Satish Verma, 2 july 2012
Was that a robot
claiming friendship
with the relics of past?
Or a quirk of a raw nerve
conversing with history:
and we will wait for centuries
to build a new scream
under the pale moon
in wingless night.
Whispering sex to flowers,
bees scrambled on the skin
of wooly leaves.
Satish Verma
Rilay Dann, 2 july 2012
Live the days
Count the stars
Witness the sunset
Treasure the rainbow
Set fire to the rain
Watch it burn
We ache and we break
But we choose to embrace the storm
Overhead, crashing down
So many waves hitting the shore
Secure your angel hive
Retie your wings
Touch that magic sky
Let a tear run from your eye
As you see the last crumbling mountain cry
Grab a trees hand
And embrace the storm
Because even the sun refuses to shine
But that does not mean
It does not exist
Glenn McCrary, 1 july 2012
The finest siren
To have tread the fairest acres
At the height of skyscraper
She ascends
autonomous and replete
fashioning the ashes
that compose the minutes
that we have loved and lost
Glenn McCrary, 1 july 2012
An array of flavor
Paints our summer scene
With the striking colours
That in time the two of us
Like fawns had grown to cherish
Aristocratic and original
Was the infinite portrait
Glenn McCrary, 1 july 2012
She’d recite the fairest refrains
As upon marble texture I languish
Moxie was her focus to sway me
I, never once yearning to retreat,
Became enveloped by an aura of passion
Spry was the breeze that descended
From the design ‘twas her lovely palms
marc chambers, 1 july 2012
Cross hatched, uneven city streets
Winding, entwining
Weaves and then sweeps me
Into a mindful serenity
People speak in sweet riddles
And the sun shines on
Nesca, 1 july 2012
I've never known how to live without you
I probably never will
There's hardly any hope
I was always a bad student of life
I failed my degree in learning by mistakes
Here comes the time to admit that
I can't live with you either
Every time you appear back
Everything gets so complicated especially poetry
Nothing is as it was especially poetry
It feels so wrong to say
I like it but I can't find myself in it
Fighting it seems to be the only right I can do
I assume it'd be easier to happen
If I was clear which one of us I am fighting
Cause I'm sure since ever
I'd rather beat a devil than win with myself
Nesca, 1 july 2012
Their god ruins a shrine
then re-builds it in three days
taking the only enjoyment
and the only thing I could be thankful for
away from my parents
purportedly he created me a woman
et Omnia vanitas since with you I felt a goddess
but if I was to walk on top of water for you
I would
but only when wearing heels
steven cooke, 1 july 2012
A small girl stands amongst the flowers of Bloemfontein
surrounded by the aurora of yellow tulips
for she belongs to the angel’s now.
Her finger Points at the carpets of flowers
a reminder of lives cut short.
The glint from the sun hides her fallen friends
and a faint wind rustles the petals
forming strange whispers, the voice of many.
A wind that grows stronger everyday
and the voices gather,
speaking in tongues from around the globe.
A cry for help that falls on deaf ears,
to destroy a deadly seed that once was planted here. And our attention will be drawn to
memories of gold and places long forgotten.
Places that were scorched back into the ground,
where peace was replaced by burning crops,
and we will feel sad for this land.
But behind all this evil a seed was born.
For its germination came when this sweet child
Lizzie Van Zyl was killed.
Once a happy child, taken from her farm
through tears, saw her house destroyed and livestock slaughtered
even her beloved dog.
Taken to sleep on the ground, slowly starved
and left to winters kill.
Her last comfort a pile of rags to die on.
Her last words “Mother, Mother, I want to go to my Mother”.
Thrown into a pit,
to join a multitude of innocents, in the name of progress.
Bloemfontein killed with deliberate neglect,
and the bullet killed her father at Ladysmith.
Another victory for empires glory
Lizzie’s crime was her fathers, for he wanted freedom,
democracy and a future for his family.
But greed and empire gave birth to new words
and historians will justify,
that War is inevitable as is the darkness of night.
And darkness can hide the ideals of men
for here the seed of evil grew
spreading over time to generations new.
A world kept secret from prying eyes.
But secrets come out and greed fuels the beast.
Bloemfontein became the mother
and her offspring were blessed in Wars name,
Auschwitz, Dachau, Treblinka,
Oh and so many more.
Different lands, same outcome,
an Oasis for evil.
A place where the dark side of humanity
degenerates into the primordial soup
from whence it came.
A haunting realisation too,
that England, has tarnished the code of chivalry,
and brought shame to the flag.
Little Lizzie still stands among the flowers,
her ghost is still pointing, not at the flowers
but at you and me.
For it is we who did this, and it is we who will do it again.
So glance at your wedding band
for the glint might just blind you to its past.
The price of this gold is a debt we cannot repay
and pray the voices in the wind
will one day fade away.
Quote from a Journalist
Cowardice of the most loathsome cure on earth - the act of striking at a brave man's heart through his wife's honour and his child's life."
Footnote to the write
This write is about the Boer war and the tactics that the British used to achieve victory
LizzieVan Zyl was seen by Emily Hobhouse just before she died. Her memoirs reveal the conditions that Lizzie was subjected to.
The atrocities committed in South Africa were kept secret from the British public.
Historians believe that the outcome of this conflict delayed Democracy in South Africa by 100years.
Ironically the Boers interred in Concentration Camps were conscripted to fight for England in World War One.
Finally another irony was the demand for revenge by England to Germany for doing the same thing
To this day generations born after the Second World War are paying the debt in Germany, while England pays nothing to the Boervolk.
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI, 1 july 2012
Do not stay in front of my troubles
And rattle my private feelings
Hereafter, do not touch my ideas
Do not revive my memories
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!
Me, I depend on my loneliness...
I do not let other people trample
My love so easily
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!
Me, I am accustomed to the sky's irony
It is of no importance
That I am discovered in my sleep...
I climb my trees myself
I water my flowers myself
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!
Do not stay in front of my troubles
And rattle my private feelings
Hereafter, do not touch my ideas
Do not revive my memories
Leave me to myself
Go now...
Come back later!
Üzeyir Lokman ÇAYCI
Ankara, 06.06.1979
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick, 22.02.2006
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