David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 20 may 2016

Autumn V

Chlorophyll recedes
in non-indigenous trees -
rusting aliens


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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 20 may 2016

Butterflies

Shards of spent rainbows
punctuate nature's story -
flutterings of hope


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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 20 may 2016

Autumn IV

A rainbow dissolves
as dark clouds gather at dusk -
monochromed landscape


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David de la Croes

David de la Croes, 20 may 2016

Poetry Explosion

a rainbow shatters
and scatters laughter and tears
splatters on pages


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 20 may 2016

When death’s fingers do me touch

When death’s fingers do me touch
do not let a preacher come
to pray for me.
 
I will walk alone with my God
who stands free from men
to meet Him face to face.
 
Do not let a doctor come
to take away the pain
or give the strain of tears
 
let me be to experience
the blazing sun setting in the west,
to see the moon rising in the night sky
 
let I live life and follow the course
that destiny designs
and still make your love mine.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 may 2016

Quivering Fetus

It was on. The heat! 
When you could not tell the truth about yourself 
something I would also not be able to tell it to myself. 
How we were deceiving each other? 
Why the death had come unannounced? 
 
The mode of concrete reply was not grim. 
Why did he go for an unscheduled rendezvous? 
otters are going to be ostracized from water. 
 
During eclipse sun entered the womb 
spurting semen will make the earth wet. 
One penetration, will it make a pregnancy? 
Go for the wash, wipe the sin 
from your face. Wheels of time will not stop. 
 
My worries are freaking out. 
I see a mob of stray dogs 
pouncing on a lump of pink meat. 
It was a quivering fetus!
 


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 19 may 2016

I wonder where is an untouched place that firmly does stand

Was the Son of God ever seen aeons ago strolling on South Africa’s farmland?
Did He take the fine red-brown earth in His omnipotent hand
where now are the factories, the furnaces and the concrete buildings of hell
and I wonder where is an untouched place that firmly does stand
while human beings are under money’s evil possessing spell?
(Still life is just a brittle, wilting, decaying strand
while we do in technological palaces dwell.)
 
Is there anybody who still does God’s countenance of love display
and who still does walk upon His righteous way
right up to the New Jerusalem
while the forces of darkness creep into the very day,
while God does keep the winds of war in check
or do I struggle alone along the narrow way?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 may 2016

Repeating History

My nativity at peril 
I wanted to stay away from myself 
seeking anonymity in inwardness 
 
Death had drawn a circle 
my mode of survival depended on 
the hopelessness of life 
The ant-hills were growing! 
 
The final assault will take place at night 
at spiritual depths. 
I will be seething with fake acoustics. 
Kissing the blue lips of dawn 
night bids adieu. 
I will move quietly behind the corpse 
A dark tribute to the mother of sorrow. 
 
Flames on river, my body was burning 
in blue waves 
I was repeating history.


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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 18 may 2016

You never came

You never came
and time caught on to me
while I waited in vain
 
and still you did not know
that I was expecting you
to appear out of the blue.
 
Longing gave a wish to me
to be with you
but even though you love me too
 
the pressures of live demands
that I am here and you are there
and at times live isn’t fair
 
and divine you are
but a human still
and what can I say
but how much I miss you.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 may 2016

Cracking Of Dawn

Death was the beginning. My emancipation. 
Death of pre-memory thoughts. I am ready to 
enter the sound, without a shadow. 
The fire from orifice, clouds, tears and 
cascading blossoms in a humming night. Love, 
clap and dissolution. The construction of timeless 
energy. Flight of future. Your resistence 
melting like lips, going beyond the chasm. 
A sculpted freedom for prophets. False disguises, 
some body else’s identity. Eyes were cool but 
tears controlled by remote pain. Mirrors 
spooking. A knife knows its job. It is better 
to slice the sky. Great thirst for hip 
graffiti, tattoos and sketches. To be seen 
and admired by dregs of social fabric. 
The thought surges like the heaving 
breast, hangs on the face. 
Death was the cracking of dawn.
 


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