poetry

Satish Verma, 23 june 2017

Warming Up

You could feel it.
The fear in that pristine howl
writhing in throat. Something was
wrong with the sunflowers. A genital
cutting had brought the snowdusting
on mutilated emotions.

A premonition warns. We are shining
on wrong side, under dictates of religion.
The cult will take care of mouth. You
will celebrate the breaking up of man.
The bone between the lips.

I am collecting the dirty threads of
loyalty to stitch the amnesia. They were ready to
applause the demise of moon. No more
sheen on the trees, lake and hills.
I am hauling up the skeletion of the republic.

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Joe Breunig, 22 june 2017

Poem: Punishment and Pain

Isn’t it time, that we stop crying,
for deliverance from circumstance’s
punishment, when we really should
be begging to be freed from our sin?
His Word teaches us that escaping

the results of ‘Sowing and Reaping’
is not feasible; our given ability
to reason, isn’t diminished when…
we have the Hope of Christ within.
Instead, we ought to be willing

to end production of needless pain
towards our God; anxiety and fears
prevents us from pushing forward in
victory, although we’re working and
striving towards… a worthwhile gain.

Author notes

Inspired by:
Heb 12:1; 1 Cor 9:24 and

We cry too often to be delivered from the
punishment, instead of the sin that lies
behind it. We are anxious to escape from
the things that cause us pain rather than
from the things that cause God pain.
-G. Campbell Morgan

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

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.

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Joe Breunig, 22 june 2017

Poem: Evangelize

I’d rather live for Christ
and not burn in Hell; yet, I
won’t apologize for sharing
a Faith of… an eternal Life.

Promoting The Kingdom of God
is an interesting challenge;
His wisdom transcends that of
mortal men, while using flawed

souls like me. I have chosen
to evangelize with His sacred
tenets of Truth; I praise Him,
knowing that I serve a risen

Savior, Lord and King of Kings;
through my poetry, I will sing
of His greatness, mercy, Love
and enduring peace… He brings.

Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Cor 1:25; Psa 136:3; Rev 19:16;
Phil 4:7-9

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

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.

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Satish Verma, 22 june 2017

Empty Dreams

After the civil war in temples
a wodden god
with broken nose, was walking
with a stick.

Half-way to home
he wanted to turn back
and meet his shadow
in the lake.

A mountain goat climbs
down the rocks to become
a martyr. Leaps into a dark
stream clinging to the veil.

A blue pine takes a bath
in the summer rain. A
midnight moon will call the spirits
to dance for gamblers.

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Satish Verma, 21 june 2017

In Totality

The riot was within.
Not getting along with social
revolution you would lie
on purple patch without seeking
any privy.

Who were the barbarians
which were going to release
the brutal pattern of bloodshed
during sunset on
the lake?

A mistrial will dispatch
the violence and you will drop
dead on the dirt path leading
to bed of roses. A theme will
wait for the signing of the book.

Someone punched you in solar
plexus. You said, I don’t
die daily to live.

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Satish Verma, 19 june 2017

Lickety-Split

The silence of the road
intends to pause the observer’s speed.
Unchanged continuity
had a cubic quality.

Presenting yourself to lick salt
before molestation.
The sanctity
stands violated.

The horror thing looms
large, neatly dressed
dancing in your boots.
The path ends at a tree.

You misprint the name
of a tormentor.
Man becomes a beast
in a love triangle.

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Satish Verma, 18 june 2017

Earthly Wounds

Anatomy of fear,
is revealed before me.
Like a red flower opens.
A shadowless figure, deathly-white
holds my hand.

You watch the wounded earth
athirst, fumbling to catch the
greens. Vomited blood when her womb
was upturned to release the metal.

Civet will leave the trail on convicted
grass. The iron grip of greedy
windows. The red ant hills were
spewing white eggs. Now rains
were coming.

Unkempt my house waits for
the ending of truth. What I mean
you will not know. The law always finds
a black veil to cover the face.

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Sztelak Marcin, 17 june 2017

Emfazy

Młode liście zarastają powidoki
zza okien, bezszybnych.
Wiatr wygrywa pieśni żałobne
na prawie pustych butelkach.

Więc, mimo widocznej entropii,
spijam resztki. Wypalają znaki
po wewnętrznej stronie cienioświatła.

Chociaż zawsze twierdzono, że to mrok,
jednak splątany w świeże pędy
poznaję prawdę. Aktualnie jedyną
dostępną.

Męczą mnie wspomnienia ciężkich gron
pękających z trzaskiem. A słodki sok
napełniał ziemię.

Teraz nastał czas wzrostu,
ale ten nie napawa już otuchą.
Przekornie więdnę, zapadając coraz głębiej
w gęstniejące powietrze.

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Satish Verma, 17 june 2017

Humbled

You miss the words and numbers.
The gameplan gets ascention. The
podium was high.
And so was your head.

Swallowed by the winds
unable to reach the end of journey.
Were you not thinking?
Was it a treason to withdraw –

from the frills? In love scare
there were other things to do,
in the storm,
like collecting the thorns.

You step outside the dark and
feel the limbs of light,
altering the script to become
a miracle.

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Sztelak Marcin, 16 june 2017

Przepis na wodę w proszku

Ballada o wojence nucona do poduszki
— miłych snów o leju po wybuchu bomby.
Zresztą po przebudzeniu też zgliszcza,
więc to tylko kwestia pory dnia.

Zielono mi — uparcie mruczysz pod nosem,
usilnie nie zwracają uwagi na wszechobecną
rdzę, chociaż chrzęści pod stopami,
zatyka usta.

Plując udajesz uśmiech:
dzień dobry pani, piękny dzień,
bo pod chmurami świeci słońce.
Najprawdopodobniej.

W końcu czas przepłukać gardło,
zalewasz starannie odmierzoną porcję.
Orzeźwienie, dreszcze i dobranoc.

Śpij w pokoju. Nic innego nie pozostało.

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