Joe Breunig, 19 march 2016
Are we God’s garden of wild flowers,
bringing fresh color into this World?
Can we find His fingerprints on us,
with divine patterns that are whorled?
With the coolness of His Holy Spirit,
there is a calming cascade of grace
that waters and refreshes our souls.
Under the Gardener’s careful embrace,
we’re given the individual attention
that promotes our spiritual growth;
He made the commitment to Humanity,
by the promise of Christ’s blood oath
for our everlasting Life in Salvation.
Though our days on Earth are limited,
no differently than the grass of Earth,
our innate potential is still unlimited
since we’re designed after His Image.
From the gifts we’re given, we can bloom
into the people He has imagined, with…
the lasting scents of Heaven’s perfume.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Psa 103:15-17; Matt 6:28-30
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Renato N. Mascardo, 19 march 2016
the scarlet macaw climbing
up to its perch settles down
the hillside hues dim
sounds around dwindle away
dusk blankets its cage
renato
friday 18 march 2016
Satish Verma, 19 march 2016
Faceless fear leaps from the book
I close the chapter.
My ancestors start hovering about my
head
What did I achieve?
Glorified stones and shining plaques
adorn the garden,
round and round my spirit soars. Are
You listening?
Two things always haunted me. Space
and voices. I searched
my atlas and traced my home which
never was.
Nothing will alter my hurt. I am
afraid to lose my soft eye,
roving smell and final judgement.
Gert Strydom, 18 march 2016
At this place I have been before
where life like a smashing breaking wave just thunders on
and I do not remember anymore
as all those old memories are now gone
but in your eyes there is a kind of light
that keeps burning bright
and you have been my own darling
(of that I am pretty sure)
as there is something familiar to you
and yet holding you feels somewhat strange
as if again our lives have been rearranged
but still our hearts and feelings are true
as if past time and memories they do now endure
and knowing you stays amazing.
Satish Verma, 18 march 2016
After the death, mediocre paperweights rule
on the pages of life.
The leading light will wander in ruins for
centuries.
Hot winds spray the sparking dust on
smooth posts,
desert picks up the artist trapped in confusion
I pray for the rains.
Give me a chance. I want to replay the
forgotten script.
Can you spread a blanket on the wounds
that were not mine?
Nobody gives a call. They were overshooting
the quicksand.
Renato N. Mascardo, 17 march 2016
afternoon repast
my app
predicted rain
in forty minutes yet
the afternoon sun still bathed the
busy
backyard
the birdseeds on
the ground were almost gone
feasted on by the sparrows wrens
mourning
dove and the four
cardinals until the
chipmunk Chico frightened the birds
away
only
to be chased from
the scattered grains by the
belligerent squirrel Isco
who had
to leave
when Gerry the
shaggy groundhog scooted
in and stayed to savor slowly
kernels
yellow
black and brown on
the abandoned grass and
ground proving once more that size did
matter//
renato
thursday 17 march 2016
Gert Strydom, 17 march 2016
There had been a kind of loneliness, a brokenness,
deep in your eyes,
a searching for greater meaning
and deeply moved
I wanted to bring something holy and honest to you,
with inadequacy
I did tattle when you did come right up to me
when with your loveliness I was moved.
Satish Verma, 17 march 2016
Dust to dust the soul,
moves in a confined circle
to preserve a death.
The struggle of a truth to find,
the space between the fact and fiction.
Time comes to breathe in nihility,
questioning the infidelity of violence.
I do not want to avoid the revolution within
let me use the knife to cut,
the moments into filaments of sparks.
I wanted to restrain myself,
from committing the act of accepting the pain.
The first truth remains the last truth.
Winds of change cannot erase it.
Right side of knowledge,
and wrong side of fact were always in conflict.
The sweet-smelling mask was baffled,
crippling the mind.
I craved only nothingness.
Renato N. Mascardo, 16 march 2016
hierarchy
first the
sparrow then the
wren gliding down to peck
the birdseeds hiding between blades
of grass
followed
by a pair of
cardinals which were mates
bright red and light brown scratching the
dry ground
next came
the large and blue
cardinal mates hogging
the sunflower seeds scattered on
the grass
and then
they flew up all
in a rush and the dove
no longer mourning landed and
feasted//
renato
wednesday 16 march 2016
Gert Strydom, 16 march 2016
When the early the morning does begin
and you arise
my lady, the first doves do happy sing,
while the dew lies
on your garden’s most pretty flower cups
and in your eyes
with greatest joy golden the sun does shine
and forever I want you to be mine.
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