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poetry
Gert Strydom, 13 may 2015
You do not know (Italian sonnet)
(after Dorothy Parker)
You do not know
how much I care
about the little things that lays me bare
as love at times come and again go
and sometimes it is in happiness or sometimes woe
while my sincerity is always there,
love is a thing at which I still have to dare
and it’s not always constant even if I want it so
and sometimes I am again on my own
while love flies like a bird away
and even when I do not want it like this
my beloved’s heart at times turns to stone,
while at times it’s a great happy day
and this is the way that life and love is.
[Reference: “A Portrait” by Dorothy Parker.]
Gert Strydom, 13 may 2015
Arrival
The morning sun hangs bright
over the city,
in a light blue sky
and False Bay, the big flat old mountain
and the ocean is a hue
of navy blue
while I land only for a visit.
Reflecting window doors open
by themselves as if magically
revealing a land of wonder
where the wind bristles through my hair,
hawkers, car guards gather
like a flock of flies buzzing everywhere
and thinking that I missed you,
you fail to turn up
I walk to a waiting taxi
and suddenly like a materializing angel
you are there in sheer beauty,
running up to me, into my arms
and it feels as if I haven’t been gone,
as if this city could again be home.
Gert Strydom, 12 may 2015
There is a limit set
While the inhabitants of this planet do still rebel
as for centuries their ancestors have done
under Lucifer and his forces of hell
the great Creator does not expel
one single one
and his Word and his works does of his kindness tell
but at a time there is a limit set
that is to mere man unseen
where every word, deed and ill
is being met
by the righteous boundary between
God’s mercy, His wrath and His goodwill
and to cross that line means an end,
an end to that, which does exist,
even if we do not witness it
and do at ease with our conscience insist
that the laws of God we may bend
and slowly do stray bit by bit.
Yet time has not run out
to change our lives from sin to love,
to repent and be sincere and true,
to let Jesus remove
that which we cannot and to bring about
the change in what we say and do.
Gert Strydom, 12 may 2015
The visiting Prince (Italian sonnet)
The Son of God who became a human being
did walk upon the water of the Sea of Galilee,
when He came to set all men free
from sin and His love still is something amazing
and when I hear the birds sing their praises in spring
then I see the One who made things like they are supposed to be
and the humiliation of that dark Calvary does stay with me
as humanity’s most terrible crushing thing
but although the Prince does not walk on this earth anymore
He still at times comes visiting in disguise
and when a poor beggar knocks at the door
I do some great caution exercise
as Jesus does change lives from what they have been before
and in that wretched man the Lord God I might just recognize.
Satish Verma, 12 may 2015
Blindfolded
A dented version of an old grudge,
blackened lips with an elite song,
your relentless search ends in
a terminal shock, nursing a green wound.
That anguish was still there, and the wild anger
sprawled on hidden fractures, false teeth,
and twisted spy glasses. Sky falling silent
in terrible gloom of centuries.
Blindfolded we are led for a ceremony
of total dedication, drinking opiates
from the cupped hands of a silver god,
with alien innocence and silent submission.
I stare at the changing colors of world
shifting like summer dunes,
dancing on the graves, in dripping
dew of midnight moon, salt of tears.
Satish Verma, 11 may 2015
City Of Stones
Anointment of any prefix was hurting
I started shedding the names.
To fill the void, dialogues were not sufficient.
So many of thorns, without seeing,
in flesh, reading the closed mind, to
reach the inner blue.
After dark bloody spills on the rose petals,
you stagger on white tendons;
cracking the fright, peeling off the truth.
How nervous was the death to tread in.
In the pit, no sound, no hiding.
Deep down was hung a turmoil.
calling a name, when night was sad
and lightning was lifting the clouds.
The city of stones in me, the solar system
the galaxies, were stumbling out in defeat.
Satish Verma, 10 may 2015
Fairy Rings
Immensity of deviation was exploding.
Abruptly my frail frame collapsed.
I did not know the answers. I was lost
in my inner sanctum, full of hollow escapes.
The ugly ‘ism’ was devastating. Not in,
not out. I was blowing up in a burnt out moon,
pure as sin, prodding, writhing,
stuck in tar, melting in hot sun.
As a projection of inner violence, a psychopath
shoots an innocent on the temple, forsaken, revengeful.
No qualms for grazing the godhood,
the voice of sanity remains sitting on a toad stool.
The fairy rings are growing larger and larger,
sanaria shrinking. Epileptic paranoia overpowering
outside, I am sick, but relentless, the shadow disappears
in valley, down the memory. I let go the blurred spirit,
in a fit of rage, standing alone.
Satish Verma, 9 may 2015
Now You Know
You are not with yourself today.
Conversation was stopped, from cloud to cloud.
Now you know what you did not want to know.
No longer the pathless destiny,
comes near you, you go towards the
bushes to collect the ash, the burnt out
remains of a theme, a design, a horizon.
In memory of books, which are not read
by anyone now. Pages lay wounded. Black
stones trying to hear the sounds of dawn.
The tremors were increasing in the swampland.
The wolves were in howling rage. A daring
gift of death, tormenting the spirit, human
flesh, you watch through the twilight,
through the terror of betrayal. Each tear drop
sacrifices the eternity.
Satish Verma, 8 may 2015
Lies
Face to face, I was bewildered.
What was happening to the garden?
My body left in absent seizure;
words had destroyed a beautiful poem.
I was listening without blinking
like a blue moon
or the serene lake.
The interlocking in no-man’s-land
under a red rain,
somebody puts a hand on my shoulder
to bring out the sorrow,
the salt of my tears, sandscapes
of smooth bones.
Becoming something was music to ears
twisting the gaps.
Seeds of the brain, nude as the beach stones,
round and snug, somebody wakes the water
in the breast, kicking up the turmoil
I was nobody, nobody.
It was all lies.
Joe Breunig, 7 may 2015
Poem: Never in Jeopardy
Some days seem to be strangely ominous
and I’m reluctant to leave my comfy bed;
therefore, I clothe myself with Truth,
since I have nothing to fear or dread.
The inspirational courage of Your Word,
girds the frailty of my spiritual essence.
Wherever, I willfully determine to go,
I’m comforted by Your nearby Presence.
Despite the many, evil distortions,
created by human desire and wickedness,
I’m not motivated by fear, circumstance
or doubts, as I’m striving for holiness
that only You, provide with assurance.
I overcome all obstacles set before me-
knowingly sated, with the fact that
my saved soul is… never in jeopardy!
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Deu 6:6-7; Job 13:13-15; Psa 119:105-112
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Latest comments:
18 january 2026
smokjerzy
wiadomo, że nie wiadomo...:))
18 january 2026
to wymierający gatunek...
17 january 2026
sam53
myślę że to jeszcze nie koniec tegorocznej
17 january 2026
podoba mi się komentarz... dzięki :)
17 january 2026
Weronika
Nie ma zależności. Podobno.
17 january 2026
violetta
Kiedy będzie to niewiadomo:)
17 january 2026
O tak:)
17 january 2026
Dziękuję i pozdrawiam:)
16 january 2026
Jaga
Bogactwo błędów, ileż to szkół otwartych...
16 january 2026
Szybko się psują :))
16 january 2026
Stary zegar w czasie przyszłym już dokonanym,
16 january 2026
Nieobliczalny, choć mierzony w milisekundach:)
17 january 2026
wiesiek
16 january 2026
wiesiek
15 january 2026
wiesiek
14 january 2026
wiesiek
13 january 2026
wiesiek
12 january 2026
wiesiek
11 january 2026
Jaga
10 january 2026
wiesiek
4 january 2026
Jaga
4 january 2026
wiesiek