Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 26 may 2016

The sardine run

Near autumn each year
shoals of spawning sardines gather
to travel from their living arias
(in the Southern and Western Cape)
along the hot waters of the Agulhas Current
moving inshore against the coastline
(up to about Durban)
before dispersing and travelling
back to their home waters.
 
Hungry gannets hover above the shoals
before diving from heights
of up to thirty meters
with wings half closed
piercing the water like arrowheads
 
gulping down fish
as fast as they can,
floating on the water in great numbers,
having lost the ability to fly.
squawking as if complaining
that they cannot eat anymore.
 
On the fringes of the shoals
huge numbers of sharks, stingray, kob,
skates, kingfish, tunny,
barracuda, snoek, tuna, and bonito lurk
in the warm water
but never going
right into the shoals
 
and ashore numerous anglers
are trying to catch game fish
all along the coastline
while the sardine run is on
 
and some people
gather buckets full of sardines
from the waves on the beach
if the fish dare it
too near to the shore.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 may 2016

Suicides

In despair, 
beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams 
in rimless eyes of wet faces. 
 
The lake had been sending back 
the white and black shrouds 
everyday. 
 
They were jumping one by one 
old and young, 
from the twisted planks 
holding geraniums. 
 
A warm prayer on the lips, 
what was left worth enduring? 
The innocence, the guilt, the shame? 
 
Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness 
who is going to have a last laugh? 
Time is breathing gloom, 
body is attached to a pole.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 25 may 2016

He lies stretched out in the sun

He lies stretched out in the sun
in the area next to the rugby field
that is still wildly overgrown at places
where a game reserve had been at a time.
 
He is safely fenced in,
protected against homeowners,
even some schoolboys
that wants to throw rocks at him
 
and like a wild animal
his hiding place is in the thick grass,
in the thicket and trees around him
there are birds that gambol
and some are building their nests.
 
He watches them somewhat hidden and amused
and he looks with mistrust
at the young man
that notices and calls him.
 
Ignoring the human he washes himself further,
does stretch out contently in the sun
and he cannot decide if he wants to climb a tree
or do want to find his prey in the gutter,
 
where he watches the world with his cat eyes
which yellow-green
does regard everything around him
and where he lies stretched out
he is the king of his own region.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 may 2016

Of Gods And Virgins

Treading on burning cinders 
it was a saga of fear versus unknown. 
Stripped, before drooping eyes 
scarred, armless, unflying. 
 
Into the regeneration phase: 
not a single word, single concern 
of yourself, you walked to arrive 
without adding a question. 
 
There was a movement without ripples, 
death of the black, mottled, many. 
I, becoming transcendental scion 
of whole, sincere entity. 
 
Melting to start a romance 
in the house of petals, 
of fragrant pheromones 
deluging the phoenix. 
 
To want the crowd, select a colossus 
cadaver spreading on mushrooms in field 
erect a man in white bones, unrivalled 
jealousy of virgins and gods.
 


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 24 may 2016

Africa

When I look to my own continent
there are only ruins of places
that at a time was glamorous and I struggle to fit in
the beautiful places where waterfalls does roar
and I see people who are ravaged by famine, war,
unrest and a population explosion,
people who die from pestilence,
who live totally immoral,
and wild animals do disappear into hungry stomachs,
while I am blinded by the sand
as if the desert is crawling
deeper and deeper into the continent
and the political majority does devour everything
until nothing is left for anybody.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 may 2016

Shivering Doorway

Savage absence of you, 
I miss your assaults 
what was actual in you, I never knew. 
 
Neither flesh, nor spirit 
had helped me. 
Somewhere there was a planet I missed. 
 
Or a miracle? 
Ending of means was the center of conflicts. 
Time was running out. 
 
Genetics tinkered 
matrix unmoving, 
what implants will be needed for dazzling the heavens? 
 
The desert was crying. 
Proud generation charred by transcripts 
begins singing. 
 
Falling leaves recollect the pain. 
Possibility of pregnancy exiled, 
the shivering doorway was closed.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 23 may 2016

There’s no other country

There’s no other country
where I have seen the same blue hue
in the sky, have experienced
the same notion of experiencing
something so pure.
 
There’s no other country
where day by day
I have experienced the sun
flying up in its arc
like a eagle on its wings
 
but then one morning
a series of gunshots awakes me
where my neighbour across the street
lies bleeding
 
with robbers racing away
with his stolen car, passing me in a blur
and I wonder if he is still living,
rushing over the road to try to help him.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 may 2016

Adulterous

As innocent as buds of jasmine 
twilight of a falling night 
offsets the nakedness of a baby moon, 
the subterfuge of a slant lie. 
How crooked was the conviction? 
 
Blessing was flawless. Only the sky 
had an anguished exoneration 
for a particular sin. 
What was put out for a show 
was hired. 
 
He did not want to become a spot, 
a speck, or an insect. The ending 
of lonliness had a high price. Give 
and take were insufficient. Only giving 
was a gift. Duality of ugliness shined in the mirror. 
 
In despair he picked up the replica 
of a humanoid ancestor, 
who was to become a model DNA 
of a simian who was not capable 
of becoming adulterous.
 


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 21 may 2016

Poem: Pascal’s Wager

One of many apologetic arguments
is an application of Game Theory,
as defined by “Pascal’s Wager”;
ideas of infinite gain make leery
 
skeptics doubt a likely existence
of an omnipotent and omniscient God,
Who is worthy of our time and talent.
They believe this premise is flawed,
 
as they willingly bet against Hell,
damnation and its infinite losses;
the discussion, of rational thought
and atheistic stances, crisscrosses
 
mental boundaries in search of Truth.
Is finite loss of luxury and pleasure
worth the Christian lifestyle today?
Where are you storing your treasures?
 
 
 
Author notes
 
Inspired by:
Gen 1; Matt 6:19-20 and
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pascal27s_Wager
 
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, 21 may 2016

Without A Title

Full moon was negating the intensity of night. 
I wanted the sacred smell of dark heaven 
which was dispensing the forgiveness. 
Did not reach the dazzling height of a star; 
even conflicts gave me immense metaphors. 
Nemesis was measuring the hauled-up mistakes 
For them I was tormented by unknown fears 
and the ravings were useless. 
Deliberately I cleaned my room twice 
to welcome the instincts. 
Even the particulars have become painful. 
What do you think, can we follow the poem 
without a title? 
The neighbourhood cracks silently 
I am not going to flaunt my lesions.


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