Joe Breunig, 26 september 2013
With the inherent power of divine words,
I can wield spiritual swords of strength.
Although His presence can reside within me,
I must recognize His plan and truly see…
how I must conduct myself on a daily basis.
Moving forward with Faith in Christ Jesus,
I’m able to conquer all earthly circumstances
and rejoice in victory with my Lord of the Dance.
Overcoming fleshly struggles and fiery trials,
is but one aspect of the frail, human condition.
Utilizing my talents on behalf of the Kingdom’s focus,
I truly can fully recognize and fulfill my purpose.
The desire of God is to draw people unto Himself.
While remaining a yielded, humble and broken vessel,
the sacred essence of Christ in me adequately shines,
to reach hurting individuals… with His Light Divine.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
John 8:12, 12:32, 15:4-7; 1 John 1:5; Jer 31:13; Eccl 3:4;
Phil 3:8, 4:13; 2 Cor 5:17; Gal 2:20; Rom 8:9-10, 37
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 26 september 2013
To love you above all other things,
to at night lie spooned,
to know the beauty of your body
is a God given gift that I do not deserve.
Gert Strydom, 26 september 2013
There is gladness in your pretty eyes
but they are wounded
and are the colour of grass and dark ground
and I wonder about your thoughts,
see a cynical smile around your pretty mouth.
Satish Verma, 26 september 2013
in hired spring and naked thighs
the eternal sorrow did not go, it was living in our
memory under the gun of an unknown soldier. The
mania
had brought the overwhelming jeopardy of artificial
smiles, the swords, and ropes and different
tools of torture brew abomination, my clay
absorbs the shock, the abandonement of pain;
I reach for the icicles of veiled fire to burn
the generosity, the sacrificial amputation
of one's own neck in service of opposition
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 25 september 2013
I see five small sparrows bathing
where they wash their pied feathers in the drinking bowl,
and stand twittering with slapping wings
to shake off small drops of water
from their feathers
and think that God
hold His hand even over the sparrows
while I witness their joyful dance.
Gert Strydom, 25 september 2013
I could smell the thunder,
could smell the first spring rain
that was falling outside on the earth
and when it suddenly did stop
I saw a Cape robin twitter-dancing,
rejoicing about some more rain that was coming
and when the lightning later did fall
some more rain poured down
Satish Verma, 25 september 2013
On a wrinkled trajectory
the blood averts to abstract remission,
I am out of place in time and history.
Try to nudge the jumping ants
with their cyberweapons
ready to strike the antique nectaries
of judgements. The predators were
coming. Killing for long necks and
pinkish lips. You envision a period..
of dearth for visage, for phrases
of dead skins: I start dismembering
the past, contained in future.
This was a total disaster of unknowing,
adrift between the fingers;
sands of time, ungrained, unwatered.
Satish Verma
patty turner, 25 september 2013
are you blind that you can't see it?
the pain,
the suffering,
the tears.
behinde the mask i show.
am i good at hiding it?
or...
are you just blind?
i...i...j.. just can't
break the mask.
if you want my mask off
"THEN TAKE IT OFF!"
warm your way into my heart,
and take it off.
but..
would you bare my sins?
would you bare my pain?
would you throw yourself into my darkness?
are you willing to bare it all?
are you be afaird of what's behind the mask?
afraid of what the truth is...
a monster hidden inside
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 24 september 2013
We are born free,
Yet find ourselves,
Fastened with shackles.
Attachments confine us,
Inflict pain at times,
A search for solace sometimes.
We yearn to break free,
Escape and flee,
To somewhere unknown.
But can we live alone,
Or can we stay long,
In a place unknown?
Responsibilities summon us,
Relationships beckon us,
To bring us back to reality.
[Published in 'Boloji.com' on 23 September 2013]
Satish Verma, 24 september 2013
A toddler unrobes the secret
of death. Modifies the circadian
rhythm of honeybees, opens the
daisy clock. Cage of tears.
The virus had the acrid odor
of sulphide. Decay. It never happened
before. Spring was helpless. Primrose
forgot to secrete the nectar.
Stones were everywhere,
on beds, fabrics, eyes and berets.
The white walls were painted with
blue camels. Smiling?
A cold moon walks on coiled snakes
consuming the venom of incendiary itch.
The grey people were dancing on broken
glass. Blood will make the visitation.
Satish Verma
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