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poetry
Gert Strydom, 15 december 2014
We are like two flowers (Rubliw)
We are
like two flowers
growing wild among rocks
and the wind and sun come and go,
the wet rain falls and lightning does flash down,
all the seasons of life does pass
and although I do care
days do run on
and on
Satish Verma, 15 december 2014
INWARD JOURNEY
And the lineage of existence
does not fade.
I try to wipe off, the heavy showers of
death, daily.
The pains were rising, in every word,
in every talk.
As part of nothingness, I was trying to find
happiness.
Put the shadows down, touch the questions
again.
The mentor wants blood, truth was in body,
small seeds of life.
Wrapped up, dry, cryptic, to suck at the
fears of birth.
You are becoming a tree, roots, branches, leaves
against a serial killer.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2014
AN ACID RAIN
This is it, I want to say.
An acid rain falling each evening
and you, reading a poem
surrounded by flame – attendants.
Nothing moves farther than activism.
Conversation centers around the flares
on the surface of an orange sun,
a big hole coming up in the ozone layer.
You are an ocean, needs penetration
of inquiry. Running a relay race in
a big cage to keep the torch
burning. Clouds in the sky
objecting to full moon, coming up,
nonchalantly. Landscape rips – off
the ideas from the thorn
in the heart.
Satish Verma, 13 december 2014
PACEMAKER
Hunger comes back like a dagger
on face. With iris and fingerprints.
Live, fluttering butterflies, stuck
on lampshades. Wrecked, frozen, the ending
of seeming. Men in cages.
They were diluting the culture.
Chlorophyll siphoned off. No color,
no sprouts. The roads were dirty
with the ultimate truth, quarreling with the
water, insanity and vertebrae.
The creamy stuff, shouts and pants,
shunting the definitions. People come
and go from the paintings. There is no age bar.
Spring will be released from the impulses
of flesh in naked zones.
Ideas become pacemaker, for the ailing
heart of polity.
Satish Verma, 12 december 2014
SICK TIMES
And how shall we trace the
trajectory of a lungless scream
coming out of a slit throat?
Time was overrun by gnostic
resentment in absolute mind.
The fury of a gathering food riot:
do you hear the memorial rising,
rising –
on bones of hunger, swollen eyelids?
Soon they will meet on the bellies.
The fumigation starts, of lies
a bactericidal, to wipe out the germs
in dumb minds. The prognosis failed,
life moves in a tunnel, absent
and present!
Gert Strydom, 12 december 2014
How sadly I have been absent in this spring (Rubiyat sonnet)
How sadly I have been absent in this spring
while new sprouts and flowers were rising
when the loveliest hot days you have seen
and our love had been a struggling withering thing
and how stripped like winter have our lives been
without a hot summer day between
while our love should have been at its prime
as a plant that is with new growth green
and yet it was if there was in destiny no time
and to everything just the coldest deadliest clime
but in hope I am still waiting on you
to forgive every word and every kind of crime
that you do hold true to me
but does actually lie in your own insecurity.
Gert Strydom, 12 december 2014
I miss you very much (Rubliw)
I miss
you very much
in the early morning
and in the afternoon still more
and in the evening heartache does sting
more than anything that I know
but still our love remains
wherever life
does go.
Gert Strydom, 12 december 2014
I do love you each day (Rubliw)
I do
love you each day
but the great loneliness
does possess a kind of deep ache
and when we are apart my life does halt
as if nothing good does remain
and emptiness is left
until you are
right here.
Joe Breunig, 11 december 2014
Poem: His Love of Words
He will make a way for me,
but I’ve got to do my part.
I must keep moving forward…
with His promises in my heart.
Staying in faith, not worried
about who’s holding me back;
I continue to press ahead
in His supply, without lack.
Everything is simple for God
and it’s a fact I’ve accepted;
this kinship persists, seeing…
that we are divinely connected.
Heaven’s Husbandman grafted me
into the sacred Vine for Himself;
His Love of words flows from me,
poetry made… for His bookshelf.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Prov 3:6; John 15; Eph 2:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 11 december 2014
BROODING
Me and my pride,
me and my hurts.
Who are you, which you are not,
a verbless statement of nirvana?
No pain
no asking, narcissism.
A stream of unbecoming.
Eyes wide open
jaws tightly shut,
sitting in a corner, brooding,
brooding.
Now what?
A stunning duplicity,
a surrogate god
was running an empire.
Precisely polygamous
on the name of a latter saint
annihilating the third image.
The future demands its past,
its mode of becoming endosperm
in a sleeping leaf.
Latest comments:
22 november 2025
smokjerzy
na głodzie, to nawet jak się tli, to się pali...
22 november 2025
Świetny wiersz, pełen sugestywnych, otwierających
22 november 2025
Weronika
Tli.
22 november 2025
z nazwy wynika, że to karma aniołów...:))
22 november 2025
zanurzyć w tym stopy i umrzeć...:))
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
wiesiek
20 november 2025
wiesiek
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Jaga
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ajw
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wiesiek
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wiesiek
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Jaga
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wiesiek
13 november 2025
Jaga