Short Fissured Poems

In
just-spring
this year,
the world was not
mud-luscious nor
puddle-wonderful,
but dry,
the stark trees
bare and clacking in the wind
above the brown lawns
and fissured earth,
the land trod
by old men in cracked leather boots,
coughing hoarse whispers under leaden skies,...

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That which lived within me hangs impaled on the thorns of your soul 
Day and night blur to muted shades of pain 
I walk but movement evokes only the illusion of life 
Fissured heart cramps the stomach 
Breathing continues without purpose 
O time, cast your spell and dull this hell...

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Lines broken and crossed,
Weathered skin, 
Sun baked,
Fissured knuckles,
Short nails,
Old breaks
Crooked finger
Worn tips, 
Scars,
Wrinkles,
Big surface veins,
Hair, 
Blood blister,
Hard calluses,
Softened calluses,
Fresh scratches,
Small slivers,
Stained,
but ...
Awesome.
 
My hands.

Thank you, Lord....

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O! Sweetness let me trick you
Into a dark corner soaking wet
Extruding saliva within desire
As tongue to caresses thy skin
Edging you around into yields
Moans, cries in soft teeth bites
Busted sacks sucked in erotica
Censured ecstasy in thy divide
Expel hardness, refined focus?

On temptation in fissured rapture’s
Seek another juicy plum to capture....

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The town was
fissured.
It does not listen to me 
that moribund heart, now.
The biome was ready 
to set on fire all the smiles.

No person of god 
will lead the prayers to grave.
Let the dust meet the dust
stealthly and
you win the script surreptitiously.
Beautifully done, the obscene death.

A bruise spreads 
shattering the mirrors of perfect accident.



Satish Verma...

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If You're My Friend


If you are my friend
walk with me to the end
Avoid to disappoint
endure my weak point.

If you are my friend
walk me beyond the bend
Bestow hope when I sigh
comfort me when I cry.

If you are my friend
lofty hills let us ascend
cherish and do trust
though I be soiled in dust.

If you are my friend
let fissured love mend,
and, remember and recall
divided both down we fall!



27th September 2013...

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MEMORY LAPSE

they peer at me
in short panted
breaths
against cuts and 
breezes
childhood days
and drifts like
wood in dark
mahogany
past pastels
through every
heart torched that
touched my soul

now life gapes
huge holes
cracked mirrors
with
fissured tears
faces that visit
and giggle
clueless
dim-witted
brainless
obtuse

a memory lapse
unaware 
of what was
left behind 


© Kim van Breda—16 October 2015...

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Once on Cecil Place
fledgling flagstones freckled
like summer faces
in Septembers of taut cypress.
Now neglected planters are urns
for my young ashes,
crypts gaping silent screams.
Blistered doors do not divulge 
past secrets,
gravure images are gravel 
on a eroding drives.
Fissured streets
are cracked mirrors
reflecting shards of selves.
Time is a slumlord 
its seconds a legion
of termites.
I'm a pillar of salt;
I should not have looked. 

6/1/17...

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How fickle is my fissured grief
In the immensity of the space
Where often it overflows 
Overwhelming my sadness.

People come and go
With pomp and trumpetery
But then depart into a vacant
 Without leaving even a shadow.

If I was only a construct
Of the geometry of the space
Dreaming up a new frontier
In crude pathways to chalk
With poetics of my own at stake.

Losing ingrained silted
Concepts of inner necessity
A triad of poem to combat
Imagination of the mind
Destined perhaps for novel start....

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