Bob Gotti, 5 february 2014
The Lord is doing a mighty work, as His Spirit does more than lurk,
As the doctors, for me strive, with their medicine, to keep me alive,
As the work of God may overwhelm, the doctor who is at the helm,
While doctors deal with my infirmity, that our human eyes can’t see.
However, The Lord knows and sees, each of my body’s infirmities,
As the doctors deal with the known, from the tests they are shown,
While the staff with this is dealing, God above is doing the healing,
Moving me ever closer to the end, of my present battle dear friend.
The doctor indeed seems impressed, as my condition is assessed,
As my condition betters each week, to bright, from what was bleak,
For I am closer to being healed, far from what was initially revealed,
Being told that in two years ahead, I would be much closer to dead.
But, new health God has granted me, just how much I’ve yet to see,
Now my health is being restored, through the doctors, by The Lord,
Slowly, but surely I can say, God is giving me more hope each day,
Hope as I see my Lord and God, leading the way with staff and rod.
In His mercy, He has shown His face, guiding me daily in His Grace,
As my Lord leads me in this trial, He’s by my side, there’s no denial,
He’s in the process of healing me, so that many other souls will see,
My Lord’s Grace, with His Power, as I progress, every day and hour.
(Copyright ©06/2011 Bob Gotti)
Bob Gotti, 5 february 2014
From the fiery furnace of life, we’re delivered by Jesus Christ.
When those fiery flames appear, our Lord God is always near,
There to lift us above that flame, all in the Power of His Name,
Protecting all of us from each fire, is our Lord’s heart’s desire.
As The Lord so desires to purify, in life’s fires, both you and I,
From a life of unrighteousness, fires allow iniquities to surface,
As we’re cleansed of old dross, In Christ’s power of The Cross,
To live for God and Jesus Christ, in our life as a living sacrifice.
When overwhelmed by a flood, we’re reminded of God’s Blood,
The Lord’s power at Calvary, continues in the life of you and me,
From the flood’s billowing waves, God reaches down and saves,
Saving us from the floods of life, is The Shepherd, Jesus Christ.
It is The Lord’s sustaining power, through any flood, any shower,
When the rains of life begin to pour, our Lord helps us to endure,
Holding us above the water’s flow, Christ desires to help us grow,
Through His Spirit dwelling inside, He’s with us in the highest tide.
Fires and floods, when they come, wherever in life, they are from,
Are used by God in this life, to conform believers to Jesus Christ,
Within the fire and the flood, we are molded by our Lord and God,
Being refined in the Image of Christ, to display The Lord in our life.
(Copyright ©06/2011 Bob Gotti)
Poetess Malini Kadir, 4 february 2014
Friend is like a ship
You drift through this ocean
Called life,bolder in grip.......
Friend is like a heartbeat,
When your heart has been
Almost stolen by your defeat!
Friend is like a kerchief
You slip into your pocket
To wipe away tears in grief......
Friend is a source of muse
When poetry fills your mind
Hoping your book will make news.........
Friend is like a shared cup;
Of coffee together;
After the cold of life's winter sup.
Friend is like a lost cellphone
You miss having him with you
Funfilled times;with pride shown!
Friend is in reliance;
When you respect him this much
Hope in continued alliance!
Friend is like a caller tune,
He is your identification,in your circle
In growth and in ruin!!
Friend is like a missed call
When you fail to reach him in urgency
Holds your thoughts tall...........
Friend is like a dark horse
When he hides something from you
Still he remains, a smile source!
Friend he remains till the end
No matter where your paths lead
For once your heart understood, the other too read.........
Gert Strydom, 4 february 2014
(in answer to T.T. Cloete)
As long as we are together
we can adore
as companion, partner and comrade
as friend and friend
and trust each other selfless as husband and wife
own enrichment
and when you do lie in my arms we become one
when love brings a magic power to lust.
[Reference: “uniseks” (Unisex) by T.T. Cloete.]
Satish Verma, 4 february 2014
Too beholden to water of life.
It hurts deliberately when you were thirsty.
You break the bread in reflective mood.
Who will climb the cross today?
The sheen was wearing off the smug faces
Civil war was starting again.
The declinist god was weeping soundlessly.
Someone shot the flamingoes in flight.
Militias have started the bloodletting.
Painfully I was collecting the sounds.
A new world begins on broken plasma.
Electrons have shifted their orbits.
A dog sniffs a freshly dug mound of earth.
Instead of a body a wreath was found.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 3 february 2014
When at the beginning of time
He determined the dimensions of the world,
my Lord God did already know
that I would fail Him much later as a sinner,
that it would cost His own life
to redeem me
and such great love I cannot forget
as His handiwork is written on each rock, hillock and bush
measured out right over the entire world
and impatiently I wait on Him to come and fetch me.
Gert Strydom, 3 february 2014
While looking as pure as a white lily
some wantonness,
a private, intimate, secret blessing
does now possess
your very smile, your eyes, your small motions
and your bright dress
while familiar, innermost, essential
you entice to a blissful potential.
Satish Verma, 3 february 2014
One unthinkably hostile debate
started in a colosseum:
a path to kill the clemency.
A comatose truth was listening to lies.
They were pointingly arguing about
the nukes option to bring about the peace
and prosperity on the strife torn earth.
Total anihilation will initiate a new world.
Troubled times; the failure of sacramental thread
to tie the god. The king presides over
the sweaty palms which failed the swords.
Deprivation will breed the contempt for theater.
Horses were ready to disobey the order.
Shoes were thrown on altar.
The eyes were everywhere in the wounds, stained
with guilt, never to celebrate the victory.
Satish Verma
Greg, 2 february 2014
Cringe the pharaoh maiden
The expectorate that lays within
To decimate the soul
Of the remaining ounce of control
Which if relinquished
Will make me more whole
Than you could ever be
I need the competition
Because the blue sky is not free
It is the lost attempts of a vapid past
The ghost of masters
Sitting silent upon the grief stricken raft
With wrath of ages
And unexpected wagers
To call hollow sounds into
The nights that don’t last
And when the first two verses
Are left behind
The nonsense become climactic
Like the rhythms of the Rhine
In which nothing is forsaken
And no soul can ever look
At the indolence
And poetry
The street fractured
Illusion
The type casted forensics
Of an experience that is no longer me
Cringe the pharaoh’s maiden
Hint silent at the waning light
For if the neon comes crashing down
At least the sound will implode
Keep quiet for the children playing ball
On the open fields with their fathers
Lay silent on the grass
Looking up at the golden flowers
Sit against a tree
And warmth brushes my face
With the embrace of a serpent
That has come to steal my soul
I exist only to let you down
To enamor the dull-witted and soul dead
With witty catch phrases
And to speak only of the witty catch phrases
To cut myself down in my external form
Perceptible to me
Through the eye glass of illusion
Seen by me
As the light that can’t subside
I try to die inside
And I know that one day I will
But the beaten child
Has grown too strong
To lay dormant any longer
And so I raise my head and cry out with a scream
I am not what I seem
This is my ego, this is my fear
I am the unspeakable
And so I can never share
…farewell to the sullen ground
Hello to the roots of despair
Satish Verma, 2 february 2014
Rhetoric had a theme
like crab-grass to destroy the lawn.
Fly ash had submerged the legacy of sane lips.
The river drifts between the broken walls
of binge soaring. Tension was descending
in the lanterns who were flickering hopelessly.
Was there any need of autopsy of dark secrets?
The terror burns the bed. You don’t get a wink
of sleep. Between bubble and sky, wrapped up
afterlife aches. You wear the blindness, then slide
in grey fog. The hypocrisy and violence will wolk
side by side.
Do not touch the leftovers. A vulgarity
of expansion! Step aside from the continuum.
I will wait for you.
Satish Verma
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
