Satish Verma, 7 october 2012
The spill of sheen
after deep throat explosion.
Not as special
as the day appeared.
Afraid of complete annihilation?
Was it possible?
Untenable?
Living in a cavern full of bats?
A key slept in a lock
unmoving the golden doors.
Beyond the control,
lies disaster.
Satish Verma
Briona, 6 october 2012
Seeing him up there standing in full pride,
Dressed in navy colors with his head held up high.
Marching left and marching right shouting “sir yes sir”,
My brother is the elite force and I couldn’t be any prouder.
With our forces he now stands, for our country and our lives.
Standing for the pledge no flaw in my stance,
I don’t just solute the flag also to my brother and his friends.
I’ll always walk beside him and when separated miles apart,
The only sound I hear is the beating of his heart.
Dreaming he’s here close and tight,
Letting me know everything’s going to be alright.
Divided by the land and miles of the sea,
I think of him then shut my eyes and by his side I will be.
Briona, 6 october 2012
Never seen a gaze with pain that floods the eyes
Never seen a face that told so many lies
Never seen a heart destroyed by dark despair
Never seen a soul so broke beyond repair
Never seen the emptiness and coldness of a stare
Never seen so much hatred and pain in a glare
Never pay attention because it’s just a glance
Never want to look so long that I fall in a trance
Never want to look into those painful eyes
Never want to see tears with silent cries
Never seen the truth behind that misleading smile
In life we face the hardest things but manage to pull through
Looking in the mirror the real challenge is facing you.
Arbi, 6 october 2012
America is no more that gorgeous lady
After whom everyone used to go crazy
I hear poor America is getting sick and achy
And of this truth we are no more cagey
Isn’t the once-strong dollar getting shaky?
And no one knows into which pit dives thy economy
America, my once-hottest baby,
The world is most beautiful in its diversity
But why compete for more and more hegemony?
America, put on your eyes and look at your streets’ hungry,
Alkies, beggars, homeless… and helpless junkie’!
Don’t you think them and the world need a bit of your mercy?
Isn’t it high time you called home the boys of your Navy?
Or are you happy the way they got the world messy?
America, my once-hottest baby,
You know how much I care and love thee
But I want you to grow up and be a woman that brings glee
Into our heavy hearts and heartily fights the ghost of poverty
America, will you be able to cleanse of hunger our beloved country?
Dear America, mature and make thy people happy!
Esther Thornburg, 6 october 2012
Music is for a lifetime.
Keep the message grand and fine.
It holds great thoughts in every lins.
In all the learning of life's ways,
Remember the part that misic plays,
Enjoy a little in each and every day.
Time moves along with cares of a day,
Each melody has something to say.
Mosic lives on, it finds a way.
With great thoughts as an art
In muusic, they play a part,
Thougts express the desires of the heart.
Great music should last a lifetime.
Keep the message true and fine,
Great thoughts are expressed in every line.
Just keep on singing,
Let the clear rhythm be ringing.
Treasure the enjoyment it is bringing.
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 6 october 2012
We cry for change,
A better place to live in,
We long for peace,
A world sans misery, fear.
Who shall change?
Do we ever ponder?
Am I not the first?
Oh! Fingers point exterior...
Absolute power is within us,
Only efforts needed to afresh,
Just dare to speak the truth
And bring about a change.
[Published in 'Creative Thoughts' on 7 August 2011]
Satish Verma, 6 october 2012
Shot in the face an insider
tells the story of withdrawl
of the vision thing.
Crooked hands lift the
frozen lake to drimk
the elixir of death.
Lonely home inspires
the dark bird to land
on the window of mountain walls.
Should have left this day
untouched by lips.
I am counting the bridges.
Age will tell the bones
to bend like strings
for a velvety song.
Satish Verma
Fraser Mackay, 6 october 2012
nothing like expected the universe
glimpsed from side-on now waiting
for some ephemera to clutch
hosanna like run a giddy mile
ice formed in these unexpected hours
a vision of Scott dead at the pole
his dog tied to a sled
huddled against the bitter wind
on the mainland night shadows
slid the tarmac white doves
circled the black-slashed-dross-fallen-sky
this madness is not authentic
like yesterday’s grey wash — but not so
unpleasant to go within
the arc of the door swinging closed.
Matthew Bass, 6 october 2012
Tornados form in the distance,
products of wild imaginations
on rolling highways. Wisps
of nipples barely swirling
from green clouds turning above
God´s country in opposite directions
with unspoken understanding that
the plains are there only in preparation
for gloomy sunlit Kansas desert doldrums,
and the people on this tapestry blanket
only do his bidding here.
Screaming yelling kicking
in the absolute silence of corn fields
connected by straight lines dashed arbitrarily
in the great empty vastness.
Interstates, highways, country roads
marked with letters numbers
and towns unmoved with the strings
of quaint dignified sleep
with something lost in the madness
of cities who have failed
in their search for the authentic.
Symbols, important things.
Eagles in the sky encompassing everything,
sometimes lifeless on the asphalt.
Vultures salivating above rotted corpses,
floating over South Dakota waterfalls
that have always been there.
The moons burning in infinite space
guiding us in the darkness
from Des Moines to Eldon.
Harvest moons eating the stars
like red giants,
high blue ones atop
the otherwise unknown
in search of the spontaneous
betrayed by great horizons.
Small wood houses standing upright
against dismissive winds running away east
past the decay of another time eyeballing
underneath shallow skin with gothic dignity.
Deep into the night the world turns slowly,
change is just euphemism for how quickly
tommmorrow chooses to forget and ignore.
Matthew Bass, 6 october 2012
Oh world! (blah). Poets! What have you become?
Directionless without Bréton´s authority
Obscure like early Rimbaud
museum pieces in the attic
trapped on this plane, marking revolutions
from bored jaded middle-classes.
Alone on a stage with Kevin McCameron
with no one to listen or
pass us by.
Western destruction imminent and passé.
It is only best to speak in love poems
sonnets, and prose of sweet rememberance.
The sun sears asphalt on stop-and-go traffic.
The heat smells not all different from colors
in crowds of faces too unhealthy and beaten
to see all the beautiful things just outside
their frames of mind; characters only spoken to
in old books and ideologies.
The Meaning of life:
To catch a glimpse of the waitress pretending not to notice
the table full of torn notebook pages during happy hour,
but you notice her
and she held your hand in meditations
that very morning.
To teeter on the edge of obscurity because not all hope
has yet been lost. The universe exists in infinite space.
The Bodhisvatta has a pleasant smile, straddling the body
like a dripping wet sweatty naked woman in a blanket,
the fourth dimension hidden by the other three
length height volume.
Poetry has done nothing for me.
War made me fast and violent,
bloodied my knuckes with blistering cigarette burns.
Death made me a man without dreams of
towering cities over lakes and rivers.
Spain made me human, fascinated by
unscripted lives that moved still with time
lacking purpose. Priya taught me love
risk and heartbreak. To love is always best,
To love unconditionally is always better.
God taught me to never give in to astonishment,
to understand what is directly in front, but
can never be seen.
Everything that has been written
or will be written has already been written.
Fear is control, Fearlessness is freedom
We are only theater, extras trying to remember
what it is that we´ve already heard.
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