Latest items:
poetry
Gert Strydom, 9 june 2014
In the morning when I draw my eyes to slits against the bright light
In the morning when I draw my eyes to slits against the bright light
there is magic
that the new morning brings
while I know that I am really living
and I see the butterflies already fluttering on the breeze,
hear birds of which the songs of joy penetrates the soul
and every bee, even the smallest thing
are busy with a praise song.
When dew on the branches are still shining like diamonds
and the sun glitters with every ray in filigree
there are flowers opening their cups
and even though my life at times feels bitter
and this kind of living feels like only a curtailed existence
I do know that I serve an omnipotent God.
Gert Strydom, 9 june 2014
Where you stand with the garden hose
Where you stand with the garden hose
a seed plume whirls
all around us on the afternoon breeze
and it waits hanging for moments,
bright water shoots through your thumb
and I wonder how many days do remain
to be so perfect when we are together?
Satish Verma, 9 june 2014
IN OUR BREASTS
Taut flesh of toxic seductress
comes out of the skin,
rolls in the dream.
A century buries the neck of God
and creates the words
of unbroken greed for useless faith.
A path stuns the sharp thorns.
Nothing would stop the seeker,
he has to annihilate the rival.
Somebody takes an aim
at the dancing egos
and brings down the marvel.
The bitter feud continues, between
stars and moon.
The molten lava moves like a snake.
Satish Verma
Scott Clark, 9 june 2014
“Stirred Grit”
Mean as stirred grit,
reach in
and pick none of it,
Load bullets,
Frick it.
Its just grit.
Don't need this... shit!
Or that... to wit,
just my bullets,
Power slivers,
make ya shiver,
and dem quiver.
They will deliver
Believe me,
you'll see....
Pea!
…...................BANG!!!!
Scott Clark, 9 june 2014
Dreary Days
The dreary days of yesterday have gone about the morrow,
while we dwell in this fine day lets forget about our sorrow.
Satish Verma, 8 june 2014
STONED
It was a mid night knock.
A cloud laden sky
had sent a message.
The moon was trembling
like a collateral pain
in the blue.
I had not slept the night,
if I could bleed.
A toddler had drowned head-on
in a half-filled bucket
and some rodents had sheared
away the toes and ears of a sick child.
You give me hurts, for glassy eyes.
The claws on my neck,
I can hardly breathe.
The severed paws and intact canines
of a skull morph into a roaring beast.
There is no water in my eyes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 june 2014
WITHOUT QUALMS
He resumed walking with the sun
propelled in river of fire of blunt red
and striking yellow to resonate with the pain of her,
who sleeps on the thighs of a temple tree.
The vibrations still follow the echo of forgiveness,
a shadow of palm rises on white wounds.
The snoring of blood letting winds break the
bones crisply, on the jealous shores.
Where was the need of sharp edges to slice
the heart? The words spilled on the table
like blood curdling bats. The candle light
turns black with a guilt.
Small gods are weeping inside the tear
scorched eyes. Somebody prays for the fallen
monuments of tongues and bullet killed bells
of tributes. Stars started hiding their faces.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 6 june 2014
Autumn Evening
(after Breyten Breytenbach)
When the sun sets I wait upon my sweetheart
after office hours
to drive into the yard
from the gym
with the eyes of her car
cutting with searchlights around the corner.
I do embrace and kiss her
when she gets out of the car
while the stars gleam high up in the sky
and I am infatuated by my beloved.
I bring a hand full of flowers
of which the fragrances hang glorious around us
to my love
while the big old yellow moon
scrutinize us from the heaven.
[Reference: “herfsaand” (Autumn Evening) by Breyten Breytenbach]
Gert Strydom, 6 june 2014
To you my unborn child
To you my unborn child
I will learn the songs
and read the poems
that tells about the honour of this nation,
I will teach you a national anthem that is trampled,
songs of praise to the omnipotent God
and tell about a people over whom God holds His hand
and if later you want to emigrate
to another land
and live under another flag
and have an antipathy to being an Afrikaner
then you will by your Afrikaner ethos know
about people that had been true
to their country and to God
and there will be no renunciation in you.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2014
DEVIL'S REALIZATION
O flamingo, your pink is fading.
Pick up the spirulina, it was caste-based.
It hits there, where it hurts more.
You were chasing, standing on one leg
salt was dwindling in the lake.
The stink unlike you is going to stay.
I am learning the hard way, the
blue island of ice is staying with a thread.
A sweet flesh comes from the mountain from other end.
Whose gold was melting now?
Sucking the milk tinged with blood?
Breasts are shrivelling in monoxide.
Satish Verma
Latest comments:
12 april 2026
violetta
O jaki piękny, też bym się tak schowała:)
12 april 2026
Lubię las:)
12 april 2026
Piękne i cudne:)
12 april 2026
Jaga
" By mi zabełtać błękit w głowie"
12 april 2026
Do usług :))
12 april 2026
To prawda :) Smutne jest to, że z mojego otoczenia
12 april 2026
ais
Wiosną dochodzi do zbliżenia...
12 april 2026
Ach, te słodkie mazurki :))
12 april 2026
Dziękuję Jaga :))
12 april 2026
Wirujący sex. Tyle, że seks dla każdego coś
12 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
A Hamlet, banał do kwadratu - umysłowość
12 april 2026
Ale dzięki za cynk, podoba mi się ta poezja.
12 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
12 april 2026
wiesiek
12 april 2026
Jaga
11 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
11 april 2026
wiesiek
11 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele