Short Orifices Poems

Friends, are like orifices, be careful which you pick....

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Trumpets blared from orifices hidden
   Awaiting his doom, the prince was bidden
To enter the dark hole of all things unknown
   Suppressing a shriek, he unplugged his phone...

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Impaled embers forsook
damp crevices elongated 
wide orifices inhale poised 
pain wrapped in prideful
Splendor.

Sprint gallantly, reform
denying absorbed death
exhaling hope anew
evermore proved extreme
Brillance.

Spread wide softly,
overtake righteous screams
whisper mist appear brightly
Resilient....

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Morning broke; it shattered nicely,
the fallen ice spoke spirits
in orifices of rapture;
twixt the glade, seasonly came,
early, always,
and unnoticed,
waking we to ponder, when?
and again, when,
we emerge from our own
homilies of fragile and
intermittent vitality,
to ponder the cause
of nature, as our wondrous,
manifest God....

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Flirting will broken bread
I taste a bitter truth.
I am entering into a stupor
from head to toe. The
intimate torture has begun.

Trying to locate the
dirt path back to
home. The bird watching
has come to an end.

The meaningless ailing
now bleeds from dark
orifices. I return back
your globe.

The river has changed
its course. It does not flow
by my home. I am planting
forget – me – not.


Satish Verma...

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Unlike the robin caring for her young
   weaving a nest of affection
sitting sentry, perched on pale-blue eggshells
   nourishing new-hatched fledglings
her joy as worms whirl down
   their cavernous, yearning orifices...

A woman's tender love for her young
   deepens as calendar pages turn
blossoming in Spring, flourishing in Summer
   ~ her nestlings long-departed ~ 
thriving in Autumn, yet vibrant through Winter...

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Small orifices pulsate in our palms,
radiating intense magnetic heat
and whilst mind is calm and heart has no qualms,
presence beholds the fontanel upbeat,
as sublime bliss beats therein too repeat.
It is what it is, this silent thunder,
rapture bursting forth from deep down under,
so who’d complain when ego’s being slain,
as grace in-pours, gripping us in wonder,
signalling our life’s not been spent in vain....

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