Tending anger’s
raging garden
seeds lie
burnt and dire
Each fiery breath
a vine ensnares
with thorns
of bloody ire
Tending anger’s
furrowed hate
with vehement
acclaim
A tirade lost
within the rows
of dark
— unending pain
(The New Room: December, 2024)
Slime is a subtle stage for blame I can’t stay stuck to your ways/
I’m a little vague so your game I’ll ante up to plague/
While a tirade goes for their bane they played and waged/
I’ll abrogate woes to lurk away more straight/
Compile and appropriate foe’s to contain your plate/
The trial of a pirate goes on to con tame and irrigate/
Denial of a tyrant that strove along to drain and irritate/
Then dial a vibrant cat to move strong and plain annihilate/
A senile re-brand that drove a pronged strain to acclimate/
The tribal withstand fought a shove from one that longed again to act just or right/
Sir it’s vital to know the zone read was a wrought lot and would attract a prejudice overnight/
Survival of a homestead sought above tact and when injustice is worth a fight/
Sure is final now just like a home’s bed brought to a spot held at last a permanent site/
A tirade
It is nearing my birthday, and I hate the thought
my wife asks me what I want, and suggests an electric bike
with three wheels: she refuses if I want a bike I have
to buy one myself.
Last year’s birthday, I was invited out, and plenty of meat
washed down with beer, everyone had a good time
but I ended up settling the bill.
Sigh, and there is Christmas which I like less, this bloody
rush and intense traffic, but it is also the time
when the haves walk out in the night to feed the poor
one day is enough kindness.
The supermarket is full the noise, which makes me wobbly
I sweat run to my car and hide till she rings, she has
a trolley full.
As a child, I got a fire truck made of wood it had
four-wheel that quickly fell off, but I was a fire-man
In the corner of the living room; I also got toothpaste
and ditto brush of an elderly aunt (everyone was old
when I was a child) mother told me to say thank you.
Never throw a tirade at a parade,
Or castigate a wealthy profligate
Do not endanger the park ranger,
Or roller skate at the Watergate
Careful always to recoup the poop,
One never ever makes a group
Expect the worst if lips are pursed,
Avoid, if possible, being coerced
And always assemble yourself
Before sitting on the top shelf.
written July 28, 2021
two saraband
In restful tones, my evening sigh
doth thank the stars, you’re far away.
I shirk my duties ever nigh.
As thoughts engage where'er they may,
oh, how my heart longs to be free.
Those miles that sever me from thee
are welcome breach, reprieve’s highway.
Dark quickly falls my soul is blessed
and in my dreams, I snub your calls.
Ere long, two nights provide sweet rest.
At noon, I wake. Your shadow falls
and tirade comes… repair the fence,
garage needs paint. It would make sense
to trim the weeds that flank the walls.
June 14, 2019
In war of attrition
with moon,
you need a black eye.
The stars blinked.
A milkyway changed its stance
and went on fast track.
The sense of sky
was changing. Earth
decided to take off the veil.
I was not engaging
any contradictions. Let the turmoil
throw up an alternative.
It was seen coming.
The blind snakes
starting an intrepid attack.
Satish Verma
Triumph of Hope
Rumbling of might
Progression of truth
The dawn of liberation
Together we fight
For knowledge and legitimacy
We forego oppression
Physical at least
Not without education
Not without the pen
Not without paper
Then we can remain blind
But with these we fight
With these we become
With these we scream-
Scream to the ears of injustice
Scream on the face of impunity
With force and might
The pen presses on
The pen leaves permanence
The pen is unforgettable
Word on paper weighs tones
Three or two but can change a nation
Can set souls free
Incarcerated by senseless laws
Triumph of hope
With the might of my pen
This is a moment
A moment I took
To write down a thought
But not for a book
It's simply a space
That needs to be filled
In hopes that a reader
Will somehow be thrilled
Should I write about nature
Should I write about time
Should I use nomenclature
Should I do it in rhyme
Should I use a thesaurus
To help me debate
Or just sputter words
That do not relate
The mountain is high
The valley is low
BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH
That stuff's gotta go
Don't write about sunshine
Don't ponder the rain
I need something new
To put in refrain
This poem is drivel
But don't get me wrong
I did it for fun
Like singing a song
But it has to have meaning
It has to have worth
Oh, how can I raise
This poem from birth
My ink is the web
That I spin with my hand
I hope there's some purpose
In every strand
I guess I should stop
Before I go on
This poem is pointless
And getting too long
My tirade is over
I've said all I can
The next time I write
I'll be using a plan
Rockman :-)
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