Renato N. Mascardo, 11 august 2018
hearth cake and water
pursued
by ahab
and jezebel prophet
elijah ended up in the
desert
thirsty
hungry tired and
so unlike job he asked
his lord to end it all under
the broom
tree with
a noosed rope but
gabe the angel smacked him with its
wing and
said you
are a man not
a mayfly elijah
you need to climb horeb so eat
and drink
grumbling
he complained what
am i a horse that drinks
water i prefer ale or wine
so gabe
smacked him
again and he
ate the hearth cakes drank the
water and slept under the shrub
until
gabe smacked
him a third time
with its trumpet this time
shouting wake up sluggard and go
to the
mountain
already for
the lord has things to do
other than waiting for you there
as a
burning
bush and so
the prophet went to the
mountain because the mountain won't come to the
prophet//
renato
friday 10 august 2018
Paweł Szkołut, 10 august 2018
The sea waves are washing off footprints in the sand
and the ocean of remembrance throws ashore
the shells of memories
on the horizon -
the illusion of infinity
far away in distance
there are visible boats, cutters, yachts and ships
strong wind and the sound of waves with white manes,
when you are plunging in a dark green tone -
in the waters of all oceans and seas
the childhood memories:
a blue beach ball with the map of continents,
first curiosity about the world
and a sense of its secret,
mother's touch, father's presence
and a sunny honey-colored amber
making a journey into the past
during a declining summer
you are walking among the pine forest
with carpets of heather, mosses and lichens
while listening to the morning sounds of cranes
and the greatness of the sea bore in you
the thirst for of the Absolute
the Baltic waves are breaking down
on the banks of the ocean of remembrance
shells and rocks are glistening in the sun
present and past
have been tied with each other
like the azure sky and the sea green water
bidding farewell to the sea
you feel that you will come back to it someday,
but nowy you know that
you are ready for everything:
for end and beginning
for death and rebirth
VIII 2008
Satish Verma, 8 august 2018
After reaching, near-
the crumbling wall, you
enter the moment, for
want of an apology.
The surge walks with
the moon for a-
beheading. I was unaware
of the kindness.
The fierce revenge of the
night. Somewhere there was
an aberration. Two stark naked
kin went down fighting for a fish.
It was homage to the
pain after summary execution.
There was no resistance left
after the merciful end.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2018
You should have asked me.
Why was it not important-
to take a life, for saving
one other life?
I say, what did you give
me after the coronation?
Some sinuous questions?
Or splayed my heart open?
The crowd was always absurd.
You were latched onto the-
bronzed face of a naïve hero,
who wants the ants to drag an elephant.
The bone ossification proves
that you were still a juvenile.
St. Anthony's Fire? You want to
embrace the death now?
Satish Verma, 6 august 2018
Under siege,
tied to a bomb-
you were talking to yourself.
The violence inside you
had beaten you mercilessly.
The text has dried up.
Steal a glance-
and find out the blood spots
on the Mars, the god of war.
The sound in the vase, was becoming louder
of coins.
Now you will walk-
on my dead body.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2018
Disconnecting tragedy
you live again,
in myths
and illusions.
The grit. You lack the spine.
Rocks.
A slide.
The chicken.
The cow-pathway
leads to a barn of a mud hut,
where you stand every evening
to welcome the hoofs dust.
That tells the history,
the pain of unknowing,
revealing the name
of a killer.
There was silence
interrupted by a shriek.
Someone was rising
from the grave.
The inert things start moving.
Renato N. Mascardo, 4 august 2018
first red ribbon
each dawn
bar Sabbath day
flakelets fell upon the
ground bewildered we asked manna
manna
meaning
what what without
knowing we could eat them
til one baked bread eaten on the
sabbath//
renato
saturday 4 august 2018
Satish Verma, 4 august 2018
All day it rained.
There was no destination.
The futurist will incite
the blue light in the itinerary.
You can convert the eye
into moon. The sky follows
the assassin under-
the cover.
O Brother, I wanted to
scream. Lines were not clear
but the blood was same,
in syntax and on knife.
The potential, the genius,
the capital. They were clubbed
to win the game. The earth
will go searching the fakir.
Renato N. Mascardo, 3 august 2018
habagat
ah the
southwest wind brings
thunderclaps and raindrops
playing staccato notes keenly
upon
the roof
it's been awhile
since i have savored the
vapors of alimuom before
the rain//
renato
3 august 2018
Satish Verma, 1 august 2018
The single purple moon
was cruising non-chalantly.
You come out at the window-
and hit the headlines.
Put on hold, my existential
being. I am becoming
non-existent. The abundant
mental ills, become a cause.
Do you agree on this verdict?
It comes back to haunt you,
Your past. The black hope dis-
membering you. You come -
out finally to declare the murder.
I am waiting in the wings.
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