Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 24 august 2015

I want to shower you

I want to shower you
with all the love I have got
to make certain that you will forget me not
and when the time of old age does come
that you will be the one to whom I come home,


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 august 2015

Holds Me Green

The cult
catches you
like a black hole.

You cannot scale the walls -
slide back
in a crucible.

Like fried insects
crisp and dry.
Witch-hunt starts.

Sky was blue
in eyes,
winds will divide the space.

Do you need a mediator
to read between the lines?
To cross the fence?

Who sucked me dry?
Who leeched me white?
Death holds me green!


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 23 august 2015

Petra

When a person visits the remains of the age-old city Petra
then you see steps that go up into the heights
and it does lie beautiful almost untouched as on a painting
but when you do at that place stand still for just a mere moment
and look at the city that was chopped from stone
you do notice a kind of curse
when you do look at the altars of a forbidding god
 
and then you do notice that everything in that city
is aimed at the sun,
that those tombs, temples and banquet halls
is in honour of the prince of darkness
and then a person does wonder why humanity does rebel
against a God that with compassionate love
does try to visit each person
 
and in silence Petra is still witnessing of its awful history,
of people sacrificing their children
to stop the vengeance of an evil god.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 august 2015

Writing Its Diktat

Beyond the thoughts,
nothing I mourned,
nameless death was writing its diktat.
The dirty epithets were accepted for collage.
Simply a prayer was needed
for a childless truth.
Rudimentary terms owned
a beautiful diction.

The ultimate pain makes you dumb.
Words lose the vision, you walk in a hollow city.
Now is the time to remember the movement of truth
in a jungle of drums.
Eyes must find out the old path.

Huge crowds collect at the door.
Human connections are at strain.
The questions are never answered flawlessly.
Life should not burn like coal,
but be a tree,
in praise of sky,
wind and earth.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 august 2015

Humming Night

The enlightment drops words, things
I am at peace with the light,
the sand, the river.
The thought of non-being is subtle,
touches a cord.
Hours slip, silicon hardens.
Grains of truth move towards essence.

The thought of emptiness
was very powerful
I sit by myself, swallow a stunned voice.
My hands become white.
Inside of me was a book
holding a past. I hid nothing: my faultline.
It was a strange poverty.

I could not plug it,
a hole in memory.
The voices drip.
A moon-knife slices my room.
Far off a poem drifts, in blue nothingness.
The day was very ill
and night again humming
a tune of rising sun.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 21 august 2015

Tonight I did think of you

Tonight I did think of you
and outside the stars were faint,
a streetlight did shine lonely
and the smell of rain was on the dust,
in the distance a thunderbolt did roar
and suddenly it was
as if I did sink away in thoughts of us
 
but when you did come out of the bathroom
all other things were gone and it was only you and I,
your naked beauty did enthral me
when in that moment nothing else could stay with me
and now your are turning around and around in the bed
as if you cannot come to rest
until you are lying right up against me.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 august 2015

Wet Landscape

A saddened rain dropp
strikes me at the face.
When town is burning,
its dignity confronts me with force.
A human clone rises
like a smoke from the ruins
of our nerves.
Why the love has evaporated
from our hearts?

In new spread of palaces,
upside down roots grow with regrets.
The dark woods depart,
small grasses peel off.
the wounds of earth.
Tomorrow the half glory
of our greed will be exhibited
and leaves will burn.

Now a clearing has been made.
Sun smiles, bakes the bones.
The water of life
has been denied to us.
Beaming technology buries the classical path,
the book and the eros.
The wet landscape cries.


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 20 august 2015

Poem: Tarnished Halos

Halos are a pagan tradition
of hanging a sunlit nimbus
over the head of great people;
it’s a crown of light rays 
to shed an implied importance.

The genuine humility of Christ,
will always shine more brightly
than the human ego, that insists
on sporting tilted, tarnished halos.
For Him, it’s of no consequence!

Our Lord is a spiritual high priest,
attributed with characteristics of
pureness, innocence and greatness;
these halos are nothing more than a…
fashion accessory of shiny nonsense.
 
 
 
Author Notes
 
Inspired by:
Heb 7:26

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.


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Joe Breunig

Joe Breunig, 20 august 2015

A Taste of Psalm 50

From the daily rising of the sun
and its subsequent sunset, know…
that you’ve been summoned by God.
Evident from the Universe’s glow,
 
His Presence, perfect in beauty,
shines eternally over all of Zion.
Christ’s majesty has been revealed!
Behold the Lamb, Who is the Lion
 
of Judah and the ruler of Heaven.
Though He may be presently silent,
final judgments will be executed;
His decisions won’t remain latent.
 
Unto Himself and the Heavenly host,
He gathers His consecrated people;
under the bright, celestial sphere,
His righteousness fills His temple.
 
Now witnessing His glory, we notice
the continuing reign of His justice.
  
 
 
Author Notes
 
Inspired by:
Psa 50:1-6
 
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
 
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 20 august 2015

Somewhere in the African bush

The male lion leads the attack
and with help of each adult member of the group
they corner a female giraffe
against three thorny acacia trees
that grows together.
 
Nervously the giraffe jumps
and hooves flash past heads
while the giraffe is trying
to shake the male lion off.
 
More bodies hanging on,
the giraffe becomes heavy
and heavier still
and the added weight of the forth lion
pulls the giraffe down to the ground.
 
After ripping the giraffe open
and devouring as much as they can
the group of lions lay sleeping
in the shade of the acacia trees
while vultures, hyenas and a few jackals gather
around them at a safe distance.
 
Suddenly there is a commotion
and the male lion senses danger
while the vultures, hyenas and jackals scatter
and three younger adult male lions
come roaring out of the long grass
to challenge him
and in the blink of an eye the battle is lost
and death comes in the way
that life on the African plain is.


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