Joe Breunig, 8 may 2014
Can I ever appreciate metaphysical studies
on the very nature of being and existing,
without consideration of God my Creator,
when I’m an extension of His breathing?
Did He not breathe life into Adam’s lungs?
Without Him, I can do nothing meaningful;
doesn’t practical application of The Word
teach me to live peacefully with life full?
I don’t require divine power to sit idly by,
since God acts when I chose to share my gifts.
He provided direction and correction, when I…
cleansed my mindset with His Paradigm shift.
Under the sacred unction of The Holy Spirit,
I have access to the Counselor and Comforter.
He is never repelled by my human weaknesses;
He anoints my hands as Providential Supporter.
I’m Stepping out in faith with my resolve-
desiring to be in sync with God and His flow.
Until heaven is brought down to bear on Earth,
how can I be satisfied with the ‘status quo’?
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Gen 2:7; Luke 4:18; Acts 2,10:34-48;
1 Cor 12:1-11; Eph 5:18-20
Ontology: The metaphysical study of the nature of being and existence.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 8 may 2014
Sometimes I am bothered
that there are pain, heartache and disappointment in life,
that my best plans at times do dwindle away
and I search for deeper meaning
while its difficult to see any kind of light
and its as my time is measured off
in days of which I do not deserve the outcome
and it’s as if a dark power restrains everything
but then I do realize that You do still remain in control
and whatever may come
I have to struggle on in life on Your side
and then events and things keep astounding me
where You do walk on the road ahead
bringing deliverance even when I do not comprehend.
Gert Strydom, 8 may 2014
Outside the rain sieves down all of this winter
and while you are slumbering the wild wind jerk,
doves flutter up suddenly on the garden bench
but you are snug and safe like a child.
Where the bougainvillea reach out against the window,
a small birds tries to find its nest
and stretched out your arm is supple and slender.
Satish Verma, 8 may 2014
Priests of cave temple
go to sleep. Street urchins
drink the thinner, eat nail polish,
crushed lizard for a kick and then
go without food for three days.
The valley burns. Of what consequence?
Sting of truth overreaches. Another committed
icon walks through the bodies
sleeping on slimed stones,
somehow.
Do you hear the wails? The sirens?
Whole life spent on margins of future,
drinking your own salt. A shadow
wants to know, what was the hour
of destiny?
Windows tremble. The owl’s hoot hangs
in the air. Fearful dawn fails to
disclose the identity of death’s kiss.
Green anemone engulfs the king crab.
A cloud brings a message.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 may 2014
In last journey he wanted to have
a free run without rumors
of reconciliation.
From years back he watched –
friends, disappeared one by one. He
became his own enemy. The ravines
were waiting for the sacrificial throw
of a bound martyr.
Between being and action
he was ready for the kiss of death –
from a ferocious opponent,
whose chest spread like a hood of cobra –
ready to strike. His ghost will walk now
on the clouds, days in, days out,
to read the black lips of blissful time.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 6 may 2014
So many times that I talk with You
there is a peace that comes into my heart,
its as if my worries suddenly do disappear
as if I am looking at the world with new eyes
and then I see every small flower
while my own fears are left to Your omnipotence.
Gert Strydom, 6 may 2014
Now that I know the smell of your skin,
and the soft touch of your body is known to me,
and the unmistakeable glance
with which you do look at me
it does look
as if you do love me more intensely
and suddenly it wipes out
all of the empty years in between.
Satish Verma, 6 may 2014
From the ramparts of a castle
a wallflower jumps.
A lynch mob discovers a prehistoric sex.
Silent roots crossing the deniability
endorse a fluid dynamics
of a scandal.
The fascination of a fairy tale makes
a lover seek the revenge.
He hates, he strikes, but fails to impress
the horizon beyond the galaxies.
Black laughters of fake seers
make an entry to plunder the stars.
A tremor in the voice betrays
the ambushed faith.
Now where to go, find the peace of death?
Time’s white hands are snarled in pain;
cannot write the elegant script
of surrender.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 5 may 2014
Sometimes its if my best friends
and even my wife
are set on another place
and do not hear a word I say
but constantly I do know
that You are interested
in everything that does bother me
and in the things that bring meaning
and does excite me.
Gert Strydom, 5 may 2014
So lovely on that morn
when our kisses were born,
beauty had joy forever
and somehow we did change,
but it did not feel strange,
I wish it to be never
much different from this
a fragile kind of kiss,
the flower wilts however.
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