
and from the military
I though I would never be free
and even in every victory
the tentacles of death
had destruction to the inner core.
Time held me
when I went to study at university
met a girl and fell in love
with someone really pretty
and the summer, the sun
the beach and sea
seemed like a lot of fun
as if my life had only just begun.
Time held me
while she had eyes green as the sea
but I did not then see
that destiny had its chains
clasped around me and from it
I would never be free.
Still time is holding me,
clasping my spirit, my body and soul
and while the winter is setting in
it still sometimes feels
as if life has only just begin.
[Reference: Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas. “Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.” Dylan Thomas.”]
Joe Breunig, 12 march 2015
Poem: Unfettered
Within this broad lifestyle of Christianity,
I’m unshackled from ideas of fear and hate;
though I may deal with bouts of self-worth,
my God-given path is righteous and straight.
I’m not bound by dictates of any work clock,
since the freedom to love God is in my heart.
Daily reminders of my Lord are surrounding me,
within The Word constraints of my poetic art.
I wish to live my life with keen transparency,
unburdened by the deadly sin of ungodly scruples.
Let me be crucified with the weight of ideals,
that are firmly grounded on His holy principles.
Being submitted unto Jehovah was a decision made
without hesitation, since nothing can be better.
Therefore, the chains of my sins have be broken-
which allows me to remain forever… unfettered.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Deu 30:15
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 12 march 2015
When the night takes you away
When the night takes you away,
drags you deep into sleep
how is it then for you?
Are we still walking together
like those who are wooed on the beach
with your hand finding mine,
are we blinded by the breeze on the beach
that goes whirling around us
or are we again etched off like those that are single
in a dark gloomy sketch
that you draw with a pencil
with the darkness that swallows me?
Here I am and not even far away
and are not locked into a monastery
and I do remember you
where you are part of me
as if your humanity
is tattooed into my thoughts
and in the depth of the night
I do wonder about you, about your dreams
if I am also in them?
Satish Verma, 12 march 2015
DEVOID OF FEVERFEW
Did not make anything
out of himself. He was afraid
from depth to depth.
Muzzled lock had hidden the keys.
Shadow of door loomed large
on silence, now touching
nothingness.
Lips move without sound.
Eyes become dumb. Hands were misguided,
cannot hold the pen.
Mobs with fire bombs
waiting to ambush at night
ignite the cart. Nowhere to go now.
Golden leaves tout the era.
I am emptied of peace,
my vessel devoid of feverfew.
Gert Strydom, 11 march 2015
How eagerly I want to share my thoughts with you
Eagerly I want to share my thoughts with you
of things far past just imagining,
of things that lay so deep in my heart
that I do not always know how to express them
and I want to tell you about the depth of my love for you,
and tell you of that which lays inside me
but it’s as if time passes far too quickly,
before I can share the essence with you
but do know this:
that our love which is so intense in my heart
brings holiness, nobleness and purity to every thought
and does go much deeper than mere meaning
and that I do struggle to find the words
for the unsaid things that our love does confess.
Satish Verma, 11 march 2015
I AM DRUNK ON THE HEMLOCK
My lips are black,
I am drunk
on the hemlock, proferred by you –
my life. I am still in love with pain.
What not, the trial
tried to break my resistance.
I will walk on my hands
paraplegic legs lifting my eyes.
Why did you want me to fake a death.
She was my lover, my shadow
always walking along with me.
So, you did not authored the article
on my demise in ravines
watching the son eclipse?
Extinct, headless, corpse of a
thin warrior, obliquely refers
to the pygmy moonrise.
Grey plaques in white mind
like snakeroots, glittering
in dark gulleys of time!
Satish Verma, 10 march 2015
FEEL OF SHARING A GOD
It should not have happened
this way, or that way,
rendering breathing difficult
in the intense smoke of misunderstanding.
The granite wall between the doors!
You grope through a thicket of words
crossing the centuries of hate.
Sun, no sun settles for the hope
of a slain blankness, to properly
heave, a sigh after the childbirth of truth.
All the dead white bones, jutting out
from the ancestral incompleteness of
forgetfulness of man to accept gracefully
the suffering of neighbourhood. The very
feel of sharing a god.
You are what you are not
I am not, what I am.
Salvatore Ala, 9 march 2015
Terrace Garden, Lampedusa House
Tigris or Babylon or well-watered Eden,
Flowers tumbled over balustrades,
Leopard lilies sprang to the pads of their feet,
Hibiscus blossoms flared in damp sea air,
Miniature lemons orbit a space
In perception for the beauty of the singular
And the shadows of a brightening dusk.
From this terrace you can study the stars,
You can contemplate a meaning
In the shifting mirror of night’s tides.
The conjunction of the constellations
Culminates in a double star of vision:
Everything that changes stays the same—
The flower of the heavens has but one eye.
Latest comments:
21 november 2025
violetta
Och życie też przykuwa uwagę na coś niemądrego:)
21 november 2025
Piękne podziwianie:)
21 november 2025
Piękny
21 november 2025
Jaga
Takie sny na długie zimowe noce :)
21 november 2025
To jest rajska jabłoń, odmiana Czerwona Piękność,
21 november 2025
sam53
czy to nie berberys?
21 november 2025
Ja też, więc szybko zdjęłam, by utrwalić
21 november 2025
Dziękuję Wioletto :)
21 november 2025
Bezpowrotne boli bardziej.
20 november 2025
Śliczne igiełki:)
20 november 2025
Uwielbiam takie cuda:)
20 november 2025
wtedy radość podwójna :))
21 november 2025
wiesiek
20 november 2025
wiesiek
20 november 2025
Jaga
19 november 2025
Jaga
19 november 2025
ajw
17 november 2025
wiesiek
16 november 2025
wiesiek
15 november 2025
Jaga
14 november 2025
wiesiek
13 november 2025
Jaga