Best Sacs Poems
Sometimes in life it never goes as planned
Into cul de sacs we turn behind us we leave
Feelings and sadness dealt by life's demands
Find that shining light, deliver us from reave
To me that light appeared, not one but two
Father God through his book, I entered
Pasts burdens left behind, no longer askew
My path of life now clearer, happily centered
Forward I now look to share this romantic day
Valentines as we know it, where hearts decide
For they shall speak volumes in loving display
Under Father God, for it's with his hand we guide
This day has finally arrived, it's the morn, we
Awakening with a kiss, cuddling, warming hearts
Smiles abound aplenty, amidst silken sheets glee
To forget pasts grief, welcoming our new start
Holding hands in prayer we, to our Father God
Us on this romantic day, blessed to each other
To thank him, we grace, righteously we laud
Breath of love now lives, no longer in smother
.
Free Verse
I live not far from humankind the cradle that is of
what and where we are all coming from Johannesburg
so they say and going to one human race of every colour
no need for power domination colonializing margins
The ‘dark continent’ where the ‘savages’ did not abide
by our expectations of what civilized should be and mean
where it was us the other 'othering' cannibalizing our flesh
of freedom dignity compassion lost in money mind and soul
My cradle rocks and sways in the wild gentle winds in
torrents of emotion mood reflection history anticipation
certain of uncertainty of what the intermingling retrospective
past and future web together like a tapestry of life a bricolage
Lost threads there are and double knitted faults and hollows
shallow worn out spins and spiral knots and missing patches
mended winding fabric scars and wounded oscillations
swings and roundabouts cul-de-sacs and four-way stoppage
Is there a pattern to cradling the moment to memories to
fantasies of rooted wings and flapping roots a human kind
of compass joining needles implements of mass construction
subjective individual shining lights and armour idiosyncratic beauty
Are we starving demising suffocating for self-righteousness
loosing the plot and all the marbles thrown high up in the
air with juggled balls we aim to fix the waters rivers flowing
on their own with push and pull of light and lighted gravitation
Just here and now not there and then when sunshine rises
where rainbows glitter melt and wax the wane all of the colours
into violet prisms focussing condensing refracting blinding darkness
understanding knowledge of the shadows and bright clarity
When I write some thoughts on paper on the screen of modern
techniques and ancient art of crafted words and scripted meaning
the cradling of the moment takes its paths of where I’ve started off
and might be going once and only when the moment passes
02nd July 2016 written in Johannesburg and everywhere
Avenues of life
Even Cul de Sacs return
Seek, follow their path!
.
Should you venture home, now,
And see the cobbles gone,
Hear the rattle on steel shutters
As the rain falls on and on,
You might as well be leaving
Just the way that you arrived,
For there’s nothing for you here, now,
Nothing has survived.
Should you tread the streets, now,
Between the alien facades,
And puzzle at the structures
In the cul-de-sacs and yards,
You should do yourself a favour,
And turn away into the rain,
For there’s nothing left for you, now,
Nothing to remain.
Should you reach the house, now,
And fail to recognise,
The brickwork and the curtains
And the car parked on the rise,
You really should be going,
From the freshly painted door,
For there’s nothing of your life, now,
Nothing anymore.
An old Ethiopian veteran of the love wars
once told a newlywed Kenyan kid:
If you want the infant marriage to survive,
make it to the golden years Mt. Kilimanjaro side
You gotta keep the giraffe standing up,
when the ecstasy mountain air gets thin at night
When you’re starting the climb,
don’t early reach
for the apex of a lovemaking climax
You gotta stay rock hard,
climbing the pleasure wall for the long haul —
Or don’t even shorty night come at all
Keep the flagpole reared tall;
because the minute your
testosterone stone levels fall,
you might as well go geld yourself
Premature burial ...
put the family jewels in a coffin box
Don’t bother to take off your pants,
might as well keep on your socks
Prepare to have plenty eunuch days
of abstinent nights
Too many failed erections
gonna get you shovels loads
of opposite sex dissatisfaction
Expect a bedroom eviction notice,
telling you to
get your droopy drawers packing
Frequent impotent performances,
gonna get her eyebrow curtains raised
So many flaccid phallic early encore excuses made
gonna get you tossed out of the bed,
and kicked downstairs onto the couch
Premature ejection is coming,
your woman’s been too long frustrated ...
doubts gon start creeping in:
Where you been,
who you seeing ...
Why you keep coming home
with your love sacs empty?
Those suspicions gon start stiffening:
She’s gonna wanna know
whose arms been keeping your bottom mind bent
You’re gonna wanna know
where in the world did your lost manhood get sent
If you don’t wanna lose access
to her intimate-starved heart,
you better start trying harder on keeping it hard
Learn to get a second wind of stamina,
too much soft effort gon get your love privilege barred
Premature pleasure aborted love
will have your armadillo snout soul dragging
Premature love not long enough
will have your elephant nose spirit sagging
Don’t depend on bottled passion,
pharmaceutical extended sex
Too many early evening elongated failures
gonna get you a premature ex
Such a weight, these boulders of depression.
Carrying them has become a useless, sad obsession...
A way to define the core of self, the Inner Being
Only talk of lightening the load, no thought of ever freeing...
A soul's place is through the void, to be preserved forever in ice,
Ice of Blue hues and Nothings - so nothing to avoid.
Grey grit mixes with the mist of time expired. Dirty memories.
Several generations based on the same pattern.
Reproduced but not rewired.
Currents lost in cul de sacs and weeping men in doorways,
Bottled laughter auctioned off then vapourised by sun's rays.
Tell me this, TELL me the story -
is man aglow, or does he bask in God's Glory?
The wonderings and whisperings of those who need to blend.
No-one can figure out who is foe and who is friend.
Hearts breaking with audible cracks while demon's chew on pain,
keeping anger as their snacks.
Leaching colour from the world around.
Searching till every weakness is found - preying on insecurities and lust
till the last bones are but powder and dust.
Endless Grey is all I see.
Even my shadow has departed from me;
But I stand straight and hold myselt tall -
never moving in case I should fall.
Don't look left, and don't look right lest fear attacks your need for flight.
Loose the soul, cut silver threads for Divinity swings low.
Don't end the game before it's begun, take care to walk it slow...
Walk it slow for those who lag behind and fast for those who run.
Every searching till you find...
The Meaning of The One.
The parade of endless colors is over,
All the leaves are dead or dying.
Scurrying about like frantic crabs.
Back and forth across an icy-icy land.
Clinging along the fence line of time.
Swirling about cul-de-sacs and doorways.
Like gothic teens with little reason to shine.
...but unchained from their master's paradise.
Unchained from the dance of emerald lies.
Soon these bronzed, arthritic children
will wrinkle into oblivion.
Passing trees with gauzy nests
Of caterpillars hanging down
Jars a memory that rests
Within the folds of brain cell town.
My dad and all the neighbor men,
With flaming torches, did attack
Those selfsame sacs so ne’er again
Would gypsy moths be coming back.
We children gathered ‘round to gape
As fiery clumps fell from the trees,
A happening which helped to shape
A reminiscence there to seize.
The dads, the dusk, the shadows cast,
The neighborhood community
Unlocks a peek into the past
To visit with impunity.
Christmas without Mrs. Claus
That could never be
Who would feed dear Santa
And trim the Christmas tree
Who would tie the ribbons
And fasten all the bows
Who would help the elves
Hang their stockings all in rows
Who would do the mending
And sew the giant sacs
Who'd care for all the reindeer
And polish up their racks
Who would keep dear Santa jolly
Keep him fat and warm
So he can ride the coldest skies
And weather any storm
All hail the unsung hero
Hooray for Mrs. Claus
The saving grace of Christmas
Best gal that ever was
Inside my mind to my tomorrows I look
Straight ahead with no forks on my road
I can't look back as my past will hurt more
A corner I desire to rid this corrode
Dreams of many I have to live life to the full
To be as I should to be a soul in ones heart
Around so many corners cul-de-sacs appear
What does it take for ones life to restart
Then came the day as I travelled life's road
Freely I glanced as the corner became near
I turned into my unknown, not knowing what's ahead
Intrepidness abounds, living can be a fear
Through a window I view, absorbed at what I see
Spanish Eyes of beauty, musically we share
A Heart of Lothian, allures us both
Leaving this Highlander, in notable stare
For the first time in my life I can see another me
My tomorrows are now alive no longer I now wane
Her words like lyrical music, have melted my frozen heart
No longer that lonely road, there's still life in my veins
There will be many corners, of which we'll turn together
As I wave goodbye to my past, I remember it's many cries
Our future is what we'll make of it
All because I looked into her Spanish Eyes
Five ducklings feeding
The back of the camper bus
proudly sported the family
seven yellow stickers ducks
five little ducklings in a line
feeding on life presented to
the world growth sustenance
nourishment and meaning
For every fellow traveller
to ponder smile anticipate
what little team was to alight
at temporary destinations
sheltered tented playgrounds
swings and roundabouts
cul-de-sacs and traffic lights
To get all ducks into a row
once they emerged enriched
our little feeding station
food bank vital well and
fields of plenty needed
diverse and un-divided
attention chaos letting go
Meal times at times with rubber
ducks in bathtubs burping
passing winds of change
incorporating kilojoules
compassion love and swirling
compromise uncertain certainty
floated in the ocean of life
yet to be swum and dived in
with the buoyancy of living
Little duckling was still small
and sat beside as older
sister eager helper supervisor
when our triplet power three
in one as courtesy of nature
and individual little mouths
to feed lay on their backs
on sleeping bags as wonderment
in waiting for the spoon with
apple mush and cinnamon
to take its turn to reach their gums
To complete the pentagon
of childish folly serious fun
and exploration another little duckling
observed from inside womb in
its fertile spring to yet conjoin the river
contemplated when and where
to splash out into beauty question marks
and tribulations sparkling brotherhood
and food for life and pleasure
whirlpools cascades and little ripples
The spoon went one to one
and to another next to here and
there forward backward and beyond
my wildest expectations of what food
and feeding holding precious gifts
in hand released from nature
into nature ingesting measured
unimaginable and definite provision
nurtures nourishes what was what is
The birds have flown the nest
they feed and feed me just the same
and it is not just those trivial stickers
sign posts on the buzling bus
and more than ever and for
every one who wants to see the
picture depiction metaphor
the unsurpassed experience
which reminds me of simplicity of
gratitude and feeling warm inside
24th May 2016
cold and snow arrives
young praying mantes last bow
staring at the trees
content to see the egg sacs
holding their spring progeny
Breaking free from collusion
A watch tower stands tall a look out in the circular prisons
surrounded by wardens laying down prescriptions and rules
with us in the centre fragmented in dead ends and schisms
mirrored glass no one inside we internalise as obedient fools
At the gate high walls conscience barriers and road blocks
imagined barbed wire where we pay fines in constant delusion
monitored in constriction we fail to walk outside of that box
abide by dogma norms lack vision to approach our confusion
Afraid of cul de sacs dead ends stop signs for individual drive
we halt and abide arrested immobilised for society’s sake
accept torturous certainty admit to all guilt and as we shrive
cannot distinguish from needs what is causing us mind ache
Roundabout’s exits guarded by our very own straight jackets
we spin around like puppets on strings to our master’s delight
The ‘panopticon’ demands obedience and we cannot attack it
for lack of conviction rebellion introspection rigorous insight
Unless we break free from chains of what others demand
disregard our dreams our beauty default on individual virtue
the road ends at a four way stop where forever we stand
disunited abolished forgotten and constant imagined taboo
4th January 2017
Written for contest: At the end of the road
Her hunched mound circles around
while near dawning approaches...
and my mind wonders of her need
to spin more rows in puffs
of hours, sewing and binding
a delicate blanket made from loops.
Somehow, I know what makes
her hurry... as time wheezes,
silken mother props her bed
upon new day's request
when egg sacs, her young, peep out
toward a gently crocheted, wet earth.
PD's Contest:
Any Poem (you wrote) that makes you smile
Wrigglers dripped again
from hidden heights. The red river changed
its course furiously. The wave climbers
abseiled from a lethal boat
to wipe out the beach memory. Timeline
sneaked to put the blood signature
of a cult on the glass shards.
A biosynthesis starts for tadpoles
destroying the infrastructure of the species.
Yolk sacs were emply. New borns
were turning into snakes.
Enemy swept across the land. Deers
were being released for the panthers.
The boundary was only meant for the victims.
The metamorphosis was complete.
SATISH VERMA