Joe Breunig, 14 july 2017
Not heeding the real Truth of Christ,
will lead us into derailed victories;
in addition, we’ve been challenged to
question and make spiritual inquiries
regarding the legitimacy of His Word.
We need to be diligent in our studies
of the Scriptures, showing ourselves
approved of Him and not lazy nobodies,
who remain ignorant of His principles.
After all, it’s The Spirit’s pleasure
to lead us into everlasting Truth; our
inclination is to have that treasure…
of Christ within our hearts each day
and to enjoy the presence of His sway!
Author notes
Inspired by:
2 Cor 2:14; Judg 18:5-6; John 16:13-15;
Matt 6:21; Psa 119:10-17; Col 3:1-3
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9Y
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2017, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 14 july 2017
Without assent
I open your book
to find your crazy god on mat.
Love was a blind bird
in a state of agony.
Learning to fly.
Moon would not reply
through aslant door.
Something was between us.
Here, now a sordid tale
breaks the taboo. They
were investing on skin.
It was a cheap wine
in a golden chalice,
for a lipless mouth.
Satish Verma, 13 july 2017
The dichotomy was complete.
I walk in your tears
to move away.
The night smelt like a
burnt-out doll, and I was
quaking inside like a peony lip.
The sunk baby. You stay
uncovered in half-sleep.
The drag of the noose around-
your neck was evident. I
want to squeeze the pods.
Why did not the pollen meet-
the stigma? The needles are
coming out of the eyes. A prose
is gone. The poem walks in.
Satish Verma, 12 july 2017
You wanted to understand
the tenor of wet, heavy lids ―
that had emigrated from
deep oceanic eyes.
You believed―it will go on
for ever. Roused in peace.
I will listen to the voice of river
lapping at the shores of pain.
Cocoon was lying still, will
not open to us. I was ready
to receive the death at door.
But it was a stripteaser.
The lovers will meet in the
wilderness, ride the lioness
and black berries will go to
moon for the payment of wages.
Satish Verma, 11 july 2017
It laps up the solitude.
A flame hits the stonewall
of silence.
A dust cloud, covers
the finale of conflict.
Nobody wins the race.
You arrogate to yourself
the skill to accept the heat of argument.
Can you reach the end of thought?
Ravishing black
picks up the fallen moon.
Somebody will go green.
If I could walk on
the lake? The faithless will
wreck the pledge.
Satish Verma, 10 july 2017
Why were you collecting the
people all around?
Unsure of yourself on the
ambiguity of an inquest?
I remained unhappy my
whole life and left the
bed after chemical-castration,
in hurry.
In hindsight inside the
nightmare room, what was
left to imagination? The
half-eated apple?
Hold my hand. I am coming
with you, to settle
my account with god, for
creating people of this type.
•
The purple spillage 24 June 2012
was ready to play with-
fire, for estranged lover,
inventing a fake enemy.
What if I die again and
again for you.
It begs the identity of a
black moon, perhaps to reflect
the stuttering homophobia.
Crossing the time zones, searching
the old snow, in the cracks of
volcanic rocks, you kiss a clove bud.
In anger, I receive your ashes,
when it was raining blue.
A baby died in a crib, unattended.
*Code breaking genius, founder of computer science, who allegedly committed suicide on 7th June 1954.
Satish Verma, 9 july 2017
A racial profile begins
between black and white.
A silver moon ambles
as a prelude to dark music.
A winter night tosses hundred
excuses,
for not lighting the lamps.
Words were still trying to
find the ropes.
You should know your boundaries.
The honeysuckle will
not graze your lips.
The salt of earth settles
in tears of dawn.
Satish Verma, 8 july 2017
In slap at your icarian path
the call was not taken
from inside me.
Anxiety in a troupe of clouds
was rising. A deep dissent
within winds surfaces after sunset.
On the footpath comes a noun
in the land of abuses,
taking a vow of silence.
The moon becomes green
in a blue sky to get
the blessings of surging frost.
Knew nothing about the
future flooding of apples.
Falling from the tree.
Satish Verma, 7 july 2017
You make me give up too easily
without a fight. I will not
ask any questions.
The elite mercy you are
endowed with, green eyes,
invite me for a daunting embrace.
It cracked under the chariot
on runway. The wings scattered,
I will not be able to fly now.
One day, I gave you my dagger
to put it my heart.
You had tied my hands for real.
Overreached by words of
mouth, a quill becomes a
pen, waiting about carnage.
Satish Verma, 6 july 2017
Coming near the incarnation of an
unknown, sunflower seeds were cracking.
Trickling down the cleavage of a tormentor
reaching near the edge of poetry.
I ask you to clamp my name, the
gash on the book was bleeding.
Was it discretion of night to decorate
a battered and abused body of a doll?
Naked you cry on the shoulder of the moon.
This was my prophecy, this is my fate.
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