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poetry

Satish Verma, 4 october 2016

Taking On

It was a fast
against truth, in support
of unbidden body
which took the history lesson.

A star is born
out of midnight accident.
Darkness deems dark
in siege of self-restraint.

An embattled self
seeks a counting. The money
speaks in absence, to clear
the debt of tears.

No longer
the eyes will look at
the marriage of trans-blue veins
in legs of seedless dreams.

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Joe Breunig, 3 october 2016

Poem: Crumbs

The World’s perception of Christianity
is generally, an unimpressed disappointment;
we’re viewed as a collection of mongrel mutts,
housed at the local dog pound, foolishly
chasing rainbows for our lost contentment.

Although we’re not domesticated watchdogs,
collared and chained to the Master’s table
while begging for spiritual scraps of Faith,
they believe that we’re hoping for crumbs
to overcome a meager existence, simply unable

to grow and mature with the King’s wisdom.
If we’re not progressing with our victories
and experiences of success, the World’s view
and attitude will not change; therefore, we
need to develop our Faith and testimonies.

Author notes

Inspired by:
Matt 15:27; Mark 7:28; Rev 12:11

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, 30 september 2016

Olive Branch

Anti-howling receives the
deserter. There was a mass
breast-beating without
any noise.

The pugnacious jaw
drops. Shows a frail
sensitivity to tormented
values –

of invisible mirrors, shutting
down the wolf’s face. An
ancient spider jumps
on your bronzed ego.

A transsexual walks on
the ramp to defend her territory.
Cucumbers would jump to
conceive the obnoxious yawning.

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Satish Verma, 29 september 2016

Live Baits

An autopsy was being conducted
with brutality
to silence the rising dialogue,

pulling out the lethal crunch
of scripted history.
You want the kiss of a parting grain.

A secondhand face crops
up in a newspaper. Are you ashamed
of curtains? They have covered

all the skeletons. The tangerines,
why do I remember them
like juicy lips in dark.

We are going to bungle together,
decked up to receive the body
of a honed player.

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Satish Verma, 28 september 2016

Heterosexuality

Were you ready for a virginity test
to cross the umbrella of harpoons.
A chilled moon

will welcome you after slaying
the hot sun in the valley
of gods. A schism scoops

ignominy. Seeing the lights
which were not there. Almost
sexy, the sky pretends to unrobe.

No weeping. A Caucasian brings
red grapes for a naming
ceremony of black password,

searing the age of complicity.
A rocket propelled grenade
is going to blast a whisper.

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Satish Verma, 27 september 2016

Existential Dilemmma

Arrive with me in untainted
light. Between two threats:
life and death. Falling from
mantle, there was no surrender.

Bone-deep, I will ask you a
question. What life has given
to you and what death
has taken from you?

Read more in my eyes. You will
find the ravines of hunger. For
truth. No organic pain. Only thirst.
For a very violent rush of rains.

Ink-stained moon was willing
to cede the moonlight, even dew
to wipe out the nightmares of
your scrapped ego.

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Satish Verma, 25 september 2016

Ending War

Lashed together
for a better tomorrow,
ending war of words.

Heralding the new
moon I sacrifice
my becoming age

I will sleep now
on hawthorns in bleeding
flames of forest.

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Satish Verma, 24 september 2016

Delinquency

It was a complete disaster.
I will listen to moon tonight, while
writing your name
on bikini top,

holding the pigeons. The
birds had abandoned the
walnut tree in haste. Between
them can you see a butchered

image of little god, who
broke the cold chain of flirting
and sat on a rosette of
tears blocking the sun?

Was it true that death always
sits on our shoulders like an
owl undocking the life for piercing
contentious lips?

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B.Z. Niditch, 24 september 2016

WATCHING

Watching from a telescope
heights of stars
after my bicycle ride
rests along the Bay
meeting a lost sailor
who caught yellow jack
in islands far from home
here at a frozen shore
ice fishing in a few holes
that he plummets
in halting waves
on waters
at the home harbor anchors
rescuing my orange kayak
still anchored for the spring
as a Canadian robin appears
along the shore.

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B.Z. Niditch, 24 september 2016

ASHES

"Have a nice day"
say the living neighbors
who do not envy the lost
as news reports
on victims ashes
in Europe and Asia
cannot speak or reply
to the unthinkable
in an absence of gazes
from tiny snapshots
ex camera
in a former life
concealed among caves
and white stones
along the beach
your luminous eyes
cannot hide ourselves
on the unspeakable.

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Taking On

Poem: Crumbs

Olive Branch

Live Baits

Heterosexuality

Existential Dilemmma

Ending War

Delinquency

WATCHING

ASHES

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