Salvatore Ala, 9 december 2014
After the first beheading, hope was severed like a limb.
After the second, love produced a fountain of blood.
After the third, faith changed faces with fear.
After the fifth, knowledge bled to the last drop.
After eight beheadings, God recoiled.
After fifteen, there was no more happiness.
After twenty, it all seemed propaganda.
After thirty-four, more headless people took office.
After fifty-five, a collective body was sworn in.
After ninety-nine, children played with human heads.
After two hundred, there were no more days of peace.
After four hundred, it was hell on earth.
After six hundred, the executioners were put to death.
After a thousand beheadings, they dare not stop.
After fifteen hundred, fate and freedom were indivisible.
After twenty-five hundred, the heads kept singing.
After five thousand, a dialogue began.
After seven, the heads became oracles.
After ten thousand, there were more priests than people.
After fifteen, the books were sealed.
After twenty thousand, it was a total human eclipse...
Renato N. Mascardo, 9 december 2014
turn of the screw
when you
catch a lucid
moment we share it with
such delight then you let it go
turning the screw that foils
your mind to break
my heart//
renato
monday 08 december 2014
Gert Strydom, 9 december 2014
A touch
of lips speeds up
the quick rhythm of the heart
and a silent single glance causes
a deluge of emotions to follow
when some simple act does love express
to explore uncharted
territory
with you.
Gert Strydom, 9 december 2014
I miss
your pretty face
and I truly do miss you
but together some sparks do fly
and apart there is a big emptiness
and yet we do perfectly fit
as if meaning is lost
when you are gone
from me.
Satish Verma, 9 december 2014
For cloning of small gods
you took out the kidneys, lungs
and stomach, from slain truth’s
body. My bête noire, the lies.
Do you smell the stink? You make
yourself, you are not your id.
The urge to take a flight was very strong.
Groins aching for the heroic jump.
Legs amputated, the tragedy, swims
like a fossil truth in the sea, under
the layers of centuries.
Man has not changed, cheated of the death.
Gert Strydom, 8 december 2014
(after William Shakespeare)
To have the power to hurt and not to do so
when you yourself receive blow after blow
is a Godly kind of virtue, a grace beyond grace
when in adversity someone does colours show
and sheer wickedness is on a face
as an action done nothing can erase
and to have pity, to jump to conclusions slow
is with normal mortal man not commonplace
and not to act at someone else’s expense
holds a divine kind of excellence,
when he or she is running riot over you
and to be fair and great and good in every experience,
to be constantly to the omnipotent Lord true
is something that a God fearing person does do
[Reference: “Sonnet 94 They that have power to hurt and will do none” by William Shakespeare.]
Satish Verma, 8 december 2014
The tears have washed my sins.
Taming the dead,
I start a vivisection
of myths.
I take an impromptu walk,
go inside my weaker self,
abandon the pretention
and come face to face with the fear.
No portrait, no symbol,
no map was needed.
I was going to open a locked attic
to liberate the imprisoned past.
O colossus,
O my golden bird,
my sun baked grief has ripened
in ruins of desires. I am free.
Satish Verma, 7 december 2014
Your insistence to become
something, to overstay existence
was not fair.
On a row of white shrouds –
holding innocent beings,
death was walking barefoot, crying.
Between farewell and stupidity,
staccato, shooting questions to life.
What was the need for this achievement?
Fear was turning you against me,
to abandon the peace. Truth cannot be repeated
again and again. It becomes a lie.
No body knows how to bury
the deception. It is still dark.
Who was seeking the light?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 december 2014
Let me douse this flame
with tears.
My nightingale will sing no more.
Ringed by dragons,
I decide to tie knot with a tempest.
When the birds start dying
the frightened choir becomes dumb.
I wait for the butterfly effect:
the thought was deeper than pain.
Tension arises. I see the face
of a moon. Bound but free.
My security starts a guilt. It was immoral.
The forgetful, yellow bones of
a thin father, with a gift to fathom
the flute, takes hold of the wind.
Satish Verma
peter haley, 5 december 2014
My eyes awake to a cloudless day ,weather man says rain's on the way
The day's gonna be a good day,I dont care what they say
I refuse to let the day ,start with a frown
Damn there goes the bread,landing butter down!!
I get into the car,not long out of bed
Thinking greenlight,greenlight ,Oh no now it's red !!
Now I just noticed the lights were left on
All of the night now the batteries gone !!
I rush and I rush and run down the street
And miss the damn bus I had hoped to meet
Calm down and be positive I will get the next bus
Got no money,all in the car left in all of the fuss !!
Not to worry I will just go back home
Just to see float past me was my garden gnome
I remembered the bath ,the warm one I.d run
Forgot left the tap on ,now look what I've done !!
When I turn on the T.V. the adverts are on
Well that's not a problem the electrics just gone
Ring,Ring !! your works had a gas explosion and blew it all to bits
With positive thinking ,I'd have been there!!, and that would have got right on my tits !!
( a little bit of negative can bring a little bit of positive)
me ...Peter haley
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