Latest items:
poetry
Satish Verma, 6 february 2016
Signatures
Planet earth,
they have stopped moving with me like clouds,
like trees.
Sap frozen, inertia overtaking
tongues clipped
mouth after mouth black shut.
Toads are croaking.
Incence of hate wafting
from scrolling suicides.
The terrorist is on move
from valley to valley
shrine to shrine
river to river.
Bulls in veils bellowing in dark.
Self-seeking or sensing the history?
Intentness of kill or empathy of pain?
Who were the masters hiding behind hills?
Let me choose my scratchings from unknown pen.
My paper should remain unwritten,
nobody will draw the line
nobody will put the signatures.
Satish Verma, 5 february 2016
Gallows
When you were talking about purity of
Platelets
I was thinking to let the blood flow.
How easy it has become to kill now?
Is it not homecoming of the violence?
You were looking for a method to execute
yourself
and I was searching for an answer to
become free from bondage of self-contradiction.
The veins are bulging on my hands. Death
will not be happy to see me. The blood
has already frozen.
From your side and from world’s view
the ending of conscience is the right thing
But I squirm and I scream,
gallows are forever.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2016
Kill
Some truth disempowers you. You wanted
to be yourself as if not to become extinct.
A negative stress
starts churning your entrails.
Zero inertia. Your body begins
rummaging the soul for a prayer
which can arouse your thoughts.
All drunk now. Flashback events.
Hallucinations.
The virtue of tongue lets go the integrity.
Bewildered, spirited flesh ultimately cracks.
The violence tumbles out. My heart
squeezes melancholy.
Soon there will be a crowd
to seek a philosophical kill.
Satish Verma, 3 february 2016
The Shelter
Your own shelter of erected pretentions is beautiful
but you don’t want to come out from the cage.
Fear of falling from the cliff, cloud and sky
on the claws and pincers is terrific
which could maul, lacerate and dismember you,
You want to hide behind the arguments.
Somebody starts knocking at your head like a woodpecker
Why don’t you stick to a legend like others?
Downhill you have to come to primordial
touch of soil and smell the odor of naked bodies
toiling for seeds. Gnarled hands open the jammed
windows.
Will you know the secret of a bright lamp post
where on some night, migratory birds
were falling dead? Black fog is floating
and you are still standing on the spot from where
you started.
Satish Verma, 2 february 2016
Flame
What shall I write
from the empty, desolate heart,
when every word is being scraped?
You want to clean the mess
of a lifetime,
yet labour brings loneliness
and you inherit
the depth of a problem.
A thought which has no ending.
A constant battle with yourself
in the bleak winter of age.
One by one they have died,
Your invisible gods.
The vast landscape
of knowing the truth
still remains unconquered.
Pursue you must for the sake of moment
a flame which has no heat!
Satish Verma, 1 february 2016
Crossing Time Zones
I became uniquely quiescent
like a depthless indulgence,
in shadows of conception.
The waves after waves,
of a restless continuity,
swept the floors of mind.
Anonymity of self started expanding.
Sun burns mercilessly,
on prayers of parched lips.
The breadwinner beats the chest
and the dirt of long legs
falls on the souvenirs.
With traditional pouring, we wash the sins.
It was too late for mourning.
Tears to tears, eyes
lie in wait for a miracle
which will not happen.
A longing always remains,
a dying whisper of a storm.
The desert will return with
vengeance and clouds will never come.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2016
A Hot Patch
All the wayward words
mock me for inadequacy.
I remain detached from meaning,
emigrating to eloquence of wordless solitude.
The hymen breaks.
Dumb poems cry. I don’t want to be buried
in ruins of daydreams.
Sandstorms have a strange melancholy, holocaust.
A legitimate uprooting of faith.
Sometimes I feel a hot patch
of sun on my face.
One moon away was my cool,
abode in a green painting,
but the frost never melted.
This darkness is only companion,
I will talk to winds.
The comments on riddles will continue.
A selection of memories,
will make my meditation.
The friction in history was shame.
May be love will win.
Joe Breunig, 30 january 2016
Poem: Hurt by Unyielding Truth?
Does anyone need slurs,
from slandering neighbors?
Should it bother anyone,
that people seek after God?
Would it be better, to have
vile people influencing those,
with whom you have interaction
on a regular or daily basis?
What benefit can there be,
when individuals choose to
callously break their oaths?
Are they friend-worthy?
Ideas of no absolute truth
are destructive forces, meant
to ruin our relationship
with the one, true God.
Can anyone really be
hurt by unyielding Truth,
when it uncovers the lies
that people are living?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Psa 15
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 30 january 2016
Poem: Unsearchable Things
Lord, You’ve lovingly taught me
to call unto You, having promised
to reveal great, wondrous secrets.
Hidden within Thy Word are mysteries
that have yet to be fully revealed;
as I seek, don’t let me misinterpret
the Biblical Truths You’ve presented.
What principles of Yours must I employ,
for finding these unsearchable things?
How do I know my underlying motivations
will be in alignment with Your Word,
if I’m unaware of what they may bring?
This appears to require greater levels
of Faith, without viable explanations.
Therefore, I’m compelled to trust more
and be pushed out of my comfort zone;
can I find unsearchable things, O Lord,
by using Faith to knock on Heaven’s door?
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Jer 33:3
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 30 january 2016
The Anodyne
Unmasked inside,
we play the games of a torch
the living legend,
great beauty of dirty thoughts.
A twin drama unfolds.
the icon burns and a wealth
of praise drowns the priest.
Now death dance begins.
Neither immersion nor
the float ends the relationship.
The hunger leaps
to death from top floor.
Life is ripped apart.
The swarm of vultures descends,
mating of news begins.
The anodyne is spread on the wounds.
Room to room,
the liquidation begins; of faces, of spots.
A cruel joke is repeated
every day relentlessly,
I wait for the transformation of beginning,
of the ending.
The light to fade and
god to taste like a hot bun.
The dangling doors must close,
for a while to motivate the dreams.
Latest comments:
12 april 2026
Jaga
Krzewy tarniny w skupisku pachną wiosną i przyciągają
12 april 2026
Coraz trudniej. Chce się zatopić w marzeniach/
12 april 2026
Gdy nie wiadomo o co chodzi, to chodzi o pieniądze
12 april 2026
Czasem klej potrzebny duszy/ gdy we łzach i
12 april 2026
sam53
coraz trudniej o takie prawdziwe, czyste ....
12 april 2026
to znaczy wg koloru, czy wg płci?
12 april 2026
kiwam głową na tak :))
12 april 2026
za mało gmatwu-gmwtwu, a za dużo kleju... pozdrawiam
12 april 2026
zgadza się... moja juszszsz ukojona :)
12 april 2026
na sobotę :)
12 april 2026
Weronika
Może.
12 april 2026
violetta
O jaki piękny, też bym się tak schowała:)
12 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
12 april 2026
wiesiek
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Jaga
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Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
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wiesiek
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Anthony DiMichele
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Anthony DiMichele
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Anthony DiMichele