Gert Strydom, 7 september 2015
Where he walks happily in the garden
he watches a gecko big-eyed,
the entire world lies open before him,
his attention is attracted by ‘n big koi-fish
that watches him with large eyes from the pond,
he watches a gecko big-eyed
and he tries to touch the fish and the water is cool
while he catches a small frog
that watches him with large eyes from the pond,
he presses the small animal against his cheek
and it jumps from his hands
while he catches a small frog
and the fishes are circling the pond
when he picks up another frog
and it jumps from his hands
and he is splashed dripping wet.
Where he walks happily in the garden
when he picks up another frog
the entire world lies open before him.
Satish Verma, 7 september 2015
Between the blue eyes,
wind smeared a hot kiss
on forehead of moon.
There were no half-brothers to watch.
Swarms of thoughts descended
in zero hour of night.
Sadness was beyond threshold
a crucial insult to the arrival of time.
Now I was not going anywhere
I was afraid of myself.
The centre was disappearing,
in the statements of truth.
Pleas are falling apart in
global freezing, of collective brain.
I start sifting through the leaves
a gift of love, my fruit.
Satish Verma, 6 september 2015
Dumbly you come
to the brink of a precipice,
at the point of no return.
Moving, pivoting with
a huge perception.
Knowing that life was exacting,
you are alive,
alone with a conflict.
Your choosing was a miracle.
Seeking was not ending.
Death was an inadvertent mistake.
You lie down in terror.
Deep in the bones you know, you have to move.
There was no cloud above the eyes,
history was an aberration-
rags to riches.
You become yourself
when death defines a name
and I remember a sunset.
My shaking fingers
weave a drape of sorrow.
There was no patch of green
I return to myself.
joliana, 5 september 2015
znam już szelest liści i tych, które nasączone zielenią
iskrzą się w pierwszych promieniach słońca
zabawne, żywo podrygują w powiewach wiatru
tak jak ja kiedyś w swoich pierwszych trampkach
biegałam w zaułkach miasta
a, te ciężkie, nabrzmiałe od zieleni podczas lipcowych dni są parasolem
pod niebem z zielonym ażurem cisza i letni spokój
nadchodzi czas niespodzianek
kobierce z wzorem kolorów i zamęt
czerwień, złoto lub brąz z szarym będą przykrywać chodniki, ulice
w kolebce czystego błękitu rozegra się scena
coroczna biel będzie hulać i tulić
z herbatą przyprawioną rumem przetrwam zimne dni
spojrzę na zdjęcia, znajdę się w niezwykłych miejscach
tak się spieszę, nie mogę złapać oddechu
tak szukam wyjątkowych dni
tuż obok różowe jezioro i zachód słońca z rubinowym blaskiem
Gert Strydom, 4 september 2015
When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions,
he groans and can barely say a word
and I do notice that he is from another race.
I come upon an old man lying on the sidewalk,
his glasses have been slapped from his face and his possessions are missing.
The new car is shining where it waits
and I do notice that he is from another race,
the pastor from the local church hoots drives past and is waving at me,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is.
The new car is shining where it waits
but he lays wounded badly and is bleeding and knocked cold.
An elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up,
the poor man is barely aware of what is going on in the bad state that he is
and humanity forces me to take care of the badly wounded man.
When I am walking down Voortrekker road to buy a new car
an elder drives slowly past a wounded man but suddenly speeds up
and he has been stripped of all of his possessions.
Joe Breunig, 3 september 2015
Dear Doubt,
the promises of God…
are proven and true!
On His principles,
I regularly mediate
and thoroughly chew.
Dear Doubt,
though you resemble
a humongous mountain,
my victory is coming;
my praise is rising,
as I’m dancing in Zion.
Dear Doubt,
you’ve no lasting control
over how I conduct myself;
my spirit is renewed daily
and my holy sword isn’t…
collecting dust on a shelf.
Dear Doubt,
here’s a final reminder,
regarding what you’ll see;
despite my human failings,
His mercies are new everyday
and my God still loves me!
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Matt 21:21; Deu 28:66; Jude 1:22
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 3 september 2015
In the distance a church bell rings off the midnight hour
and where the night tries to fold her cloak around the city
I am lonely driving a motorcar
and streetlights, neon signs and traffic lights light up the roadway
but there is no darkness and everywhere around me its twilight grey,
a high apartment building is on fire
with fire-engines with flashing red lights that are rush to it
while a crowd of onlookers are watching the scene with interest
and here and there a couple that lives in it stands astonished
when in the distance the chimneys at a petroleum structure flame blue-white,
and I see the bright white fire of melting ovens
when I am tired and far pass fatigued
while I am busy driving back to my home in one of the suburbs
and now do not trust the tilting landscape, lights that rush pass
and nowhere there is a place of rest to be found.
Gert Strydom, 2 september 2015
She walks to the porch
and she carries a basket full of pomegranates from the orchard
while the brown dog is running all around her,
at the step to the porch her husband greets her without a word
and a pomegranate falls so hard that the pips scatter
and she carries a basket full of pomegranates from the orchard,
she steps into the red juice that sticky blots the floor,
she barely hears his damn it
and a pomegranate falls so hard that the pips scatter,
and he says that she is incompetent and clumsy
but her gaze is on the road,
she barely hears his damn it
and she hopes that a shining new car will on a day take her away
and docile she bends to pick up the remains of the two fruit
but her gaze is on the road,
where she is setting her scope into the distance.
She walks to the porch
and docile she bends to pick up the remains of the two fruit
while the brown dog is running all around her.
Satish Verma, 1 september 2015
Life gives you a sudden shock,
with ugly scars of mutilated truth.
Arriving becomes a failure,
a tilted faith.
Your eyes were blank but
you were seeing through
your hundred wounds,
spinning in the import.
Continuity of lies starts again.
From post to post
a sting was preoccupied,
fed on odium.
I had an indestructible desire
to set the throat free
from the obtrusive rust.
Love was not enough
a little bit burning on tongue was needed.
Polity has ruined
the green valleys
quietness cries in vain.
Fear in the mirror strikes.
I begin to run towards the sun
erected in my pain.
Times alter the image.
The cosmic bend is trapped.
Gert Strydom, 1 september 2015
If love is selfless
without the meaning
of power-play or greed
but do exist out of the simple
taking and giving between two persons
and is not bound to time or pleasure
but comes unequal and does flower as something
is identified as coming purely from the heart
then its has got a bond that is more noble and holy
than any other thing.
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