Latest items:
poetry
Gert Strydom, 7 june 2013
Threshing (wreathed quatrains)
With all the green corn stalks neatly cut off
in the old big loft the sweet smell of maize,
brings some grace and the blowing wind is soft,
oft the grass is still the colour of baize,
some cows graze, the threshing machine whines on,
its task is not done under a cobalt blue sky,
time does fly until the last stalks are gone,
hot like stone is the earth and hours pass by.
Gert Strydom, 7 june 2013
The tractor
No ploughing could be done
without
the red Massy Ferguson
tractor
that broke right next to
the field
of hard brown-red earth
baking
in the hot summer sun
next to
the whispering big old
oak trees.
Gert Strydom, 7 june 2013
Far too many places are now bereft (roundelay)
Far too many places are now bereft
of marches and streams, that was not left;
robbed of their wilderness, even the hills,
where man constructs and builds as he wills.
Iron electric pylons like naked scarecrows
are almost everywhere that one goes
with smoke, pollutants and technology’s ills;
where man constructs and builds as he wills.
Satish Verma, 7 june 2013
LOOKING BACK
half-clad
cult of violence
boiling their
soulmates
roasting
the foes
one by one
killed
by a ligature
they were building the dams
to harvest the power
from tears
fear
climbs on your shoulders
unburns hydrocarbons
a train moves through the black cloud
night
lies naked
Satish Verma
steven cooke, 6 june 2013
Soldiers Thoughts
Soldiers Thoughts
(World War One)
Memory is our contribution to life
and sleep the eternal dream.
This voice of youth has one last breath
and we give it to you.
My comrade’s corpse will be forgotten
like the ash from generals cigar.
Our blood will pour to fill their ambitions,
So sweet is the vintage they consume
at Christ’s table this night.
The claret of soldier boys
will oil the guns this day,
and prayers will be sent
In the glory of our annihilation.
The lines on the map grow restless.
The horses all know their fate,
for the rot of progress is in the air.
Our preachers gather their crosses,
we fight in the name of God.
But who does God fight for?
Is mercy beyond his gaze?
Was this his plan?
To create the widows vale
that descends upon the son of man.
Is a soldier to see the face of God?
Through eyes that burn in a yellow mist
breathed on by fallen angels.
Whose kiss causes him to gurgle
for fear he tells the truth.
Tells the truth,
to the last believer on earth.
Futility rules this slaughter,
we are the waste of nature.
Men and boys are but leaves
ordained to fall in the winds of war.
There is no sanctuary from the guns
that spew their rain of death.
It digests us all.
Sins and good deeds forgotten.
In retribution they take vengeance
on we, the poor souls below.
There is no dignity to be found here,
Only death in corrupted mud.
Life is the enemy
and reason the sword.
We are a disposable commodity,
and this land will feast upon us.
Mothers of England
let your children play.
For tomorrow they will come
to make angels on earth.
This generation will haunt the sky.
Sculptured in the storm clouds that gather
and you will see your son.
For that is where your boy resides.
Free from the sins of man,
free from the fear of war.
And your tears will remember him,
“Jack “, who was, your little boy.
Dean, 6 june 2013
Woman Of My Dream
Woman Of My Dream(Sigh)
I lost You
When You mean The World To Me
I Lost You
When The Road Seems Tough & Rough
I Lost You
Cus Am Too Shy To Tell YOu How I Really About YOu
I Lost You
Cus My Sense Of Humor Makes You Think I Aint Serious...(Exhale)
Woman Of My Dream
Wish I Can Take All these Back
And Show You How Truly Sorry I Am...
Woman Of My Dream
Wish I Could Turn Back The Hands Of Time
Then You Will Be mine Now
Woman Of My Dream
I Just Cant Bear The Truth
That I've Lost You
While Am Here Suffering
When Everyday I Wish You Are Mine
Now My Heart Bleed
Now My Heart Ache
Damn I Say My Heart Cries All Night Just To Feel Your Wamrth Touch
Woman Of My Dream...
Gert Strydom, 6 june 2013
I have often wondered about the men that lead the world (Decastich)
I have often wondered about the men that lead the world
I have often wondered about grasping men,
I have wondered about the way that the world goes
under the people that were elected to lead the way
and about their desire for fortune and fame,
about Presidents that do not waver to tell a lie,
about leaders that sent soldiers off to war
and wondered if they do consider the consequences
or is there something evil that besets each great good man
a corruption that power does always bring?
Gert Strydom, 6 june 2013
Hope (Decastich)
We live in a world where war, disasters and destruction
are continually harassing us as if destiny is pursuing us,
as if everything in this world is out of control,
as if the portals of hell are standing wide open
and sometimes we become ill without any chance of being healed
and sometimes we loose loved ones to death
and it feels as if we are living on the edge of the abyss
but still the hope remains that life will become better,
that deliverance will come with the new tomorrow
as if a happier future is only waiting on us.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2013
WITH LICORICE
Throw yourself on a time bomb
howling, breaking the words,
twisting the letters, reciting a prayer
after the rise of a monomania in the
face of mankind.
I am becoming poorer everyday
by grace of filth all around. Cannot hear
myself now in the marching band of curses
and abuse; a scion hides a fawn from
the eyes of wild bulls.
A hierarchy of buried skeletons, spineless
dinosaurs lying under the shadows of technicolor
maps and letting freeze the time. The music
was lapped by passersby. The world
was moving in circle.
Satish Verma
Renato N. Mascardo, 5 june 2013
missing a muse
Mnemosyne’s child
the long downpour that
never ends obscures my view
the foggy greyness
the misty coldness of the day
remain since you went away
in lieu of your memory-haunting face
the shade of emptiness now fills the space
mnemon upon mnemon loosens
untangles and drops like one yellowed leaf
after another in the spiraling apoptosis of fall
words no longer linger once you left
like memory’s child with a new toy
words do not stick together
so slippery they can not intertwist
leaving me in the void alone and bereft
with every loss there must be a gain
without your company
your warm nearness being gone
one feels the loss that is so obvious
it is so much harder to find the gain//
renato
tuesday 04 june 2013
Latest comments:
1 february 2026
Weronika
Jańcio Wodnik z Enceladusa youtube.com/watch?v=J6_xUUXfJpU
30 january 2026
sam53
lirycznie, optymistycznie i prawdziwie... w zgodzie
29 january 2026
Grzech podnieść rękę na ziemię.
29 january 2026
podoba mi się beton, chociaż i asfalt też
29 january 2026
jeśli tylko
pływa kanalikami.. koło ust..
29 january 2026
Jaga
i trud najczęściej daremny. Zawsze jednak trzeba
28 january 2026
I szarosc głębsza..
28 january 2026
Beton trudniej skruszyć...
28 january 2026
witaj, dawno nie widziana..
28 january 2026
jak pamiętać..
27 january 2026
no i pamięć... och żeby nie ta pamięć, to
27 january 2026
"tylko zadrą" boli dłużej niż sztyletem...
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