Every mother's prayer calls home
in this hut
morning smoke billows upwards
holes in the door and roof gasp
a mother's tear-streaked face
over the burning coals
empty clay pot
who will provide enough food
today?
Ahead, the wet dust on the paths
it's hard to tell whether it was last night's rain
or a drop of blood
but the remnants of water on the road
and the remnants of light in the vision
seep into the womb
becoming pus and blood.
Children fall asleep listening to stories
now they rub their eyes
to ponder
that there is no more fairyland
no wind
to carry them away
and if they try to stand
their heads hit the black sky
their eyes burn
their hands burn
their stomachs burn
are they roasting themselves?
A voice rises up
is it from the sea?
from the valley?
from the mountains?
from the storm?
from the wailing of many voices?
it continued to soar into the sky,
but in the trees,
the branches
and leaves remained motionless.
Smoke swirled like any other day,
only the mother slowly lifted her face,
tears streaming for a moment,
and the children peeked out again
—and again.
Atambua—Indonesia, July 9, 2026
Silence of the weary mind
Is not silence, but despair
Wind is blowing in the night
Then it stops, to let the air
Dressed in white, fall on the ground
Flaring up the coals of yearning
Dark December spreading out
Longer evenings, dimly mornings
Newer virus books a room
In your body cheap hotel
And it feels like déjà vu
Though exactly you can’t tell..
Every coal I walked over
brought back the pain
I felt from the destructive memories
that have always burnt up in my spirit
the charcol of torture
from heartbreaks I endured
stung my heels like the fires of hell
until I needed guard my heart
from the pains of the coals
I have walked over in the past
to pacify the pain
from the destructive memories
that have always burnt up in my spirit
When you don't live right,
You can expect constant stress.
You’ll never grow, thinking you know the answers to the test.
Pointing fingers, blaming others for your self-made mess.
Letting the shadow win causing civil unrest.
In the mind.
You see,
There's two of your kind.
The one that you show,
And the one that you hide
I’ve arrived,
At,
The point where I teach.
Truly,
I don't mean to preach,
But we have to unleash,
That other.
That,
We try to restrain.
Tried to dodge it like the game
But peace was calling my name.
I'm ashamed.
Of,
The things that I’ve done.
Had to study my patterns
And now my life has begun.
And I’m growing.
All of me I’m showing.
Untapped potential?
That's a coal that’s glowing.
There was a virile freight train from South Bend
A sexy caboose he dared to befriend --
He said, "You're my dream"
And let out some steam --
Then poured all his hot coals in her south end
Do you think you’re Heaven worthy
for myself—I never have
The weight I carry pulls me down
and keeps me off the path
I avoid most every mirror
my reflection haunts me still
With eyes that stare like piercing lasers
to maim, and then to kill
My spirit left in ashes
my kindled soul to burn
Salvation buried in the coals
—from lessons never learned
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
stone coals
aloned
in
diamond hole
what cave shines
all the time
phrases
caught
letters
aught
learn
me
again
word spin
hook hook hook
looker looked looking
hooked hooked hooked
time
from
me shook
tremble before me
i's says to myself
what bookshelf
lover love me
tree tree
tree
me
i
am
glass
diamond
shattering
stone coals
?
The passion in your breath
Your hands upon my flesh
Your smell
Your fierce gaze
Intertwined souls for love
My unbound heart beats wildly
I fall for your warm essence
Your bite of love, hurts so good
Tingling of ecstasy
A fire the burns violently
The wind that makes it grow
Your love makes me want more
So I dance upon the flame
SMOULDERING COALS
The sound of logs lying in flames
is the clicks of horsemen’s guns
drawn back of a bullet prepared;
Within soft light they dance silently
to their own music of togetherness.
Smouldering coals break free and away
to continue their glowing conversation
with the other breathing companions;
Friends were few at first, but as time
went by and hundreds hurled
themselves to the crowd’s silence,
they lived in the warmth of energy
to survive and let survive those
that hid from the night’s snows;
They die to ashes, alone and loved…
©Mickey Van Tonder
The solid lump of black coal
for the some geological reasons
have got to long travelling
deep into Earth,
and gone through lots of pressing, beating and
others heavy testings,
eventually digged up, polished,
labeled, crowned
and escorted to pallace
as marvelous prince almaz.
That is common saga of success
in mineral world.
“I am a poet”
What words are these
That come trembling from my pen?
I am a poet?
…words I barely comprehend
Do I say these words…
Do I even dare?
Can I with Tennyson, Keats
Or Shakespeare ever compare?
No . . . but a poet speaks words
From their very souls
They draw pictures, produce emotions,
Bring fire from the coals
I am a poet
For these things I have tried to do
I hope that sometime
I’ve brought these things to you
“I am a poet”
Yes, maybe these words
Can actually somehow fit.
So I say them with humility
Yes, “I Am A Poet"
Loneliness of non-being and,
reality, fill up the vessel.
I search for the eloquence while,
emptiness will be my forte.
Countless words are crossing
like a promise in milk-white days
I gather sunlight through grass leaves.
Life had been full of shadows,
lengthening, penetrating
the tapestry of love.
The descent was steep.
Coming home I found
no humming words.
Sitting in dark
I wait for shooting stars.
Measuring the blood, drawn from our hurts
was a royal reward
for your fingers.
You are allowed to compare blood
with brown coffee.
Sand in our eyes,
we walked bare-foot
on burning coals.
SATISH VERMA
Out
of his
brilliance-
lightning bolts of
life.
After Psalm 18:12
All but faded,are
sensibilities remainders
uncommon to the commonwealth
as the richness of feeling become numbing
In all it's glory,whether
past or present
our soul continues forward in the future
as ourself eventually, to catch and keep up
Navigating the burning coals
our predestined fate
laid down is the souls trail,we follow
cool underfoot,mindful of it's guidance
Our journey,is not of this world
our destination,ordained
from a much higher source
as our awakened souls suffer....
HE WHO FANS THE COALS OF HATE
An angry man opens his mouth
And shuts his mind to reason
He who stays slow to anger
Is loved by more each season.
Anger snuffs the lamp of thought
And it's hard to stay serene.
Where anger rules, hatred thrives,
Then the world we love turns mean.
He who fans the coals of hate
Has no reason to complain,
If some hot sparks scorch his face,
His anguish is thus his pain.
Anger is a human madness
Which consumes the heart and mind.
He who rules his spirit with love,
Shall be praised by all mankind.
By Tom Zart
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