poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 august 2016

Forecast

The camellias. 
Catch the witch on the pole: 
A spring was here. 
 
Sweep the road. 
The exhibitionist 
will put up a show. 
 
Monsoon tours 
the landscape amidst blows 
from the rooftops.
 


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peter haley

peter haley, 24 august 2016

a wish

Of all the things I want to try 
The least of which before I die 
Are the words “I wish I had"


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 august 2016

A Pain Within Pain

A golden bullet will bite 
the adolescence for the sake of 
prudence. Inebriated 
everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss. 
 
It was a targeted killing 
of a dream. Redolent of a prophet 
who will not answer the call 
of a burning dune. 
 
The holy moonless night will wash 
the sins of a city today. I am not 
going to meet the death tonight. 
I am the eye and I am the nude. 
 
Like truth on the other side of 
exhibits. Pure beak was ready 
to eat a virgin lie. Again we are 
sitting to solve the mystery of adultery.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 august 2016

A Pain Within Pain

A golden bullet will bite 
the adolescence for the sake of 
prudence. Inebriated 
everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss. 
 
It was a targeted killing 
of a dream. Redolent of a prophet 
who will not answer the call 
of a burning dune. 
 
The holy moonless night will wash 
the sins of a city today. I am not 
going to meet the death tonight. 
I am the eye and I am the nude. 
 
Like truth on the other side of 
exhibits. Pure beak was ready 
to eat a virgin lie. Again we are 
sitting to solve the mystery of adultery.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 august 2016

Scanning

When night will not speak 
and shoes will float on the water; 
legs of truth will not move. 
 
Latched to absence 
unreasons held the hands of time. 
I stopped believing in myself. 
 
The genome had come in a bottle. 
when the virgin son was killed in a raid. 
The mausoleum will not accept the shroud. 
 
The priest will pay the moon, 
for the price of the nightly stings. 
Now the death will kill the clouds of bees. 
 
And the green door shuts the house 
of light. Moonlight has gone missing. 
We will have to find the lips of dark.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 20 august 2016

Poem: Live Fearlessly

Three hundred sixty-five times,
we’re been instructed to not be
afraid; therefore, we’re to live
fearlessly with the revelation
knowledge of Who, God really is.
Troubles occur in Faith’s climb,

when the human ego fails to walk
within the Godly principles of
Love, Peace and Discernment; all
deal with unwanted issues, that
pop up unexpectedly. Accountability
remains; we’re liable to take stock

and be responsible for our actions;
as we have reverential fear of Him,
He finds pleasure in us, when we
exhibit Hope in His steadfast Love.
We’ll be able to live fearlessly,
when our Faith gains… its traction.
 
 
Author notes

Inspired by:
Isa 41:10; Psa 33:18, 35:27, 147:11

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

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 august 2016

Tornado Tornado

The buff flaunts his elements 
in a dissenting voice. 
Don’t go into the lake. 
There were no survivors. 
 
Stop kissing the moon 
all night. Clouds were moving 
away for the coronation 
of the sun. 
 
The windowpane was broken. 
Somebody has jumped into 
the audience for a 
golden drink. 
 
It was my abstract thought 
to donate my grief to 
unrelenting god who was always 
sending a twister with daffodils.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 august 2016

Unfreezing

Freezing was not required 
for the casket. It only contained 
a shroud. 
 
The schism had scored a 
victory. Bystanders will find 
a dark matter 
 
between the words. The god was 
very lonely today. The black wounds 
start crying. 
 
A white cloud climbs the eagle’s 
span. A golden moon walks like 
a big tear. 
 
A surge of greed will take over 
the yellow throne. Someone puts 
it, a spiritual horror.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 august 2016

Mourning Band

The descent starts 
with a dance, of tears and fire. 
A culture of lids 
lowers the salt, the silver, 
the gems. 
Antithesis to cremate 
a golden ascent. 
 
The night long vigil had a 
naked puff. 
It will roll now in stasis. 
The ash will take over the tongue 
for a big lie. Faith healers stand 
in a row. The empty hands 
were getting a burial. 
 
The toeless path will ride the 
wheels now. Beyond the blue sky 
there is no death.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 august 2016

Chasing The Shadow

Drowned in unclogged arteries: 
thoughts. 
I am going to release a swarm 
of bees. It was your dark hour. 
A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. 
 
A restive finger 
on a blue gun invites the ghosts 
to witness a burial of a fractured faith. 
Thieves were waiting in wings. 
A silent intimacy becomes invisible. 
 
Sit back and comb the house 
before it catches fire. 
The earth spins in your eyes when you 
pay the debt of a river; 
when we were kneading the mountain.
 


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