Satish Verma, 15 february 2015
You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.
One yellow rose was opening up
in a very bright night.
I was shivering
under the leafless shade of hawthorn.
One surrogate mother
picks up the wormholes.
One tendril oscillates
to entwine the lover.
Stealthily, the sad moon slides
into the big bosom of clouds.
My eyes now search,
the bared, Venus fly-trap.
Dan Mazurek, 14 february 2015
Touch my heart and feel
the warmth of the sun.
Touch my hands to experience
a labor of love.
Kiss my lips to fingerprint time
in a memory.
See me deeply sign to seal
forever today.
Gaze into my eyes to finally
answer why.
Catch your breath to live
forever knowing.
"I love you"
Satish Verma, 14 february 2015
Wanted to pay
debts of gratitude.
There was a call from evergreens,
he was not ready to go.
Standing in pit of snakes
he was preparing himself for a random fang,
throat like a blue-bird
waiting for a song.
The solid waste of numerals
across the thinking,
developed plaques, while philosophy
was accepting innovation.
The authority had started
reading the couplets.
Glory came earlier
sea cracked into shells.
Debadarshi Panda, 14 february 2015
Oh Muse!
You came down with thunders of grace,
Smiling- raising voice of the lagged soul-
Stifled; illness that no more dare venture
An appearance into my courtyard, all blissful !
Stymied- the dry leaves follow lifelessly-
But no more-tide can turn to this fragility;
Your august arrival, worshipped with all faith,
Lord’s decree, I will -to stars eternity!
Flashes -but brightly strong- pen marches,
In dense crowd of prejudice- but trust,
Divinity has its trace- in your words;
Cold- will no more shiver, frost.
Quest-reaffirms, your words to guiding lamp-
Years of jolt-shattered morale emerges to light,
Of ethereal beauty, lasting with my memory-
The sun,stars; destined confluence, happily script .
Satish Verma, 13 february 2015
Sometime, somewhere I will break
into many moons -
an oblique answer to a terrestrial question
of a pale river.
The heat is on, because of the
fatal mistakes. Violence has pregnancy.
Walls stand alone without a roof
hauling the suicidal balloons.
Blue berries are becoming scarce.
Vision short, we cannot see in the night.
Crystals in candlelight become green,
images creeping tall under the trees.
Of total failure, the chemistry of love
patches up with arithmetic of aristocracy.
Spoils the show of neutrality
in sky, hurting the gods.
I am stuck with autistic heroes
in poor desert of a waking sun.
Death on grass will never show
the second birth of the pain.
Joe Breunig, 12 february 2015
O Lord, perfect Your sacred Love in me;
show me how to have the proper boldness
for conducting myself humbly each day;
only a covering of Your righteousness
will allow me to enjoy Your new mercies.
Teach me to appreciate Your divine Grace;
please insure that I’m not after Your hands
of blessing, but that I’m seeking Your face.
I’m diligently feasting on Your Holy Word;
sate my spiritual hunger and thirst for You!
You are the Bread of Life and Living Water;
I’ve experienced that Your promises are true!
Let me be fully consumed with Your Presence,
whereby I live as a Your, poetic work of art;
O Lord, when my trust rests in You alone,
I possess a peaceful and untroubled heart.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
1 John 4:17; John 6:35; Eph 2:10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 12 february 2015
One by one
leaves had gone,
several and many times.
Lone tree, standing naked in dry wind
was ready to walk.
In inward aloneness
to know the roots.
You look straight into the eyes of primeval
suffering. Under a cramped disguise of happiness,
behind the glassed life.
For the clawed, weeping silences
who had turned away from the shrill voices.
Night of burns,
and promised beach of immortality
shoulder to shoulder.
Satish Verma, 11 february 2015
Belonging
to unbelonging
was becoming a method
exploring the path.
In the backyard unpleasant fumes
were rising.
Nocturnal swoop of enlightment,
clearly becomes a festival
of yellow death.
Who was hiding the truth?
Flowering of the thought in sky
ripens cessation of grief.
Slopes and summits,
bring tears in eyes.
Solace of ancestral home
was gone. Bold ceilings were hung by ungodly fears.
Wet hands lift the body of past,
classical future was gleaming slowly.
Satish Verma, 10 february 2015
Partly clad
full moon
was taking a bath on hills.
Trees were waiting
for the curtains to rise.
Scented stars would make
giant scars on the clouds,
I would make peace with the sky.
Lids of human greed were laden
with golden dust, I was hoisting the skull.
Of a virgin god who did not
want to live for the blotched up creation.
The decline was obvious. Truth
had refused to climb
on the sky-blue, salted peaks of springs.
Body had arrived,
mourners quietly wailing.
Gouged eyes could not decipher
the script on the halved pyramid.
Sun was sucking the clay.
Herbert Witzen, 10 february 2015
O, beauteous petals, wilt thou not bloom?
’T is but thy faith which to too-honeyed nectar steals,
And but those combs thou use’st to consume
Which leave but trickéd drones and searching-feels.
And though no prick of rose, nor winded-sigh,
No poet’s moon nor pleasantry with flow’rs;
Will spurn thy stake from plucking-out thine eyes
Or caulking spores from springs and pleasant show’rs:
Still; thy Eternal petals shall not fray,
Nor steal with sickled-fancy from the wold;
Which, like the sun, doth always warm the way
And lead me to you, my beautiful, my soul.
For on that living bed doth give thee life,
The breath of love that gagéd thee my wife.
Kyle Stephen
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