poetry

poetry
Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 24 july 2016

The beach, the morning

(in answer to Patrick Cullinan)
 
At early morning dawn
eighteen big busses appear
some with Putco, Morning Star
and others with Amagolang signs on them
and on their top roof racks.
Everything is loaded from blankets,
wheelbarrows, chicken coops to primus stoves.
 
Durban’s South beach, North Beach
and Country Club
are packed with a throng
of black tourists everywhere,
who unclothe right there in public
and swim in all colours of underpants,
in white, cream and pink bras and panties
with black nipples and private parts
shining through when wet
 
and some old black grannies fill bottles
with sea water and a bit of sand
believing that it’s good medicine
while some chickens
in a great tumult of noise
are brought out of a cage,
are beheaded with a shining axe,
are plucked and on tent poles
spit fried on the beach.
 
Some men and boys
pull their pants down
and urinate near to a water tap
while others wait in line
at the toilets which are filled
past capacity.
 
[Reference: “The beach, the evening” by Patrick Cullinan.]


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 july 2016

Where He Was

Meditation was futile. 
He turned his back 
from the green prayers. 
The state had made a mockery of his love. 
 
The words were not clear 
written on the periphery of pain. 
He fathered 
dust to dust, his light 
folded his trembling hands, 
lying on jaundiced bed. 
Syntax was rising. 
 
He stood alone amidst landmines 
malice for none, beast and history. 
The stones were falling from sky. 
The punished was partaking the blows, 
where he was 
others were absent.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 23 july 2016

Poem: Rooted and Grounded

Planted by the river of Living Waters,
I remain rooted and grounded in Christ;
He provides for my thirst, my hunger,
my Salvation and my everlasting Life.

With the foundation of Biblical Truth,
I’m rooted and grounded in the Holy Word;
the application of its principles gives
my heart hope with peace that’s assured.

When walking in holiness and rectitude,
I stay rooted and grounded in God’s love;
His Essence softly embraces me with grace,
as new mercies stream… from Heaven above.
 
 
Author notes

Inspired by:
Prov 12:3; 2 Sam 22:2-3, 47; Psa 1:3;
Rom 3:22; Lam 3:22-23

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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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 23 july 2016

Poem: Prayer of a Heavy Heart

O Lord, my heavy heart hurts
and my tongue can’t find words
to articulate the inward pain,
as my spirit struggles to avert

reiterations of disappointment.
My thoughts of being distraught,
exhausted and overwhelmed steal
the inner peace of my contentment.

I’m humbled by my circumstances;
now I’m casting my cares upon You;
I’m reaching for Your rest, yoke
and peace, to have another chance

of moving forward with Your Kingdom.
Refresh my spirit with the essence
of Your Presence; grant me the grace
to overcome… these current symptoms.
 
 
 
Author notes

Inspired by:
1 Pet 5:6-7; Matt 11:29-30

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, 23 july 2016

…… Of Humanity

Do not knock out the water from the eyes, 
each dropp is temple 
each dropp is death. 
 
Veins were becoming darker 
friends disappeared overnight. 
A family comes to squat on grass 
to scrape the souls of forefathers. 
 
I become puzzled of failed truths, 
of guilty nasturtiums fashioned on graves 
gathering the human failures. 
 
The deeds and the theatrical prisons 
of homes. Anguish and sorrow. 
Learning - sucks the beautiful 
scarves of splashed deceits. 
 
Into the future you move, 
glory or doom? No certain payments. 
You have not forgotten the false commitments.
 


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steven cooke

steven cooke, 22 july 2016

When the guns go silent

God cannot intervene in sovereignty
and the boy will plead no innocence.
Seedlings  cannot control the wind,
in birth the Oak has called their name
 a command from the forest  unseen.
 
A  biblical sandstorm unleashed by unworthy souls
Will  scatter this seed
that a millennium of kings could not see.
Time demands the old to look away
For Medusa’s face will give the peace.
Hope now resides in young men’s eyes
and the currency at stake is dreams.
These are the orders of man.
 
As  the desert celebrates the rain with life
and the Eskimo gives reverence to  flesh.
That is the natural dignity  of things
It was this harmony  that created  the ark,
a speck of light in the darkness
that gives meaning to the stars above.
 
But war is the Cancer unseen
flowing in the veins of weeds with mortal power.
Weeds whose future is locked in vaults unseen
hypnotised by the allure of possession
hiding their gluttony  in papers power.
A confession that only the executor will see.
 
The poor will be tried in combat,
existence will  see them fall.
To defend history with  mothers child,
and use our great Cities to forge
the end with  steel and bullet.
All bought with Slaver’s wealth and empire.
 

Actions that will tempt the heavens
 with  sparks that ricochet off the anvil of God.
So even the  lost alien observer
will  feel this pain of mankind.
These  seedlings cropped by  lawnmowers damned
Scything through the spirit of man.
 
And perhaps the crying mother will find comfort
that  the greed  that underpins all wars,
will see this Judas priest .
This paper with devils desire
 that feeds a global asylum,
in cubicles of generic concrete
waiting for the illusive pension from life.
 
Will find the ark that prophets seek.
A truth that transcends all religion.
Heaven declines your currency
wealth is a mortal thing
your fee is to the earth
and that  is the remembrance of you.
 
The cry of the swift
gives Gods  speed to  assassins flight.
A mirage of summer
that avoids the artists brush.
Natures fly has devoured this sin of man
and sacrifice is given,
to the voyagers of the sky
converting the souls of men to flight.
And perhaps in this act ,
humanity will find redemption.
 
And the boys that died unseen
will finally see the beauty of  creation,
high above the pain below.
Screaming on the wings of freedom
A truth reserved for God
 and a dead boy’s dream.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 22 july 2016

Where star systems do disappear in the nought (sonnet)

Where star systems do disappear in the nought,
far away from our earth’s atmosphere
where nebulas, planets and stars shine
and dark holes absorbs everything near,
even past the burning jaws of hell
and where space does collapse into the abyss,
where solar systems form and get life
the omnipotent Lord God builds his fortress and His stronghold
and time, distance and space do make no difference to Him
when He comes to true salvation in the depth of distress
and His sovereign holy omnipotent righteous will
commands Armageddon and the jaws of death,
does order the spark that becomes thunder, the drops of rain
where on His judgement-seat He does judge and bless everything.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 july 2016

Falling Crumbs

The things which did not brother you, 
like crossing the crowd unspoken. 
Long pauses between the questions, 
halting silences between frenzied wails. 
 
Flesh stayed untouched by hand, 
center of controversies. 
I still speak noiselessly, for urgent whispers, 
time for exit has come. 
 
The fog now deepens in eyes 
and then a cloud bursts. 
Trickling, when you bend backward 
to wet the floor of grass, 
which stiches the earth. 
 
Winds will not expose the naked skeleton 
consciousness now hiccupps 
crumbs fall from the table. 
It was not me 
It was not me.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 21 july 2016

Come to my flower garden

(After A. G. Visser)
 
Come in the spring and see my flower garden
when suddenly after the winter it bursts out in beauty,
when the roses do bud and later start flowering,
when the irises astound with all of their colours
and furtively morning glories trumpet forth the sun.
 
Come in the forenoon when a swarm of doves coo,
rejoice and flaunt and sing love songs to deep in the night
and daylilies open their cups yellow, orange and dark-red,
when the tiger lilies and gladiolas awaken after the winter
and the afternoon-ladies do peep at the sun.
 
Come in the afternoon when the jasmine, lavender and gardenia
carry their fragrances as they did in the early morning,
when the geraniums are full of flowers right up to winter
and the rain lilies flower in the purest white,
when the evening flower brings magic to the sultry nights.
 
Come at dusk when the sun sets over the hillocks,
when some flowers wait upon the arrival of the moon,
then find the magic that twilight brings
when the weaver, redbreast and sparrow do sing love songs
and you are surrounded by beauty from everywhere.
 
Come when the moon rises red and later becomes silver-white
when in longing I yearn to have you close
that you my darling can experience the magic of each flower cup
before they wither away with the course of time
and I can show you the loveliest of our flowers.
 
Come let us together experience the colours and fragrances
and in love and happiness visit and laugh
before the summer of our lives come to a end,
past the last years of old age
where only in thoughts we will have a piece of this paradise.
 
[Reference: “Rosa Rosarum” by A. G. Visser.]


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 21 july 2016

Warriors of the civil service

To where blankets hang during the afternoons
on the balconies of flats
to catch the last afternoon sun
a whole impi does return at nightfall
 
from where they daily sit in offices
behind desks,
of the new civil service the top product
with pens that scribble, scratch and screech on papers
 
and they make as if they are very busy,
do send citizens continually round and about
with there attention focused on the clock on the wall
and at five a clock they rush out in a throng,
 
together with each other in a ancient war dance
and before the sun sets they sing at the nearest bar
united in a wide semicircle
that makes the horns of the bull
 
while they manoeuvre and play,
do bet money on soccer teams
and just for pure fun
do shake dice and throw them out to roll.


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