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poetry

Satish Verma, 16 july 2016

Innocence

Night will feed the sleep
sleep will feed the night.
I will remain awake the whole journey.

Remove the mask and look straight
in eyes of evil dark and black
across the street.

Violence was lurking in corner
dogs were barking non-stop
somebody had shot the moon.

Give me hand I watch the blood
tricking from mountains:
beyond the border lies the corpse.

Which god was yours, which mine?
Let us divide not truth as divine.
Earth is tormented, suffering is same.

Unbearable was void, when father was away
stung by wasp of innocence
child starts crying.

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Joe Breunig, 15 july 2016

Poem: Congregation of the Dead

In lifeless patterns of repetition,
the congregation of the dead assemble,
eddying around the Light of Truth;
lacking reverence, they sadly tremble

and cringe during the Sunday Service,
seeking loopholes from accountability;
after all, regular attendance grants
the sacred status of Church nobility.

Meanwhile, frustrated ministers hurl
their verbal rocks, in futile attempts
to weed out their spiritual deadwood,
unaware that their righteous contempt

reveals their inability to love others.
Some lacking understanding may wander in,
since membership dues may be optional.
Come join the Church Petri dish of sin

to learn new zombie techniques of gnawing
on the flesh of religious, blind souls;
with Bible clubs and tongues of hell-fire,
receive your training and go on patrol.

Most folks know that ‘iron sharpens iron’;
so come and let us beat you mentally down;
since we’re unable to mature any further,
let’s make sure that you leave with a frown.

Learn secret methodologies for developing
a critical spirit and a unloving tongue;
come fill the vacancy of front-row pews;
come and join us, while you’re still young.

Author notes

Inspired by:
Prov 21:16; 2 Cor 4:4; John 3:19-20; Eph 4:17-19

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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Joe Breunig, 15 july 2016

Poem: Prayer of a Heavy Heart

O Lord, my heavy heart hurts
and my tongue can’t find words
to articulate the inward pain,
as my spirit struggles to avert

reiterations of disappointment.
My thoughts of being distraught,
exhausted and overwhelmed steal
the inner peace of my contentment.

I’m humbled by my circumstances;
now I’m casting my cares upon You;
I’m reaching for Your rest, yoke
and peace, to have another chance

of moving forward with Your Kingdom.
Refresh my spirit with the essence
of Your Presence; grant me the grace
to overcome… these current symptoms.

Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Pet 5:6-7; Matt 11:29-30

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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Gert Strydom, 15 july 2016

Morning

When the early morning rays
captured the dawn sky

and it seemed
as if it is going to be another hot day
and the sun was changing from red to white

while trees did push up their fingers into the blue,
while the smell of flowers
did hang in a cloak around you

you did sit with me
and your eyes did distribute many kisses.

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Satish Verma, 15 july 2016

Question, Answer

You have nibbled and eaten raw
scratching by nails
talking of a pink rose syndrome
under the corona of soft spikes.

Someone talks to you in your brain
guiding you to guillitone.
Life was not worth any meaning,
when questions were none.

No one to resume, isolate green
from the grains of empty desires.
Your hand travels from thorn to thorn
to reach the unrelenting fires.

Made of eccentric obsessions
your house is far away. I smell
the yellow leaves falling, one by one.
It is still dark, with no moon.

Question will become one day, the answer.
The answer will never be the answer
We will remain confused, unclear
about the question and the answer.

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Gert Strydom, 14 july 2016

Mirror image

Maybe it is a problem
that I am robust, purposeful and independent
as I can be no mirror
that only does reflect
your own humanity, your own thoughts

and what man is
frozen & stainless & mute
& shut & transparent & servile
& distant & aplanatic
in how he does exist

and at times
it’s as if you do view me like a mirror
when you comb your hair in front of me
does unclothe and stretch out your body
and do think that your nakedness,

the glance in your eyes,
the expression on your face,
your legs and arms
and your breasts
do leave no impression upon me.

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Satish Verma, 14 july 2016

What Ending?

Could not hold it, put it down.
TIME.
The words forget you, pass by.
You remain standing on the brink.
Now, now, where to go?

Time avenges, walks on you
and you cannot catch the breath,
to fill the space between life and death
life will not move, death will not stop.
If not ready to live, death will not look like you
you will not look like death.

World changes every thing,
when seeing stops, listening begins
losing threads of me, between you and me
between me and you.
Something grows out of the mud
a new star.

Begins from end, the ending
of beginning. No ending, no beginning.
Timeless, faceless, nameless
groping in void, to catch the alphabets
Peaks are very frightening
Then where is the end? No end.
This is the end.

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Karen Adams, 13 july 2016

Chciałabym uwierzyć.

Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że pobiegnę
Po tej rubieży
Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że zasiądę z Tobą
Do ostatniej wieczerzy
Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że ślepe szczęście
Otworzy me drzwi
I pojawisz się w nich Ty.

I wish I could believe
That I would run
After this border
I wish I could believe
That I will sit with you
Until the last supper
I wish I could believe
That blind happiness
He will open my door
And you will appear in them.

number of comments: 1 | rating: 1 | detail

Gert Strydom, 13 july 2016

The sun hangs orange red

The sun hangs orange red
for moments
like the smashing sound of a gong
in the air
before it becomes white hot,

the screaming of plovers hover
long and stretched out
just as if somebody
has discovered their nests

and the black-collard barbet knocks
outside on the window
as if it wants to come in

and while I am still laying in bed
the world turns
and the new morning starts
outside around me.

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Satish Verma, 13 july 2016

…… Must Unbelieve

No more the sun was hot.
October shadows were clinging to hills.
I was ready
to speak, to negate and to kindle the dust.

The issues were floating in the wind
like bleached skin of the dying man.
You could look through it and beyond.

Do you think the ageless will die?
The impotent rage will speak for the street?

I wanted to negate the remains of pedagogy,
the shoddy make-up of the lies,
and the men, in ugly immorality-
cutting the truth to the bone
with roars of laughter,
bidding for the flesh of carved saints.

The faithful must unbelieve
in the history of the star,
who could not reach the earth.
Time was creating fear.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Innocence

Poem: Congregation of the Dead

Poem: Prayer of a Heavy Heart

Morning

Question, Answer

Mirror image

What Ending?

Chciałabym uwierzyć.

The sun hangs orange red

…… Must Unbelieve

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