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poetry
Ailill, 13 june 2014
Reflections
Clear as a mirror
at dawn reflecting
a rising sun.
Early morning breeze
ripples across being
awakening to storm clouds
gathering upon the horizon.
Wind picks up speed
whipping white caps
swirling to motion.
Rhythms increase with the fever
of a tabla drummer
throbbing to rhapsodic rapture
sending waves clashing,
trespassing different
modes of manifestation.
Sky darkens
pensive moods
shift tones
to murky blue.
Internal restlessness increases
with the surging of the tempest.
Long sighs melt to
raspy grasping breaths.
In frustration
the blistering brew
of bubbling blood
flares forth the froth
of frenzied flame.
Steaming sizzle.
Sky cracks
echoed by the blast
of thunder claps.
Cathartic release.
Teardrops stream
from heavens above
wind whisks
the storm clouds on.
Arisen
the turbulence is gone
yet restlessness
lingers on,
drifting to
ripples.
Silence stills
to a shimmer
of clouds strolling by.
Again
being becomes
an image of the sun.
Talat Jehan, 12 june 2014
The Betrayal
The moment when you are punished for your sincerity, trust and love..
For your long term affection and loyalty..
Those heart aching words are like sword, which cuts you and hurts you..
You feel crushed like a flower..
You feel cursed like an evil..
Those actions buried us deep within ourselves..
You can breathe but no longer alive..
You have words but no one wants to listen and believe..
Your only friend and companion is your own silence..
Joe Breunig, 12 june 2014
Poem: Shout Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Salvation is near.
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Salvation is near.
Lift up your voice,
come lend your ears;
hear the message of Love
and joyfully rejoice!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Save us, Dear Lord.
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Save us, Dear Lord.
Soften our hearts,
teach us Your Word;
draw us closer to You;
keep us, in one accord!
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Your mercy is here.
Hosanna! Hosanna!
Your mercy is here.
Erase all fear;
cleanse my mindset;
Holy Ghost flow in me-
continually this year!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Isa 62:11; Matt 21:9; Psa 118:26; Eph 1:13
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 12 june 2014
I am searching for a beautiful little cottage at the ocean
I am searching for a beautiful little cottage at the ocean,
for a place where at times a person can stand still
and behold the miracles of the Lord,
where waves continually break with brute force,
somewhere far away where the sky is blue
where I can rest in my years of old age,
a place that both my wife and I will love
even when the storms with the worst winds do come.
I am searching for a place where visitors are always welcome
even when they are unknown and lost,
where there is a place of rest in the wide world,
where the hurting experience of each day
grows faint and undone,
even when the floods of life do stream down.
Gert Strydom, 12 june 2014
It’s silent right through the house at daybreak
It’s silent right through the house at daybreak
and only the songs of the birds comes through the windows
but we are closed to the outside
when the sun only peeps with its head over the horizon,
later just here and there breaks through the clouds,
our lives are tied to earlier decisions
and in the distance there are dots of boats,
the beauty of the coastal region
and a ray of sun falls over your face,
the wind rustles through the curtain and whispers
as if it’s bringing a love song to you
and I see a small vein beating against your neck,
the room is still dark with twilight
and eternally I want to save this moment.
Gert Strydom, 12 june 2014
When the moon hangs yellow-gold
When the moon hangs yellow-gold in the darkness
Ghoeroe will awake
and Ghaisa the rain-leopard will afraid
sneak out when the first drops pour down
and Ghoeroe the hippopotamus-bull will make the clouds thunder
while Ghaisa jumps away to far under
where flames lash out white-blue over the ridge
when we smell the rain in the wet sand.
Satish Verma, 12 june 2014
LOST MEANINGS
In mangled bodies
and severed limbs,
the blood gives up its claim.
A twisted window blocks the landscape
of silvered faces.
No body talks with moon.
Night burns the fat
floats on the dead mouthings.
Death has the foulest taste.
Darkness looms overnight,
very false under the lamp,
eyelids are closing.
Dirty maps unfold the mystery
of religion. The longest book
has the restless words.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 11 june 2014
I smell the fragrance of the falling rain
I smell the fragrance of the falling rain
hear how startled the wild horses snort,
see the dust-line of the wild wind savagely
blowing sand and leaves
and hear and there it turns lingering
when thunderbolt after thunderbolt blue-white crushes down
and I see swallows circling against the dark sky,
hear turtledoves singing praises to God
and in the veldt the joy is wide
over the rain that brings new life.
Gert Strydom, 11 june 2014
Every morning her windows are washed clean
Every morning her windows are washed clean
and they reflect the garden
in bright pieces of glass
and even the clouds disappearing in the distance.
Gardenia, jasmine and pomegranate
reflect the colours, the beauty
of her lovely face
and every sunny day
you will find her with fingers in the ground
when she prays for the first spring rain to come
as she is a nature child
and around her lawns of green grass dazzle.
She has caught a small world in her hands
and a straw-hat against the sun hangs low against her eyes.
Gert Strydom, 10 june 2014
There is a seashell
There is a seashell that on a time I want to give to you
wherein you can continually find the presence of the sea,
and it’s something with the echo of the sea
and it roars on sunny days and during the stormy wind
and I wish that just like this
I could hold you to my ear
while we are apart from each other
and can feel how your arms embracing me.
Latest comments:
22 november 2025
violetta
Warto rozpalać;)
22 november 2025
Aczkolwiek obojętne, ale lubię ten nastrój:)
22 november 2025
Jaga
Skrzydlatych jest wielu, a skrzydełka różnobarwne.
22 november 2025
Przedsmak białych świąt.
22 november 2025
Całkiem niezła ta podpałka.
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
Och życie też przykuwa uwagę na coś niemądrego:)
21 november 2025
Piękne podziwianie:)
22 november 2025
wiesiek
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