Satish Verma, 13 august 2016
I write a song
for you which you will
not find in book.
The butterfly waits
for the bud to open its
secret of colors.
Did you taste
the tears of the sky ever
in a purple dawn?
Joe Breunig, 12 august 2016
Though Today’s path is uncharted,
I’m not worried; being led by Love,
shows that my trust is in the One,
Who wanted a relationship started
with me, before I actually knew
Him and the sacrifice He had made.
When I trust the plan and purpose
geared for my Life, breakthroughs
that I seek, will materialize by
the very seeds of Faith I possess;
with Him alone as my inner guide,
my soul will soar and divinely fly
as we journey together, each day;
I’m no longer concerned about being
lost or where I’m now headed, since
He lovingly accompanies me on my way.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Heb 11:8
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 12 august 2016
I have agreed to cede
an unwritten moon
in a killing frenzy,
for a chequered spirituality.
Now visitation will start
ravishing the light at dawn.
The grievers will assemble
for a final scoop of dust.
Forgive my star,
for a failed touchdown.
A child stands before glitterati
born again to suffer the other sky.
Nothing comes out of nothing.
The circle was complete.
Satish Verma, 11 august 2016
What was about this face?
Between mirage and actuality?
A fireball was coming towards you.
You upturn the underside,
wanted to taste the blood
and get argasm.
The statues were posing nude.
Mothers were clad in leaves.
Fruits were the greed of man.
I refuse to lie in state. The
sand grains will find the innocence
of silver breasts when sky will
spat a murder. Were you ready
now to become corrupt?
At last the beginners are now
becoming the boots.
Satish Verma, 10 august 2016
Sometimes the ice burns,
a fish moves in your eyes.
The ubiquity was at lowest level,
nothing was visible in sun.
Mission crawl in the crotch
does not find any fever.
The golden cave has caved in.
Moon will find another sky.
Nerves were green, pain was
black. No mercy for hooks.
Your map was here and my stitches.
Let us see, who tells the lie.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2016
Living in a cyst, it
would explore the breast.
The black ethics goes beyond
the bounds of mystique of
non-movement.
A while away
a conflict comes out of the body.
Melts into a face.
There is no flesh, no skin.
Only transgression, holding my hands.
There were no arguments.
Only speech punctuated by silent sobs.
A taper standing in a gale.
The shadow flies like an arrow into
the pitcher of hemlock.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2016
A tumbler climbs a rain
in all crimelessness.
Perhaps you will never know
my invaginating self. The thirst has
become a river.
A pile of books and I cannot read.
The shadow lengthens on the wall.
An eagle melts in the air.
They are shifting him for amputation.
Truth cannot walk.
I become my father tonight
and watch the house burning.
I am told there was lot of bleeding before.
There will be no need to rescuscitate.
The dead man says, why not?
Satish Verma, 7 august 2016
A golden fish in
blue waters, with many eggs,
collecting the sperms.
Haiku in sun-
light was the essence of
the daydreaming.
The lost road in
bamboos comes out
as solitary song.
steven cooke, 6 august 2016
A fertile wind lures a petting call
from the bull who will swim the Lough.
Immortality lurks within its perfume
of dynasty and a future king.
The scent of tomorrow makes love extinct
for our genes are perfumed with success.
Prada and Versace can make the lemon sweet
but the offspring will question this statue,
we call David.
Poets will bleed a loves embrace
this beauty of presence a royal write.
While nature spins the spiders web
of a lover who creates life with death.
These tears will soon be forgotten,
in the rose that greets the winter.
For love grows cold in the markets of man.
But love should not be abandoned
for creation is a spiritual thing.
As the warrior holds his head against the tree,
unspoken words transcend this earth
that only his isolation can see.
And in its meaning
love can find a nobility,
that prostitution will never be.
Love was a word that once made empires fall,
now reduced in the confetti of modernisation.
A face book soul caught in the pouting lips
of adolescence,
staring into the depths of an old man unseen.
And the obese teenager that parents adore
go blind to this locked door .
While mirrors delight in snow white dreams
and a wardrobe that secretly desires perversion.
For the window of porn gags for that.
Sex is the ticket to the premiere
that eventually all her friends will see
and the weak will be the spillage
Of a corn sack filled
by a man that only a rapist will see.
Walk into this gas chamber
And succumb to a kiss,
prostituted by a River Island fee
and a Rimmel greasy lipstick.
That makes the suitor hard
inflamed by the chemical caress of perfume
which will procreate another lost child
Into oblivion.
And love will show its face once more
In the bottle of regret
and a being too fat to work.
Spilling the grease from his chips
while watching the latest premiere
Of another adolescent dream
Joe Breunig, 6 august 2016
When you… embrace His Grace,
you are made complete in Him;
the moral purity of His Word
and the power of His Presence
are sufficient for your race,
that you take alone on Earth.
He is your definitive Source,
your eternal, tireless Counsel,
your All-in-All and The Almighty.
Christ’s shed blood was worth
the sacrifice, He made for you!
Trust His Word, the finished work
on The Cross and His promises;
speak His Truth over your Life;
and you’ll discover breakthroughs
that draw you… even closer to Him!
Believe for His health, provision,
plan and purpose that He’s offered;
His efforts are final and complete;
honor Him now with songs and hymns!
Author notes
Inspired by:
Mal 3:6; Num 23:19; Psa 33:11, 143:8;
Col 3:16; Eph 5:19
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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