Satish Verma, 2 november 2013
in emptiness staying aloof
to set the wings free,
a shadow self without flesh and bones
to rip out the enormity of silence
of words, cold in the face of duality
metaphysical but of somber echo of tension
between reconciliation and deep anger
causing a long flight of fantasy
of grains sprouting after self-denial at
the turf of remembering deep, it would be
a comeback for the pelting rain on the swan -
song of a sizzling desert,
the omnivorus sanity of claws in the golden
fabric of blood caked body of a star
* On the death of Jade Goody
Satish Verma
Anthony DiMichele, 1 november 2013
there was a plum tree
whose rich violets on green velvet
were dreaming of white gold blossoming into a cup
of rain
Gert Strydom, 1 november 2013
When the stormy wind jerked on the windows
while the rain fell as if endless,
you pulled me nearer in moment upon moment
and I was caught in the heat of your arms,
could feel your breath against my cheek
while in madness the storm whipped up gigantic waves
as if these cloudy days would last forever
but to me you were a source of light
and nothing could conquer our joy
even when at times
somewhat shy we did look blushing at each other
and eternally your smile will stay with me.
Gert Strydom, 1 november 2013
Today I want to pray
to love you much more,
that each new day
be much better than the one before
and are begging that God will be
constantly with you
that our love will last eternally
and that it always will be true
that I will love you as a man,
to the very best that I can
Satish Verma, 1 november 2013
It was like spidural
dry crumbs of silence descending,
a still born sun popped out
through a raw hoematoma:
mountain was guilty of something,
it changed its mood and started
talking to clouds until the sky
turned crimson. The fountains had
a question for the bald owls, who under
the lidless eyes, always carried a massage
of colossal waste after the unholy
dinner. I know your glory was beckoning
to unflesh the bones in mass grave
of winged seeds who died in unsewn
pods of violence. I have still not come to
terms with the neck high milkless gaze.
Satish Verma
Brittany, 31 october 2013
The spirit of depression is a tenacious spirit It's has a tenacious grip on meNever leaving me aloneThis spirit of depression consumes my bodyWeaken my soul ,weaken the good in me. Leave me thou demon spirit of depressionHow it laughs in my faceIt's say look around, look in at you.I didn't just consume your body. I am you. You are me, you are the demon spirit of depression.You gave me the power to be you entirely.Unlike the tenacious demon spirit I am.You gave upNow I own you, you live in depression, you breathe depression.You breathe me inI have tenacious grip on youAnd I'm not letting you goI, the demon spirit of depression am a tenacious spiritI'll never leave you alone
Brittany, 31 october 2013
> All under one sun is a world called earth.
> This place called earth is filled with so much pain and suffering.
> All under one sun is a world.
> Where the sun can shine bright.
> But it's not bright enough to heal people from the loneliness they feel.
> All under one sun are different people looking up at the sun wondering when's life ever gonna get better.
> All under one sun is a world where I don't want to be.
> Only thing in this world that is the same fir everybody is the sun and sky.
> All under one sun is a world where life has a different meaning to all the people down below under the one sun.
> All under one sun is a world that I know that has been nothing but unfair to me.
> All under one sun I sit and wonder how that one sun can shine so bright over a world filled with so much hurt and pain
> All under one sun is a world I don't want to be apart of.
> All under one sun is a place I have to call life.
>
Jonathan Fix, 31 october 2013
Source and Curse
Walking upon a rugged path, wondering, listening to the foreign sight...
A crossroad comes, beckoning new beginnings... two paths that call for
resolution, but to what end?
A mist surrounds my being, grabbing and tossing my mind...
It is a mist of confusion,
A mist of violence,
A mist that hides all truth, until the essence become as dust.
All men search for the key, an essence that can neither be owned nor given,
The key of mending and truth...
I have found this key, hidden within my being... within my mind,
for long has it illuminated my path, and shown me the resolve and truth for each of the Crossroads.
But now a new challenge comes,
thrusting into my mind,
Corrupting my essences with its cruel lies...
My key illuminates my path, but of the cross... I cannot not tell...
I only can only move onwards.
And then thundering claps upon the wondering mind, an idea appears... Though the key is my essence, there shall always be a source.
A source of creation,
A source of mind,
A source of time...
The greatest power man may ever have,
the greatest power may ever wield...
It curves around, gnawing upon our souls... corrupting us and the key.
The mist begins to clear... a heading appears, and a new door opens.
For it is in these moments... that I understand our trustiest goal...
The greatest power is not our will to move,
The greatest power is our will to search and discover...
For wisdom is the greatest ally and the fiercest curse we may ever face...
- Allenda Vena
(Post-Notice)
Source and Curse is an up and coming poem... It has yet to be trimmed, edited, or revised. However, due to the lack of activity on my account, I saw it wise to post it prematurly.
Joe Breunig, 31 october 2013
Despite my human behavior and my many flaws,
I’m thankful that I won’t be judged under His law.
My spirit can’t be overloaded or overwhelmed,
knowing I’m blessed… under the heavenly realms.
After embracing Christ’s holy, blood redemption,
God’s promises and plans for me, were set in motion.
When I believed, I was graced with the presence
of the Spirit and opened up to The Word’s eloquence.
As my hurting heart to Him was sincerely turned,
it became easier to study Scriptures and learn…
that once adopted into Christ’s eternal family,
my spiritual purposes would be revealed clearly.
Now the depths of my faith that can be plumbed,
secure of my guaranteed inheritance in His Kingdom.
My joy overflows this mundane life and its mortal brim
from recognizing that I have been… Accepted by Him!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
John 14:27; 3 John 1:2; Phil 4:13
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
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