Salvatore Ala, 12 september 2013
The earth is cradled in a grave
The sky is buried in the earth
The stones are hanging from a thread of light
And everyone here has been here before
And everyone has come a long way
And those who love meet those who hate
And those who breathe air breathe stone
And those who are fire are dust
And those who are clay shall be wine
And those who arrive meet those departing
And children find their mothers
And fathers reconcile with sons
And the old meet themselves in the young
And the young discover a road
And round the heavenly clock time is as nothing
And we cluster for warmth
At the brief fire of a thousand years
Joe Breunig, 12 september 2013
People may question the necessity of virtues,
yet they embody virility, life and beauty.
These traits aid the development of character,
while complementing the scope of Christian duty.
There’s still a time and place for everything,
and a need of their value can still be seen.
A combination of personal conduct and inner strength
bolsters us against the tedium of Life’s routines.
Qualities of Prudence, Justice, Fortitude and Temperance
combined with Faith, Hope and Charity, will assist us
in our spiritual growth and maturity for sharing…
the Brotherly Love of our beloved Christ Jesus.
Under the consistent leading of the Holy Spirit,
we may practice Courtesy, Patience and Forgiveness,
while confirming the divine principles of The Word
that should be stored within… our heart’s stillness.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Eccl 3; Psa 19:7-14; 27:1-14, 46:10; Phil 4:13;
2 Tim 3:16-17; 1 Cor 13:13; Rom 12:2
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, 12 september 2013
In the late afternoon your words did become silent
and your movements were curtailed
as if you did not want to get up from the chair,
as if you did not want to leave me later
and outside the August wind stopped blowing
while we did say no words to each other
and outside the sun did shine
in a moment of great joy and pain
while we were clinging to each other
and the afternoon sun’s radiance did weaken
when it felt as if time poured into that moment
while time did linger but it was much too short
when everything for both of us came to a standstill
and in ecstasy we looked at each other
but in me this fear does remain
that no moment will ever again be like this.
Gert Strydom, 12 september 2013
Moments with you I cannot forget,
where I do know about the depths of our love
and in the silences that hang between us
unspoken words are caught
and sometimes just as a child
you have got to find your own words
and discover each other like strangers
and go together to an unknown place
to get a deepening there,
to find a stronger binding of you and I.
Satish Verma, 12 september 2013
After separation from death
rain-scented moon was rising
in broken sky. Night birds started
fluting one to another relentlessly;
earth unjointed, was speechless, in
failures we meet often, a little while.
I was ascetic scaling blood pollution,
the life had no mercy, incapable of healing.
You surge for the bleeding miner, the
gold missing, priest was innocent, behind
the peels lies the empty hand, insanity in
parallel depression will find a new praise.
The infinite solitude of the soldier in war
fights the demons of blind desires. One by
one they kill you from the mountain. You
rise from the ocean under twilight of winged stars.
Satish Verma
Patricia Etienne, 11 september 2013
Simply Tuesday morning, a day just like the ordinary
But to some Lucifer's hearts,
It's planned to be a day in hell
And continues to be a hellish memory to some.
Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that goes the opposite
When the sun overtaken by cloudiness
And darkness spreads onto her land.
Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that turns out to be
A deadly viper assassination squad.
That serves thick blood on a plate, and tears in a mug for breakfast.
Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that rips many families apart.
and hold many hearts in sorrow
And lead many children to the orphan world.
Yeah,9/11/01
America falls onto her knees.
It's as if the sword of Zeus is planted into her heart
Oh she weeps and weeps
The tears that fall from her eyes look like the river of the unknown gods.
Oh terrorists!
You strike my land but I'm not destroyed
You shed my children blood
But most are standing tall and vigilant
You must know
With my torch holding up high
I am who they say I am
My road is illuminating for life to come.
Gert Strydom, 11 september 2013
That an end must come
to the love between us,
that in death we will not miss each other,
not even will know about flowers blooming
and that every human being and all living things
with time will perish,
that all sheer joy and pain
and the things to which a person strives a life long
at a time will go to naught,
is knowledge of which I have got to take heed
but still I do know that God holds everything in His hand
and He writes down every person’s character and humanity
with His almighty pen
until the day when even the elements will burn
and I know that He is beginning a new world
with each and every wonderful and lovely thing.
Gert Strydom, 11 september 2013
Tonight the sea is tranquil
and in the distance
the lights of the lighthouse flashes
and is gone
and the nearby Warf is still
while near the horizon a ship moves on
and cars move high up on the hill.
Far away over the sea
there are places
where I have never been
and continents and countries
that I have never seen
and at their set rhythm and time
the waves rushes in
and thunder on the big rocks
as they have from the begin
and yet like a grain of sand
I remain in God’s almighty hand.
Satish Verma, 11 september 2013
Between she and he
and sexuality swoops a gender
patenting a word, as it is,
at the birth's door pretending to
be a kiss of radical thought.
Mediocrity always has an intentionality
with colored plumage, a passionate
dance before the final plunge of
a true love. Black or white, somebody
is etching a dangerous scar on the skin
of a maimed girl. Myalgia of a
nation like a lipless epic on the
while book which cannot be completed.
I wanted to believe in never tomorrow.
Satish Verma
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 10 september 2013
Season’s yield,
Granaries filled,
Mid-January,
Festival Bhogali.
Uruka evening,
Enjoyment and feasting,
Building the Bhelaghar,
Pranks with the neighbour.
The morning after,
Obeisance to the God of fire,
Burning the tall Meji,
Made of bamboo and paddy.
Sunga pitha, kaath aloo,
Customary delights of Magh Bihu,
With friends and families,
Flavours of Assamese delicacies.
[Published in ‘Poetreecreations’ on 8 September 2013]
Short note: Bhogali Bihu is a harvest festival of Assam, a state of north-east India. The festival is celebrated in mid-January, marking the end of the harvest season. Bhogali means feasting and enjoyment. It is also known as Magh Bihu as celebrations are held in the month of Magh, the tenth month of the Assamese calendar. On the eve known as Uruka, people gather for a community feast with friends and families. A variety of dishes that include meat and fish are cooked over wood flame. Using bamboo and paddy, a temporary hut called Bhelaghar and a tall structure known as Meji are built. Merriment continues throughout the night as youths play pranks like stealing vegetables from the neighbour’s garden. Next morning, offerings are made to the God of fire and people enjoy the traditional delicacies like sunga pitha, kaath aloo etc.
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