Gert Strydom, 25 july 2016
At 52 the nuts of my country are stripped
so that nothing can fit together anymore
and everything in my world has changed.
At work I have been retrenched
and I can get no other work
in my profession
(for which a person does need a university degree
or two)
where the past of other people
is now catching up with me
as my country has experienced affirmative action
and that just for some people.
Some young people who are already mature
do attend church
but are not interested to be baptised,
do not even live out the principles
of that religion
and young girls in mini dresses
that is so short that you can see their panties
do lead out the song service from up front
and they do pray to daddy God
while a older gentleman
do scream in a black native language
on someone that whispers in an emergency during a service.
People do walk over others from their own people
to fit into the political correctness
where they work at the police or civil service
and the Yin-Yang (good and evil),
the point of view that every person is a god
and for others the prosperity religion
that does believe that those who are prosperous
are the only ones that are blessed by God
is very popular.
There are many old people who are an embarrassment
to their children,
and they are suffering from misery and poverty.
Some young children have got to wait a turn
to eat or not
and I do talk to God
over all of these things when I do kneel down to pray.
Gert Strydom, 25 july 2016
At night I have the strangest dream
where all of my hope is swept away
but everything is not how it does seem.
At night I have the strangest dream
but in love you do vow and deem
to love me past every night and day
but at night I have the strangest dream
where all of my hope is swept away
Gert Strydom, 24 july 2016
(in answer to Patrick Cullinan)
At early morning dawn
eighteen big busses appear
some with Putco, Morning Star
and others with Amagolang signs on them
and on their top roof racks.
Everything is loaded from blankets,
wheelbarrows, chicken coops to primus stoves.
Durban’s South beach, North Beach
and Country Club
are packed with a throng
of black tourists everywhere,
who unclothe right there in public
and swim in all colours of underpants,
in white, cream and pink bras and panties
with black nipples and private parts
shining through when wet
and some old black grannies fill bottles
with sea water and a bit of sand
believing that it’s good medicine
while some chickens
in a great tumult of noise
are brought out of a cage,
are beheaded with a shining axe,
are plucked and on tent poles
spit fried on the beach.
Some men and boys
pull their pants down
and urinate near to a water tap
while others wait in line
at the toilets which are filled
past capacity.
[Reference: “The beach, the evening” by Patrick Cullinan.]
Satish Verma, 24 july 2016
Meditation was futile.
He turned his back
from the green prayers.
The state had made a mockery of his love.
The words were not clear
written on the periphery of pain.
He fathered
dust to dust, his light
folded his trembling hands,
lying on jaundiced bed.
Syntax was rising.
He stood alone amidst landmines
malice for none, beast and history.
The stones were falling from sky.
The punished was partaking the blows,
where he was
others were absent.
Joe Breunig, 23 july 2016
Planted by the river of Living Waters,
I remain rooted and grounded in Christ;
He provides for my thirst, my hunger,
my Salvation and my everlasting Life.
With the foundation of Biblical Truth,
I’m rooted and grounded in the Holy Word;
the application of its principles gives
my heart hope with peace that’s assured.
When walking in holiness and rectitude,
I stay rooted and grounded in God’s love;
His Essence softly embraces me with grace,
as new mercies stream… from Heaven above.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Prov 12:3; 2 Sam 22:2-3, 47; Psa 1:3;
Rom 3:22; Lam 3:22-23
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 23 july 2016
O Lord, my heavy heart hurts
and my tongue can’t find words
to articulate the inward pain,
as my spirit struggles to avert
reiterations of disappointment.
My thoughts of being distraught,
exhausted and overwhelmed steal
the inner peace of my contentment.
I’m humbled by my circumstances;
now I’m casting my cares upon You;
I’m reaching for Your rest, yoke
and peace, to have another chance
of moving forward with Your Kingdom.
Refresh my spirit with the essence
of Your Presence; grant me the grace
to overcome… these current symptoms.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Pet 5:6-7; Matt 11:29-30
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2016
Do not knock out the water from the eyes,
each dropp is temple
each dropp is death.
Veins were becoming darker
friends disappeared overnight.
A family comes to squat on grass
to scrape the souls of forefathers.
I become puzzled of failed truths,
of guilty nasturtiums fashioned on graves
gathering the human failures.
The deeds and the theatrical prisons
of homes. Anguish and sorrow.
Learning - sucks the beautiful
scarves of splashed deceits.
Into the future you move,
glory or doom? No certain payments.
You have not forgotten the false commitments.
steven cooke, 22 july 2016
God cannot intervene in sovereignty
and the boy will plead no innocence.
Seedlings cannot control the wind,
in birth the Oak has called their name
a command from the forest unseen.
A biblical sandstorm unleashed by unworthy souls
Will scatter this seed
that a millennium of kings could not see.
Time demands the old to look away
For Medusa’s face will give the peace.
Hope now resides in young men’s eyes
and the currency at stake is dreams.
These are the orders of man.
As the desert celebrates the rain with life
and the Eskimo gives reverence to flesh.
That is the natural dignity of things
It was this harmony that created the ark,
a speck of light in the darkness
that gives meaning to the stars above.
But war is the Cancer unseen
flowing in the veins of weeds with mortal power.
Weeds whose future is locked in vaults unseen
hypnotised by the allure of possession
hiding their gluttony in papers power.
A confession that only the executor will see.
The poor will be tried in combat,
existence will see them fall.
To defend history with mothers child,
and use our great Cities to forge
the end with steel and bullet.
All bought with Slaver’s wealth and empire.
Actions that will tempt the heavens
with sparks that ricochet off the anvil of God.
So even the lost alien observer
will feel this pain of mankind.
These seedlings cropped by lawnmowers damned
Scything through the spirit of man.
And perhaps the crying mother will find comfort
that the greed that underpins all wars,
will see this Judas priest .
This paper with devils desire
that feeds a global asylum,
in cubicles of generic concrete
waiting for the illusive pension from life.
Will find the ark that prophets seek.
A truth that transcends all religion.
Heaven declines your currency
wealth is a mortal thing
your fee is to the earth
and that is the remembrance of you.
The cry of the swift
gives Gods speed to assassins flight.
A mirage of summer
that avoids the artists brush.
Natures fly has devoured this sin of man
and sacrifice is given,
to the voyagers of the sky
converting the souls of men to flight.
And perhaps in this act ,
humanity will find redemption.
And the boys that died unseen
will finally see the beauty of creation,
high above the pain below.
Screaming on the wings of freedom
A truth reserved for God
and a dead boy’s dream.
Gert Strydom, 22 july 2016
Where star systems do disappear in the nought,
far away from our earth’s atmosphere
where nebulas, planets and stars shine
and dark holes absorbs everything near,
even past the burning jaws of hell
and where space does collapse into the abyss,
where solar systems form and get life
the omnipotent Lord God builds his fortress and His stronghold
and time, distance and space do make no difference to Him
when He comes to true salvation in the depth of distress
and His sovereign holy omnipotent righteous will
commands Armageddon and the jaws of death,
does order the spark that becomes thunder, the drops of rain
where on His judgement-seat He does judge and bless everything.
Satish Verma, 22 july 2016
The things which did not brother you,
like crossing the crowd unspoken.
Long pauses between the questions,
halting silences between frenzied wails.
Flesh stayed untouched by hand,
center of controversies.
I still speak noiselessly, for urgent whispers,
time for exit has come.
The fog now deepens in eyes
and then a cloud bursts.
Trickling, when you bend backward
to wet the floor of grass,
which stiches the earth.
Winds will not expose the naked skeleton
consciousness now hiccupps
crumbs fall from the table.
It was not me
It was not me.
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