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poetry

Satish Verma, 22 january 2016

For A Forgotton Story

The decline is steep and fast
Life groans
under the debris of charities.

Can you trespass the designed lies?
When the path reaches the milestone
long arms of justice defies the boulders,
which were ready to build a shrine.

The mutiny was feeble
and the poisoned arrow did not find the guilty.

A big mouth causes
delirium tremens. You weep under a cloud.

Let us drink a toast
in memory of a failed god
Who could not rescue a town
from loneliness.

A courtesan lies in the mid of road
under concrete asphalt.
The wheels don’t stop
and world moves on.

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Satish Verma, 21 january 2016

Moved Earth

In unthinkable death how do you carry
yourself?
An intimate dialogue with death
Fearless, undaunted.
I admire your grit.

One thin blade, one silken noose
but you want to face the bullet
straight in your heart.
The death should come instantly, because you
want to be witness, your head falling with
grace.

Why did you chase death
whistling on the beach,
taunting the eccentric sky
like muted revenge.

The grave will be too small for you
Your legs sticking out.
Lime burning your eyes.
Turning back the grave diggers may
not like to face your moved earth!

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Satish Verma, 20 january 2016

Tall Promises

I am asking
who is calling the shots?
The time makes noise,
and silence brings pain.
Years go by.

Night of stars and moon
develops a sonorous dream.
All kinds of brutes and aborigines come to parade
flaunting their arms and ammunition.

Where they are going in veils?
The body of truth is already lying in state.
Magnified eyes stare at micro images
of windows,
through which you could see
long tentacles of an octopus.

Meditation helps for a while,
contradictions arise again.
The empty spaces are being encroached
upon by tall promises.

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Satish Verma, 19 january 2016

Voyage

Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay
stroking the gazing stars.

Cornwhite belonging of ashes was
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted
with water ceremony
as a sign of gratitude to earth.

The wind decided to reverse the clock
and navigate in trees of waxing summer
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur.

A red admiral lands on a lone marigold
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed,
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie.

If there was an action, I think in between:
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage
begins when the song of eternity starts.

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Satish Verma, 18 january 2016

Cup Of Darkness

You refuse to grow in a grim challenge.
Already the witch-hunt has started.
It was strange to step outside your body
and don’t look at the death
on your doorstep.
Softly flows the dolour in God’s shining eyes.

I have run out my thoughts
my brain wave.
shame to be still breathing.
Starving, I eat the howls
and drink the limbs.
Nowhere green inks writes the passion
A procession of pain
starts in ecstasy.

Your extinct past has entered my body
It shakes and brings tremors
Give me a cup of darkness
I am going to burn my bridges.

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Satish Verma, 17 january 2016

Orgy

After an erotic asphyxiation
on the dirty lips of a game,
I hear an immaculate rhyme
like a whore in a prayer.

A hazy patch descends on eyes.
Night slumbers
and day ends with a bang.

The guests arrives with a gusto
dreaming the end of a track.
Grief stands on a banished spot

My flesh, my soul
mourns in the background.
Fear of an organized orgy
ultimately breaks the heart.

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Florian Konrad, 16 january 2016

Więzicielki

,,Nie mogłem się z tym gościem dogadać na żadnej płaszczyźnie"
Maciej Maleńczuk ,,Chlałem, ćpałem i przetrwałem"

bywać szufladą w najmniejszym pokoju
okazjonalnie- stołem. meblościanki i komody
ulepione z gliny. jeszcze przed wypaleniem
(czekaj- już podkładam ogień!)

próbuję odtworzyć najwcześniejszy obraz
słońce prześwituje przez zielone zasłony
płaczę w wózku. ty- nie zostałaś jeszcze wymyślona

plan dnia: punkt pierwszy- odsłonić się
upadek na skalniak powoduje lekkie przesunięcie czasowe:
zdięcia legitymacyjne w benzynie, autoportret starego
brodacza, który myśli że jest chłopcem

po drugie- oszaleć. porządnie. symulowanie wzbronione
pod karą wiecznej dorosłości
(barbarzyństwo nie do pomyślenia
w co bardziej cywilizowanych krajach!)

sekretarzyk puchnie. w kopertach rękopisy powieści
erotycznych, podania z prośbą o ułaskawienie
życzenia noworoczne do wysłania na Berdyczów

przypomnij co jest na końcu listy

number of comments: 2 | rating: 1 | detail

Satish Verma, 16 january 2016

Geometrical People

Children of sorrow gnaw into their thumbs.
Nowhere to go
nowhere to sleep.
Something implodes in their ruined minds.

Everyday sun comes with a dream
in summer, when jasmine blooms.
This year winter is going to be different.
A tranquil hand will cover
the sobs of wailing buds.

Backward goes the illusion quickly.
Happiness is bargained for excuses.
Triumphantly the nation moves on!

My blood turns blue in the arteries, Rages
Guilt is writ large on the face. Cannot breathe.
The poverty of words weeps in vain.

How long the fear will reign?
The anger of ephemerility and failed promises
moves absurdly in geometrical people.

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Joe Breunig, 15 january 2016

Poem: A Glorious Man?

It just can’t be a coincidence,
that my origin is that of soil;
for it provides both fertility
and the strength for human toil.

Buried deep within my spirit is
Your garden, implanted with seeds;
once I’ve been tilled by You, Lord
I’ll meet one of Your Kingdom needs.

My life’s labor won’t go unrewarded,
for it’s scented with the perfume
of an authentic, Christian Faith.
Your words in me are a poetic bloom

that brings encouragement to others.
Will my humble life be as You planned?
O Lord, will Your expectations be met
with me still becoming… a glorious man?

Author notes

Inspired by:
Gen 2:7; 2 Cor 9:10; 2 Thes 1:3;
Col 2:6-7; Jer 17:7-8 and

One day when we come to a deeper understanding of The Word
of God, we shall find the term “Man” more palatable than even
the term “Children of God.” For we shall realize that God’s
preordained plan and election is to obtain a glorious man.
-Jacobs Adewale

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

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

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Satish Verma, 15 january 2016

Dirty Homes

While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma,
God does not live, but dies in me daily.

There was green pain in this condemned strangeness
as the young world moves on
dancing with joy.
It was not a coincidence
that intellectual anesthesia
was not able to bring good sleep.

So much passes by your city
existential traffic, soaring above arguments,
but a chilled, far away voice
defends the crumbling palace of syntax.

The masks are crying from the split walls
languishing in the hopeless garden.
Wherever you go, the windows are closed
and the smoke rings
rising from the chimneys of dirty homes.

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

For A Forgotton Story

Moved Earth

Tall Promises

Voyage

Cup Of Darkness

Orgy

Więzicielki

Geometrical People

Poem: A Glorious Man?

Dirty Homes

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