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poetry

Gert Strydom, 25 february 2014

A poem on my darling’s birthday

(for Daleen)

Birthdays come and birthdays go
and yet there is something of the magic
of what life really is
caught in simple moments just like these
and the true length of life we do not know
or if we will be happy and healthy or be sick,
if important things we will experience or miss

while the rosy blossom of life does glow
upon your soft cheek
and your golden eyes do shine
with a deep perplexing happiness
and yet our lives we do not to destiny throw
but do for deeper meaning seek
for something lasting and divine

and the beauty that only a husband in love can behold
comes in moments of mere bliss
when something special lingers in each kiss
and I wish that every other day be blessed like this
that love will burn as bright when we are old

that even times of turmoil and sadness
will be turned around to gladness,
to the perfection of a eternal spring
and that life will have greatness in everything.

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Greg, 24 february 2014

Frozen

As moments wait
And years turn to hours
The rebel showers
Shout high above the river-pains
Together with love
Right and wrong emerge
As half-castrated recoils
Into the face of fear

Like shadows of the mystic
I emerge as a force
Not worth fighting for
And hoping to be put to rest
So that my soul may find ease
In oneness with the river of time
The shores are cold
And the more I step away from the cold splash of the water
The more rigid the air gets
The faster life passes by
In the most tormenting of grinds

Gears that shift
The war machine that rides inside
As a manifestly made
Black hole
Upon this leisure
My time-I do abide

Obedience has come to me
For once I see
The light of faith that resigns me
Not to the shore
Not to a wave
But to the river itself
For if I am-caught in a reason
In an objective, grasping glance
I will suffocate on the open air
Of possibility
And if not
Then a vial conditional

So I must submerge myself in the river;
As that which has no option
I remain free
From the constraints
Ney the utter unbearable torment
Of being-among beings
With no essential relation
To the being, that beings essentially are

As a spattering on canvas
That can never touch art

I gasp at air
Being slowly ripped apart
By the rampage of intellectualism
That rummages my soul
Holding love to the glow
Of an iridescent candle
And devolving into meager thoughts
Of that which lies Beyond

Tarantulas come gripping up
From inside of me
The hyper-dimensional resting space
Of space itself
That emerges in a form of undeniable blackness
-A reflection of my own

Dejection runs through my veins
Castration foments in my mouth
To lay barren the sentiments too holy too speak
The repugnant poet
Masturbatory exploiter of experience
As such I stand before you- ashamed

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Greg, 24 february 2014

Renounce!

The dead rise from the ashes
To play lyrical assassination
With souls that bury;
Deep in fields
The relentless growth
The relentless growth

As we look out to the fields
The flowers bloom
And souls do too
Gazing a far
In a hollow swoon
To love the angel
And death the martyr
The repugnant imitation
Of celestial order
Himself- Castigated liturgy
Momentary eclipses of the sun
To make the light less bright
And we can all have fun

Without the cancer

But my poetry has turned stagnant
Perhaps it has become mine?
Another empty hollow chore
Just another waste of time
The pressure was built for oh so long
To sweep across the streets
And be mauled by all the dust
To lay strewn across the asphalt
Demolished by an oncoming car
But fuck; If I was to be revealed
The soul-crushing aftermath
Will lie dormant
The river rises to greet the swell
And an abomination of the rats arise

Hatred grows deep within
As love is turned to steam-driven trains
And potholes, letting out gasps of vapor
Harshness arising as black soot
As the trains come-lookers greet their way

Good-bye mother
Good-bye father
I have lost my way
To never be found
The night has consumed me in its cold comfort
…To never be consumed

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Gert Strydom, 24 february 2014

Far in the distance a church bell rings

Far in the distance a church bell rings
while the early Sunday morning is lingering
and the moments between you and me stretch out
with the bliss that no words do know
when you cover my body and face with kisses
and the world fades away, stops for moments
even the thoughts that constantly remain in the mind
when we know the depth of true love
when you are fragile, brittle
and far past wonderful.

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Gert Strydom, 24 february 2014

You are wonderful

You are wonderful and sometimes full of mystery
and at times I do not understand you completely
but your smile, your laughter and the things that you do say
are treasures that no money can buy
and I do not want you any different.

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Satish Verma, 24 february 2014

IRONY

A severed hand on my shoulder
wrenches it off.
You sit on a toadstool
to measure the depth of grass.

A raven scans the earth:
nothing was left to eat.
The hungry urchins had
already punctured the garbage can.

A live show of committing suicide
will take place tonight.
To become silent in roaring noises
was the outcome of a dive.

A terrorist in pilgrim’s pouch walks past
a bomb. The wires reach in the schism
of a faith. Again you cry in your skin
for sake of a forgotten god.

Satish Verma

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Greg, 24 february 2014

The Coward's Homage

Black soot ferments
Deep within the grounds
From which rises the depths
Proportionate to the horror
Of an internal spectator

Personal tragedy:
Raging against the unconquerable
By duty
By essence

Rail the box car over the tracks
And fall it will
But to stay on the tracks is a path to hell
So fire and brimstone
Against which none can avail
Only ease the suffering of lonely stagnation

Of intrepid intimation
Of that with which there is no intimacy
Like lightening that illuminates the night
In which emptiness rides essential

We are gathered here today
To pay homage to the Holy Nothing
The blank slate of immortal change
That resounds like rapids
Against the expectations of a more permanent time

A flow that breaks is the work of cowards
Torrential rain comes to me
To batter my soul
As a black rose attempts to grow
At least to be a battered ram
That maybe to one could show
That blooming is not only the martyr’s dream
But that the martyr is the conscious failure
Awareness that knows of the intimate
But has taken the wrong path
A path requiring courage
This Awareness did not have

So I drift away into chaos
For divine order is only a shadow
A pulsating wound
From where flesh was gaped open
On a sense of trust
That left me soul broken

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Satish Verma, 23 february 2014

BROKEN PROMISE

Who will deliver the blow
to hissing winds of red hot skin
when burning desert hits the green trees?

Life flows through fire in the shadows
of cloudy peaks. I resume living
in the bodies of other people,

I am not myself. And change must
come in the garb of numbers,
in the mode of nothingness,

like the horns locked in the middle
of the road, raising dust and hoofs
two bulls fighting in the ruins of widespread

culture of politics. Only slogans give
the clue to black power of flesh. A
dispute does not settle for the last rites.

Neither burial nor a funeral will take place.
Only bones will give rise to a flower bed
where ashes will read the history.

Satish Verma

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Greg, 22 february 2014

Order-Confusion

Turning over itself in passion
The river comes to wait
Another moment that rushes by
To wash ashore and die
Stagnate in the finite realms
Bring peace with violence-unity
Awake from the rhythm
And prepare to march

Bring the light
Shout down
For what is the fire?
For what does the ground
Stand beneath your feet?
With what purpose of vitriol
Does the river come to stop you ?
And place you outside
Oh offensive one
You stopped to notice
And brought shame to your name
By becoming outside-to be dry

You have turned to a reference point
An untold lie
That comes sweeping up the riverbanks
To send pain to the maiden
The worshippers of the holy river
That is the manifestation of holy war
Come to the final rest
And set peace in the light

Grab a fork
It’s time to eat our well-deserved food
You have earned your keep
As a being of darkness
A fondled loner
That comes crashing round
As essential sustenance
Gave rise to yourself
To bring death-to God?

What have you done
Oh darling child!
You have forsaken faith
And brought time into being
You have become finite

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Joe Breunig, 21 february 2014

Poem: The Whisper Inside

In my quiet morning moments,
I seek Your Presence today,
wanting time at Your side.

Without You, I can do nothing;
this is a sliver of Your truth
and not a statement of vain pride.

Still hungry for more of You,
is my heart’s humble claim;
don’t let me remain… teary-eyed.

Long ago, I accepted Truth found-
in Your Word, there are answers
for overcoming problems in stride.

Despite simplicity of my ideals,
I seek a fruitful life of success,
with Your sacred principles applied.

During these times of imposed solitude,
I long for the sound of Your voice,
the softness of… the whisper inside.

Author Notes:

Loosely based on:
Psa 46:10; 1 King 19:12-14; Matt 6:33;
John 8:31-32, 15:5

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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Latest items:

poetry

A poem on my darling’s birthday

Frozen

Renounce!

Far in the distance a church bell rings

You are wonderful

IRONY

The Coward's Homage

BROKEN PROMISE

Order-Confusion

Poem: The Whisper Inside

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