George Krokos, 4 november 2012
Forever is really just a part of Eternity
and illusion is a false sense of Reality.
_______________________________
George Krokos, 4 november 2012
Our life in the body has to go through and endure so much pain
without which some people believe and say there is no real gain.
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George Krokos, 4 november 2012
There are records that we keep hidden in our mind and heart
of certain actions we have all done right from our life's start.
Binding us like a many knotted string coiling around our stem of life
causing us to live unnaturally and thus experience troubles and strife.
_________________________________________________________
George Krokos, 4 november 2012
Look steadily within at the darkness behind your closed eyes
and there you will soon perceive a light somewhat by surprise.
That inner light of our soul is always ever within us all
this secret of our life is being hidden by a mental door.
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George Krokos, 4 november 2012
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes, it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came across and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
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cauchy3, 4 november 2012
To Marshall George!..
Peace that kept is atlas lights.
Minute sparks are lights that bright.
Blast as missiles arms will fly.
Sharp and fine are bulls with eyes.
Mellows blows are gentle winds.
Mellow out are ways have means.
Ranges extended are long with width.
Take the peace are better kinds.
Marshall George is country arms.
Steel will raise the arms and arts.
Soldiers’ forms are fleshes and bones.
Woes of armies get their woes.
Faults of you are faults of worlds.
Night will come our rest are laws.
Marshall takes affairs that good.
Good at wars are bricks are woods.
Brick for earth are woods for moods.
Will and forces will pick as food.
Painful commies all are ill.
Ails are world to take those wills.
Cluster rounds are woods are wars.
Human waves are commie arts.
All to Marshall all are good.
Good and best as thoughts are foods.
------------Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3------------
Satish Verma, 4 november 2012
By candlelight
crooked fingers drew a face
on water for the sake
of sun.
Night will tell the fate
of flame.
Smothers with Magnolia’s
gloss.
There was an eerie silence
near the alarm clock.
Time to wake up.
The flowers in the book
will never read my story.
A naked bird hops in a cage for,
a parallel existence for another journey,
meeting an intelligent end.
Satish Verma
Esther Thornburg, 3 november 2012
The history man cannot rewrite
Is displayed bright on the darkest night.
The story is beyond the human hand
It is viewed by all, in every land.
Found in the stars bright light,
A story viewed every clear night.
Recording the battle of powers that be
It is placed there for all to see.
Glenn McCrary, 3 november 2012
My fair ladylove
How dare she saunters the halls
Taunting a man so graphically
She holds the very knowledge
That her figure is astonishing
It is to be concluded that she cherishes
Being the focus of my poems
She then exhibits herself quite flawlessly
Bearing equivocal fervor
Satish Verma, 3 november 2012
A weeping willow was telling
a trove of memories,
for an ancient provenance
where the lake sleeps.
Why the sheen of water brings out
ephemerality of ‘if’. You want to
take a holy dip, never to come up again
in the throes of birth and death.
And waves, why they clap when they
are hooked up with the winds? Was it
to marry the sky? I am counting
the stars fallen to the street.
Back to the moon in skunk night
of slimming curves and opulent
nose for a ride in bed, sorting out
the remaining stones.
Satish Verma
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