Gert Strydom, 6 october 2014
You sit with your legs astride on ground
while compact disks are spread out around you
searching for a song that you long for,
wanting to find deeper meaning in music
and through the open window the wind blows in
causing your hair to cover part of your face
and you move your head
while I draw you to your feet
and there are small devils that dance in your eyes
when you lips burn
full of promises under mine.
Satish Verma, 6 october 2014
I was watching a flight of swans
in a neat row over the horizon.
You were counting the pebbles on the beach.
Sun will shortly crease the clouds,
but first let us decide for our starving existence
how far is our home?
I cannot assemble the broken mirror,
the splinters have twisted images.
Somebody knocks out a tomb in sand,
and I wait for a giant wave to wash
out the traces.
The death offers the final peace.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 october 2014
Give me something to chew,
a savage numbness
is engulfing my brain.
Water level was rising
and the time of rented happiness
was over.
Pheromones were showing true likeness
in hate,
violence was brilliantly portrayed
and death was hideous.
Attachedment assumes a blast,
stares me in empty eyes,
hurling silence with invisible force.
Give me something to drink
like moonlight. It is very hot here.
I am walking downhill
to roll back the rock.
Satish Verma
Bunny Crunch, 4 october 2014
A four year old stood on the beach
Asking for a cigarette
Seeing my frown, she said with a smile
Daddy does it. He's my hero.
Satish Verma, 4 october 2014
Winter has stopped indulging.
Brown body of summer
longs for the full lips of moon.
I become saddened
tracking time.
Desire is now a temple
outraged by sun
starts a dialogue with winds.
Grey hills kill the songs
and empty life again fills in
the cargo of memories.
Silence is cool, ticks like a clock
breaks a stone
and melts into night.
I prepare to die again
amidst the disguises of fidelities.
* A Phrase from Les Murray.
Satish Verma
mvvenkataraman, 3 october 2014
Precious peace, I badly need
As that only gives me solace
Now, a sad life, I just lead
No joy comes to embrace
I hoped, but lost totally
I tried and was defeated
Fate failed me brutally
My mirth got deleted
Failure and loss often arrive
And present me with tears
From God, peace, I derive
But, stay with me fears
Lost is guts increasing doubts
Dead is mirth that is buried
Worry accumulates debts
Soul is crucified, not freed
My life just goes on and on
Dawn arrives just regularly
My peace and faith are gone
I pray to get bliss surely.
mvvenkataraman
Gert Strydom, 3 october 2014
(After Elizabeth Eybers)
To live unhindered in your house
you only need to get two good guard dogs
and the postman keeps his arm out of your yard
and every salesman will go past,
even religious zealots that want to convert you
only test their luck once
and those that pillage, plunder, poach, rob and dirty vagrants
are immediately warded off
and blessed you are in your own house,
baking what ever you want in your kitchen
when all knocking evils keep past
and do not know when you are at home
but when the angel of death comes home
then nothing stops him.
[Reference: “Voorsorg” (Precaution) by Elisabeth Eybers.]
Gert Strydom, 3 october 2014
She went into a rain shower
picked a geranium-flower
was in a kind of festive mood
and from getting wet it did her no good.
Drops of water trailed to her bed
and that flower was very red,
while outside thunder fell with a blast
with drops pattering against the window glass.
At first it was such a sunny day
and through it she was happy and gay,
but now she came to me still merrily
and very wet she kissed me
and all thoughts of the flower was lost
even if she got it at some cost.
Satish Verma, 3 october 2014
It was the hiatus
that underlying silence
of which I was hearing the voices.
There was nothing left to be said.
I wanted to levitate in void
to unlearn what I understood.
Why the distance interpolates
between the guilt and acceptance?
Leaves are falling in different colors.
Time avenges, burns the grass,
the lips, the retina,
the black walls and white numbers.
Inner peace will return
on the ashes of fallen trees.
Life will resume another journey.
Satish Verma
Joe Breunig, 2 october 2014
Last Saturday, I took an empty seat
on a park bench, with book in hand.
Feeling sorry for myself, I failed-
to notice others on this public land.
Disillusioned with life’s loneliness,
my heart and face both wore sad frowns.
From my perspective, this world was…
insistent on dragging my weary soul down.
While my inner sadness wasn’t enough,
to completely complement my pitiful day,
I was approached by a breathless boy,
who had taken time to rest from his play.
With unexpected exuberance, he spoke
to me, with his head oddly, tilted down,
as he shared an unwanted gift with me-
"Look at this flower, I’ve just found!"
Though all of its petals were badly worn,
I could tell, it had been a supple rose;
my spirit, desired only misery’s company
and not his presence of disheveled clothes.
I hoped that he would take his treasure
and leave- in search of solitary play;
so I imitated my finest, insincere smile
and intentionally shifted my gaze away.
Instead of retreating, he sat beside me.
“My flower is scented and beautiful too;
thanks for being my newest friend today,
for I picked this, especially for you.”
Patiently waiting, with tiny hands extended,
he presented the remnant of his dead weed;
I knew I had to take it, to induce his leave-
so I sarcastically replied "Just what I need."
Without an explanation, he held it mid-air;
then I finally noticed, for the first time,
that this happy, gift-toting child was blind
and I’m left more speechless than a boxed mime.
Thanking him with a repentant, quivering voice,
my streaming tears shone brightly like the sun;
while I managed to express some real gratitude,
I acknowledged that he had chosen the “best one”.
Unaware of the powerful impact that he had on me,
he smiled and joyfully slid down off our bench;
then he wandered off, as quickly as he could-
with a second, dead rose that he lovingly clenched.
So I was stunned, wondering how he managed to see
this woman drowning in her self-indulgent plight.
Through his blindness, I saw that the problem was me;
by his heart action, he blessed me with true sight.
From this moment, I vow to change and see beauty
in life and appreciate every second that's mine.
Therefore, I’ve decided to move forward with purpose,
for I can’t allow my fragile heart to remain blind.
And even now, I’m becoming emotionally overwhelmed
with this unexpected flood of tear-filled shame.
In retrospect, my manners were severely lacking:
for I neglected to ask- this earth-angel… his name.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
2 Cor 4:3-4; 2 Pet 3:9; John 20:29
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
