Joe Breunig, 5 december 2013
She was in a panic; her husband was dead,
while the fear of dread had filled her head.
The local creditor wanted to enslave her sons;
she desired to keep her family from being undone.
She observed the seriousness of her situation
and sought the prophet for an inspired solution.
In their meeting, Elisha asked about her resources,
to determine a course of action, for him to endorse.
“With my spouse gone, my finances have been despoiled;
all that is left, is but a small container of oil.”
“Listen carefully my sister, and I’ll instruct you
with the needed wisdom, for your divine break-through.
Seek out your neighbors, for many, empty pots and jars;
be diligent in your search, with friends, near and far.
Once you have completed your first task of collection,
lock yourselves inside, with the jars in your possession.
Then take your original vial of olive oil and begin to pour,
filling each, empty vessel, behind the safety of your door.
For once you start, you will see the blessings of God flow,
according to your level of faith, His grace He will bestow.”
One at a time, she filled a cleaned vessel and set it aside;
when she was finished, her and her family were teary-eyed.
Upon further instruction, she sold the oil, paid her debts,
and was thankful, that their future needs were… completely met.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
2 Kings 4:1-7
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 5 december 2013
Sometimes I do ask for a bit of mercy from you,
to hesitate when you do not immediately understand
and to keep at mind
that wherever life goes
I do love you out of the depth of my heart.
Gert Strydom, 4 december 2013
Like a fragile cosmos flower
you came unexpectedly into my life,
before I knew it I did fall in love
and now you turn my days over and over.
Gert Strydom, 3 december 2013
As a mere child I played the marigold game
and pulled off and did divide
the yellow leave one after the other
but now that I have got you
I do not want to determine your love like this.
Everything in life I want to share with you,
I cannot and do not want to forget you
and what does flowers know about true love?
Satish Verma, 3 december 2013
Today gives me an ethernal hurting
of the raging night, my moon had crashed
on the wings of flamingoes
While saying farewell to crying winds of the
creek when waves slapping sideways on crazy
shores of silence, another watchman of sweets.
Impared longing till it starts burning
under the eyes, so I am the priest and I am the god
of wasteland incisible in drifting dust
Of voicelessness on the doors of schizophrenia
in order to stay dane amist the freedom of violence
of uncaught heydays of drag queens in transgender
Era of dragons and quivering flash of tempers
between breasts of hills in a green sky it would
be sleepless mystry of gullible hounds
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 2 december 2013
When the grey days of winter loose their colour
and the golden sun at springtime sits in the hazy blue
then I can hear weavers, sparrows and doves
that does twitter and coo
and then you are in your glory my wife
when you laugh happy like the summer-sun,
when your fingers pull out weeds
and plant seedlings of new flowers
and like a goddess from mythology
you then hold the green
of your own small world in your hands
and then I do realise
that our love also is continually sprouting
and do flower without questions,
that the days of our lives
stretch into each season
and up into distance
but that our love is perpetual
and can even flower in the worst winter.
Bron Dayvid, 2 december 2013
I wonder if she thinks about me
A selfish thought indeed
As if I was ever that important
As if I didn't wish I still was
But the mind forgets what the heart obscures
And we have lost more than touch
Time - my wonderful companion has become a mortal enemy
I wonder if she still thinks about me
A selfish thought indeed
Because I only think of her in moments like this
A fleeting feeling that can't be trusted
So infectious and corrupted
I wonder if she still thinks about me
In the morning or before she rests her head
I wonder if I cross her mind even though another may lie in her bed
I don't dream about her
But I slip sometimes and my mind runs
The thing I desire has no reality parallel to this one's
But again
I do not dream about her
Though I am in a dream
I wonder if I'll wake
I wonder if she dreams
I wonder if she thinks about me
Maybe I should call
A number that is no more known then she
A 5 a 3 I can’t recall
I wonder if she still knows mine
I would answer if she did
I wouldn't know it was her but I'd hope it would be
And even if it wasn't I still would hope
That she thinks of me
At least once
Because sometimes I can't stop
And I know it's selfish because I know she never had a choice
Only mine only me
I wonder if she still thinks of me
And if so
I wonder if it's a positive thought
Or was I a mistake
Surely a thought I regret even thinking
But it is far too late
I wonder if she thinks of me
A little or a lot
I wonder if she knows sometimes I can't stop
Like this time
And the time long ago
And a few weeks before then
And another month or so even then
All the way to the last thought of her that I had
It's been awhile since then
Maybe I’m making progress
Maybe I haven't thought of her as much as I would like to think I do
I think I think too much
I wonder if she does too
Satish Verma, 2 december 2013
When honeycomb started dripping,
he stopped eating and climbed a sand dune
for the last journey.Pall-bearers were ready
for blunt futurism ceding to a deliberate defeat.
Hunger was his turbulent empire, resting
his hands on the shoulders of rocked time
for the purification of greed and spurting desires.
His only mechanical aid was his pen.
Into the half century of geckoes getting rid
of tails when a monkey was found in the stomach
of a croc.Toons themselves spread out mocking
the winter of hexagonal windows. Grey birds
started melting on the burnt-out grasses.
Lions walked on identical twins of nudes.
A wet kiss of death ensured the beautiful
ceasation. Yellow roses opened the frigid body.
* A soulful ritual of Jainism when a person seeks death voluntarily and stops eating and drinking.
Satish Verma
mvvenkataraman, 1 december 2013
Better to do away with excitement
Even though that is supremely tough
As often we land into a deep trouble
By offering highly tough promises
By keeping our cool, we surprise all
As they are bewildered by our act
We never suffer as we don’t blunder
Mainly because we control our mind
In a happy mood, if we make a gift
We may have to regret surely later
If that may affect our prosperity
Is not that an act of ignorance?
Practice to control mind and tongue
As both may slip inadvertently always
Once we establish our supremacy
Our life is traveling on a safe route
In a nutshell, let out not emotions
Calmly muse before taking a step
Find out practically its benefits
Go ahead with a control in speed.
mvvenkataraman
Satish Verma, 30 november 2013
Someone connects a bonsai to elemental peat.
Your visual collides a clay bite
of water, deepening the bottom of invisible fence.
My primrose was waiting for you.
Polychromes become volatile. An inventive
missile leaves the trace for a predator to scoop
an angel. I was afraid of wrinkles, the
disjunctive pain. Only an insane can walk
over the fire. The cat’s claw will take hold of freedom,
the bleeding wound of mutual hate.
I sit listening to ceasefire, shirtless soldiers
cleaning their guns, you still seek the empty vessel.
Satish Verma
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
