Aurora, 11 april 2014
Throwing empty words on to a computer page
who would of thought of a humble android sage?
Am I a computer?
Do I not breathe?
Can I never escape the numbers,
can I not create a door to leave?
To carry on in a world that is made by baffoons,
does the lord enjoy?
does the lord enjoy the land that was once
bathed in such beauty?
Now employed by heavy shackles,
concrete jungles,
the sky is becoming a mystery!
Target the architects!
Before its too late,
I don't want to see children of children
Watching films of the has been
because its no longer a physical attritube
to contemplate.
For the myths are already myths - a steady lie!
For history only goes back
to a blink of Gods eye,
so can you just imagine in a few hundred years,
the humans will think that the blue thing in the sky
is simply just gods tears!!!!!!!!
Let us unite
and go away new
before the rivers are red
and black has become blue.
Aurora, 11 april 2014
Oh princess of the white sea
how i wish to return to thee
and watch your scales fall on the mortal beds
of all the virgins yet to be wed
Oh princess how I long to hear
your harmonic song of justice of the year
But years are a trecherous millenium
down on the blooded ground
Oh sweet princess please rise again
for love here is no longer found
We will cherish your chariot
if you fill this land once more
Please grace us with your melody,oh sweet princess
for we await the child that you are to bore.
Aurora, 11 april 2014
I realise a thousand dreams
when i hear the voices of your creatures
thinking in there daily woes
working by a clock that is not your own
finding you by the door step
of what they think is the devil
do spare me one last hope
so that this magic i may medel
May be they have found me
and watch me day by day
to pollute me like the fish and oil
and make me wander and stray
But I like being a box,
just like they like being a cube.
Shall i just start starting over
with no finish line in a narrow tube.
No light in the near distant,
existing in the present now,
perhaps I should talk to a fellow human,
tell them to stop worshipping the golden cow.
Gert Strydom, 11 april 2014
Like some roots anchoring the same big tree
in life you do constantly anchor me
at times when it is really very dark
your very presence covers me like bark
while in life you try to hold me sturdy
like some roots anchoring the same big tree.
Satish Verma, 11 april 2014
A twisted journey starts on wings
after the end of the road. Ambition
sits in corner,
nonchalantly and a tempest
hollers around the spires.
Broken down from parched ceiling
a mural turns into a mundane knife.
Lifts the rage,
of the fallen shirts
and starts a war with bleeding arms.
Light weeps on the shoulders of night,
I am not yet conceived in the womb.
Suns and stars
beyond the innocent years
have not crossed the boundaries of guilt.
Naked mankind sits on the banks of grief
after the futility of mourning
for death. A child rises from the shadows
of flame.
The eternal burns become green.
Satish Verma
Aurora, 11 april 2014
Hurdling in between love and fate,
my dear love sits in order to contemplate.
Her destiny awaits in chariots of gold,
but is this a destiny already fortold?
For does the white widow,
recognise and know its own shadow?
As it so elegantly creates,
a milkyway web of doom.
Who knew that creation,
would be the cause of such destruction,
and yet the creature does not realise,
that it is under divine instruction!
But alas the fairytale does not end here
nor there
or anywhere in between.
For perhaps there were to be a library
that only a secret key could unlock.
Would a countess such as yourself
be prepared to stop the time, before the time becomes a clock?
What would thee do with the words,
that could not be spoken by profane?!
And yet the ants on the mould hill,
still think those ants with wings insane!
Oh look how they fly,
but why would they want to be in the sky?
When the ants have so much earth down there,
look at the mould they have been building,
nearly all of there ancestors lives,
So then why would they want wings,
when they can have numerous ant wives?
But little did the ants understand
that one day their mould mountain of dirt
would be the main soul reason
for hundred of years of hurt
and when the earth has crumbled
and the ants have no home, once more
the only thing they will have left to beg for
Is for wings that will now seem to allure!
So now the ants with wings
become like angels,
in which plays the harp and sings!
If only the angels were angles,
in which the ants could bend too once more,
then it would be there own reflection,
that they could truly adore!
But now they feel alone,
inadequate to say the least,
the years of building up to save the earth
has left them with an empty feast
and so they pray to the ant angels
in hope of another chance
for there ancestors never believed in them
and now they are left with a danceless dance!
If only they did not have so much attachment
to the ground beneath there little ant feet,
For see how the air has changed now -
Defeat! defeat! defeat!
(Dost thou not strive? Ist thou not alive??)
Aurora, 10 april 2014
She glances through a lock of hair,
but do not stare,
at this wandering grace,
For the planets are forever moved,
by such an angelic face.
Neigh not the face,
that fills with tears and blood,
that sways with the winds
and predicts the armageddon floods.
Neigh not the face,
that screams in the dark,
and corresses the mirror with sin,
that prays to the lord:
"oh lord,oh lord, where have you been?"
Neigh not the face,
that loved neither sun nor moon,
and claimed that the sweet hummingbird
was too out of tune!
Neigh, that is not the face that I speakth' you.
My sweetest dear,
my whitest dove,
for the face I see of you,
is of the face from the above.
And 'though your veil,
moves softly throughout my golden lair;
I care, I care, I care,
I care!
for you, my sweet blossom
that hath yet to bloom,
I care for you.
And 'though your veil,
teases my every dream that is yet to be,
I want you to know
that although you are blind,
you can always feel me.
And 'though your veil,
marks the sorrow of your soul,
I am the one to lift it,
sweet isis,
O' sweet isis!
So lift I shall
and show you the world
through the eyes
inside the face ,
of the one I speakth not yet
the one that I have been saving from you,
to keep you within bounds of earthly grace!
So that no mountain may seem
too benelovant to lean on,
in the aid of such a mighty fall,
I do not want you to cry anymore!
As like boulders of olives, do your tears
fall onto my iridescent, omnipresent skin!
And like arrows, do your words shoot
when you call to me:
"oh lord! where have you been?"
"where are you my lord? I can not see!
Please, please, please,
please my lord, come and save me!"
In light I return and darkness I stay no more,
Here I am my queen,
saving you from your fall.
For if you fall, the world shall too
and the rivers will turn to blood,
rather than skies of blue
and the fish will float
and feel life no more
so set sail on lifes wind
and prepare for the child you are to yet bore.
Joe Breunig, 10 april 2014
Although I’m still clay,
upon God’s pottery wheel,
He continues to mold me.
Fashioned after His image,
He reworks this human vessel
to accomplish what He sees…
in the combination of gifts
that were previously bestowed,
into this elysian creation.
Mirroring Christ’s brokenness,
I can share in His suffering,
from fully embracing Salvation.
Free of the law of sin and death,
my unveiled face radiates His Love,
as I am ‘taking back the land’.
Living under my Savior’s authority,
I am forever grateful and thankful-
to remain permanently in His hands.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 5:1-16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 10 april 2014
In each raindrop there is a kind of magic,
magic in the falling blue-white thunder,
the thunder that in a flash downward flick
the flick of something about which I wonder,
the wonder that again brings fresh new life,
new life to where seeds are turned under.
The bright rainbow has a own kind of spell,
a spell of time when the hot sun blazes,
blazes in brilliance as all is well,
while the deep well suddenly amazes,
amazes with water that is clear and pure,
pure to the taste as heat hangs in a haze.
Nothing can the power of rain remove
as overnight the grass and the crops jumps,
proving the great power of divine love.
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