Satish Verma, 8 january 2017
It was a slant love.
Back to back,
lips to lips.
Lethal and dark
strong yet delicate
like spider's web.
A dark side of the moon
sending conflicting
signals to bacilli-
of dirty lane, pink
and blue. My pug
licks the toes.
The pugmark on
green body. I am now
flowering. Hydrangeas.
•
The primrose half-asleep
Calendula was burning
in veins.
Unisex. The clenched
fist of a desire. I will
not accept a half-lip.
The chaste tree was sending
a bouquet of
steaming pistils.
Where the sun will sleep
tonight? Till the love-making
was over on tangerines.
The loose skin now
invites the red ants, crawling,
wearing your nails.
Satish Verma, 7 january 2017
Sitting between the knees,
I am being bathed by intense anxiety
and fear of harsh light.
A canopy of doubts
confronts the dignity versus anarchy
for a watchman
who will not dare open-
the vault of truth. A fatal
ire of imagination puts him
to dire need of salvation.
Was I moving from the wrong
side of history in my zodiac
to change the drooping eyelids?
Death opens my door for a shortwhile
and then walks away
after watching the transparencies.
•
The masks come and masks go.
Cracks do not disappear.
Either you destroy me,
or my inside will have
a singingbird,
closing the golden window.
The hardening of atereies.
Tension was rising
around the absence.
Who was the arbitrator
between dog and lamb?
The weather was ripening black currants.
Scott Clark, 6 january 2017
Meandering in this timeless age
Soft spoken sage.
Each day – a page
Never read
Forgotten
Written- none the less.
Wandering through Cronus ‘ realm
Lying discreet under Ouranos Elm.
In wit – dull yet overwhelmed
Enough said
Trodden.
Some thoughts I cannot express
and others suppress
Avoiding bigoted confronts – they impress
They - Narcissists
Me – Anarchist
Nether – Antichrist
Sign in / sign out
Satish Verma, 5 january 2017
Sitting between the knees,
I am being bathed by intense anxiety
and fear of harsh light.
A canopy of doubts
confronts the dignity versus anarchy
for a watchman
who will not dare open-
the vault of truth. A fatal
ire of imagination puts him
to dire need of salvation.
Was I moving from the wrong
side of history in my zodiac
to change the drooping eyelids?
Death opens my door for a shortwhile
and then walks away
after watching the transparencies.
•
The masks come and masks go.
Cracks do not disappear.
Either you destroy me,
or my inside will have
a singingbird,
closing the golden window.
The hardening of atereies.
Tension was rising
around the absence.
Who was the arbitrator
between dog and lamb?
The weather was ripening black currants.
Satish Verma, 4 january 2017
Butterfly interrupted.
Fear grips the flowers
eaten by the winds.
I seek the guilt for
not walking on the dunes
to build a sky.
The cracked roof
lets in the rain. I
drench my driftwood.
One day a god will sit
on my altar to speak
to ailing mother-
earth hauling away
the burden of waste
of human verbiage.
Satish Verma, 3 january 2017
In culture of counterfeits
a snip of intelligent gene
brings the pink tears
for the brown eyes.
A virgin goes for a spade
in the naked sun.
Let me think of polymorphism.
Can there be an answer-
for oblique questions?
Can this tottering frame live?
Life can still stalk the death
and stand for the body in the sack?
Fielding the enquiry about race -
gap, you said the walls
are crumbling. I read the message
half-believing.
As a whole, the glory lives.
Is that true?
•
The gentle rain falls on
the emaciated Buddha.
Stand out from the controversy.
A foam-born goddess will
counterpoise the questions.
The grievers are sitting
in a circle for the dying moon.
The charred breast of earth
sends the flames.
Who has closed the window
of morning glory? My blackened
words are traveling fast
to reach the stars. I am
held in a shadow.
POEWHIT, 2 january 2017
Gamble and roll all day.
YET, I have no income pay.
On a bench my home life.
Hook she does, such a good wife.
Let me play this molded image part.
From T.V. ads - to multi-multi-marts.
All day long in a haze.
Crawling sometimes in a maze
The herded sheep - all wool gone.
Addictions grow - new tattoo on arm.
GOLD plated chain around neck.
Got that itch - joker in the deck.
Around the block again
Down is up now - times bend.
Illusions live on T.V. ways.
Church door locked - stolen pay.
Where is GOD ? all is lost.
Overdose time - the new host.
All growing dark - real slow.
DOWN TO HELL - LAST ROLL - HELLO.
from my poem book DREAMS 3
Satish Verma, 2 january 2017
When the sun goes down bleeding
beyond the hills yonder,
I will meet you under
the acacias.
As a souvenir I will keep
your lips in my books for history.
As a gift I will give you
my tears.
This desert of hate has bleached
my fingers, bone white.
I cannot write a monologue
of death in waning light.
I wake to sleep in blasts.
My palms hold out the great silence.
Satish Verma, 1 january 2017
Knowing too much
was painful.
Shedding the fear, we were
disappearing in each other.
The rioting has spread
between deathless principles.
Unborn was
the sadistic attack-
sleeping on roses. There
was hidden sex in the pricks.
I made love with
the bones-
unthreading.
I will not borrow
the colors of moon
now.
Satish Verma, 31 december 2016
What was the prophecy of
a slow moving floating name?
To hang a spy from the beam?
Your face lits up.
The world was translating
the labate grief into small mirrors.
A seed explodes. A magnetized
book of conduct is slapped on your face.
And you start reading the script
in darkness in a beautiful retreat.
The approaching night engulfs
the moon. An anonymous fear
takes hold of this moment before
disappearing in an abyss.
You stoke a desire to collect
the immortal blues and headless clues
and we crawl on the sands of time
breaking the silence by our drones.
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