Gert Strydom, 8 july 2014
Destiny treads the metaphoric wheel
and its twisting track reels right across
all things here in my small office,
over the words that inspire my poems,
my whole set of mind is disturbed,
thoughts are lost somewhere far away.
Destiny treads the metaphoric wheel
and its twisting track reels right across
the being of my life and my soul
as if it wants to derail right here
or cannot grant any mercy for which I beg,
not even at times when I kneel before God.
Destiny treads the metaphoric wheel
and its twisting track reels right across…
Gert Strydom, 7 july 2014
To lay next to you
and to know that you do truly love me
when the lights of the stars appear in the dark night
have got great meaning when you do not say anything
and lay silent fingers upon my mouth
while I feel you heart beat,
are inside
and can have no consideration over you
when your eyes gleam like fires,
while we struggle gasping,
are caught in each other
and try to reach over the most distant horizon
while emotions gambol
and are caught in moments of pleasure.
Gert Strydom, 7 july 2014
If you look from nearby at a mountain
the peaks are hard and grey
but still it is as if the rough rocks hold a naked power
and you see the green plantation at the foot of it,
eagles that turn up high and suddenly decent
and when you look still near at such a place
then you see small animals clinging to rocks
and everything about you is overgrown and green
but from too near you lose the whole
that from a distance is picture perfect
and you do not see the peaks gleaming white against the sky,
how shadows play with the slopes
that now and then disappears in clouds of fog
and all of these things bring me back to the Creator.
Gert Strydom, 7 july 2014
At the beginning of winter
I have witnessed black frost
in sunny South Africa
destroying perennial plants,
have seen geraniums, margarets,
daisies and gazanias
that was in full flower
wilt at the bud
and I wonder if man is experimenting
with the atmosphere
and if the seasons
and all of nature is changing
by his mortal hand
and what the omnipotent God
who sets the treasure troves of the rain and hail
thinks of this?
Satish Verma, 7 july 2014
dark matters are floating
like bowls made of leaves
spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving
like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates
from rails, nothing will move now except
the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas
sitting in scorching sun, unshaven, crosslegged
waiting for realization to come, not to
them but tormentors, a milky way in ever
night, the dry wind slaps on the faces
to remind them not to sleep, the shade
of the Cacti and Acacia seldom stubborn
to give you the shadow of the blades, the
sun ultimately compresses you in the
waist- high grass of death trap.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 july 2014
I have dipped my fingers
in the blood of the victim
and asked for the version of the surgeon.
The precocious death?
Do I need another witness?
Who was trapped under the fallen tree?
Only the passer - by was hit
not the bulldozer
which comes from the palace.
After the rain, tortoises will come out,
parrots will be shot down
without any qualms.
Molten lava flows on the thighs.
I come before the symphony and shout:
our homes are burning.
Satish Verma
TOUFIQ UL ALAM, 5 july 2014
Assortment of colors,
Yellow outshining all.
Faces- old and young,
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Perhaps a ball is at hand?
Magnificent Wavy frills waist-down,
Shades of yellow playing hide and seek,
An ornamented gown,
Beautifying a charming Dame,
A Yellow peacock opens its tail!
Arms in lock,
Those fickle two eyes,
Searches where their loyalty lies,
Anxious to charm,
Or to be charmed?
Betrayed Attention,
In the stagnant air,
Of this ecstatic ball room.
Yellow intentions,
Gasping breath and already charmed.
Monsieur James Tissot,
Did you draw Madame Bovary?
Satish Verma, 5 july 2014
Between want and desire
few crumbs of words
will not satisfy.
Facts and perception
build a latticed smile
between tears.
Discreetly life catches
a miasm, a fault
to commit suicide.
When will the exile end,
of hope, a holy womb?
The stink was rising.
Amnesty for amniotic fluid,
fetus was dead
Godmother was crying.
Satish Verma
Joe Breunig, 4 july 2014
Do I need to repeat bad mistakes
of judgment as the prodigal son?
Does shortcomings of Christianity
prevent me from having some fun?
Having a head filled with knowledge
and a restless spirit yearning to feel,
when I’m completely pulled unto Him,
how much of my true self is revealed?
Born into this earthly realm of sin,
I begin life already missing His mark;
falling short of divine perfection,
unto His voice alone I must hearken
to learn all of my spiritual lessons.
Aiming solely for His perfect will,
guarantees many, errant missteps
in acquiring Joy’s lasting thrill.
All of my personal gains are fleeting
and considered a loss before Christ;
only the gift of His Salvation is…
the worthwhile prize for eternal life.
Being found in Him alone, I’m covered
with His cloak of divine righteousness;
therefore, my fatal flaw is addressed
and hidden by Christ’s eternal holiness.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 3:23; Phil 3:7-12
Hamartia: Fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
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By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
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