Swinging....
I did not will them
dreams of crystals
a stupid calendar of flight
from insomnic past.
Do not want to return to future,
hub of my clouds.
History had been writhing and screaming.
Present cannot redeem my woes.
I ask my bleak, frosted branches
where the birds have gone?
The songs, green hills, divine particles?
When they will enter in frozen affairs?
Anti-matter is now colliding with black energy
I am faltering a rhythm.
helplessly watch a xenomorphic face
disappearing in the blue sky.
poem by Satish Verma
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Another Creation
Detaches,
a part of me. To find some space.
Time cracks a dark matter with unknown speed,
colliding to release the invisible. Chilled
particles land on distant psyche. I will
give you blue rains.
It hurts when I think between choice
and will. Light was arrested in the stone.
At dusk the stone becomes a star.
I kiss a beam and bid goodbye to stilled doors,
of my ancient past.
This universe,
after the bang
plunged in a dry desert, moving
through dooms. Yes and no confirmed to uncertainty.
Another explosion will expand into
a fresh galaxy. I will watch the rise
of hundred suns.
* After the LHC successful experiment to simulate the creation of universe by colliding beams of protons on 10th Sept 08.
poem by Satish Verma
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds
I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dimension Merge
For us the past has gone and the present moves on
into the yesterday of a future’s present time.
Despite living in the future’s past this will not last,
present and future will very soon combine.
Future or dimension, to some a misapprehension,
but they are one in the same.
If there’s more than one, they will follow on
to leave one, with it’s present name.
On merging we’ll realise we’ve no future to recognise,
and the past and present is all we’ll know.
The past will still be renewed, with each day used,
but the future will mean only tomorrow.
poem by Orlando Belo
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This Is How All Sunny Days Should Be
Green grass grows fast, green grass
I want you to grow so fast
So I can leap up, from the ground
And pretend to fly, soar so high
And then gravity, cruel, vile, unkind
Will drag me down, and shut my laugh
And then, green grass, (grow fast)
I’ll be sad of falling down
But then, my friend you’ll muffle my fall
And ill lie there
……..Calm………..
And hide, in the very green, tall,
Great, bed like grass
And then I’ll stare at the sky
(Light blue, immense sky)
And get lost in the clouds
(White, light absorbing clouds)
And then I’ll only hear the birds
And the wind brushing the branches
And the flowers will be dancing
To the rhythm of the air
And then I’ll think
“This is how all sunny days should be”
Wrapped In Light
The Lord wraps Himself in light, that darkness cannot penetrate,
Existing high above dark of night, in His Glorious, Eternal State,
His form no eye on earth has seen, by those of us on this earth,
Value believers soon shall glean; that for us will be eternal worth.
God rides on the clouds above, as those clouds are His chariot,
Above all the clouds He speaks of, is the throne where God sits,
Throned high above in majesty, the Blessed Savior Jesus Christ,
Who every believer’s eye will see, when we into enter Eternal Life.
God left the Light of His Throne, to enter earth’s darkness below,
Coming down to redeem His own, and yet, Him they didn’t know,
So another thing God would do, He turned to each gentile nation,
With a Covenant, that was new, offering to all souls His salvation.
Yet, The Lord shall return to Israel, when this present age is done,
To redeem that Nation, per His Will, as God’s Only Begotten Son,
Jesus Christ, rejected the first time, by God’s only chosen nation,
However, it was of God’s Design, in fulfilling His Holy Revelation.
Christ came, the Light of the world, to redeem men from the night,
His Good News is what we herald, pointing other men to His Light,
For God came to redeem all men, to offer mortal men Eternal Life,
When, by God they are Born Again, through His Son, Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©10/2011)
…… Distant Shores
Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly.
Gothic tree and drooping sky
humble my thoughts.
Past was me.
I will know then
why your hills turned away my clouds
by shifting sands.
Was it a colossal guilt of tomorrow?
Which never wanted to become present
and enter my house.
But my memory was sharp
and days were numbered.
I wanted to invite the death discreetly
while praising the life and listening to birds
without dropping the history
from my crooked fingers.
Between yourself and myself
a sea was surreptitiously raging.
The waves were dividing the shores.
poem by Satish Verma
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Timeless
All time that we face down here, whether that time is far or near,
Will just become a period behind, as the future comes to mind,
Here, the present, future and past, are periods that will not last,
As all the time we come to see, are just spans towards Eternity.
Eternity is what we have in view, when time will be eternally new,
When we leave our earthly place, where life is in time and space,
As we move into Heaven sublime, with no limit on space or time,
When past and future is no more, and present will forever endure.
A time we now can’t comprehend, but, where we’ll forever spend.
Within an endless realm with Christ, as we enter into Eternal Life,
And timeless will be that place, which we’ll enter by God’s Grace,
Far away from this earthly sphere, of time and space, down here.
That place, that is prepared for us, was prepared by Christ Jesus,
The world’s only timeless man, the architect of God’s eternal plan,
A scope of which we can’t conceive, even those who truly believe,
And never seen by a mortal’s eye; all God has made for you and I.
So I’ll continue in the present time, on hills and valleys yet to climb,
As I move on to that destination, afforded to me through Salvation,
And at times I will contemplate, life with no space or time constraint,
Until I’m changed by God’s Grace, to enter Heaven’s timeless space.
(Copyright ©12/2010)
Beyond The Distant Hills
The sun is shining for me,
beyond the distant hills.
Where my love is waiting,
for my return.
The water is sweet to drink,
beyond the distant hills,
where a warm fire is waiting,
for my return.
The grass bends in the breeze,
beyond the distant hills.
Where my love’s heart yearns
for my return.
A candle lights a window,
beyond the distant hills.
Where someone keeps a watchful eye,
for my return.
Beyond the distant hills,
where no clouds gather,
and no storms darken the sky.
Beyond the distant hills,
bright eyes wait for my return.
Beyond the distant hills,
my dreams will come true,
and I promised myself one day I will get there.
25 April 1988
poem by David Harris
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A Time Machine Mind!
Human mind, dreams, vision and imagination
Can transport one forward and backward in time.
Mind is the time machine to go to past and future
But time never goes backward but only forward;
Also, time never goes in circle but only straight!
Recollection of past is possible in the present;
Visualization of future is possible in the present;
But one cannot go to the past or future ever now!
Hour glass can show the time like clock of today
But it cannot bring back the past to reality now
Or bring to our vision the future of world now!
Mind is the time machine that can read history;
Mind is the same machine to see the future too;
But time never goes to the past but only to future!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Triangles
Three triangles of birds crossed
Over the enormous ocean which extended
In winter like a green beast.
Everything just lay there, the silence,
The unfolding gray, the heavy light
Of space, some land now and then.
Over everything there was passing
A flight
And another flight
Of dark birds, winter bodies
Trembling triangles
Whose wings,
Frantically flapping, hardly
Can carry the gray cold, the desolate days
From one place to another
Along the coast of Chile.
I am here while from one sky to another
The trembling of the migratory birds
Leaves me sunk inside myself, inside my own matter
Like an everlasting well
Dug by an immovable spiral.
Now they have disappeared
Black feathers of the sea
Iron birds
From steep slopes and rock piles
Now at noon
I am in front of emptiness. It’s a winter
Space stretched out
And the sea has put
Over its blue face
A bitter mask.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Toward The Moon and the Night (from, Spring Come Come)
Toward the moon and the night
The dreams will never come true
Shadows are up in their flight
For days to come and be of new
And the going pleasures are going
Filling up their empty woes
Without times spectacular glowing
This everywhere through here flows
Yesterdays are in their dreaming
Full in their every lost space
We were just with them all streaming
Filling out own wandering ways
But everything is always ending
Giving us seldom a new return
Wills of our thoughts bending
And from them we all must learn
Toward the days of past light
When there were roads to find out
What was to become of wrong or right
When everything was here about
And our days are all leaving
Without a return from gone past
With their moments just briefing
Some will though through time last
* This is also a 2nd part to 'Sad In Blue (a lyric) '
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Snakepit, The
Well we're a mile under the ground
And I'm thinking that it's Christmas
And I'm kissing you hard
Like I've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
Well I'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And I've forgotten how to speak
And I just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing
And I'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Snakepit
Well we're a mile under the ground
And i'm thinking that it's christmas
And i'm kissing you hard
Like i've got very important business
And no-one knows
And no-one sees us
Because they're drinking themselves senseless
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
Well i'm out in a car
And it's just full of stupid girls
And i've forgotten how to speak
And i just can't remember a word
And my eyes feel like they're bursting
And they're splitting like plums
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing
And i'm writhing in the snakepit
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far More Pretty Than The Flowers Hanging On The Branches
Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,
much closer than the birds in their flight
you come into my life by your own will,
you bring comfort to the daily longing
and constantly return from work.
Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,
the depth of our love sometimes scares me;
for getting hurt these feelings are sometimes renowned
but our love makes my humanity lustrous
and constantly you are
far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Beak Kind To Birds!
Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!
poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
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Truth-Bank(1)
Blue sky
Wandering clouds
White poetry magnificent
Breeze on the cutting-edge of the cloud
Singing the song of the future
Investing truths royally
Branches of the light of a grass
Green green fresh fresh
Sharing clarity all over the sky
In the truth-bank
Invest for the future
Infinity of the power of supply and
Invisible poetry
Blue sky
New Season
Up from the hills and down through the valley,
A stream whispers unendingly a fading melody,
As it continues on its aimless journey.
The blazing heat scorching innocent vegetation,
Green leaves gently fading to brown.
The grass shriveled up;
Wilted, forgotten and began to die.
Up high in the treetops birds yet sing their songs,
In ritual of prayers to their gods.
Their songs heard even beyond the blue skies.
Suddenly everything changes,
From elsewhere came the darkening clouds;
Stopping over.................,
The shadow obscuring the sun.
Then the rumble of the rolling thunder
overpowers the birds gentle songs,
The mighty thunder scares the birds.
Trees fall silent as the clouds darkens thick;
It sends down a single drop;
Then another and yet another one.
They patter on the leaves then onto the ground.
In no time the mighty delude overpowers the streams
as it floods to the banks swallowing dirty from the bush.
It cleans the forest as it prepares for the new season
to rein.
As the downpour ceases;
Like birds even trees shake drops of rain to the ground.
The birds tease the summer as it runs away from the
coming season, They bid farewell to it.
The branches swing as they rejoice
to welcome king Autumn.
Vegetation sinking beneath the earth,
Holding firm; it begins to grow in full bloom.
With flowers all over
Giving thanks to the mighty AUTUMN.
poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Harbor
Where dawn drains the sucking clouds
In agony for the russet rocks
Colliding on the beach below,
The undersea's ironic calm
Teems with the energy of heat,
primitive teeth aiming straight and true,
Unlike the wildly random lightning flashing above,
The tortoise not in love
With the seasnake;
The electric eel discharging on barnacles,
Particles of wind-driven rain
In the face of yellow-suited sailors,
Who shout and steer as if they were born there,
High-tide creatures of the sunken wave.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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Lifting
Again the panic grips.
Clones from the frozen cells of rot-scented
rafflesia growing in abundance.
Huge pitchers are swarming the landscape.
You walk into the trap.
The lid falls, blocks the way out
and sharp spikes pierce through you,
so suddenly that you cannot even cry.
The white darkness of the gray ash
is covering the limbs of history.
I am the past, I am the future.
Where do I enter the present?
At threshold they lift their arms.
Neither in-nor-out.
Begging to walls to close in
and let the roofs fall down.
poem by Satish Verma
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