Joe Breunig, 2 october 2014
Last Saturday, I took an empty seat
on a park bench, with book in hand.
Feeling sorry for myself, I failed-
to notice others on this public land.
Disillusioned with life’s loneliness,
my heart and face both wore sad frowns.
From my perspective, this world was…
insistent on dragging my weary soul down.
While my inner sadness wasn’t enough,
to completely complement my pitiful day,
I was approached by a breathless boy,
who had taken time to rest from his play.
With unexpected exuberance, he spoke
to me, with his head oddly, tilted down,
as he shared an unwanted gift with me-
"Look at this flower, I’ve just found!"
Though all of its petals were badly worn,
I could tell, it had been a supple rose;
my spirit, desired only misery’s company
and not his presence of disheveled clothes.
I hoped that he would take his treasure
and leave- in search of solitary play;
so I imitated my finest, insincere smile
and intentionally shifted my gaze away.
Instead of retreating, he sat beside me.
“My flower is scented and beautiful too;
thanks for being my newest friend today,
for I picked this, especially for you.”
Patiently waiting, with tiny hands extended,
he presented the remnant of his dead weed;
I knew I had to take it, to induce his leave-
so I sarcastically replied "Just what I need."
Without an explanation, he held it mid-air;
then I finally noticed, for the first time,
that this happy, gift-toting child was blind
and I’m left more speechless than a boxed mime.
Thanking him with a repentant, quivering voice,
my streaming tears shone brightly like the sun;
while I managed to express some real gratitude,
I acknowledged that he had chosen the “best one”.
Unaware of the powerful impact that he had on me,
he smiled and joyfully slid down off our bench;
then he wandered off, as quickly as he could-
with a second, dead rose that he lovingly clenched.
So I was stunned, wondering how he managed to see
this woman drowning in her self-indulgent plight.
Through his blindness, I saw that the problem was me;
by his heart action, he blessed me with true sight.
From this moment, I vow to change and see beauty
in life and appreciate every second that's mine.
Therefore, I’ve decided to move forward with purpose,
for I can’t allow my fragile heart to remain blind.
And even now, I’m becoming emotionally overwhelmed
with this unexpected flood of tear-filled shame.
In retrospect, my manners were severely lacking:
for I neglected to ask- this earth-angel… his name.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
2 Cor 4:3-4; 2 Pet 3:9; John 20:29
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 2 october 2014
In each day’s silent need
I do love you to the capacity
that the love of a man for a woman could be
and in every word and deed
far past the utmost places where feelings go, indeed,
far past earthly yearnings with sagacity
you are far more than just dear to me
and I love you with a child’s kind of creed
with the kind of hope and faith that you
do notice that with every breath
and every thing that is in my might,
in all the things that I say and do,
even beyond the limitations of death,
I do love you even when all things are out of sight.
Gert Strydom, 2 october 2014
I did long the most for your love
and almost all in my power I did
for something more than the sparkle in your eyes
as if everything in life just depends on you
but now in hopelessness you make me afraid
and I am full of pain and utterly distressed
when you act as if I come with a kind of inability
but still I yearn for you in the passing of each day
and I am still trapped in you,
you that is far more than just dear to me
and sometimes I wonder how you can love me
when at times I fear your harsh words and actions,
when you act like an angel of darkness
but still I do love you where you lie here next to me.
Satish Verma, 2 october 2014
That intense pleasure at the height of negation
haunts me
from the sense of weightlessness.
In praise of complaints I sacrifice my anger.
Sanity demands an explanation
for the grieved flowers
who assembled for a wreath.
The window will not betray the sun.
Prodigal sunshine will come back
to face the arrest.
The prism breaks the charm
flings off the clouds of flirting winds
and removes the veils from the eyes.
Satish Verma
RemPul, 1 october 2014
No longer reaching with my sight
I can touch you with hand
tongue leg knee
in continuous pursuit of warmth or chill
from shut eyes to cockcrow
life in hourglass sheets
folds to us reality in lumps of dream
and just the scent of your skin
stands as my world
I know
I will not be destroyed
Gert Strydom, 1 october 2014
Sometimes the vast protecting sapphire sky
hangs covering over us, in it’s deep blue
hangs somewhat sheltering over you and I
like something precious with a prefect hue,
as the presence of things pure and true
and over our own structures of love
like something precious with a prefect hue,
there is nothing shadowed from above.
Like something precious with a prefect hue,
the presence of the Eternal One
of every great thing that we can pursue,
we find ourselves imaged in His tone
Sometimes the vast protecting sapphire sky
hangs somewhat sheltering over you and I.
Gert Strydom, 1 october 2014
At times we are only set on passing,
without any place to stop or call home
and then we miss the smallest little things,
while it feels as if we do not belong,
as we are set, forever more to roam
as if we hear faint whisperings among
a myriad of people, with dusty loam
that sticks and clings to our very feet
and then we miss the small bird’s happy song,
see unfamiliar faces in those we meet,
in life we are constantly swept along,
as if the ocean has only some foam
and to it there is nothing really sweet,
at times we are only set on passing.
Satish Verma, 1 october 2014
You know I do not hope
any intermission,
between life and death.
My path goes nowhere.
A hiatus between the mirrors has questions.
From childhood I was always
floating between the meanings
of lessons unknown.
I longed for straight humilities.
Present redeems the past.
Each sound leaves an echo
and has-been becomes the shrine of peace.
ad infinitum I will wait
for the primitive blood
to reappear, the truth of
midnight sin.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 30 september 2014
I will ask you no more.
An answer settles the question.
Let myriad questions remain in air.
Thirst is larger than the river.
Silence! Ghosts are walking.
You can hear footfalls of time,
past is peeping from the windows.
Dyslexic kids are not able to decipher,
the code of gifts, the sweet tongue.
Powerless hands are tied behind the back
and neck is broken with precision.
The rape of fragrance,
petals are curling up to storm,
flying homeless in sky without speech,
ceaselessly searching instead–ness.
Half-burnt bodies for feast, roasted dreams
for taste.
But for fire, a single tear drop
frozen on the cheeks of mercy.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 29 september 2014
Integrity of door was challenged,
walls will not take the blame.
Tension increased between believing
and non-believing.
Did we listen to moaning of night?
There was a murder in broad day-light.
Eyes will not betray the whisking of corpse,
pallbearers were moving very fast.
I thought nothing will ever move now
not even the possessed mind.
The final page of book has been torn
and the story will never reach the end.
To become anything or something
is difficult these days.
Do we need to drink our own blood
to become great on paths of anonymity.
Satish Verma
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
