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poetry

Satish Verma, 27 may 2015

Commentries

This was my book of pain
with no ending.
Life had two meanings-
Anticipation of today,
and fear of tomorrow.
Time was running out
like sand from fists,
mists were rising,
commentaries on setting sun had begun.

Mind was calculating, computing all the time
the duality of desire.
I wanted to catch the words,
the movement of grief,
the completeness of a thought.
It came as a stroke-
the revelation of self.

We did not want to break
the bondage of problems.
It was complete annihilation
of our identity.
We loved conflicts
we loved to hate.
We adored the disorientation.
The violence of our thoughts
created an empty wasteland.

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Satish Verma, 26 may 2015

Beyond Transcendence

Breaking the boundaries,
you released energy.
Life was an immense emptiness
with dotting of pain and sorrow.
Counting did not help.
You had to escape
to painless unawareness.

Nameless you moved,
unacknowledged, unsung.
Humility became a meaningful dialogue,
reverberating in the creative minds.
The contentment
did not need any followers.
The occult gratification,
did not need any fame.

The cessation of agony
and anguish was important
for becoming.
Love and compassion became palpable;
when your heart poured,
when silence became eloquent,
when words become phrases.
And intelligence moved
beyond transcendence.

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Scott Clark, 25 may 2015

At Times I See You

At times I see you afar, in mind’s eye,
Calling this heart and affording a sigh.
A bit o’ pause, a bit o’ rush.
Listen girl, the silence…now hush.
Ah, that my tears had wings!
And my grief be heavenward
My soul bluely sings
A price none could afford.
Tears are never bought nor sold
Yet they are sweet, precious and never grow old.

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Satish Verma, 24 may 2015

Commentries

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Satish Verma, 23 may 2015

Bloodied Mouth

Tonight I lift your eyes from the face
and paste it on my window.
Even death cannot claim the space
reversing the age.

A bra bomber blows up herself
in a windowless cell,
to get her a name on the wall of silence,
sort of a miracle.

Roses are in bloom
perfume of your life.
Do you take for granted
a claim for the sun?

Over to next moon
I will wait for the night,
to start a turf war
for the bloodied mouth.

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Satish Verma, 22 may 2015

Brutal Time

Innocent inside the circle,
you reached nowhere.
Dirty hands on the knob
kept the century locked.

Carbon footprints were deepening
under the sun, blue bird
circling in vain. The jealous
moon exiled to black hole.

The dust of the brutal time
settles on the umbrella. I am shivering.
The lies, the religion, the horrible
facts smell of the million deaths.

Who mode the tapestry of violence
into boneless truth and hairless
legs of prayers? Freedom escapes
through the scrolls of flames.

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Joe Breunig, 21 may 2015

Poem: Human Candle

O Lord, please let Your Light shine,
-in and through me- hot and brightly;
my Life is Yours and I don’t mind

following Your divine directives;
with The Word, I hope to wick away
Wisdom for a disciplined perspective.

I’ve embraced the idea of transparency,
where my lifestyle is straight, tapered
and upright- with genuine integrity.

Disperse the World’s ongoing darkness,
that seeks to envelop my existence,
with a vibrant flame of Your holiness.

With Your assistance, I will handle
any and everything that comes my way,
while I’m blazing… as a human candle.

Author Notes

Inspired by:
Psa 18:28; 1 John 1:5-7; Prov 20:27

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, 21 may 2015

Annotated Fingers

Becoming myself, pricking the soles
staying alive, frozen, mistless eyes.
I bite my tongue,
chewing the forbidden peel of
what you are.

Can you move with me?
With my atavistic welts?
Emptying yourself of all the poisons,
while the space was shrinking.
The golden gate is silently watching you.

Give me your hands for a quiet journey,
they are shouting to blow the dirty dreams.
Every thing is done for the vanity
of the naked paper
fluttering in the annotated fingers.

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Satish Verma, 20 may 2015

Annex The Belief

A dialogue with fear,
to end the thought,
was walking alone on the edge of death.
All the mercy of life was with it.

Gone were the waves,
whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities.
The sky and the pain were there.
Again a question of collective guilt was rising.

So much noise was coming
without any resemblance
with the damaged certainties.
An act of voiceless jealousy was starting for the ethnic slur.

It will not disappear
a conjugation between light and dark.
Can truth annex the belief
with a half hitch?

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Gert Strydom, 19 may 2015

At False Bay (Persian / Rubiyat quatrains)

Silently in the west the sun died away,
sunset brought a blood-red shimmer over False Bay
screeching a seagull flew up against the African coast
and twilight came suddenly in tones of gray

while our lips met and intimately we had nothing to say
and in the distance glittering and busy the city of Cape Town lay
while waves licked at our feet and a ship’s lights glowed yonder
and in those moments of enchanting beauty to God we wanted to pray.

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Latest items:

poetry

Commentries

Beyond Transcendence

At Times I See You

Commentries

Bloodied Mouth

Brutal Time

Poem: Human Candle

Annotated Fingers

Annex The Belief

At False Bay (Persian / Rubiyat quatrains)

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