George Krokos, 31 march 2015
To look about and find fault with the world blaming God is so easy
but to look within ourselves and eliminate the real cause is queasy.
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George Krokos, 31 march 2015
Where true love abounds there the heart is awake
and one can really experience love for love’s sake.
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George Krokos, 31 march 2015
Great surely is the gift that bestows knowledge to you
and greater still if it guides one on the path that's true.
That person who has knowledge is the one of real worth
and worthier still if it is wisdom beyond this human birth.
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George Krokos, 31 march 2015
The best things in life are said to be free
and that money doesn't grow on any tree.
But then what has this got to do with either you or me?
when this life includes all things making up our reality.
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George Krokos, 31 march 2015
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes, it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came across and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
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Satish Verma, 31 march 2015
Watching the charred remains
of the toys
you want me to search for another house.
Eventually I decide
to go for a voiceless door.
Who was calling whom?
Eternity hurts me.
I want to come to a stop,
pause for the evening
and climb up the hearse.
A howl is waiting for me
to engulf me in myself.
The blind statement will sit as a judge
and decide the fate of the key.
I cannot open the lock!
steven cooke, 30 march 2015
(World War One Poem)
Field OfDreams
The World has stated our freedom,
the worms shall share a soldier's fear.
To look above my trench
is to be a thief in the night.
Life shall lurk, afraid of what is above.
.
My brothers wait for their moment
the maverick shell will deal the deck.
The queen of spades shall flirt with all,
hoping to sear our blood against this iron of hate.
War treats victims with the vindictive pain of foe
for non are welcome to this battlefield.
.
The steam from burning bodies is wine to the party,
this thrill of reality a true Russian roulette.
A link between man and beast,
for we all take part in this unifying glory of slaughter.
.
Refugees are we
the artists and the poets,
fraudsters and scam artists
We manipulate waist paper and propaganda,
for the legacy of death is ours.
.
Bully beef is king for contentment is rare,
we give thanks to cattle sacrifice.
I share existence with comrades temporary,
my ghosts exist In Gods lungs.
Their memories haunt my sanity
the last sinner's refuge to comrades condemned,
for we shall never tell the truth.
.
We are and were common men,
obedience is what we do.
Threatened by a lieutenant boy,
but all will cry this night.
.
No home shall know this fear,
for we are the blood of England.
Our betters will try and sanitise our demise
in poppies and salutes,
which will heal in public memory,
but poppies are meant to bloom
not to fall from cathedral skies.
.
Pour our blood on sacred earth,
drink, disciples of this last supper
for our humanity resides in you.
Paint your galleries in gallant charge
and hold the hand of fallen stars.
Unknown corpse shall not linger in
the spirit must moves on.
.
Life is fleeting, the logistics of killing a fact.
Blood will dry before a baking sun
or hide in in monsoons quagmire
and somewhere in the lost,
lies a forgotten smile
a lover's heart and a dream
of a generation gone.
.
Dreams belong to our time,
and forever is a deity dream.
Do what you will with this gold.
Fill your coffers with tomorrows hunger
for harvests will come again.
.
Our final moment has arrived,
a cold micro second within a distant universe.
We are ready to leave this trench,
talk is quenched by silence.
.
The voice of shell will play the stage.
Maim and confirm the kill,
in the light of demons
and give your applause to God.
.
Blood will sign the death certificate
and the reaper will overplay his hand.
An easy day for him, for this is the tsunami of man.
The reaper wil dance on the corpses surrendered,
though he still has to tango with flies,
for they have no respect for him.
.
The lead will rant a blazing tune
like lovers ill matched,
arguing who shall live or die.
.
Daffodils felled for market,
a mothers day greeting in the morning post.
And the milkman will deliver the milk
to doorsteps old and new.
.
The tears will be washed in corporation water
for the lead pipes have not yet been stolen,
and the trams pass by oblivious.
For grey faces dead read the law of man,
humanity need another day.
Another hero insanity dictates,
for tomorrow promises to be
another glorious day.
Irena, 30 march 2015
If I could close my eyes
It would be to see you
If I could change my skin
It would be to touch you
Never yours
Never mine
The sky is just a blue paper
spread above our heads!
Satish Verma, 30 march 2015
I don’t belong to me,
to you, to her, to him.
Who are you, I ask myself
again falling in love for a tender shoot,
uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners?
I was watching a small birdie
hopping against a mirror, cracking the beak
to kill a rival.
She was pulling at my arm
white death in red scarf.
This is for you my fellow-traveller,
a beautiful sector of my hidden garden,
where I have permitted you to come for a walk.
Hand in hand we will watch the peerless evening –
sitting on the wings of gulls.
Will you like to break a promise
before I implode on the moon?
You light the earthen lamp daily under a tree,
to possess me, trap me, digest me. Voicelessly
I melt into smoke, fly away in small huffs.
Satish Verma, 29 march 2015
Why are you packing up for final journey?
I am not getting the signals from the stars
through the amnesia. The moon will rise
on the desolate landscape of broken dreams
A shudder gives away. You always pursued incompleteness.
So the striving continues, for wholeness,
without sitting in meditation, remaining restless,
churning, agitating, creating comets on the lips,
touching the tulips, red roses, scented air,
traveling all alone through the black memories.
Talking to yourself in emptiness, wading in the
green eternity to find pure, unblemished truth,
the secret of eternal youth. Which fear had
perverted my vision? Why should I be afraid
of meeting you in me? Cannot I maintain my.
Integrity? The wheels are moving and your
gifts are lying unclaimed. Where do we meet?
No temple is safe. A foreign land where the
clouds bleed and sun unloosens the threat,
I will seek to close the circle.
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