Short Agonizingly Poems

the resurrection
nailed like an official post...
     agonizingly
watered by garden teardrops...
          perpetuity embraced

4/30/2018...

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lazy, long afternoon
preening sphinx-like
catches a stray scent
aha! dinner!...
stealth-creep
agonizingly slow, 
'til, target in sight
she springs...
afterward, sated
lightly licks 
the corners
of her whiskers
curls back into
her no-hammock...

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She was agonizingly close
To winning the race when
Things started going haywire
They really played games on her
Some said her game was up
Many had written her off
Others said she was history

But they had to swallow their
Spoken-too soon convictions
She turned the tables on 
Those sticky things and at the
End hers was not only history
But also a simple sweet victory...

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Getting started is harder some days than others
   Tempting ideas take shape -- vanish without a trace
A couple of lines appear, then run out of rhyme
   Going nowhere fast is a misnomer; it's agonizingly slow
        And the poetry's just awful

Push to finish it anyway...Push hard...Push to finish it...Ah, done!
   The next one'll probably be easier; this one was certainly no fun...

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Unable to conceive.
The theme had not arrived-
near the mouth.
It was agonizingly close,
Before and after the storm.
A dharma had failed.

Law of the land:
first a sprint,
then a strained voice.
You lend your voice to 
a surrogate throat.
The audience roared.

Star by star, you walk 
in dust. The search goes to 
find the unknown, who takes
a big stride and leaves
gaint foot-prints
in dark.


Satish Verma...

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The water wears a halo of mist
made gold by first light.
Two swans write their waking
on the soft glaze of a morning
as if tracing psalms 
to anoint the coming day. 
They bow their heads gracefully.
Clumsily, I bow mine.

I can almost feel each word
being transcribed across
the tightened surfaces of my mind.
I come to listen,
to hear something sacred
being said in a language 
I cannot decipher.
It is agonizingly beautiful.
Why am I so afraid ?...

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Scars on my heart,
Scars on my wrist,
It tears my soul apart,
To know that I cannot resist.

As the razor cuts trough skin,
The adrenaline is agonizingly sweet,
Yet I know I cannot win,
So I set myself up to be beat.

Then blood it starts to flow,
A seductive temptation from my vein,
Soon I can feel my heart start to slow,
And my mind is filled with a beautiful pain.

My suicide you shall call an obscenity,
While it is my own peaceful serenity....

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