Gert Strydom, 30 may 2016
(after Judith Rodriguez)
Some devious fiends hold to the statement
that there’s two sides
to everything and to each viewpoint.
Some horror hides
in oppression in this very principle,
forcing to abide
as a true view sheer inhumanity,
anti-Semites killed millions gladly,
said they were only doing their duty,
and then to blame
they left a whole nation while they had fled,
in the great name
of patriotism, for the fatherland,
they brought great shame
and while they just meant extremely well,
they sent innocents straight to fiery hell.
[Reference: “How Come the Truck-loads?” by Judith Rodriguez.]
Satish Verma, 30 may 2016
Entrailes were sucked by grief
and pleasure bruised;
beyond the possible
I aspired to find
meaning of life.
A will to reject
unbearable waste,
I trim humiliation.
Time scares by taking revenge
breaking the inner serenade,
and I climb the doubts.
Heartache persists without revelation.
no bitterness descends.
I dip my fingers in blood
to write a flaming entity.
Tell me where the masks are assembeled?
Where the lies are born?
Joe Breunig, 29 may 2016
In my darkest moments, O Lord,
You are the illumination I need;
the lamp of Thy Holy Word glows
with Your Truth and I concede
the value of Your principles.
Despite my feelings, emotions
and thoughts, I’m still assured
that I can raise my perception
to conform to Your high standard.
Your soft Light, easily penetrates
the darkest moments of my life;
the narrow path, leads me straight
to You and Your unending Love.
Therefore, I’ll trust Your Word;
storing it within my heart insures
that my spirit will remain stirred.
Author notes
Inspired by:
2 Sam 22:29; John 8:12
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 29 may 2016
It was otherness which bothered me:
nothing happened otherwise.
Brisk and upright
He failed penultimately.
I still hear the footfalls
of circumstances,
of retreated sounds.
The hidden fire lights up
I squirm in pain.
The canopy of false rumors
falls on dirty road.
His gangrene was evident;
still he walked with a glow,
all alone, but listening to howling
and surveying the floods of tears.
A single argument
lifts the tanned skin
displeases the mob
and abandons the search.
Satish Verma, 28 may 2016
Sometimes death lives for eternity,
a captive of silence,
or in hidden journey to flesh;
unless the body betrays the falling stars from eyes.
Dying was an appropriate thing
a festival of freedom for veils,
to leave you alone with your morality.
This terrible life ejects you
on the gravel to become a stone.
The fall from the beautiful height
was meant for charity.
No body wants to die for a toss-up
with life,
for a secret game of tears and smile.
The true thing of despair generates
a darkness, whom I owe my light.
Gert Strydom, 27 may 2016
I have missed my country
and suddenly did land in another world
where everything is third worldly
and does fall apart and is backwards.
Before I could wipe my eyes
people are working in government offices
and they do believe that the day of tomorrow will come
to do the things that is necessary
with those that had been qualified
pensioned off early
so that everything is in a mad confusion
and I am lost on another planet.
Satish Verma, 27 may 2016
As if my inner sound was demanding
take me for
meiosis;
I want to break into many daughter things.
Half my genes
half my color
partly male
partly female
disowning the boundaries,
my lasting pain of grief and anguish
becomes an androgynous god.
I hear the voices in brain
I see the nebulous thoughts dancing
I touch the fallen tears
from faceless eyes.
All my thoughts are leading to void
coming from nowhere
going to nowhere,
I am water and I am sand!
Gert Strydom, 26 may 2016
Near autumn each year
shoals of spawning sardines gather
to travel from their living arias
(in the Southern and Western Cape)
along the hot waters of the Agulhas Current
moving inshore against the coastline
(up to about Durban)
before dispersing and travelling
back to their home waters.
Hungry gannets hover above the shoals
before diving from heights
of up to thirty meters
with wings half closed
piercing the water like arrowheads
gulping down fish
as fast as they can,
floating on the water in great numbers,
having lost the ability to fly.
squawking as if complaining
that they cannot eat anymore.
On the fringes of the shoals
huge numbers of sharks, stingray, kob,
skates, kingfish, tunny,
barracuda, snoek, tuna, and bonito lurk
in the warm water
but never going
right into the shoals
and ashore numerous anglers
are trying to catch game fish
all along the coastline
while the sardine run is on
and some people
gather buckets full of sardines
from the waves on the beach
if the fish dare it
too near to the shore.
Satish Verma, 26 may 2016
In despair,
beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams
in rimless eyes of wet faces.
The lake had been sending back
the white and black shrouds
everyday.
They were jumping one by one
old and young,
from the twisted planks
holding geraniums.
A warm prayer on the lips,
what was left worth enduring?
The innocence, the guilt, the shame?
Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness
who is going to have a last laugh?
Time is breathing gloom,
body is attached to a pole.
Gert Strydom, 25 may 2016
He lies stretched out in the sun
in the area next to the rugby field
that is still wildly overgrown at places
where a game reserve had been at a time.
He is safely fenced in,
protected against homeowners,
even some schoolboys
that wants to throw rocks at him
and like a wild animal
his hiding place is in the thick grass,
in the thicket and trees around him
there are birds that gambol
and some are building their nests.
He watches them somewhat hidden and amused
and he looks with mistrust
at the young man
that notices and calls him.
Ignoring the human he washes himself further,
does stretch out contently in the sun
and he cannot decide if he wants to climb a tree
or do want to find his prey in the gutter,
where he watches the world with his cat eyes
which yellow-green
does regard everything around him
and where he lies stretched out
he is the king of his own region.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
