Latest items:

poetry

Robt, 24 january 2020

Sublimation

Water exists in a triple state:
          Solid, liquid, gas
At zero Celsius.

Even on the coldest day
Solid snow and ice quietly disappear
          Into gaseous vapor.

The radiant energy of the sun
          And time
Drive this transition
Until the solid ice is no more,
          Disappeared.
But no,
It still exists in the invisible vapor.

Do not we, aqueous beings
          -the waters of ancient seas
                   sloshing through our veins-
Exist at a triple point,

Slowly sublimating
Then suddenly gone,
Existing only in the hidden vapor
Of Time.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Morgan, 24 january 2020

On Helicon

In the golden light of morning
mists, morphing slowly to women, numb'ring nine
in chorus, they sang to Hesiod, the shepherd,
'We know how to tell lies that ring true,
but we can tell the truth when we've a mind'.
'Oh, fine, replied Hesod, yawning--
you and the media'.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 24 january 2020

Sparkling

Moon in dying
on the icy bridge

as I stand in fog to hear the music
of hung verdict you are

not playing the carnal game

a threadbare dawn
still waits
for the liquid sun,

the moosewood is going to start a striptease

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 23 january 2020

16th December 2013

Leaning against the shadow
of self, starting the
monologue. With the fall
I don't want to think of the other.

The beasts.
I give a call, to someone
over there,
who will listen.

A systematic peel, opens
the doorless cage and
sets free the malignancy―

to spread. Now multiple argan
failure, stares at you,
celebrating the anniversary
of the rape.

We are made up of
charcoal, writing on the walls
with dark fingers―
name of the victim.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 22 january 2020

Feeding The Past

I take me,
in the whirlpool of bridges
for a nonprofit.

Gathering on rocks
begins. Moonlight reads
quickly, the faces.

I would not give you
my speech, my blindness.
Become mute like the call of
a mountain.

A broken cry will save
the poetry, the river,
the sea.

An old adage brings
the solace.
Somewhere a truth sings.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 21 january 2020

Reminiscing

I catch the sadness
of gray woods. Stone by
stone, gathering the twilight
of fall.

Would you walk with me,
my fallen peaks,
to witness the cold and wet
dark?

A deep silence sings
in my inside. I scoop
out the golden hole of
pain.

The endless pathway,
where, you will find my
immortal verse kissing the
white snow.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

Satish Verma, 20 january 2020

Naked As Ice

Howling wind!
Why were you gathering the―
dead leaves, sweeping
the desolate white road?

A bleak and dismal emptiness
in-between, the
no man's land.

Thousand eyes watch the tiny flurries.
The perfect peace,
descends.

From moon's navel,
falls the golden bloom.

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Satish Verma, 17 january 2020

Skipping The Steps

A tree waits to hug me
after shedding the
leaves. The man

becomes a child, entwining
the snaking trunk
for a brush with infinity.

The supreme dedication
become humane, enough
to kill the non-man.

A lethal mix of
parodies brings a comic
relief to sparring partners.

After all you discover
the white fog, god-made
to unlisten the lyrics.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

RENATA, 16 january 2020

dopadnę cię

dopadnę Cię krzyknął Zdzich
ja wcale się nie będę kryć
dopadnę Cię w wannie
umyję starannie
pagórki brzoskwiń kolumny ud
aż stanie się cud

Dopadnę Cię w windzie
nie uciekniesz nigdzie
będę mógł
dotrzeć do twych nóg
przez próg

Dopadnę Cię letnim popołudniem
na schodach
połączymy dom herbatą przy stole
o czterech rogach
aby potem przekroczyć
granice rzeczywistości
bliskość Twych warg
rozgniotę swoimi
jak słodkie maliny
a Ty wcale nie będziesz
krzyczeć gdy

dopadnę Cię w trawie
kolorowe kwiaty będą podglądać ciekawie
wyłuskam z zielonej sukienki
czerwone maki i oczu błękit
zachwieję równowagę
kiedy Cię dopadnę

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Satish Verma, 16 january 2020

White Lies

It was a glass house.
A burning boat capsizes
in milk body, creating
a schism.

Relentlessly, a classical theme
was furloughed. I
refuse to sell,
sell anything.

A deemed thought is
nurtured, hiring the
tall grasses, to hide
the kill. I am writing―

a poem of falling leaves
to eat the huge steps
of a giant, who started
the blood time.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Sublimation

On Helicon

Sparkling

16th December 2013

Feeding The Past

Reminiscing

Naked As Ice

Skipping The Steps

dopadnę cię

White Lies

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