Gert Strydom, 17 july 2016
When uncle Henry
(who had been my father in law at the time)
did beat the last retreat
on the golf course
Riana & I had to hurry
to Barberton to mother in law
to assist with the funeral
and Riana & I had to constantly wash the dishes
and Riana & I had to prepare
food and refreshments
for the horde of guests
that came to the funeral,
we had to help with the funeral letter,
go along to the veterinarian
with the beloved dog of the deceased
and I had to dig a grave for that poor animal
as for that old madam
(who had been my mother in law)
the poor dog had to be buried as well
on the day that I helped to carry her husband’s coffin
to his grave.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2016
Unlived death, that was me
waking in exile from the bones.
He said I remember your verse
a split open bloom!
Given away your gems to sea
ready to become ash, green blood,
you have killed a white cloud
now go for a floral burial.
He said I remained unpacked
like an open wound.
How far space will hang on the shoulders,
how far the sky will remain blue?
Snow will not melt I presume
I will burn my shirt with stain.
Life will not stop but conceive
the proud burning pain.
I stand today without complaints
grieve for my silence, ignorance.
There was a home I could not save
miles from water like bright dome.
Satish Verma, 16 july 2016
Night will feed the sleep
sleep will feed the night.
I will remain awake the whole journey.
Remove the mask and look straight
in eyes of evil dark and black
across the street.
Violence was lurking in corner
dogs were barking non-stop
somebody had shot the moon.
Give me hand I watch the blood
tricking from mountains:
beyond the border lies the corpse.
Which god was yours, which mine?
Let us divide not truth as divine.
Earth is tormented, suffering is same.
Unbearable was void, when father was away
stung by wasp of innocence
child starts crying.
Joe Breunig, 15 july 2016
In lifeless patterns of repetition,
the congregation of the dead assemble,
eddying around the Light of Truth;
lacking reverence, they sadly tremble
and cringe during the Sunday Service,
seeking loopholes from accountability;
after all, regular attendance grants
the sacred status of Church nobility.
Meanwhile, frustrated ministers hurl
their verbal rocks, in futile attempts
to weed out their spiritual deadwood,
unaware that their righteous contempt
reveals their inability to love others.
Some lacking understanding may wander in,
since membership dues may be optional.
Come join the Church Petri dish of sin
to learn new zombie techniques of gnawing
on the flesh of religious, blind souls;
with Bible clubs and tongues of hell-fire,
receive your training and go on patrol.
Most folks know that ‘iron sharpens iron’;
so come and let us beat you mentally down;
since we’re unable to mature any further,
let’s make sure that you leave with a frown.
Learn secret methodologies for developing
a critical spirit and a unloving tongue;
come fill the vacancy of front-row pews;
come and join us, while you’re still young.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Prov 21:16; 2 Cor 4:4; John 3:19-20; Eph 4:17-19
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 15 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.
Gert Strydom, 15 july 2016
When the early morning rays
captured the dawn sky
and it seemed
as if it is going to be another hot day
and the sun was changing from red to white
while trees did push up their fingers into the blue,
while the smell of flowers
did hang in a cloak around you
you did sit with me
and your eyes did distribute many kisses.
Satish Verma, 15 july 2016
You have nibbled and eaten raw
scratching by nails
talking of a pink rose syndrome
under the corona of soft spikes.
Someone talks to you in your brain
guiding you to guillitone.
Life was not worth any meaning,
when questions were none.
No one to resume, isolate green
from the grains of empty desires.
Your hand travels from thorn to thorn
to reach the unrelenting fires.
Made of eccentric obsessions
your house is far away. I smell
the yellow leaves falling, one by one.
It is still dark, with no moon.
Question will become one day, the answer.
The answer will never be the answer
We will remain confused, unclear
about the question and the answer.
Gert Strydom, 14 july 2016
Maybe it is a problem
that I am robust, purposeful and independent
as I can be no mirror
that only does reflect
your own humanity, your own thoughts
and what man is
frozen & stainless & mute
& shut & transparent & servile
& distant & aplanatic
in how he does exist
and at times
it’s as if you do view me like a mirror
when you comb your hair in front of me
does unclothe and stretch out your body
and do think that your nakedness,
the glance in your eyes,
the expression on your face,
your legs and arms
and your breasts
do leave no impression upon me.
Satish Verma, 14 july 2016
Could not hold it, put it down.
TIME.
The words forget you, pass by.
You remain standing on the brink.
Now, now, where to go?
Time avenges, walks on you
and you cannot catch the breath,
to fill the space between life and death
life will not move, death will not stop.
If not ready to live, death will not look like you
you will not look like death.
World changes every thing,
when seeing stops, listening begins
losing threads of me, between you and me
between me and you.
Something grows out of the mud
a new star.
Begins from end, the ending
of beginning. No ending, no beginning.
Timeless, faceless, nameless
groping in void, to catch the alphabets
Peaks are very frightening
Then where is the end? No end.
This is the end.
Karen Adams, 13 july 2016
Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że pobiegnę
Po tej rubieży
Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że zasiądę z Tobą
Do ostatniej wieczerzy
Chciałabym uwierzyć
Że ślepe szczęście
Otworzy me drzwi
I pojawisz się w nich Ty.
I wish I could believe
That I would run
After this border
I wish I could believe
That I will sit with you
Until the last supper
I wish I could believe
That blind happiness
He will open my door
And you will appear in them.
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