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poetry

Bob Gotti, 16 june 2013

Buffeted By Life

Going through each trial and care, with The Lord, we can share,
Every concern upon our heart, so that peace, God shall impart,
As we cast every burden to Him, avoiding worry, which is a sin,
So during each day, it’s a must, to turn to God and in Him trust.

Cares and concerns can be rife, as trouble enters our daily life,
In problems we have no control of; we must rest in God above,
Knowing the beginning and end, He knows the outcome friend,
In Him we must be still to know, He can show us the way to go.

The Lord God is still over all, on Him above we can always call,
As many things during our day, can fill one’s heart with dismay,
So whatever event we may face, we go to The Throne of Grace,
To lay our cares upon The Lord, knowing they won’t be ignored.

While living in this fallen world, as the dark about us is unfurled,
Events happen to us all the time, that attack our peace of mind,
As dismay turns to doubt or fear, we need to recall God is near,
Not only near, we’re in His hand, in times we do not understand.

So worry in our life has no place, as God supplies ample grace,
Through every situation in our life, carried in the peace of Christ,
When in God we trust and obey, He holds us in the darkest day,
In peace that transcends a mind, long after the trial is far behind.

(Copyright ©06/2013 Bob Gotti)

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Satish Verma, 16 june 2013

SECRET WAKE

savage

running under the moon
selling the night

sanitizing

the hands
after the killing

truth
withdrawl
vaginae still inviolate
seeds wiped off
from the face of earth

ethnic cleaning

Satish Verma

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Salvatore Ala, 15 june 2013

On a Photograph of an Abandoned Southern Home

Take me back to the earth,
as I lay dying I lay breaking.
Come home lost son and wayward daughter,
it is still sanctuary where I am father.
Birds are born from flowers
and trees wear sylvan robes
of beautiful abandonment.
Friends and ghosts of a delta wedding
glimmer in the moonlit garden.
Blow into my windows wild nature,
raise your children of inevitable
impermanent incongruous nature,
and I’ll be home when I am not
and I’ll be home when I am not.

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Satish Verma, 15 june 2013

LOST MY NAME

Did you taste the ejecta
after a sacred ritual of exploding
a makeshift bomb in a crowded market?

I am worried.
I am becoming death, curling backward.
The wood spirits have started a fire dance.

The healing, yes, it comes from the blood
of steel, they claim, the blackness of a hole
has a purity.

Hunger starts a riot of lewdness in the
ribs of an empire. A skull on the hill
betrays a slaughter of young boys.

The makers of AK-47 were repenting,
for the brutal aura. I have started
telling lies.

Satish Verma

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Gert Strydom, 14 june 2013

On games of death and war (Sonnet Corona)

I

Like the destruction in the white and black
of a chess board during nights and days
destiny makes its moves and plays
with the lives of men and women with a uncanny knack

and like mere pawns it demands where anyone goes
whether to move, to mate or to die as an act of fate,
it rolls its dice and makes its moves in love and hate
and without choice in the throes

of life and death we jump to it
going to and fro,
we are like marionettes happy to rise,
without thought, pity or any wit
just where we are demanded to go
when our country asks us to pay a prize.

II

When our country asks us to pay a prize,
to gain the enemy’s territory
some have to pay with their demise,
as a man you are not free.

They send young men into the gates of hell
with uniforms and boots to clean with polish and spit,
while at home like kings they dwell
and lucky are the ones that come back from it,

but to children the ruling men tell tales of fun
while returning soldiers have shellshock,
from the beating of canon and gun,
think and dream daily about utter havoc

and not one was treated like a gentleman;
Lord, today I met a young man.

III

Lord, today I met a young man
believing that he has more power than You
he even cursed You and out of the blue
said that he could end anyone’s lifespan

and this fellow wasn’t from my own class or clan
with stripes and swords pasted on his arm with glue,
he even hated the things that I hold dear and true
mocked my beliefs; Your salvation plan,

tried to strip away my dignity
while lashing out with curses and gibberish,
every action and word did sting
and without cause he punished me
while dark vowels were flowing at ease
while on far-flung roads I was wandering.

IV

While on far-flung roads I was wandering,
far from home
my footstep did roam
and destiny was plundering

my humanity, every decent thing
with war’s gruesome
impact and the trite welcome,
of wasted starving children without any blessing

who watched wide-eyed,
smelling like coming death,
where others had paid the cost,
walking past soldiers that had died
without a last bequeath,
what can I say about friendship lost?

V

What can I say about friendship lost?
That the lives of soldiers are insecure,
in weeks we have received no post
and it bares me no pleasure

to tell about a soldier, great and brave
who now is dead
who did crave
for peace and tranquillity but went to war instead?

That soldiers without stain
are the knaves of fools
and at their whim are slain
by politicians who like kings live and rule

to whom a soldier is just another toy;
at breakfast, the meal was filled with joy.

VI

At breakfast, the meal was filled with joy
your tender and warm caress,
the touch on your breast was sheer tenderness
and the war was far-gone, far off life a ploy

and you looked pretty dressed in green corduroy
as if with your eyes, your lips you could bless
could turn the outside world into nothingness
until the telegram came like reality’s envoy

and in the bush at the front
I was beyond your smile, you sweet grace,
like a mere primed machine
and I was beyond your loving face,
the commander’s voice had the usual affront;
what last notes at deaths did ring?

VII

What last notes at their deaths did ring,
when in war they met enemy armour,
but for the whistling
of bullets, rockets and shells that favour

some with shattering, exploding oblivion
and steel shredded like paper,
where they were caught, without salvation
and to the government they were just number after number

and not real living men, living human beings,
who were trapped in a Ratel armour-car like rats caged in
and it was only one more of those things,
when the destruction of the enemy did begin

and their game was played; those men will never be back,
like the destruction in the white and black.

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Gert Strydom, 14 june 2013

The beginning of spring (Sonnetina Uno)

The last winter chill is in the cold wind
and yet it’s the very first day of spring
with seedlings awakening from their deep sleep,
with fruit trees covered with their own buds
and as the weather goes the rain does fall
with the sweet smell of new life everywhere
and the sparrows, swallows, doves and weavers
are twittering as they frolic around
while the bees buzz from flower to flower
as fast as they open to the bright sun.

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Satish Verma, 14 june 2013

ABANDONED

the punctuations
start crumbling
a soldier
falls to coyotes
this was their space

a moon was sitting
in waiting room
inhabiting war at
a defining moment

it was a fatal attack from
the guards impersonal
ripping through the passions
to hold or not to hold

the fruit end was near

Satish Verma

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Gert Strydom, 13 june 2013

This earth and time is not mine (Sonnet Corona)

I

This earth, climate, country in 2013
where I have been placed by destiny
by birth as a man among men
is not mine and this isn’t mutiny,

but I would rather have the place
where my ancestors dwelt
with the veldt being almost endless space
when before the almighty God the whole nation knelt

as simple sincere people of their word
that followed a work ethic with respect
where sex was enticing, not spurt
out as the offering of a Manichean sect

but still the sky at times is hued blue,
love at least at times is true.

II

Love at least at times is true,
on the first of May it was a holiday
and I could not be with you,
while autumn leaves at my feet lay

and trees were being stripped,
I could smell the decay
of the city, the whole country on a road trip
as if we had gone without delay

back in time, as if we had stepped into
a third world life,
that sticks to you like glue,
where only criminals and the rich can survive

and undisturbed we life our lives; go work and school,
like the circling swell in a whirlpool

III

Like the circling swell in a whirlpool,
is my country’s love to me
and like a simple fool.
I am smitten with her as if there isn’t any

other that can be true,
as if I am inseparable from her
I dance on sheer cliffs gazing at the blue,
beyond the edge that I see there

and I know in cause due
destruction will come from her hands,
from her and her whole retinue
with horrific demands

and still I call upon the Lord and his angelic host,
when I think of all I have lost.

IV

When I think of all I have lost,
at the hands of my fellow countrymen,
try and count the cost
brought on me by mere men

with the weight, the severity dealt to me,
even if oppression, dispossession is running rife,
yet in a way I am still free
in my daily living and strive

to be happy and I will keep calling it home,
believing that in His time the Lord God will restore,
even if all over it I will have to roam
and He will make everything better than before

and to me this place is still heartfelt;
give me a country with the open veldt.

V

Give me a country with the open veldt
that stretches out onto the blue sky,
where falcons and eagles fly,
where in ages past my forefathers knelt

before the almighty Lord and had beheld
the salvation from his hand and as time passes by
His blessings still lie
on their descendants and who with heartfelt

humility walk in the steps of their fathers
and live in dignity
where words and deeds do persuade
and no ruler and all his followers
will strip honourable men from their integrity
but how surely did the vision fade.

VI

But how surely did the vision fade
of a new bright republic without decay
and with hatred unfair laws were made,
bringing new oppression into play

with corruption and inadequacy killing merit,
sweeping all hopes of making a living away,
as not to permit
the white minority to also have a day

but at the heart of all of this lay
the need to take by force
to make the Afrikaner pay
and to possessions and property the divorce

and form the corruption and oppression I want to be free;
my world, my life and time will never be.

VII

My world, my life and time will never be
as it had been before
and never will I again see
the sheer innocence, the passions of youth will be no more

as I pass my prime,
out of my sight
this whole earth will fade sometime
as my last energies past and I go into the night,

the things that I adore
will be swept from me
but then never more
will I dwell in a world of iniquity,

away will be then
this earth, climate, country in 2013.

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Gert Strydom, 13 june 2013

On some clear days clouds gather dark (Sonnet Corona)

I

On some clear days clouds gather dark,
bringing water showers
blotting out the sun, holding energy that spark
letting water sieve, pelt down on trees, bushes and flowers.

It wields the flail
of shattering lightning
lashing out with hail
destroying and smiting

and even a secret weapon belongs to it to yield
when sinister a tornado tunnels down
on town blocks, residential areas and any field
and with mighty strong winds things are blown

away, shattered into pieces and men run away in fright,
the clouds are dark as the night.

II

The clouds are dark as the night
shining through in open patches at places
and some are brighter and white
while lightning smashes down in blue-white blazes

as the sky opens it sluices
pouring down with wild bolts of blue-white thunder,
pouring down gathered juices
falling with creeping feelers, ready to plunder

splitting trees, setting the veldt alight
and man and beast is desolate
with some trying to flee in fright
struggling to survive, past fear, past hope, past hate

and hail and rain pelts down as if they want to kill,
there’s rain falling upon the hill.

III

There’s rain falling upon the hill
and maybe it will splatter down tomorrow
and the evening wind has got a chill,
as if it’s weeping with sorrow.

In my days of tender youth
I have seen the blue sky
while I lived under my mother’s roof
have felt the sun; have seen birds fly

and now I watch the sun setting,
and it seems like never ending rain
as if this endless whetting
will be back tomorrow again

and it streams down flower petals,
drops of rain sparkles like crystals.

IV

Drops of rain sparkles like crystals
before the rain begins again, splattering down
with the sun shining as if in nuptials
confetti from the sky is wetting every gown

and there’s chaos around me
with a accident in the traffic,
on the slippery street people hurry
with another car colliding on the slick

wet streaming road
shuddering from the impact
with a crunching note
and a driver is blaming it on a Godly act

there’s no such thing says cosmonauts that went pass the moon;
slowly moves the foggy breath of noon.

V

Slowly moves the foggy breath of noon
over the ice peaked hill
and the long shadows tell that it will be night soon
with the winter’s icy chill

creeping in and the day dying in darkness
arriving on the town totally soundless
with the sun not seen in weeks
and rain still sieving down in its eagerness

and suddenly outside lights flicker on
like beacons in a sea of rain and fog
and inside I live in a world of my own
and outside there’s the insistent croaking of a bullfrog

outside the light shimmer,
at the end of this summer.

VI

At the end of this summer
when autumn start to set in
and the chilliness of winter begin,
I still feel like a newcomer

in a world displaying its glory and the former
heat of days is washed away by streams of rain falling
as it did when things were mellow in spring
and everywhere strings of gossamer

hangs shining on leaves, on branches and trees
but with time my body starts protesting
displaying the signs of age, somewhat morbid like the sky,
the rotting leaves in the woods smell like lees,
the feats of when I was young are not inviting;
nothing outside is dry.

VII

Nothing outside is dry,
as if the soaking wet is creeping in to the entire
wide world and I have time to admire
your paintings, until late, to lie.

This is the time when you and I
cuddle together around a hot blazing fire
while the trees, plants and grass expire,
rain sieves down from a cloudy Cape sky,

where I lie in your embrace
with kisses raining down
and outside some dogs bark,
I am watching your eyes, your face,
while you are chasing away every frown;
on some clear days clouds gather dark.

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Satish Verma, 13 june 2013

UNBORN

you enter the lair again
dun colored
shrapnel was on your lips

to hear your truth I lay down
the book
and look beyond the acid rain
falling after the explosion

the yellow flames still lapping
against the crater walls
jasmines were alive

dented memories wer climbing
on hills before you can unsee
the moon bleeding to death

Satish Verma

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Buffeted By Life

SECRET WAKE

On a Photograph of an Abandoned Southern Home

LOST MY NAME

On games of death and war (Sonnet Corona)

The beginning of spring (Sonnetina Uno)

ABANDONED

This earth and time is not mine (Sonnet Corona)

On some clear days clouds gather dark (Sonnet Corona)

UNBORN

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