Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 17 november 2016

Shimmering

The sizzling legs wait for
an infinitesimal pause
to learn on approaching zero.

I am not cultish:
the egg has walked out
on a dwarf mother.

The dead horse was rising
after eating dirt. Naked
flame will decide for –

the rights of a man in a
hot night. Deferred a perfect
landing on cherries. The

colors were fighting
for the supremacy of
twisted necks.

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Satish Verma, 16 november 2016

Crowding

Interlude cheats:
the mind fails to understand.
Demining
refutes the salt.

You know:
the self-knowledge takes you to a tormentor
for intimate relationship. A dirty hand
scrapes the script.

A sudden flight, you do not want
to face the sun.
I pick up a book
and hide my face.

Parkinson’s dilemma:
The psychic persona
was shaking or tremors in thought.
Now unclasping.

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Satish Verma, 14 november 2016

Blind Alleys

A nascent cry
demands the signature
of space.
I will start the self destruction-

clawing back
on the land of
betrayals.
The rule of sky was at stake.

Trees were burning
and the birds
want to grasp
the stark reality of notional violence.

In dark hour
I know not words
to lift the eyelids
the cloud, the flowers, the blood!

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Satish Verma, 13 november 2016

Stray Colors

Now burns the stillness of thoughts.
Be my enemy.
Ants are running out
of the eye.
Nightmares:
I am collecting the ashes from
the burning ghats.
The steps to the lake are disappearing
in the blood of moon.
The dogs-
are carrying away a half-burnt leg.
It stinks
stinks
the whole river, all night
all day.
Don’t shut the window
I am crying.

•

Tin man was walking on the sea
of words.
He did not want to utter F………out.
The hirsute triangle
pops up, every time
you close your eyes.
All night he was dreaming
he had become inert, like a corpse.
Can you start a salvage chemo?
So that I can levitate in emptiness
and meet
my arithmetic
midway like cherry blossom
falling, yet not falling.
You will never understand me.
I was waiting for the night
beyond the sky
beyond the stars.

•

The stigma
the style.
No pollen wants to land on your cherry
Stainless shirt waves a white flag
to stop the war.
I am not a cherry picker
in a moonlit night
undressing the smile.
It is for you, the next life
a little wee
if I don’t come back
from the sea of carnage
pure as a fish.

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Joe Breunig, 12 november 2016

Poem: Connected to Hope?

Can you really expect to cope,
if you’re not connected to Hope?

Faith in Christ is a requisite;
let’s not be… overly delicate

in discussing this matter today;
He alone is the Life, Truth and Way!

Our need for a real relationship
with Him, pushes us towards kinship;

after all, we’re to be joint-heirs
and strive to be spiritually aware

of our Heavenly responsibilities!
It’s time to grow up, mature and see

the plan and purpose God has for us.
With our identity in Christ Jesus,

we find Life’s meaning and its scope,
seeing that we’re… connected to Hope.

Author notes

Inspired by:
Titu 2:11-14

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.

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Satish Verma, 12 november 2016

Effrontery

After scarring, the big gap
confronts a mascot.
The caster is telling a lie.

Under shock and anger
you start cursing the renegade truth.

Black windows now perceive the light.

Nobody wants to catch the dust now,
falling from the stars.

War of words comes to disarming of
wailing hands.
I reconcile with the setting sun.

Back and forth, back and forth
the unabashed, moves a bridal moon.

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Satish Verma, 11 november 2016

Vaulting

Deep inside
there was a simian jealousy.
The opaque words will raise
a burnt-out storm –
returning the whole family
of white flowers to the moon.

The falling
inside the bowl
before the snake could strike
interrupting the dead soldiers
of unknown war-
weapon-free.

A stunning invasion
of the spoons in summer months,
when sweat was expensive than
truth and a sentence
was lost between the punctuations.

Yet I was going to recite a poem.

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Satish Verma, 10 november 2016

The Scream

Burying
your titanium teeth
in flawless
apples.

You release
a terror.
The scream.

Centuries-
of fear
and fear of
centuries
chasing a mysterious silence.
The scream.

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Satish Verma, 9 november 2016

Muttering

Miranda:
talk to your restive soul,
elementally abstract.

Home –
was minimal comfort,
for the flying birds.

Clock,
to explode today
on your face.

You were eying
the bride,
in turbulent sky.

Who had
brought the moon
at Agave’s feet?

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Satish Verma, 7 november 2016

Heritage

A vigil for scrolls:
who writes the history now?

Actors are barbaric now –
playing the malicious music of
rebirth.
There is no threat now from intimate-
bombers.

Be drunk on my breast –
in lunar landscape, wearing no shoes.
Buddha has lost his libido.
Can you fix the bed of black
roses?

A sick mind now writes-
a transgender prose.

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Latest items:

poetry

Shimmering

Crowding

Blind Alleys

Stray Colors

Poem: Connected to Hope?

Effrontery

Vaulting

The Scream

Muttering

Heritage

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