Bob Gotti, 5 august 2013
Praise the Lord, and only Him; praising others, leads to sin,
The praise of men must not be, found at all in God’s family,
As the Lord’s Name we raise, He alone deserves our praise,
All praise with a reverent nod, as we’re in the house of God.
Worship and praise go together; His praise is our endeavor,
Purposing as His people, to go beyond church and steeple,
Beyond just a place to greet, all believers who weekly meet,
To the place where fellowship, gathers around a relationship.
A relationship with our Lord, anything less we cannot afford,
We need reverence and awe, as God is big, so we are small;
It was God, who came for us, through His Son, Christ Jesus,
In His house we must reverence, not others but His presence.
God’s house should be a place, to gather and seek His face,
So as we’re seated in the pew, for Him, let our words be few,
Allowing God to speak with us, by The Spirit of Christ Jesus,
There humbled by His Grace, to hear God and seek His face.
The awe in God’s house is lost, and not without spiritual cost,
In the hearts of some we raise, knowing not priority of praise,
As Godly worship wanes away, in many of their hearts today,
Leaving the Body truly in need, of worship in the Spirit’s lead.
(Copyright ©02/2013 Bob Gotti)
Bob Gotti, 5 august 2013
Through every trial we can cope, comforted by our Blessed Hope,
A hope that transcends this time, founded in God’s Grand Design,
A hope that goes beyond this life, found in our Lord, Jesus Christ,
And in this hope, peace is found, as we know we’re heaven bound.
For our hope is eternal, my friend, in a time ahead that has no end,
We needn’t have troubled hearts, when one from this earth departs,
While we share the knowledge of, the eternal plan from God above,
For all those in Christ, we are sure, we shall see again, forevermore,
As all of us who are Born Again, know that Christ shall return again,
When in Christ, we truly believe, Eternal Life from Christ we receive;
Our dead body sown in the ground, with Christ above will be found,
Raised imperishable and glorified; to be home eternally by His side.
All those who die in Christ Jesus, shall return with Christ to meet us,
When we hear that trumpet sound, together with Him, we’ll be found,
As we will be gathered in the clouds, to be with God’s Holy Crowds,
When we leave this temporal world, Eternity for us shall be unfurled.
This Hope should focus each of us, upon the return of Christ Jesus,
Changed in the twinkling of an eye, shall be believers, like you and I,
But this isn’t the end of our story, as we will be promoted into Glory,
So with this Hope, sister and brother, we are to comfort one another.
(Copyright ©02/2013 Bob Gotti)
Satish Verma, 5 august 2013
Fighting with his ghosts,
intimate dirt,
disseminating pain
he was going home.
Finding a panic room
in pectorals, for numbness of toes,
lifting the door of burden
in dying vision,
his father comes in daylight
of old age, climbing the stairs
of bones, swaying
like an ash tree in frost.
One counts the annual rings of
old trunks, depicting
mighty happenings, black and white
green summers of choked life,
tasting one's own decline, filling the
cups of rosemary, a child learns to speak
thatched words of wasted birth in
tune with younger years of grief.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 august 2013
Shedding the wholeness of negation
you arrive: fear was sweeping the floor
when smoke screen of love was hung on
blue morning, you groped for a hidden
coin, lost in the woods of mania. Distinguishing
a chaste word, without thought, ejected in a
traffic of terror, you want to join a primitive
tribe where a motherless fawn will harvest the milk
from the breasts of a women.
Talking of a global sorrow into the green
eyes of a snake, an awareness breaks, sucks
you inside the hole of a wronged motherhood,
the anthology of big nails on the walls of
understanding, where the traditional colors
throw up the wasted bodies, making you think
tall, and you were running in a dark tunnel
climbing and falling to attend the funerals,
of moon gazing children.
Satish Verma
Alok Mishra, 4 august 2013
The Rainbow
‘My heart leaps up when I behold’
‘A rainbow in the sky’
Filled with seven colours, the story untold,
Hanging there still, so high,
‘So was it when my life began,’
‘So is it’ now I am insane,
‘So it be’ when I shall grow demon
‘Or let me die’ in my insanity, my venom.
‘The child is the father of man’
And how could I wish my days to be
‘Bond by each to each in natural piety,’
If I could not check my desires,
When I could not hold to the truth
That every father is the child’s prey!
Satish Verma, 3 august 2013
On the night when vessel
was empty
grackle did not sing.
For the sake of honey,
smelling a dead city, after
the rape of a daughter.
A black buck jumps on the
queen of roses, stoned after
the death of a green house.
A python had wrapped around
the child on bed,
come, save the red crying moon.
A soft drizzle wets the eyes.
I can see only stars -
disturbed by the winds.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 2 august 2013
I know the perfume that clings to you,
the deeper glance
that sometimes for seconds lingers in your eyes,
the long moment
that we are at times caught in each other,
every breath and gasp
when joy and passion burns the highest
and the tender feeling of your soft hand.
Gert Strydom, 2 august 2013
We sat near the steps of the porch with your hand
touching my own
your eyes sparkled like those of a wildcat;
I have not known
a glance as sweet as a lingering kiss,
saw a small frown
creasing your brow against the bright hot sun
while just being with you were the greatest fun.
Satish Verma, 2 august 2013
blemish of the needle in eye spreads:
do you still see the moon in the hills,
outstripping the aura of midnight?
resilient, waiting for a renaissance, for
a finger on the lips in dark, to read the
symptoms, feeling floral in wilderness,
the reclining Buddha will speak now,
on stillbirth of a truth in valley of lies,
telling them the god was sleeping
in sorrows of world, the spider looks like a
man's face, moving with large belly on the
dried corpses of hapless ants, the art of
dying, without pain, when the plane was
diving, splitting into two, unconscious of
pins and butterballs, in the mouth of mantis
Satish Verma
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