Latest items:

poetry

Gert Strydom, 20 january 2014

On a Sunday afternoon

On a Sunday afternoon
there is a silence that lingers
when wild doves, weavers and sparrows
peck some seed from the back lawn,
while the two Jack Russell dogs
stretch out in the sun,
bees and butterflies buzz and flutter from flower to flower,
while the sun hangs white and bright in the cobalt-blue sky

and then your eyes sparkle when they catch mine,
while there is a restful tranquillity
when the shadows stretch out long
and roses, geraniums and gardenias
flaunt with their most beautiful flowers
and everything is lovely
like only a day with you can be.

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Satish Verma, 20 january 2014

SHELLING UNCOUNTED

A blue moon was crabbing at night
in the sea of stars. Yuu could hear
the outcry of herons suddenly.
It was mayhem. Heads will now roll for defiant

attitude. The creepers were trapped
in the impatient blind-catchers.Unforgettable
waiting for the flamed silence was from
night till dawn. The sun will peep discreetly.

The breasted curve of a cloud hoists
a golden thrust in multitude of wings. Day
arrives with a bang riding on bruises. A blast
fills the obtuse mother whose child was dead at the gate.

Sucked slowely, the crumbled walls
put up the silver of noon in background. Someone
covers the body with white mattress. Another
number is added on the page.

Satish Verma

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Insatiable Sohail, 19 january 2014

The Ultimate Destination

O Human being !
Arise from sleep
It's already too late.

Don't you ever think-
Who create you ?
Why you are here ?
And where is your destination ?

Think wisely
Be eagle-eyed and far-sighted.
What you are seeing is nothing
But what you'll see is everything.

What is the benefit of quarrel ?
So establish peace
Spread power of love.
Do good deeds before it is too late
As they are never lost.
And make your life meaningful.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Insatiable Sohail, 19 january 2014

A Loveable Personality

He was my father
Who is no more now.
I never thought he was so dear to me.
I realize his absence
By the emptiness of his presence.
He was my guide
Source of the light
Of my power of inspiration.

He never throttle my freedom of choice
He teaches me the reality.
A sure way of making sure.
Now I can see the foreseeable future.
What I am today
Merely his contribution.

He left me alone
This loss is irreparable.
A loss that can never be made up
A sorrow that cannot be forgotten.
A great privation for me
Not be able to speak to my father.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma, 19 january 2014

NOBODY WEEPS

On the street between the impeachment
and castle a divine release was being
enacted engaging the durable peace in seething winter.
A somber black cloud of smoke was
slowly reclaiming the sun.

A disgraced militant was pounding his chest
for not killing priceless bees
who were initializing the flowers of Aden. The
death was laid out in a row before the child
was born. Dead prophets were watching from the eyes of dolls.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 18 january 2014

FROM FRONT

It burrows deeper in the covert
recess of pain, shunning violence of light:
the epicenter of Armageddon,
giving collective death to providence
in a proxy war.

The collasal gossip rests on the river of ashes,
deflects the incredible starved children –
wind blown without geysers, dripping in sweat,
licking the salt lake of damnation.
Cutthroats will come shortly.

Centrifuges are churning uranium in underground
tunnels.Myopia was increasing. In
another garrison germ warfare was getting a shot.
Choked off I still carried the holistic style.
A blockade was sending the sleepers.

Inheritance of lean arms but brave wants,
bares it all.

Satish Verma

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Gert Strydom, 17 january 2014

In some ways (Italian sonnet)

In some ways the world we live in
is no different from the world in Christ’s day.
Today just like in the time of Rome people dance and play
and chase after pleasure and sin,

try at almost any cost to win,
do each other mock and betray,
are set on monetary value come what may
and without thought with the next evil we do begin

while some people live by human laws,
believe that the word of God is an outmoded tale
and do make own specific rules
as if an omnipotent God is full of flaws
and yet in life they do not prevail
while they act like renegades and self centred fools.

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Satish Verma, 17 january 2014

NO GRAND LANDING

It clings to you, like a liquid rock,
burns your skin. You get a chemosignal.
Tethered on a rope your clenched iron fist
remains dysfunctional. From the elite enclave
red smoke billows like a jinni unleashed
from the bottle.

A stray mortar sends olfactory fumes.
The land concludes a twist, becomes
unforgiving.The debris was a cluttered, goaded
inheritance. When it was not there I eat
the guns. Mission accomplished of death and
destruction, you start a prayer near an incapacitated tank.

Today, like everyday the war failed us.
Mother and son, father and daughter sleep in death’s embrace.

Satish Verma

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abraham afedzi mensah, 16 january 2014

old age

stuck at this transcend of time
as i revisit the days of my prime
stirring deep within memories
somewhere around my twenties
there are things i would still love to revisit
if and only if time would permit
it's been long
oh! dear and it never felt wrong
when we used to dance to Paapa Nyankson's song
i used to smile to myself in the mirror
now, i do same with horror
life is short and so simple
my grandchildren dont believe i once had a dimple
that period we call old age
leaves you nothing for you to salvage
your bones can no longer carry
you srength will always be weary
old age, a blessing or a curse?
to hell, who even cares?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 3 | detail

Joe Breunig, 16 january 2014

Poem: Poiema

Though I strive for real Word quality,
some people still get upset with me,
regarding spiritual constructs I write,
having been offended by Truths I see.

Within the depths of my Christian poetry,
I share faith’s expression and creativity,
seeking a balance of confession and worship,
in understanding how my dear Lord views me.

Since Creation, a complete scope of Humanity,
has been already defined with God’s artistry-
for He breathed life into us, His workmanship,
an earthly, sacred array of divine diversity.

Although a lesser form of His incorporeal epitome,
we are still made after the image of the Trinity;
therefore, live joyously and soulfully, knowing…
that we’re the living embodiment of God’s poetry!

Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Eph 2:10

The greek word “poeima” can be defined as: that
which has been made a work of the works of God
as creator, i.e., His workmanship.

In addition, we derive the word “poem”.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.

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Latest items:

poetry

On a Sunday afternoon

SHELLING UNCOUNTED

The Ultimate Destination

A Loveable Personality

NOBODY WEEPS

FROM FRONT

In some ways (Italian sonnet)

NO GRAND LANDING

old age

Poem: Poiema

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