A Monument
Wanting to feel your breath
in this room, in half-light, my hands
opened the window to let him in,
the green moon.
For so much violence in everyday life.
let’s break a poem and sqeeze its honey
and carve only feet, of invisible fear.
When I had run after a dream
the frills of your gown caught fire;
at the door a music stopped
to listen to rustling of a caged bird
longing for the green flight of a silent
morning joining a procession of a recent
mythical hurt.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Puzzling
You toppled the invisible
burning the unburied buttons
joining the history of names.
Will I be able to communicate
with straw to find out the age
of the unarrived seeds?
There is too much violence in
green blood. The broken tooth
bled to death of a truth. The
oratory was becoming a weapon
to break your mirrors. Will there
ever be peace to flying guests?
A service should be rendered
to the poem who burned like a
candlelight in the stormy night.
poem by Satish Verma
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Curvature
The visible was most
invisible.
Watching the moon
through veil.
A bomb explodes
in your hands.
The poem wavers-
and then falls on dew.
This was not bone-green;
original,
not a fake cloud –
to kiss the feet
of a burning god.
It was natural conjugation
between enemies.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waking Up
In dark I perceive soundless steps
shifting restlessly
rustling of clothes.
gentle tapping on the window
a shadow floats.
I don’t know if I was moving myself
trampling sleep.
Persistent insomnia sometimes creates
strange images.
Heart will toss the words in silence
and I will lit the blue flame in stillness.
That skimpy memory of a half-burned
corpse in a smoked room
haunts me. I carry the imprint of
violence in nerves, throbbing.
A riot of bright color in bougainvillaea
will wake me up in the morning.
poem by Satish Verma
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Strange
All night November,
I was searching the vulnerable
lips after loosing you.
Now fingerless hands
were moving the sun-dial
away from light.
The shroud was heavy,
I would not breathe.
Give me a blue moon before dawn.
You cannot engage in
sudden withdrawl. I will
come back for a kiss.
The paper that leaves a wound,
I will not sign for the bread.
My hands had stopped trembling.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Drifting Pain
I am in retreat, for a music
of visitation,
playing with the words.
Mission failed,
the upheaval starts in the islands
of void, to find out
who was unglazed.
Folding the protuberance
in a pilfered fidelity, the shards
had no input in violence.
Mistrial. A half-mad moon
crashes on grass. The fireflies
resume the journey
to darkness.
The fangs were out
in green charm, in fierce silence
of the exhumed vault.
poem by Satish Verma
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Scanning
When night will not speak
and shoes will float on the water;
legs of truth will not move.
Latched to absence
unreasons held the hands of time.
I stopped believing in myself.
The genome had come in a bottle.
when the virgin son was killed in a raid.
The mausoleum will not accept the shroud.
The priest will pay the moon,
for the price of the nightly stings.
Now the death will kill the clouds of bees.
And the green door shuts the house
of light. Moonlight has gone missing.
We will have to find the lips of dark.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Green Thicket
All in a green thicket I heard a bird sing,
And blithe though his song was it made the tears spring,
To hear a bird sing as he swung on his spray,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
All in a green thicket his song it did pour
That told of the Springs that shall come nevermore,
That sang of sweet blossoms, now faded and dry,
All in a green thicket in Aprils gone by.
All in a green thicket that morning in Spring,
I smelt the sharp scent of each young growing thing,
I smelt the sweet herbage all drowned with the dew,
And the time that's gone from me was with me anew.
All in a green thicket at break of the day
It was like the dear voice of a friend far away,
It was like the kind touch of a hand that I know,
And the smile and the tears of dead Aprils ago,
All in a green thicket one morning in Spring,
For to smell the young woodland and hear the bird sing,
Oh, long did I loiter and dream by the way,
All in a green thicket at break of the day.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Green, Green, and More Green
There is green everywhere,
even in peoples' hair.Some
on hands, some on shirts.
There is green everywhere!
Green, green, and more green.
I think I'm going crazy over green.
If you don't wear green you get pinched,
then you'll start to itch.
So many people are obsessed with green.
Green Spring, green air.Green feet, green wheat, green meat.
Green isn't very neat!
poem by Autumn Howard
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Listen to The Song of Invisible Bird!
Listen to The Song of that invisible bird,
The Song of great singer several souls heard,
Sings sitting on tree of life, hidden under every leaf,
Its song go unheard by those pretend deaf,
Ever tuned to that great music,
Everytime it sings same song,
But with different lyrics and different words,
Autumn may come followed by spring,
Leaves may fall to make way to new,
Each leaf has that song, the bird flies under cover of green leaf,
When old yellow one fall,
Green leaves should learn from the fall of the old!
One can wait flowers to bloom,
Or can reap all fruits mature,
or remove immature buds or raw fruits,
The tree of life spread to several worlds,
One parallel to other,
Makes one world happy by another,
some may cross and intersect,
only to give or take life!
Come an sit near a flower,
Look at frog waiting for insects to come,
The invisible bird sings its song,
May it be heart of the flower,
It is flower for you,
source of nectar to insects,
place where frog gets its food!
It is cage for that bird ready to fly,
enters as nectar into insect,
and it enters frog as insects,
and moves along food chain,
It may be invisible to these eyes,
Yet it has its flight can be seen,
Look at your heart, the same bird sing,
Who knows when and where is its next flight?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Intellect
The hurt begins to move
and meets in a funeral procession.
For aging fireworks this was the last chance,
but lake had dried up.
There was no fall tonight of the moon
All the stars had gone for a memorial service.
The candle light vigil begins with a sole survivor.
The genotypes will multiply.
The legend had the last breath
and then walked away in a big whole.
I were you, to take the revenge
from the sobbing me who sent the body
without a soul.
poem by Satish Verma
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Instruments Of War
The baton is raised.
Silent savagery, lurks in the green.
Silent feet, step softly,
waiting for fear to explode.
No sound make...let no twig break...
breathe softly, begging breath,
beat quietly, pounding heart.
Like drums, stretched too tight,
under the shadow of fisted war sticks.
Like steel strings, stretched too tight,
under poised sharp fingers.
The instruments lie waiting.
The baton falls!
A thunderous collage of,
flashes and screams,
fire and flesh,
metal and bone,
ripping,
stripping,
life dripping,
red tears.
The conductors baton stills,
and as the green grows silent,
he smiles.
Instruments, lie broken,
the green smolders,
and tomorrow,
remembers no more.
(1990)
poem by George Vuyakovich
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Destiny
Nomadic moon was roaming
in the maddened fear of night.
A wordless journey in silent dark.
Betonica
for a painless being,
sustains the blues of separation.
An inverted green
puts the roots upward
to send a message.
Fear breaks the bones
to mould the claws.
There was no oblique answer.
Nobody was blameless.
poem by Satish Verma
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Looking Back
half-clad
cult of violence
boiling their
soulmates
roasting
the foes
one by one
killed
by a ligature
they were building the dams
to harvest the power
from tears
fear
climbs on your shoulders
unburns hydrocarbons
a train moves through the black cloud
night
lies naked
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Predicament
Joined by the funeral, we sit down,
under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling
the processions. Ultimately one by one they come,
to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow
there is an explosion and a transition
censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels
to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury
makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen
the scandalized whispers of crulest legends
in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding.
You never chained the voice of booms. A god
mourns in fading light.
SATISH VERMA
poem by Satish Verma
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Unending
In downy pink I watch you go
my sun,
at night you will pluck moon flowers.
In half-moon eclipse
the morning glory will wake me up
in dew, alighting whole night
on the rose branch. I still smell
your lips. The head aches in
singing dark.
Welcome again, my ghosts of new year.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Human Lab
Half-buried in a mud pit,
a polluter bares all, body and soul.
Hands bound, ready to be stoned
to death.
A god was going to kill a god.
A dense judgement of planet green
of an unreliable sun
scribbling a code of conduct.
My god, I will go insane.
Save my woods I say. How can
be the adam was so naked running
in a race gene altered?
My arthritic fingers again lift
a mansion of gold leaves, dissolving
the sky.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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We Will Scream Together
Managing his guilts to seduce the nocturnes
he left the gray area, surging
with a wandering death on the
half broken stairs –
before a closed gate was put on the pages,
he was trembling like toothed quaking aspen.
The grief of the scarred face,
in a serious midnight syndrome of
invisible slit throat in a long journey manifested
above the waves. Tree was calling again
for immoralism of flowers, quashing
his life.
The brave violence survives the mutilated
dreams.For once the mirror has won
again the onslaught of fingers.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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The Light Through The Morning Window
THE LIGHT THROUGH THE MORNING WINDOW
The light through the morning window
The small leaves of the light green tree
The pale sky waiting behind everything
The night which is gone now.
All these failures one after the other,
Other names other destinies, greater than mine
The single singing I cannot hear
The great prophecies I will not realize.
Others who are more to me
Even than I am to myself.
The morning
The morning again
Words again
Trying to live again
A poem again perhaps.
In a life of many days
In which each small day
Its own struggle
And each night
A night which ends
With morning light.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Very Hurt Poem
Last night
moon was following me
discreetly,
skirting behind the trees.
A white splendor
drips,
like a dropped coin
on poor’s hand.
Did you see the blood
on roses?
The petals were wounded
in rain.
Casual violence
spreads in the streets.
I write a very hurt
poem.
poem by Satish Verma
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