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poetry

Satish Verma, 7 july 2014

CHESSBOARD

dark matters are floating
like bowls made of leaves
spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving
like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates
from rails, nothing will move now except
the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas
sitting in scorching sun, unshaven, crosslegged
waiting for realization to come, not to
them but tormentors, a milky way in ever
night, the dry wind slaps on the faces
to remind them not to sleep, the shade
of the Cacti and Acacia seldom stubborn
to give you the shadow of the blades, the
sun ultimately compresses you in the
waist- high grass of death trap.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 6 july 2014

SYMPHONY

I have dipped my fingers
in the blood of the victim
and asked for the version of the surgeon.

The precocious death?
Do I need another witness?
Who was trapped under the fallen tree?

Only the passer - by was hit
not the bulldozer
which comes from the palace.

After the rain, tortoises will come out,
parrots will be shot down
without any qualms.

Molten lava flows on the thighs.
I come before the symphony and shout:
our homes are burning.

Satish Verma

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Ailill, 6 july 2014

Presence

Listen to the bullfrogs sing, moonlight reflects off the stream

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TOUFIQ UL ALAM, 5 july 2014

A Tribute to 'The Ball'

Assortment of colors,
Yellow outshining all.
Faces- old and young,
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Perhaps a ball is at hand?

Magnificent Wavy frills waist-down,
Shades of yellow playing hide and seek,
An ornamented gown,
Beautifying a charming Dame,
A Yellow peacock opens its tail!

Arms in lock,
Those fickle two eyes,
Searches where their loyalty lies,
Anxious to charm,
Or to be charmed?

Betrayed Attention,
In the stagnant air,
Of this ecstatic ball room.
Yellow intentions,
Gasping breath and already charmed.

Monsieur James Tissot,
Did you draw Madame Bovary?

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Satish Verma, 5 july 2014

STILLBIRTH

Between want and desire
few crumbs of words
will not satisfy.

Facts and perception
build a latticed smile
between tears.

Discreetly life catches
a miasm, a fault
to commit suicide.

When will the exile end,
of hope, a holy womb?
The stink was rising.

Amnesty for amniotic fluid,
fetus was dead
Godmother was crying.

Satish Verma

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Joe Breunig, 4 july 2014

Poem: Hamartia

Do I need to repeat bad mistakes
of judgment as the prodigal son?
Does shortcomings of Christianity
prevent me from having some fun?

Having a head filled with knowledge
and a restless spirit yearning to feel,
when I’m completely pulled unto Him,
how much of my true self is revealed?

Born into this earthly realm of sin,
I begin life already missing His mark;
falling short of divine perfection,
unto His voice alone I must hearken

to learn all of my spiritual lessons.
Aiming solely for His perfect will,
guarantees many, errant missteps
in acquiring Joy’s lasting thrill.

All of my personal gains are fleeting
and considered a loss before Christ;
only the gift of His Salvation is…
the worthwhile prize for eternal life.

Being found in Him alone, I’m covered
with His cloak of divine righteousness;
therefore, my fatal flaw is addressed
and hidden by Christ’s eternal holiness.

Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Rom 3:23; Phil 3:7-12

Hamartia: Fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine

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

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.

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Gert Strydom, 4 july 2014

In the heat of your body

In the heat of your body
in this winter I do find
warmth, escape and fulfilment of desire

and when the morning light somewhat shyly
falls through the windows
you are the sun in my universe.

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Gert Strydom, 4 july 2014

Outside thunderbolt upon thunderbolt smash down

Outside thunderbolt upon thunderbolt smash down
drawing flashing blue-white lines against space
during the dark night
and when the shower pours down
it rains for days without end
while the yellow grass suddenly gets green
and the first blossoms of spring
comes pink and white.

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Gert Strydom, 4 july 2014

Although a great war rages on

Although a great war rages on
between the forces of darkness and light
and many of my loved ones are gone
into the unending night
and life at times seems like hell,
even the smallest things do of God’s love tell
and of the morning when in glory He will come
to take all of us to an eternal home.

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Satish Verma, 4 july 2014

DEPARTURE

Your absence was left beside me
for the white salt,
unsolicited, unbroken wants.

Asking to return
the dried roses
pressed between the pages of talking book.

Counting only the dying fireworks
the hissing sparks,
left in the unwrapped bones and skin.

In my solitude I reach your smell,
your lips still warming my vessel,
my drink.

Vindicating the tarred hurts,
the never name,
and twisted lyrics.

Satish Verma

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

CHESSBOARD

SYMPHONY

Presence

A Tribute to 'The Ball'

STILLBIRTH

Poem: Hamartia

In the heat of your body

Outside thunderbolt upon thunderbolt smash down

Although a great war rages on

DEPARTURE

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