Ailill, 16 december 2015
Invoked by the eternal Om
strange attractors
attract from a sea
of infinite possibility
Mutual arisings emerge
out of parallel pasts
Each arising a note
on a chromatic scale
Actualizing potentiality
Metaphors of becoming
reflect one another through
a process of relationship
between is and is not
In manifestation
time celebrates the rise
and fall of individual waves
Out of discordant rhythms
one gathers momentum
A frothy foam becomes home
to impromptu jazz melodies
syncopated to love's eternal beat
like a spider spinning her web
everything interconnected
strives toward underlying
unity
World remade
through the rhythm
of breath
Time begins again
Satish Verma, 15 december 2015
The flame will not die.
I pursue the path of smoke
the virtue of suffering
gives the pure light.
The book knows my inside truth
and tells no one. I weep for the swallows,
I could not feed.
I lay one white
stone for each death.
You will scatter my ashes,
in the abandoned land
where silence walks
and words lie like microcosm
of contemporary hunger.
Life was a cupful of tears.
The voices always spilled challenging
the fidelity of flowing water.
The living legend turns in grave,
I pray for peace
I promised myself to stand erect
when the quake comes.
I will save the flora
and the grass of dying earth.
I ask for one more life
to clear the debt & bleach my guilt.
Gert Strydom, 14 december 2015
While the year hangs skeleton
in this winter
there are sparrows, starlings
and doves catching my eyes
and from somewhere
a squadron of weavers suddenly does arrive
that descends on the seed
that I have spread
like a hungry crowd out of the sky
that does sing jubilant
while they eat the seed
and I know
that the Lord does also
stretch out His hand
with wonderful things for me.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2015
Being was my forte,
where the words speak no more
a lifetime of black stillness,
the sunflowers sleeping.
The controller and the enquiry
freeze the ozone.
I repent again for all the sins of eloquence,
the rustling of leaves.
Take care of mood,
hoarseness and slippery speech
there is no room for pain.
A whole tribe of thoughts
scatters the lines to avoid
becoming, featureless and nameless.
Boulders are falling on feathers.
I am leaning towards eerie winds.
The other side of the door
was misty. The kiss of fire.
Mind wanders aimlessly.
The destiny breaks the steps
of sleepwalkers. They are falling in dark,
towards dark. A moon rides the clouds,
its smile becoming larger & larger.
Satish Verma, 13 december 2015
Let me put back
the rhythm to the song
of broken limbs.
To arrest the speed of sun-set,
for a meaningful dialogue
with the verse of moon.
The poison of floodlit city
grazes my house.
The innocence of the dark suffers.
The white stillness
of empty hands lifts a failure
my heart lives with a death
Intimately. Where the birds have gone?
I chase the wings.
The otherness of love,
the vulnerability of darkness
stays with me.
The thirst of ocean is very large.
Mechanical imitation
of aloneness for a ripe death
it is nostalgia of past history.
Deep in thoughts I run
for my green childhood.
A strange metastasis
from remote guilts. A rose
upon rose piled up
to form a signature mode.
Satish Verma, 12 december 2015
Eyes locked, slowly we drift
knowing or not knowing;
A conversation dips in laxity.
The time stood around, eye-deep,
unbelieving steel, which had bent
forgetting the fortress of body.
A narcissus weeps without eyes
waiting for the evidence.
A raging moon will not come.
When nightingale stops singing
how will I find your home?
Far away half-naked sun was hiding.
Ungrateful century splits the human
species. Genes are jumping out.
The watchman had left the door.
Gert Strydom, 11 december 2015
(after Christina Rossetti)
I gave my love to you,
but to my heart
you did not want to be true
and from my love you did part
and to me for reasons unknown
you viewed my love as childish, told me to wait
you made my enemy your own
and my heart was thrown to the whims of fate.
With my shattered heart to Him I did come
and found some solitude,
from all my wandering a home
and although my heart was marred and crude
His love was selfless
and His power filled my nothingness.
[Reference: “Twice” by Christina Rossetti.]
Satish Verma, 11 december 2015
At the dance of the naked moon
a single leaf quivers
I go into trance.
A fetus in womb turns.
The first appearance
of the magnitude:
a sad cloud leans on the horizon.
Hostility of the summer
is melting in blue sky.
It will never end.
The eternal soft music of silk
the death had been hunting.
I will call for a song-
I need a transcendental soul
to sing an elegy for my unborn revolution.
Give me a hand,
a presence, a touch.
My fading blanket of stars.
at the golden gate
was not a voyage
to total emptiness.
When the assault comes
I confront the sad poems
stained by blood.
A solitude of corners
is better than arrogant curves.
Joe Breunig, 10 december 2015
O my Lord, help me move beyond
this downward expression of:
confused, constant complaining;
where’s the reflection of Love?
Is my simple Christianity like:
Stale bread with a harden crust?
Is my sad, suffering condition
a spiritually dry, wheat rust?
Lord, let me be broken for You,
so Your bright Light in me shines;
in service, let me be poured out
like sweet, sacramental wine.
The dryness of my worn Faith
has become worthless rubble.
No one wants “bread of affliction”
as a prompt for past troubles.
The bitterness of sour grapes
is never a healthy sign;
help get me off this crash diet-
of this broken bread and whine.
Lord, let me be broken for You,
so Your bright Light in me shines;
in service, let me be poured out
like sweet, sacramental wine.
Will people stop offering
me their cheeses for my whine?
Please break the endless cycle of
this spiritual decline.
Stop people from offering
me their cheeses for my whine.
Please break the endless cycle now,
before I run out of time.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Matt 5:16, 26:26-27; Rom 14:7
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Joe Breunig, 10 december 2015
Within this circle of
the human condition,
selfish babies will cry
and most people will die…
hoping to see God’s Love.
Within this circle of
this Life’s circumstances,
it seems no one can trust
as souls are going bust,
hoping to see God’s Love.
Within this circle of
clueless Church families,
the Unsaved remain queued
up for Hell and still brood,
hoping to see God’s Love.
Being focused on ourselves,
we’ll never reach paradise;
we require each other,
as strong sisters and brothers,
with a true Faith that’s precise.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eccl 9:1-12; Gen 4:9
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
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