Gert Strydom, 14 october 2015
At the local municipal clinic
the dentist rather pulls the teeth than fill them
and even if you have got a lot of pain
there is no compassion to be seen.
Satish Verma, 14 october 2015
I was not there
where you are.
Non-stop travel, half the world
to meet you.
Outdoors alone in my homeless home
tonight I will talk to you in sleep
from the smoking hurts.
Trespassing the forbidden lineto the drowned boat,
I am opening the dark sails.
Hope and the sea
apprenticed to pluck the shells
from the eyes, I am wandering on beach.
Gert Strydom, 13 october 2015
Slowly his swings his stick up and again down
in rapture as if it’s a magic wand.
When he makes the music notes to come alive:
great classical masters rise from the grave.
Satish Verma, 13 october 2015
Alone with an untouched,
untainted voice in me
I blunder into a rarefied
mist of thoughts,
listening, holding my breath.
A pause amidst thunders of vocabulary.
Gratefully the end comes
liberating the sap from earth.
Intense pain isolates you
from the drama of life.
Maimed by three dimensional
negativity you walk straight
inhaling the scent of death row.
The tapestry of pain outlines the path.
Your shoulders are broad with pride.
Nostalgia of a blooming tree.
Grateful to summer
gives you the aloneness.
Like stars we are sailing
in our separateness.
The perfumed gathering tenders no apology.
I always detested the comparison of heights.
Gert Strydom, 12 october 2015
Finely tuned against destiny
the joystick is taken
and not a drop of sweat does appear
while mechanically he measures indicators,
do pull back further on the power lever,
with the jets buzzing louder,
energy making the engines tremble
and with the brakes off the aeroplane gets an own life
and against the blue elegance of the heavenly roof
it’s only him, near to the Creator
of the endlessness
while he does blindly make adjustments,
hang for moments in the height
and the sun catches his circling flight.
Satish Verma, 12 october 2015
The search was absolute,
truth was not.
The shades of impermanence
and flowing emotions merged.
I stood between the reality
and tilting shadows of time zones.
The distance had created
metaphors and I was weary of pretentions.
The deep sorrow nurtured
a grain of truth
an essence of time.
Earth shuddered in the
process of integumentation.
I trampled on the grass
as if to find the ozone.
Impatience scattered the wings.
I smelled the stone.
Take me not to gloom of death,
the immeasurable pain
I will find the ultimate path.
It was not easy to uncondition the lips.
Mute genes had become my potency.
Unworded a voice rose in the east,
I squirmed.
Satish Verma, 11 october 2015
The nihil extract seeps into,
hungry roots of thoughts,
doubts the doubter.
I do not abandon the
flame of nil shadows.
Try to find the way back to home,
where I was born,
breaking my leash.
Equanimity suffered when
continuity bargained for
substance, while I opted for
emptiness where the space was enough
to turn the pages of life,
and I listened to the unhitched
voices of virgin lips.
Moon shadow in a self portrait
hangs on a tear
but I worshipped the sun;
Its heat melting my contexts,
entombed in scaffoldings of hope.
The crisp day witnessed
a miracle when no body
complained in black & white.
Satish Verma, 10 october 2015
An empty indulgence,
tortures the deep imagination
the immutable name of unuttered grief.
Gradually the fear of unknown,
takes hold of the lungs, spleen.
We don’t put the,
solitude for soul-search.
I am hearing myself now.
The fake overtakes the acuity.
Death looks the sacrilege from a distance.
The saffron clouds create
the opacity in transparent green.
Once we were all colorless,
full of dirt now; storing
our memories in empty hearts.
The vigil was over,
rains scattered the seeds.
The hours and days were littered
with bruised limbs of shaken faith.
No body held the banner.
The dark performance of believers
was sheared off by sharp lights.
Gert Strydom, 9 october 2015
When the roses are flowering bloody red in the garden,
the hollyhocks grow with their long stems,
when the garden is full of geraniums, irises and lilies,
when the maize at the back of the yard looks gigantic,
do get heads and reach out like fingers,
when tomatoes grow in their beds
and beans do stretch up on the reeds
then I see mother gardening
when the sun does shine brightly in the blue sky.
Joe Breunig, 8 october 2015
It’s a bright day, another occasion
for me to offer my praise unto You;
it’s an opportunity to be thankful
and to have my weary spirit renewed
with Your Presence, grace and mercy.
Quality prayer time keeps me alert
and helps me build the inner steel,
whereby I can faithfully reassert
my honest commitment to The Kingdom.
Reading Thy Holy Word, I’m well fed,
divinely connected to You, my Lord
and grateful for the scarlet thread
that binds us permanently together.
Therefore, I will speak of Your Love
and for the remainder of my life,
as inspiration comes down from above.
When I choose to pray, read and speak
Your Word, my soul profits from it,
with insights of correcting doctrine;
so touch me now, with Your Spirit,
as I boldly move forward in Faith today.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Eph 6:18; 2 Tim 3:16; Heb 4:12
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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