poetry

poetry
Roy Davenport

Roy Davenport, 20 march 2019

The Stranger With The Devil's Eyes

Late upon one stormy night when no heavenly stars could be seen,
A lonely rider on a broken mare crossed over a border stream.
His back was bowed, and fatigue it showed, on every part of his frame.
But he struggled fast, through a howling blast, not even God could tame.
For he meant to make the town of Keepsake, despite the warring skies.
He was hunting the men, who murdered his kin, this stranger with the devil’s eyes.

For two long years he bit bitter tears, but he was always a step too slow
That hound from hell, that no lawman could fell, the outlaw named Cactus Joe.
The town folks tell how many men fell, when they faced his lightning draw.
His guns would blaze and then out of the haze, a look of shock and awe.
But there was one man, with a leathery tan, from years under cloudless skies
Who was hunting for Joe and ready for show, the stranger with the devil’s eyes.

On his hip he wore a Colt Forty-Four with ten notches carved in its’ grip.
Each one for a man from Cactus Joe’s band, though Joe always gave him the slip.
Now everyone knows how the face of death shows on those who pay its’ dues.
With a worn-thin look, from ten lives he took, there was one thing left he must do.
Word came down that Joe was in town and he promised that someone would die.
So to Keepsake he came, the man with no name, the stranger with the devil’s eyes

Word spread through the town, where Joe was found, with two aces and a pair of fours.
He played his hand and began to stand, saying “Boys, I got to settle this score.”
They faced on the street, dust swirled at their feet, bullets ready to find their mark.
The streets quickly cleared and town folks peered from windows and doors gone dark.
None dared to breathe, the hatred seethed, as they glared into each other’s eyes.
“Its’ time to pay, it’s your judgment day, ” said the stranger with the devil’s eyes.

Then all who were there, later would swear, that Joe fired three times first.
How he missed that day, from five feet away, and with such a deadly burst
Is anyone’s guess, but I will confess, I don’t think Joe’s skill was to blame.
Then the stranger drew, quite calmly too, and carefully took deadly aim.
He shot Cactus Joe, and the fatal blow, caught Joe with a look of surprise.
another round fired, before Joe expired, that struck him right between the eyes.

If you were there, as smoke filled the air, and saw how the bullets seemed to pass through
Then you’ll understand, that no mortal man, could have done what we say is true.
For when hate fills your soul, no matter how bold, the evil that someone has done
Evil moves in, with its’ hideous grin, and deals vengeance out with a gun.
So beware your fate, if your heart’s full of hate, for there’s nothing under God’s blue skies
That will save your soul from an evil so cold as the stranger with the devil’s eyes.
RDavenport 2001 (C)


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 march 2019

Why Are You Blue?

The wayfarer, searching 
for the leaf-pains― 
fallen from the lone tree. 
 
Some holy script will 
tell the angst of the sap, 
which would not reach the roots. 
 
A responsible weep, 
will divulge your name to― 
forest bees, waiting for the moon. 
 
I watch the setting sun 
with trepidation. 
Night will bring again, the blasts.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 march 2019

Accusing Whom?

The unthinking begins again 
watching a lunar 
explosion. 
 
The smallest droplet: 
I never had any agenda, 
holding on to emptiness. 
 
A dark jumps out at me. 
I push the light 
forward― 
 
to see your face, O 
invisible. Where the road 
ends? I want to start 
 
my new journey, unloading 
the accumulated wealth 
of erudition.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 march 2019

A Smile Falters

You were collecting the 
clocks, to stall 
the time; for a pathless journey 
to nowhere. 
 
Quietly the colors 
start disappearing. Only 
a blank void 
hangs on the eyes. 
 
The body, is at work 
to teach the soul. Fat will 
singe the mind. You will 
never know, why did you suffer. 
 
My sleep was ordained 
to become eyeless. I 
will never watch the dreams. 
Blind spot snaps out the light. 
 
If I become you, the 
freeze will set in. 
The blackbirds are 
circling.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 march 2019

From The Womb

The póetique listening 
to the reason, as foggy 
as the past, untelling the 
future of midnight onslaughts. 
 
The rain of emptiness, was 
playing havoc with the 
fiery cross. No orchestrated 
withdrawl, I am― 
 
preparing myself for the 
supersonic cruise missiles of 
vendetta. Golden heart, 
you will carve out and eat. 
 
The bluebirds. They had left 
unannounced. This summer 
the snowy peaks will melt, 
for a lone tree.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 march 2019

Listening To Yourself

Treading gently, trying 
to feel close to the heat of 
the cardinal sins, why 
you were not able to take off 
your eyes from the 
macabre slaughter? 
 
The unknowable instinct. 
You abhore, but still want 
to see the execution. They 
were blindfolded and 
were shot at the 
back of head. 
 
Decimated. You hold the 
globes, making peace 
with the wrongdoer.He 
will not alter his ego 
and why you were afraid to 
react?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 march 2019

Cruel Bonhomie

Like a meteorite streaking 
through the sky, iron 
and nickel, for a proxy collision 
with hidden destiny. 
 
It was the post trauma 
syndrome, after the great 
divide of breast, lifting 
the nipples. 
 
The lofty peak crumbles. 
There will be the scare 
around, to grow the poppies 
on the mounds again. 
 
Are you ready now 
for emasculation? The 
legacy will, on its own, pass 
onto alternative sins.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 march 2019

Thinking Deeply About Something

The trail in mind, you had 
a problem, before the coming of Him. 
 
A quest, a a question, became 
landmarks of the journey 
in jungle of humanity. 
 
The compatibility lost, you 
have stopped looking at the 
things with inward eye. 
 
Is it necessary to give a title to every anguish? 
 
The crisis throws up some detritus 
of past, from where you had 
taken up the wrong road. 
 
The fixing magnifies your 
scars. Do not go deep 
in the veins. 
 
I am your face. 
I am your name.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 12 march 2019

Pure As A Flame

Sleepwalking in unlit 
night, grabbing the 
moon, for a bite. 
 
Very difficult to chew 
the contradictions, to relieve 
the heartache. 
 
Endless drumming of 
woodpecker to mark territory. 
A war begins for insects. 
 
It was the Adam’s instinct. 
I will not fall on 
the burning coals. 
 
In a dewdrop you will 
see a miniature tree, 
shaping out for the sun.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 11 march 2019

Ideation

A fuzzy fear descends. 
You become ensconced― 
in the smell of a 
paranoia. 
 
The saltcutter will forego 
the idiosyncrasy 
and start collecting the oil 
from the dome. 
 
A stain on the shirt 
spreads, covers 
the heart in distress. 
Codas were waiting. 
 
Do not burn the book. 
Go in a lily pond for a ― 
script. The different shades 
of flesh will be revealed. 
 
The divine sin will ask 
for a retribution for ― 
the withdrawl syndrome.


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