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poetry
Satish Verma, 28 february 2017
Cult Of Lynching
Mountains were coming down to
never-home,
in surreal rebuff to shaking earth;
emerging from the shadows of sky.
In groping for the legs
this was the myth of lynching.
You are drenched in the rains
of promises.
A kiss for each lethal penetration,
for global time-
you are becoming a wasteland
borne out of swollen fingertips-
who would not write any name.
The many words of pain are finding
a new meaning from the vocabulary
of conceit and betrayals.
A deliberate isolation brings
the sound sleep to ashes to become a thing.
Satish Verma, 27 february 2017
Blue Mountains
The lesson
of sudden fall
and forgotten kiss.
Everytime I was afraid of me
unforgiving the gorge
of blue mountains.
When I usher you in sun
you flare up in color violet-green
I stay in ebony's arms -
with eye spaces
and everything turns water,
water of a lake.
I will not remember the shooting
stars when you are beside me.
Drifting curves had left behind
the seeds, planted under the moon.
Now they are exploding
one by one in the conch.
•
Tending to my pain
when you were unborn
O my poem
how you lay on me
asking for the whole truth
which would undo the helix
in eye long vision.
If the loneliness smiles
I will call you.
I will call you.
Satish Verma, 26 february 2017
Silence Unsaid
You will not abandon me,
but kill me gently
reciting a hymn.
As if the speech was slurred,
after the encounter.
Time. It was not yours, not mine.
Punctuated again in
less moon,
I am searching the frozen lake.
Unuttered gratitude. I
will not submit the ultimate.
Barrier reef was rising.
I sit alone
down the lane.
Waiting for the sunset.
Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017
Poem: Objective Morality
Do we need to debate an argument
of objective morality, to prove
God’s existence? Can’t we look…
upward towards the sky and beyond,
to clearly observe a magnificence
of His, spectacular handiwork?
Are we nothing more than animals,
stuck in a plague-filled universe
of endless, ruinous destruction?
Are certain levels of violence
deemed acceptable and necessary?
Are we seeking excuses… to shirk
away from the responsibilities
of being our brother’s keeper?
Can our human actions be judged
simply, as either good or bad,
to match our current disposition?
Can any of our behaviors work
favorably, to move us from a state
of chaos to one of divine peace?
Is Love and self-sacrifice genuine?
Or should we just live with a sad
realization, that we prefer to act
badly as only… inhumane jerks?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Gen 4:9, 6:5; Jer 17:9; 1 John 4:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 25 february 2017
Poem: Shalom
With the Hebrew letters of MEM,
VAV, LAMED and SHIN, one finds
an inner meaning overlooked by
most people; it also condemns
those who are following Satan.
Although its primary influence
is a declaration of serenity
and peace, souls may be shaken-
as they learn about the prayer’s
prophetic nature; its numeric and
pictographic language contributes
another, sizable spiritual layer
to its foundational definition.
At its core, it translates to:
“Destroy all authority connected
with any chaos and confusion.”
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Cor 14:33 and (שָׁלוֹם)
Shalom (in Hebrew)
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 23 february 2017
A Love And Hate Story
I was learning, how
not to catch you.
Called the cloud
hugging a hillside.
Can you climb on the road?
No, it said, I want to play with the moon.
So,
this was becoming,
without presence.
An epiphany? No it was a crying
theme, discovery of the self.
When the tremors came,
you were flung like a doll,
opening the earth
one breath long.
Swallows were eyeing the sky.
•
The hollow tree
traps the light and sends out
the blue pupils of yellow eyes.
I am still counting the limbs
under the boulders.
The landmass was moving asking names.
The big vulture was watching
the end of the feast,
for schizophrenics.
A bomb hidden in turban will
kill a saint. You say I should
call for the girls.
Why don't you wear the skullcap
to cover the beautiful mind
which will not kiss the fire?
Satish Verma, 22 february 2017
Solitudes
The questions hang like skin tags.
A broken mirror, stabs
during birth of time.
We have got to do it, save it
in its infancy, before it is submerged
along with the temple of fake gods: -
before it is plagiarized by the
polity. The wives were fattening
on art of running the state
from behind the curtains. Would
you like to sign on my skin?
Your death wish? I am washing
my sins today. It is bit cold
here in the blue lake of tears. Now
you can hold my arm for final plunge.
Satish Verma, 21 february 2017
Millstone
They were decapitated
in winter.
To send forth again, fresh,
the green twigs of summer.
Trees of roadside.
My friends, I used to talk
to them in my morning walk.
Once I sat under
a wishing tree for a divine feel.
There were lots of colored threads
tied round the massive trunk.
I wanted to arrive in the neighbourhood
of absurd escapes of a
fake religion.
My footfalls on stairs were becoming
louder, lugging the wasted life.
It was time now.
To understand the deep shadows
of unanswered questions.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2017
Night Light
That cameo was my secret grief.
He will make you sing,
the hooded moon.
Not a sacred thing
Kissing the toes of a traveller
for fecundity.
In doorway it was between
us and them for bargaining
for Dahlias.
Lips unkissed will call for
honey from bees.
Eyes will srarch for a candle.
In alien land of flames
and tumultuous desires,
the golden breasts will take revenge.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2017
Listening Schubert
Changing thoughts
were creating chaos in frenzy,
unabashed, following the stricken
prey, to reclaim
the violence of a stalker.
Was there any law of jungle?
Or rule of law in the midstream
of a formless prosthesis,
gaping void, throwing up
a primordial fear.
Becoming tired of looking at
the wastes around. No mystery
was left in life. How often you
will sit on the pyre to ignite the high
priests of knowledge?
The curved images of receding
years are disappearing. How long
you will wait,
how long?
Latest comments:
31 december 2025
ais
Szczęśliwego :)
31 december 2025
Jaga
Gdzie tu się schować? Wieś nie lepsza od miasta.
31 december 2025
wolnyduch
Tak, myślę podobnie... Miło mi bardzo gościć
31 december 2025
Niestety masz rację i to jest przykre. Dzięki
30 december 2025
AS
nie powinno się oceniać autorów, ale tematy
30 december 2025
Miłość nie jedno ma imię :))
30 december 2025
Ja próbuję :))
30 december 2025
Dwie drogi. Świata, który odchodzi pomału
30 december 2025
Weronika
Źdźbło w oku Różewicza.
30 december 2025
violetta
Aż tak nie rozpoznaję zwierząt:)
30 december 2025
Mama z synkiem, któremu już wyrosły małe
30 december 2025
Cudaki:)
31 december 2025
wiesiek
30 december 2025
wiesiek
30 december 2025
Jaga
29 december 2025
wiesiek
28 december 2025
wiesiek
27 december 2025
marka
27 december 2025
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