Gert Strydom, 5 february 2013
Today I saw an old man
who is dear to me
and whose thoughts
age tried to wipe out
and he looked at me
trying to comprehend.
There was still
some intelligence in his eyes
and finally when he realized
who I am
his heart reached out
and his hand was still warm.
My heart could have broken
a thousand times
while I saw the damage
that Alzheimer’s had done,
but there was a smile
on his face
before we left
and his mind
wasn’t totally gone
and I saw the struggle in him
against forgetting
trying to reach beyond
what life would let him
and still trying
to be himself
and heard him pray
believing that God still helps.
Satish Verma, 5 february 2013
After running for the flesh,
why did you make a home for the death?
Was it a reverence
for buying the peace?
Or fear of uncertainty
and suspense in the bosom of pain?
The panther was only thirsty, there was
no need to shoot him.
I will fight the war
on my own terms, in defence of liberation.
In moment of defeat, there
will be celebration of truth for homage to a truce.
Give me some reason to die.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013
Behind your green-brown eyes
intense secrets do hide
where at first light
next to each other we lie whispering.
Outside doves
coo, woo and flutter
while a church-bell
calls out the time
when the sun loving like us
gives its last caress to the earth
and the moon’s soft satin
which is swallowed by the darkness of the night
becomes a memory of tonight
where it already hangs naked.
Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013
The sun barely comes through the curtains
kicked-out shoes lie skew
next to our big bed.
Your soft blouse, denim skirt,
brassiere and panties
are nearby, spread all over the floor
and on the bed you are stretched out and naked.
Rapture goes through me
while your eyes burn into mine,
when your breasts draw my eyes
and their pink nipples
are upright;
your Moondrops perfume
reach out to me
when your arms draw me down
into your soft heat
and between us passion does flame.
Gert Strydom, 4 february 2013
You turn my heart into a muddle
while time passes us like an eternity
when your green-brown eyes stare into my soul
and I wonder why you do love me
and outside there is drops of rain, the wind is dancing,
while time passes us like an eternity
and daily I am blinded,
am caught in the beauty and love that you have
and outside there is drops of rain, the wind is dancing,
but here in the room the sheets are twisted around us like a net
and I am aware of my feelings for you,
am caught in the beauty and love that you have
and as if nobody and nothing can extinguish it
there is something much more and greater than love between us
and I am aware of my feelings for you,
while my heart at times are beating for you.
You turn my heart into a muddle,
there is something much more and greater than love between us
when your green-brown eyes stare into my soul.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2013
Untie my hour with the Mars
I am burning and I am going to disappear
in my words. An alienation of a healer in deep
angst? What did you find in the night of confrontation?
Will you be able to save the babies
in wombs of truth?
I have turned my back without blaming
on the fictional fall. The first pain was the stranger.
No other had been the same in complete solitude.
Do I need to take a side in the face of suffering?
Today is more dangerous than tomorrow and
I am going to make a deal with my talent.
The rules are becoming charred shirts
covering a pure body. Give me hands to
ship the thunder in bay of blood.
Satish Verma
Kahlia Mazacalletti, 4 february 2013
I know you so well; I have met you before
I have seen you in the cold blue light
And in the damp darkness; of the moonlight
Do you wish me well; or is it a game you play with me
The low voice of intimacy; the face in the crowd sometimes
I have left and come back
I have freed you and returned
Are you still angry now?
I must be with you if I am to survive
Can you call me and tell me you are fine
I know you are with her and it burns my soul
That empty space; that aching hurt
I will just wait for one Red Rose........
Alicja Kuberska, 3 february 2013
Love me for nothing.
For you I will be
water, air
the sun, moon,
and the stars in the sky.
Look at me
the same way always.
Do not see the years,
the first gray hair
and the wrinkles under the eyes.
You know
that when the body ages
the soul stays young.
The interior radiates beauty.
Love me for being me
louis gander, 3 february 2013
I'd love to be a poet - a real one, you know -
so I could write man's world off allowing God's to glow.
I'd write a wondrous story, that we could all take part
and live it in reality - each one with perfect heart.
I'd think outside my circle, with paper, ink and pen -
and think outside my flimsy box to live in peace again -
in gardens filled with blossoms - all colors full and bold -
that I could sweep my arms across and many flowers hold.
I'd jump inside my story with animals and birds,
living in His nature and camouflaged with words -
that whisper as the breezes in true harmonic cord,
that bring us lives so unsurpassed when living with our Lord.
I'd peer up to the mountains, at several waterfalls,
that rain grace down from Heaven where every angel calls -
to show to us a perfect world where He can overwhelm -
where man rejects but God perfects His great creation's realm.
I'd never hide inside my world, but fully would expect -
that men would treat each other with a solemn, deep respect -
that women dress with modesty and also could endow -
that girls learn to curtsy slow and boys would learn to bow.
I'd stroll inside my poem free from envy, sin and hate -
and walk beside still waters where 'the way' is always straight.
And I shall keep on writing true for many, many years -
until I see no longer through my sad and yearning tears.
I'd love to be a poet - a real one, you know -
so I could write man's world off allowing God's to glow.
I'd write a wondrous story, that we could all take part
and live it in reality - each one with perfect heart.
©2013 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
-------
Naykd Poet, 2 february 2013
Staring onto the blankness of the canvass page,
Watching as mysterious images take stage;
Not knowing their meaning, how to gauge,
Whether to be happy or, succumb to rage.
One by one, ceaseless, markings take on form,
Shaping contours that challenge a norm;
Imagination conspiring conflict with artisan’s forum,
Compelled to quell this brewing, mind-filled storm.
Hopeless to the helplessness of a moment pause,
To interpret translation by material, though fluid laws;
Rendering a final decision to what manifests, befalls,
To effect a meaning that has potentially, no true cause.
Cerebral energy transitions to a machine-like phase,
Inducing movement while the mind’s noiseless melody plays;
Pigmented colors of meaning, beyond just black and greys,
Capturing an image-thought, before it fades.
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