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poetry

mvvenkataraman, 22 july 2015

A Way for Peace, I Convey

Pray and try to hope
Then you can cope
Believe that you can
Be a courageous man
Try and do the best
Please be ever honest
Love and never expect
The loved to be perfect
Act today to do a thing
While doing, gladly sing
Always exercise sagacity
That will create a beauty
If possible do the job
But, never foolishly sob
You must try to win
Crying is a real sin
Attempt with confidence
Employ divine prudence
Never feel you can't
Let no loss try to daunt
You can surely achieve
A fine plan, you can weave
Life-path will be smooth
If your hope is mammoth
Don't grudge and be sad
Always budge and be glad
If peace of mind, you need
Always do a noble deed
If equanimity you love
Pray to the Lord above
If you are to all a friend
His hand, God will lend
Good-luck for you dear
Live this life with cheer
Make this Earth a Heaven
While living, have true fun
If mercy is your motto
And you have no ego
Mirth is to you assured
Life can be endured.

mvvenkataraman

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Satish Verma, 22 july 2015

From Death To Death

What do I do with the words?
They hurt, they flourish without thoughts,
destroying the civilities.
The sky cannot hold the conflict.
The strange friction
of the image blurs the colors.
Love has become a cauldron.

A tough question
tries to penetrate in my skin.
I come out of my body,
peeling off the conflicts
from the timeless silence.
The voices of doom hang on the trees.
Somewhere the tears
turn into watermark.

Not afraid of afterlife
I am ready
from death to death.
Another autumn
will take away all my greens,
water & grace.
But primordial smile
has a history of matching a face,
with the dead.

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Satish Verma, 21 july 2015

Unfog The Sky

A stand-off between grass and moon
marginalized the perfume of night.
I was standing to read the graffiti
written by light and shade.

The planted kiss, the embrace, the trembling
legs have bricked in the trapped saint.
Where were the stars leading you
for the journey to the end of the bruises?

Some coarse absence of winged thoughts
had continued presence. It was blankness
without emotion, without movement. Can
you think without the past, without the future?

Step-by-step the malice, the lie within
the lie unfolds. Gives a deliberate shock
of self knowledge. I count the bonfires on
the hills. Coming up to unfog the sky.

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Satish Verma, 20 july 2015

A Hybrid Of Man

Confessional truth
is not my aggressive ego,
it is my fault.
The resolution of my conflicts with time,
the smell of the broken limbs,
my head in hoisted fever,
my eyes searching for a cloud.

The ultimate otherness,
of an idea baffles me.
Charity creates the misery,
you seek a window,
not the sky.
Looking for the gods,
enjoying the sweet depression,
of a pseudo-hurt.

I wanted the sanctity of a tree,
full of fragrant bloom.
To break the spell of hot arguments,
the fire of ideals,
projects self worship.
Town meets casually to select
a hybrid of man,
and a beast.

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Satish Verma, 18 july 2015

Fatigue Of Wasted Years

The wheels find,
the track on my body,
why do I shiver & tremble?
The night gives me the depth,
a grim reminder of realism.
The consortium of thorns,
the splinters float in my eyes.

The dignified seizure,
takes hold of your body
your mind writhes,
under the surface.
You hold head in agony.
Waking is more painful.
Is it worth that?
The biography celebrates,
the death of a god.

The negative virtue and,
upright truth clash,
in midst of worst weather.
The red tongue gives,
the hot sermons.
Fatigue of wasted years,
weigh heavily on my arms.

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Satish Verma, 17 july 2015

I Was Always Angry

Whole world hides
in your liquid eyes,
I need to return to my consciousness,
to change my verse.
The dry air has wiped out the beautiful words
sitting on the edge, of a meaning
I write a new song.

Discovering your forgotten self,
was a pain,
I always avoided.
Years touched me softly,
on the temples in vain.
Dumb I was with grief, threading a pile of memories,
to know my other self.

Somewhere a god smiles on me.
God of my mud & water,
wide open like a father,
who never died.
The moon slaughters my clouds.
I was always angry,
with my odd appearance.

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Joe Breunig, 16 july 2015

Poem: The Lens of Christianity

Within the genuine lens of Christianity,
is an opportunity to understand suffering;
for it’s from our pain, that we can mature.
With a humbled attitude, we’re uncovering

the need for a relationship with Christ.
Under His leadership, we’ll overcome all
that the enemy employs in a vain attempt
to kill us before Judgment’s roll call.

Within the evangelical lens of Christianity,
we teach the principles of responsibility,
while fulfilling Jehovah’s Great Commission
by the mantle of spiritual accountability.

We can still impact and change this World,
as we move forward under the banner of Christ.
Do you recall, His ultimate victory was won?
Who else has provided access to Eternal Life?

Within the military lens of Christianity,
we battle against the current frontier of sin;
speaking The Word over circumstance with praise,
we triumph over the noise of the World’s din.

Yet, the spiritual conflict belongs to Him,
as we “stand in the gap” with ongoing prayers;
therefore, we’ll remain steadfast and firm,
with the covering of Christ’s righteous flair.

Within the affectionate lens of Christianity,
we still remain loyal as our brother’s keeper;
Love requires tangible action towards others,
until our soul is stalked by the “Grim Reaper”.

Christ demonstrated the ultimate sacrifice,
by bridging the chasm between us and the Godhead;
allow His tenderness and fondness unite us, as…
He binds us with the Love of His scarlet thread.

Author Notes

Inspired by:
2 Cor 1:3-4; 1 Pet 4:1,5:8-10; Phil 1:29;
Eccl 12:13-14; Matt 28:16-20; 1 John 2:24-25;
Eph 6:12

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 july 2015

Featureless And White

This night of the long vigil
has betrayed my soul.
Columns of smoke arise
from the landscape of shrines.
There is no need now,
to sing the praise of oblique wars.
Truth has made
a big dent in my heart.

The tears of the bronze statue won’t stop,
they are mixed with blood.
Its pain for pain hurts the flesh.
Orphaned kids move in a circle,
their parched lips in silent prayer.
Remains of bread crumbs strewn on road.

The stench rises from the trash.
A face swims,
of our demolished culture.
Even the vultures are gone.
The dead and living start talking.
Tainted blood flows in dead veins.
Featureless & white.

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Gary Revel, 13 july 2015

THE DAY I DIED

I took the amtrak to that town one day
Didn't know what for it was on the way
To the place I knew I would soon get to
A place I would find if only I knew

But knowing's not easy when your not yourself
Maybe your the saint or Pope or an elf
It really won't matter later tonight
When they find my body in the train's light

They'll think that I jumped or maybe got killed
The coffin was fine somebody got billed
I had no ID no one knew my name
Just another John Doe no one to blame

How many have gone just to find themselves
In one of the morgue's cold cadaver's shelves
With no one to care except God above
No one to send flowers or even their love

In spite of it all I got off the train
In that little town didn't know it's name
I found myself in the yard of a church
Shade trees of willow maybe oak or birch

All I can say about it now for sure
I found a love that was so sweet and pure
I knelt down on my knees began to pray
God gave me new life as I died that day

Gary Revel

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-day-i-died-2/

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Gert Strydom, 13 july 2015

About the name of God being used

As a Christian I have got a problem
with the omnipotent Lord God being blasphemed
or with His name being used in vain
and with the same occurring with the name of the savior
our Lord Jesus Christ
on television, in the movies and in the daily talk
of some Christians, of people
from every nation, language and every creed
so as if God does not exist
or as if God has become our own playmate
as if His great and holy name means nothing.

I have not heard a person say:
“in Satan’s name”
nor “thank Metatron it’s Friday”
nor “for Buddha’s sake,”
nor “with Allah,”
or “thank the Kabala”
or “Krishna knows,”
or “oh my Jane
or “byAmaterasu”
or “in Shiva’s, in Vishnu’s, or in Devi’s name”
or “under Muhammad”
or “may Maitreya damn him”
or “may Tao forbid it”\
or “Mahatma knows”
or “the Dalai Lama bless his soul”
or “by the help of the ancestors”

yet the great name of the creator God
does ring out continually in the mouths of men.

[Note: With great thanks to Janneman Enslin for the idea for this poem.]

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Latest items:

poetry

A Way for Peace, I Convey

From Death To Death

Unfog The Sky

A Hybrid Of Man

Fatigue Of Wasted Years

I Was Always Angry

Poem: The Lens of Christianity

Featureless And White

THE DAY I DIED

About the name of God being used

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