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Users can post their poems here! All skill levels welcome!
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Mary Most Holy, Mother Most Sweet
may the angels in heaven sing thy praise
while down below, on bended knee
thy children turn upward their loving gaze
Hail Queen of Heaven, Mystical Rose
mercifully for us thy Son's pardon obtain
so that we may, together with thee
rejoice forever in His glorious reign
Refuge of Sinners, Fountain of Love
may thy light from the heavens brightly shine
hiding my sins from thy Son's eyes
so one day heaven, thy home, may be mine!
-Dulcamara
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I know I've written some silly poetry and lyrics in my day, but I've written some serious poetry too.
Behold:
(To the tune of "Saviour of the Nations, Come")
Here we strive against the world
as we seek the priceless pearl
Our true happiness we seek
in this foreign land so bleak
Sin has caused so much decay
Help us find the Catholic way
Give us strength the truth to teach
and unending joy to reach
For the greatest war is now:
Satan gathers all his pow'r
Yet the saints will vanquish him
With God's power given them
Dominic was chosen well,
to save wand'ring sheep from hell
Mary filled his greatest need:
Crucifix and sixty beads.
Television, Satan's tool
To impose infernal rule:
Christendom is now no more,
God's own law most men deplore.
As men chase their own desires
Making worse their carnal fires
Steeped in sin with none confess'd
Thus depriving them of rest.
Sin does lead to countless woes
Man shall reap what e'er he sows
God allows their misery
That they might find need of Him.
The world sinking day by day,
difficult to find our way!
Catholic we must remain,
Christ the Lord will never change.
Persecution rages on,
But united with God's Son:
Offered up at every Mass,
Our salvation comes to pass.
Most have gone from the true path,
Save us from Thy coming wrath:
Let us stand victoriously,
Safe with Thee, eternally!
Why have all the gentiles raged?
For in Christ they can be saved:
They were cruelly deceived
by the devil they believed.
Age of Mary, age of grace
In the twilight of our race:
Now is when we need thy saints!
To win back the world in chains
Age of Mary, glorious age
as we watch the devils rage:
fruitlessly against the Church,
founded by the endless Word.
Age of Mary, age divine
Set before the end of Time:
God's own plan will now proceed,
all was planned and well forseen.
Age of Mary, age of Saints
When God's chosen, filled with grace,
go about to win Him souls
Smashing all of Satan's goals
Age of Mary, light of dawn,
with the darkness finally gone:
Giving hope to faithful men,
That God's mercy never ends.
Age of Mary, long foretold
By His faithful saints of old:
That the devil's one last stand
Will bring forth the saints most grand.
Age of Mary, soon to come,
When the devil thinks he won,
Just in time he'll be set back:
Reeling from the Lord's attack!
For the devil filled with pride
Dreads the Woman at God's side
For though human, she excels
The angelic prince of Hell
Spotless Mother of Our Lord
Grant us wisdom we implore:
Patience, and humility,
valor, grace and purity.
God the Father, mighty King,
All creation is for Thee:
Lord, destroy the errors rife
That all men might find true Life.
God the Son, God's Love unfurled,
Who taught us to fight the world,
Help us die to self with Thee,
save our souls, and thus be free.
Holy Spirit, God's own Love,
Leading souls to heav'n above:
Grant us fulness of Thy gifts
That in Christ we all may live.
God the Father, King above
With Thy Son who died of love,
and Thy Spirit highly blessed,
Grant to us eternal rest. Amen.
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Here is the MIDI, if you're not familiar with "Saviour of the Nations, Come (http://www.chantcd.com/lyrics/saviour_nations_come.htm)"
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Roses are red, violets are blue,
Rothschild's a banker, and he's also a...
Carrots are orange, lilies are white,
The life of man upon earth is one intense fight...
To call these rhymes poems is a bit of a stretch,
But for the love of G-d, please do not kvetch!
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If anyone here has not read Chesterton's poetry, please do. He is an excellent poet. His epic Ballad of the White Horse is worth the time - many times over.
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For Christmas, a poem about St. Joseph. I forgot who originally wrote this, and couldn't be bothered to check right now, but I know it as a song, and I believe it's originally a poem.
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The Hands That First Held Mary's Child
The hands that first held Mary's Child
Were hard from working wood
From boards they sawed and planed and filed
And splinters they withstood
This day they gripped no tool of steel
They drove no iron nail
But cradled from the head to heel
Our Lord, newborn and frail
When Joseph marveled at the size
Of that small breathing frame
And gazed upon those bright new eyes
And spoke the Infant's name
The angel's voice he once had dreamed
Poured down from heaven's height
And like the host of starts that gleamed
Blessed earth with welcome light
This Child will be Emmanuel
Not God upon the throne
But God-with-us, Emmanuel
As close as blood and bone
The tools which Joseph laid aside
A mob would later lift
And use with anger, fear and pride
To crucify God's gift
Let us, O Lord, not only hold
The Child who's born today
But charged with faith, may we behold
To follow in His way
The tiny form in Joseph's palms
Confirmed what he had heard
And from his heart rose hymns and psalms
For heaven's human Word
This Child will be Emmanuel
Not God upon the throne
But God-with-us, Emmanuel
As close as blood and bone
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EDITED: Poem's link removed. See following posts in this thread.
I wrote this poem, but I couldn't post it here because I'm under contract not to... >pokes chant< ... *ahem* ... I said, I'm under contract not to... ^o^
Okay, this is probably not very good, but it's something I wrote last night. It's a very blunt poem about a very bad end to a life that the world would call "good" ... and the mistake of thinking "there's always tomorrow" to turn around and change, if we feel like it.
The poem is called "So You Thought" and you can find it here, on this page which does not belong to me (so no, I can't fix the annoying ads that mess up the poem's form for the first two paragraphs.)
Oh, and if you DO like it, please help me out by clicking the "I like it" link at the end of it, so that hopefully, some day, someone else may actually read it. lol
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I just hit the "I liked it" button! It's really great most especially the last part!
So you thought you'd have time, but now you're six feet down
no end to pain, no end to time, no more chances left
you used to laugh at the fools who used to live by the rules
but the party ended in eternal regret.
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I wrote this poem, but I couldn't post it here because I'm under contract not to... >pokes chant< ... *ahem* ... I said, I'm under contract not to... ^o^
Does that mean there's $$$ involved?? :cheers:
To make a long and complicated story short, there is, if lots of people see it. I will get half of the money earned by the annoying (and probably really bad) ads. And probably the more pages it ends up on, the more annoying ads I get paid for.
But if I can do several really decent pieces (eg, if I can get people to be interested in my work on an ongoing basis), then I'll probably just make my own site, put much less annoying ads on it, and then I'll get all of the cash.
:dancing-banana:
Unfortunately, the trouble is not being known. So I'm hoping that even if I don't make squat doing this, that I can at least get noticed. From there I can start thinking about better pay.
I guess right now my writing career is in the "humiliating beginnings" stage.
Oh, my apologies to anyone who was blinded if the ads are really that bad. I can't see them as a rule, because I use firefox.
:faint:
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Oh, and thanks to everybody who liked it. ^,^
I really wasn't sure what people would think. It's so... blunt, I guess. But I wanted to do something that "tells it like it is."
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I just took that poem out of circulation, because I saw some of the ads that were coming up on that page. I probably won't be able to share that poem anymore, but I hope to get a site together where I can post some of my writing without the vile ads.
-Edit- You can now find it here:
So You Thought (http://ayatsuriningyo.googlepages.com/soyouthought)
I think I revised that one actually...
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But on the upside, you can read my next poem on a much cleaner page of my own, right here:
O Prisoner of Love (http://ayatsuriningyo.googlepages.com/oprisoneroflove)
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"Pray for Me"
The day that I'm no longer there
I won't ask you not to care
but there some things I don't want
for you to do when I am gone
Don't throw a party in my name
don't cry too long cause it's in vain
don't wish that I would come right back
there's more to life than only that
Don't say that I have gone to heav'n
because I may not be there yet
and if on earth you'd help me out
then pray for me and don't forget
Don't leave me gifts upon my grave
don't hate the One that made me leave
I'd trade one Ave for each rose
I can use that more than those
Don't say my life came to an end
don't be ashamed to move along
but if you loved me here, my friends
oh, won't you help me when I'm gone?
Don't pretend I was never there
because I'm still alive somewhere
but please don't hang me on your wall
if you won't pray for me at all
So if you care for me my friends
then please don't let your praying end
cause even if I'm in heaven now
someone else could use them anyhow
I've got a heavy debt to pay
have you any water for my grave?
and if you can't visit my bones
please pray for me right from your homes
and if you'd visit me on earth
remember me for what it's worth
cause I may be suffering till I pay
so, please don't leave me alone that way
So don't go on in misery
And don't lament what couldn't be
because in heav'n I hope we'll meet
but until then, just pray for me
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Gosh... I almost died on that adorable poem! Every bit of phrase was sooo meaningful that I can't pick out which one's my favorite line! Thanks for sharing... It's very link to me since I got a neighbor who just passed away. We'll be offering Mass for his eternal repose soon when the visiting priest arrives this Saturday.
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My personal favorite was the part, "I'd trade an Ave for each rose, I can use that more than those"
This poem was a little inspired by the good amount of time I've been spending in a graveyard, visiting the graves of my father (who died last year) and aunt (his sister, who died not too long after him). I am always seeing people leaving flowers, statues, and all kinds of worldly items on the graves. Now I can see religious items, because they remind visitors of that other life, and to pray for these souls. And I can even see the flowers in a way, though ultimately, whether artificial or real, they're expensive as can be, and will often end up under the groundskeepers' lawn mowers (you try getting a ride-on mower between each grave!).But dog and cat statues, Bears and Packers gear, the deceased person's shoes, "gone fishin'" signs, and what I unaffectionately call "gypsy globes" ... those odd glass "gazing balls" people put on stands in their yards... do not help the soul in any way whatever. Rather, it carries on the ridiculousness of materialism where it has absolutely no place.
The ancient Egyptians used to bury their kings and nobles with statues of false gods, a store of food, other gifts and even their living slaves. As one who casually follows the archaeology news, I heard of a (viking?) grave that was dug up, where a woman had been buried with her kitchen utensils. Other religions offer food at the graves. These are pagan practices, which means they are not good.
Granted, Catholics leave flowers, I'm sure. And as I said, there is many a cross and an angel in that field of bones. Flowers... well, they are beautiful, and make the 'monument' of the loved one more beautiful, but... if you want to be technical, it doesn't help the person. And believe me, I can say almost with certainty, that whatever you pay for real flowers, you could probably... almost definitely had a mass said for the person's soul instead.
Gravestones are almost another matter. You can put a message on a headstone, asking prayers for the person. You can't really fit a message on a "budget" headstone. People used to write on the stone how the person died, and who they left behind... some declaring "wife and mother" or "husband and father." This means you could even know that there are relatives to pray for. Other stones once carried inscriptions along these lines. "Where you are now, I once was, and where I am now, you once will be." ... not exactly the same effect as "gone fishin'" or "Go Packers!" is it?
I dropped something like $32, I think, on two big and four smaller ARTIFICIAL roses, for the purpose of marking my father's grave before his headstone came in. Sadly, we could not afford a nice one with any kind of inscription. The quality of the flowers was NOT that great, and before long, it was run over by the lawnmower, not once, but several times, until it was just the flowers sticking out of the naked earth (no vase), and finally THOSE got run over. I'm not upset, as I can sympathize here with the man who mows the lawns. Contrary to our hurt feelings and sore pocketbooks, it really is unreasonable to ask the groundskeepers to stop every foot or so, carefully remove the decorations covering most graves, mow, and then carefully replace them. I would rather have had the mass said, in retrospect, but for the fact that there was no other way to remember at first where he was, while we were yet unfamiliar with the layout of the place or the natural landmarks. It is really very sad to see these souls showered with worldly gifts that do them no good, knowing how few of them are getting prayers (and we can be sure it's few, as even many Novus Catholics no longer believe in purgatory.)
And of course, think of the sadness of the poor souls, not only to see some of their good friends in error and danger of loosing their own souls, but also for the fact that those who declared themselves regularly to be their dearest friends on earth, and who claimed they would do anything at all for them, day or night... will not so much as 'humor them' now, by saying so much as "God have mercy on them" just in case.
The way many "Christians" deal with death these days is just bizarre and downright unnatural (like throwing a party and pretending to be happy about it). Other people go the other way and fall into bitter despair. And then there are those like my father's "neighbor" two graves over, which, every time I visit almost, has something more put on it... starting with a tiny picture on a stick, it now has a gravestone with a full color photo on it, many bouquets of real flowers (which must have cost hundreds by themselves), a great stone bench for sitting on, I think a second picture, a strange red dome-like thing that they use to cover the photo on the headstone, a 14 or 16 in Seraphim Classics angel... which to be sure had a three digit price tag... other statues besides, and most recently, three or four very large red stone brick formations, placed around the headstone no doubt to keep the lawn mower at bay. I almost expect one day in the future to look and see a full fledged building erected in the young man's honor.
But I think many a soul, if they could, would sign their names to these words!
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Very moving poem. Thank you for posting it.
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Sorry to hear about your father (and aunt). I shall pray for them.
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It...
Simply beggins with a nursery rhyme
With a motherly lullaby in your sleepy times
With a colorfull image book full of childish handwrittings.
Now the whole world is in it's unrest..
It was just a sweet kiss from a cartoony scorcerer on the s cheeks of a
darling babe,
that wellcomed her to a life of incontinence
It was just snow white that scarlet little mermaid..
Today they flee from the school, tomorrow they will leave the church, to prefer a heresiarch to their mother and revolution to heavenly peace...
A little seed of naughyness in their hearts waits for it's due time to set the whole nations on a woe.
Just to send it to hell to sing forever:
Happy are those whose cradle is sancutary of their prayers.
Happy those Who bestow their toothless smiles and kisses to a man asleep on the gibbet.
Happy indeed are they because they take their first steps in your nave.
They beggin walking in your aisle.
They end in entering to your altar.
Just to be canonized 100 years later as the patron Saints
of....
.
.
.
.
The perpetually innocent.
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Translated from persian. Perhaps 800 year-old.
a desert man's leg was beaten by a dog,
he was so much in pain and cried aloud,
with so much pain, he returned to his tent,
and in his tent there was a little girl,
The child was puzzled and asked:
"Couldn't you too bite him in return?"
the man tried to laugh amid so much pain
and said:" My dear little girl,
I could bite the dog if I wanted so
, but a man should never behave like dog."
a nursling baby began to grow teeth,
his father was in anguish and so much worry,
"soon he will ask for bread and we have none to give."
"we are poor ourselves and don't have enough of it."
His wife smiled at him and answered in this way:
"don't worry yourself so much in vain"
"because He who gives teeth to a man, gives him the bread"
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So Stands the Tree
Hard up through the Cloven Stone a lonely Tree did spring
His Tempest-twisted Branches groan, his Roots to rubble cling
No Will of Wood did his surpass, no strength of Bough could best
The might with which he’d heaved in Half his first and Fateful Test
The sundered Stone through which he’d grown had seared a vicious twist
His Limbs were wrought by walls of Stone that Sunlight never kissed
The broken Boulder warped his pose, his Crown not Fair and Free
Like Leaflets through the Olden snows o’ Ground, so grew the Tree
But this was not to be an End, though Fate had bent his Bole
The ‘Love of Fate’ that Nietzsche preached was this Tree’s very Soul
Though cold of Heart, he made his start, and caught what Light he could
He reveled in the ‘would’ of Will, and showed the Will of Wood
As day by day the Rock did give, the Wrath of Fate he broke
The Destiny that Green things live no Scandalon can choke
For freer now he spread his Shade, and fairer grew his Glee
Twisted still, but tough and staid, so better grew the Tree
But bitter Winds now shook his Limbs, and blew him evil thoughts
“The other Trees have lives of ease, and you have gnarled Knots”
“You struggle for each breath of Air. Your friends are High and Hale”
“So why consent to be this bent? Wither, thee, and Fail!”
“Never”, spoke the tree at last. “I’ll not give up my Crown”
“The Will of Wood to Hope shall fast. I’ll have this Mountain down!”
The bitter Wind grew foul and grinned, and whispered hauntingly
“Twas said of Old that ‘As the Twig is bent, so grows the Tree’”
They struggle to this very day, though now the Tide is turned
When Skyward Hope bends Bough to grope, the Winds of Wrath are spurned
The Testing Stone beneath his Roots is now a wholesome Loam
Abundantly he bears his Fruits—this Tree has found his Home
He’s shed the Bark that once was dark, his face is now his own
His past with haste hath Time erased, his torture far outgrown
High and Hale his Limbs now Soar, His Crown is Fair and Free
A hymn to Hope forevermore—and sound—so stands the Tree
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Here is a poem I wrote in Spanish almost three years ago:
Mi Familia
Mi familia está muerta y viva
Algunos están en el cielo
con Dios arriba
también muchas se entierran en el suelo
Mis memorias de mi familia son como una joya pulida
El tiempo que teníamos es riqueza escondida
Dios nos dio memorias como rosas durante el invierno
¿Cuántos han olvidado esto en el mundo moderno?
Porqué no los amamos cuando están aquí con nosotros
pero luego lloramos cuando vemos las fotos
No pasé tiempo con ellos aunque tenía la oportunidad
en el contrario perdí el tiempo en la ciudad
La familia es un gran regalo
es un santuario en un mundo malo
No podemos escoger nuestra familia, es un regalo de Diós
Solamente quiero decirles “adios.”
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This is my first ever poem. Hope you enjoy!
I am a lover of God and His Church
A lover of His doctrine
I fail striving for His way
I hope in thee my Lord
I am a lover of God and His Mother
Unworthy of her prayers
Enamour’d by her way
I love thee, perfect Lady
I am a leader to my wife
In love with her femininity
We are Christ and Church
The authors of, valid, latter-day saints
I am a lover of God and His Church
A lover of God and His Church
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This is my first ever poem. Hope you enjoy!
Did your recent sorrows inspire this? I’d like to offer some more or less disjointed thoughts.
It’s a nice statement of faith and has its moments. Overall, though, the audience gets the impression that you’re trying to convince yourself. Needless to say, as traditional Catholics we don’t believe that art is all about ‘self-expression’, we believe it’s about bodying forth the Good, the Beautiful, the True. Nevertheless there must be authenticity, or truth-to-self. Sorrow for sins is a truly big subject, and I think the best moments of the poem are in fact the lines where you address it (“I fail striving for his way … Unworthy of her prayers”) rather than try to suppress it with positive statements.
I’ve been told that the first principle of good poetry is “show, don’t tell”. To put it another way, you should use imagery and metaphor, and describe obliquely, more often than you state forthrightly.
Now, I found parts of your ‘overwhelmed’ post to be genuinely moving, but I’m not moved much by this poem. The explanation for the difference, I suspect, is that you’re more comfortable with prose, and so the sudden formality demanded by poetry caused you to stiffen up. Might I suggest a method to help with this? Try first writing something in prose, just as it occurs to you and without over-thinking or editing it, and then taking the best parts of that basic material and drawing them into a poem.
I hope you find these comments helpful, even if you weren't looking for criticism.
Here's a poem I wrote a couple years ago, but touched up just now. Thoughts are welcome:
The roots of the Chinese bellflower
unearthed, scraggled, cracked, yellow,
and long as a madman’s beard,
are worked through with dirt.
The leaves of the Chinese bellflower,
lime with edges sawlike,
secrete juices,
reagents for potions and evil alchemical stews.
They curl inward at the end,
like the shoes of an imp.
Down-turned, sad and lissome sink
the flowers of the Chinese bellflower.
Like tissue-paper lamps, a bit
like bells that briefly ring
in the time between midnight and morning.
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Hi Graham-
Thank you for your comments and the criticism. First of all, that was a beautiful poem. As you can tell, I am not qualified to make any critique, so I will leave it at that :wink:
My recent sorrows did not inspire this directly. Perhaps, I should have spent more time on it before posting? (It took me about 5-10 minutes or so) Regardless, I do enjoy reading poetry, and thought it may be nice to try it out. I will try your method of writing in prose first, and hopefully have some material to provide soon. It seems challenging, but I think enjoyable as well.
Question: would it be okay, after satisfied with the amount of material written in prose, to combine both the "best parts of that" with something abstract? What I'm afraid of is someone not figuring out what I mean (by the use of metaphors).
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Hi Graham-
Thank you for your comments and the criticism. First of all, that was a beautiful poem. As you can tell, I am not qualified to make any critique, so I will leave it at that :wink:
That's kind of you.
My recent sorrows did not inspire this directly. Perhaps, I should have spent more time on it before posting? (It took me about 5-10 minutes or so) Regardless, I do enjoy reading poetry, and thought it may be nice to try it out. I will try your method of writing in prose first, and hopefully have some material to provide soon. It seems challenging, but I think enjoyable as well.
As beginners, we usually have to spend time on practice. Later on when we've internalised the practice we can write things more quickly. I hope the method works for you.
Question: would it be okay, after satisfied with the amount of material written in prose, to combine both the "best parts of that" with something abstract? What I'm afraid of is someone not figuring out what I mean (by the use of metaphors).
Well, I think the rule of thumb is just to show more often than you tell. But I also think it can do injury to the poem to be fully aware of what you mean by it. That typically requires you to narrow it down artificially.
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The fingers of many roll the beads of the long chaplet along.
On any day, at any time, She can see.
Her faithful, unknowingly recite it together, by reciting apart;
They are uniformed to each other, more so than the grandest orchestra or band.
United in time and prayer without even knowing it; only the physical separates them.
But space is nothing, in the majesty of what it is they lift their minds to.
It is thought, amongst themselves, that intentions are unique;
But they might realize that they are much more similar than they are apart.
Unknowningly, they become siblings in faith.
Come brothers, battling for, and praying to, the Throne of Wisdom.
We becoming the fighting, through hide ourselves away from this world,
Separate our minds from rolling fingers; let us find refuge in her.
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After several attempts at poetry in various languages that resulted in, to be nice, nothing more than maudlin garbage, I think finally after further practice and study of the poetry of the old masters, I have managed to turn out a few poems of some little competence.
Here is one that doesn't suffer too much in translation:
"Under the waning moon, the empty mountain is silent.
Lonely clouds vanish into utter darkness.
Somewhere rises up the sound of a zither
summoning with it an ancient melancholy.
Ten-thousand sorrows are born."
(translated from the Chinese)
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To live with the Saints in Heaven is all bliss and glory
to live with the saints on Earth is just another story...
---Anonymous
I don't know who compose this (not me) but I like it. :dancing-banana:
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After studying the life of the Little Flower, I was very humbled by her faith and sanctity. I was saddened by the doubt that I would never achieve such humility and great faith anywhere near the level she embodied. I wrote the following little poem, and later found a quote where she said it would make her happy if poems were written to her someday, since they would serve to glorify God.
A Blade of Grass
(in honor of St. Therese)
If I can't be a flower
Then I'll be a blade of grass,
To cushion Our Lord's footsteps
Where He is wont to pass.
Others are more worthy
His holy gaze to meet;
So I will be content to
Simply lie beneath his feet.
Not a sticker nor a thorn,
(There are enough of those.)
Let me be a blade of grass
If I can not be a Rose.
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:dancing:
Yay! I am so happy that this thread is here!
Here is a little poem that I wrote while I was converting:
"Holy Hour"
Resting my hands on the cool marble
I tremble, for I am very near
The altar of my Lord.
I have never been this close before..
As my eyes drink in the splendour,
I kneel.
The sanctuary lamp, with its comforting flickering
Stained glass windows, that display the sun's last rays
In a brilliant kaleidoscope of light
In the hush of the church,
I am alone,
Save for my Lord
Who is reading my heart
And listening to my prayers.
The soft, red carpet under my knees,
The towering altar before me
Leaves me breathless and longing
For the day when I can fully Communicate
With my Redeemer.
No longer a bystander--
A stranger peering through the window,
But another unworthy servant
Receiving undying love
And soul-filling nourishment.
June 8th, 2003(I wish there was a blushing emoticon!!)
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Very well done, Michaela!
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Thank you, Lighthouse!
We need to get more people over to this section to get creative! :scratchchin:
Love,
michaela +
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My body is so old, it doesn’t shine at all
and water is eating it alive!
There is still so much left of me
half dead muscles
and thick wilting skin
Why do I still want
milk and bread and meat
even though I’ve seen the tree
and heard the blood pooling at her feet
We could, instead, sit in the wood
our hands dug profoundly in the snow
We are sorry
and the river swells around us
making our bodies hurt more
Drink the wine before the water eats that, too!
I did as you said
a decent daughter has to
I placed my breath onto a cloth
and washed your poor feet
with balmy strokes
We admired the sky
missing, all the while,
the calf eating a patch of grass beside us
:scared2: hahaha. eep!
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Very well done, Lauraelizabeth, the iconography of the washing of the feet and the calf is particularly outstanding.
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The Holy Rood
Walkest thou unto that lonely hill,
The hill that concealeth Adam's bones,
And behold the flowers, of hue white and golden
That sprang up at the touch of the Nail's sweet balm.
Walkest thou unto that lonely hill,
To stand a while, and marvel aloud,
At the cruelty of men, and the love of angels,
Who watched Emmanuel, with agony rapt,
Pleading for the souls of Eve's wretched race.
Walkest thou unto that lonely hill,
Clothed in sack-cloth and washed in ashes,
Bitter herbs 'pon thy lips, and Palm-fronds in thy hand,
Singing of the Passion and the Harrowing of Hell,
Of the Sun of Righeouness, of the Three and One.
Walkest thou unto that lonely hill,
Beyond the Walls, to see the Holy Rood,
Of crude fashion it is, rough and unyielding,
Whereon the Son of Man wast hung,
And comfort the Maid that weepeth there.
- my own rather poor contribution to this section.
-
My son "had" to write a poem for school to "describe his generation," and I think it's good for free verse (even if I weren't his mother). I'd like to post it when it's copied because it is amazing in the face of being at a public school for the year.
It doesn't look like people come here any more, but I'll put one up that was written by a shy person I know about 30 years ago. I guess it's "free verse?"
Adoration
Lord enshrined in gold,
Though poverty was once Your plight,
How oft I’ve yearned to rend this Veil
Which hides and yet
Reveals to sight
My Savior.
O, but if that Veil were rent
I would be dissolved and spent;
too weak to see Your Face and live
But for this humble Sacrament!
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine
So I may also be a sign;
That wonders happen still
-Anon
-
My son came home with his poem "homework," and said that I could post it. It's "free verse" and was supposed to be about "his generation." While being his mother helps, I thought it was good for his age and that it took some courage to submit this on his own in public school:
Our Generation
We care little,
We do little,
We think little,
We know little.
We stand betwixt the stars affixed
in the heavens and another place.
Amidst the confines of time and space,
much like those before us.
They stood and thought where
we stand and think about life
Life, what a life, a life which
Endures,
Persists,
Perplexes and
Passes with time.
A time for everything
to live
to die
to fly
to the stars?
The stars that shine.
The stars that shone.
The stars that reside beyond
in the other place,
The place afar,
and yet so close!
A place to which the heavens cannot compare.
We eat,
We drink,
But do we fain to be merry?
For tomorrow death awaits.
So what is this place, and where?
How to get there?
Do we take a giant leap
lest per chance we fall asleep?
A leap of faith.
A leap of trust.
A leap beyond?
We look without.
We look within.
For both therein we find
the answer.
The answer,
the purpose,
the reason,
the wonder,
Our Creator,
Christ the King!
-
I love these lines in the first poem, in fact I will add them to my daily prayers.
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine
-
Your poem "the Holy Rood" is beautiful, St. John Burke. A true Lenten poem...
Have you ever heard of Enid M. Dinnis and her book The Anchorhold? It is a magnificent classic that I think you would appreciate. It can be found at Tradibooks.com.
-
I love these lines in the first poem, in fact I will add them to my daily prayers.
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine
Dear Myrna,
Yes, I like that as a prayer too. The version I put up may not be best, since the 2nd part might read:
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine.
Change all my life into a sign
That wonders happen still
I like the idea that He did the miracle at Cana partly as a "sign" of the Blessed Sacrament, in which He longs to be "one" with us. Since we're weak and sinful, that unity can't become perfect unless we let Him change our corrupted desires into His. At that point, we won't even exist (as we were), but some people begin to notice more and more peace-- even in the midst of trials and "dry" periods. Some even see outright miracles happen!
But you're probably way ahead of me on all that. BTW, I love your artwork. Art is another interest I have in common.
God Bless, :pray:
Anne~
-
I love these lines in the first poem, in fact I will add them to my daily prayers.
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine
Dear Myrna,
Yes, I like that as a prayer too. The version I put up may not be best, since the 2nd part might read:
You once changed water into wine,
Then change my will
To make it Thine.
Change all my life into a sign
That wonders happen still
I like the idea that He did the miracle at Cana partly as a "sign" of the Blessed Sacrament, in which He longs to be "one" with us. Since we're weak and sinful, that unity can't become perfect unless we let Him change our corrupted desires into His. At that point, we won't even exist (as we were), but some people begin to notice more and more peace-- even in the midst of trials and "dry" periods. Some even see outright miracles happen!
But you're probably way ahead of me on all that. BTW, I love your artwork. Art is another interest I have in common.
God Bless, :pray:
Anne~
While the thought is sweet and the intention innocent, it seems to me
there might be a theological problem with this.
We pray in the Our Father, "Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
That is the pure essence of what God wants of us. There is no prayer more
theologically perfect than the Pater Noster, ----------- IMHO.
(I know -- that sounds like an oxymoron.)
But to say, Please change my will, like Thou changest water into wine,
change my will and make it thine (small t is correct because it's not a
personal pronoun, but a possessive pronoun: singular, second person
possessive pronoun, archaic, actually, but we like it just the same!) is
in a way a bit presumptuous. For, if God would change our will into
his own will, then He would be in a sense taking away our own will and
replacing it with his own, lest He would be taking away our personhood
and making us as it were another person of the Blessed Trinity. Then
one plus one plus one plus one would be three. That's another problem.
But it's the confusion of the creature with the creator that is at stake
here. Our will is ours, and God's will is God's. We are certainly well-
disposed to ask that his will be done (on earth as it is in heaven) but
to say 0BLITERATE MY WILL AND GIVE ME THINE OWN WILL INSTEAD,
is over the top.
IMHO.
This was the trouble with the Kingdom of the Divine Will psycho-group
with which a close relative of mine got involved and I suspect has
become demonically possessed as a result. IMHO again.
God's will is most real and God's respect of our own will is likewise most
real. It is perhaps our most precious possession, inasmuch as it could
be the thing that decides whether we are saved or damned for all
eternity. Nobody goes to hell if they really don't want to. Nobody is
deprived of heaven if they desire nothing whatsoever to do with hell.
Everyone who goes to hell does so with their own cooperation and/or
consent.
God's respect of our free will is perhaps the greatest mystery ever.
IMHO again.
What are we, that God would respect our free will? We are something
like an ant on a dunghill in an uninhabited remote corner of nowhere,
compared to the vastness of the universe, and all the mysteries
thereof, known to us and also yet undiscovered by us. What is the
comparison? To Him and to his will, we and our tiny will are none to
compare. And yet, He respects our free will.
Now, for us to come along and say, "No, I don't respect my own free
will, even if Thou dost, O Lord, so please take it away and replace it
with thine own will," does not recognize the dignity - the everlasting
dignity - that God bestows on our free will.
We don't have to understand WHY He does so; we don't have to
comprehend WHAT He's got 'in mind' with this scheme; we don't
have any claim on a right to know his reasons for doing this. All
we need to know is, that God has bestowed an everlasting
dignity on our puny, miniscule, contemptible, nothingness
free will, and that should be enough for us. We ought to have the
humility to ACCEPT what God has decided shall be, and not attempt
to get 'under the hood' with our 'cracker-jack toolbox' and attempt
to rebuild the engine that drives the universe.
It's that big-a-deal!
Our father, Who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses;
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
Amen.
There is no poem of greater depth and beauty.
IMHO, again.
Pater noster, qui es in coelis,
Sanctificetur nomen tuum.
Adveniat regnum tuum,
Fiat voluntas tua,
Sicut in caelo et in terra.
Panem nostrum quotidianum,
Da nobis hodie.
Et dimitte nobis demita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem,
Sed libera nos a malo.
Amen.
In fond memory of Richard Keys Biggs,
Conductor, father and friend of thousands.
RIP.
-
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra
... debita, not demita ...
(The Biggs Pater Noster is probably the finest composition of
the prayer yet seen, outside of Gregorian Chant. It's polyphony
but has a Chant ambiance to it. Very special. SATB, and I think
it's also available in TTBB, because Biggs ran a fine men's chorus.
TTBB means Tenor1, Tenor2, Baritone, Bass.)
-
These Poems are beautiful.
:applause:
-
One day i ran through tall tall grass
to go to the age old tridentine mass
Once i arrived, i notice i was decived
because i saw father billy bob blass
put pomo-grape juice in the NO Glass
I was quite pained to see, alas
that there was no gold, not even brass
in that building, not fit for a mass
-
The death of a man devoted to God makes a monument of earthen sod.
The death of a corrupt and wicked man hides the paths of ruin
-
I wrote this tonight:
"A Wish to Wish"
If I had a wish to wish,
I know what it would be:
I wish for all and everyone,
To ponder ‘bout a tree.
A tree is something strange yet true,
As it stretches for the sky,
Inside a seed, a tree once slept,
Then, potential poked and pried.
And from the Earth,
It greeted air, as rain came gushing down,
And to the clouds a trunk did strive,
As roots dug underground.
Now, after many years and years,
Of rain and shine and snow,
Feathers nest inside those branches,
And together they shall grow.
So if I had a wish to wish,
I know what it would be:
I wish for all and everyone,
To see they are a seed.
-
sweetly divine
tastes like lime
what is and what was
is now gone
-
I have never put my hope in any but you
who verily art the holy and true
in tempest you came
amidst the pouring rain
knocking upon my door
what have you to do with me Lord
who in the fields abandoned his sword
I am not worthy of trust
but lodge here you must
for there is no hope but thee
And as the rain poured
his word I adored
the power to reclaim all
and because of my fall
to reclaim honour I called
for him to hand me the sword
he spoke thus to me
it is yours again
with this you will fend
with this your life you'll amend
so I took my shield
went back to the field
and there the demon was slain.
-SoulGuard 1st attempt at poem
-
wind in the cedars
sitting around the campfire
a feeling of peace
sitting in the cube
surrounded by a sea of blue
peace is far away
-
Haiku about the Eucharist
I shall eat Christ's flesh
it shall Nourish my spirit:
he triumphs forever
Haiku about God's love
infinite love of God
poured out upon us
man neglects it
-
A Species from the Rooftops of Jerusalem
A swish from above is heard,
an inertia from your peripheral,
a tapping on your havens top.
Behold the abominable and wicked.
Illusive consensus.
Sinister shadow in flight,
what deeds do you sow in attics?
Foe of the Paraclete,
parrot of the ѕуηαgσgυє,
whose shoulder do you sit?
Oh black vector,
your Sender is unknown.
Does he manipulate history, time and space?
(copyright JB)
-
Not a religious poem, but a stab at one none the less.
Langue d' Levant
Yours was the obscure tongue of my youth.
Paternally familiar,
Though narrowly so.
And like my father’s mother,
I’ve never truly known you.
Was it despite you?
How easily am I filled with sentimentality,
When the air slowly brings to my senses
Your gnarled but beautiful melody.
And though I am 10,000 miles from my youth,
I am in a familiar place.
A strange woman,singing your song.
Her delivery, exquisite; Mannerisms, present.
I am filled with grandmothers house.
The kitchen table, cigarette-smoke filled air.
Backgammon and the yelling,
Which wasn’t really yelling I later learned.
Teta. Jeddo.
All gone.
I can say and believe I am proud of you.
But I am defeated.
-
One day the lord sent me a sign
And showed me a thing that was to be mine
One day the lord came to me
and told me of things that were to be
One day the lord told me with love
and showed me a spirit like to a dove
One day the lord said I'd be His
and told me to work with what is
I said in reply
Lord but who am I
A lowly event of the darkened soils worth
A snail on a plant
A worm on a tree
A sinner a sloth who never shall be
A silence descended
in which the soul spoke
and told me a truth
after which i awoke
for when life is ended
as with a pens stroke
I'll count you among
the blessed folk
I prayed and I cried
and wished that i died
for paradise seemed so far
but resolved for the test
to work with the rest
for the church and people who are
HIS
:cool:
-
3rd poem
1st attempt at meditation provoking poem:
The slush of the wave
The howl of the wind
The darkness and cold as one
The thoughts of a vice
The cross on the chain
Contradiction!
The terrible iniquity between the rise and the fall
How one is desired while the other is sought
If any man is willing let him take my vice
And leave me with the void
in which shines only the sun
-
I see before me two ways
while a choir sings with a haunting harmony
One leads to a road with infinite choices
all of which are for indulgence
a million short roads
once traversed
always despised
the other road leads to the clouds
and requires me to rise above myself
Which one shall I chose
for the million roads surround me
or will i close my eyes to the choice
and seek the road within?
In this lies transcendence.
-
What do people think of my poems?
-
Hmm. I think the third one is the best. :smile:
-
Oh Most Blessed Virgin,
Star of David, Morning Star,
Hear the Cry of your People,
And be thou not too far.
He saw most fit once before,
That your presence would announce,
The coming of Our Savoir,
And His Sorrow in the Mount.
Come once again Mother most pure,
Star of the morning’s first light,
That your people's suffering,
May soon cease upon your sight.
Not Our Lords name used in vain,
Nor self-righteous pharisees,
Will peace bring the Church once more,
Like your sweet image with our King.
-
What do people think of my poems?
I liked the first one
-
Just for 1st mansion tenant here is a spur of the moment poem by SG.
:)
( Song for the Blessed Sacrament)
"Proudly standing
crowned with glory
mystic seems thy holy light
In the ether
by your glory
we will praise thy holy might
Never failing
to hold the scepter
great is thy holy way
We beseech thee
from thy heart
send to us a holy ray
Stand forever
crowned with glory
legions praise thee without fail
Life eternal
by your glory
such is your church's tale
Always with
a strong command
as was in all time before
Gather thy people
as justice demands
holy church do thou restore
:cool:
-
Gates of Hell
Shall not prevail, no
Not a sede
:jumping2:
-
A Priest's Offertory
Had I a whiter host to give
In snowier garments wouldst Thou live.
Thine were a chalice rich and old
Had I a better thing than gold.
Thy wine-press would know the sweet
Warm treading of an angel's feet.
Thy wheatfields were grown afar
In the soft meadowland of – star!
If priceless linen could I buy
Upon such linen wouldst Thou lie;
Something more virginal than bees
Would spin Thee purer lights than these.
I'd going, borrowing, take a hymn
From the white, born-singing Seraphim.
I'd plunder beauty in the night,
Star-stripping yonder worlds of light,
I'd color-strip each wondrous, rare
High-blooming, low-blooming, radiant there
Refolded flower, firm and fair
In a green-valleyed everywhere.
(Christ's Mother! Attend this feast.
Gift-load to-day His giftless priest.)
Midnight one night was still,
Heaven was whitening a hill;
Dark floundered in the wave of morn,
Infinite Infancy was born.
Eternal Power sank below,
A frail white miracle of snow.
Eternal Wonder left the skies
And dwindled into two soft eyes,
Child limbs that could not reach,
Child lips that knew no speech
Spoken, - save the murmurings heard
From breathing beast, wind and bird.
The unbeginning God began
To live the long slow hours of man.
His Mother, bending her fair head,
Straw-gathering-she laid His bed.
A whirling star-world came and halted
Above a blown-roofed, low, thatch-vaulted
Cave – Ah! Are we not agreed?
'Twas piteous royalty indeed!
And yet beyond an Infant's sleep
Found He a hiddenness more deep.
Finds it each morning when I stand,
He, in the curved holding of my hand.
Starlight is light but ill,
Star-shadow – darker still;
The lone firefly that wields
His fine blue lantern in the fields
Is far more luminous than Thou
Who hideth Thine endless splendor – how!
The rose more glory has to rate her
Lovelier than the Rose-Creator.
The violet is mantled finer
Than the world's own Flower-Designer,
Hill-Builder and Meadow-Weaver,
Earth-Waker, Cloud-Conceiver.
The blind beggar, kneeling while I pass
Through the sweet words old, told in the Mass,
Sunnier visions light his dreams
Than Thine, dark-locked – in death, it seems.
Covered indeed – and covered how!
Veil-shielded lest perchance I know
Not when the long day is sped:
Ah! Is this Jesus or is it bread?
I, Christ, who brought Thee down,
Must label Thee, to know mine own,
Must light a swinging lamp on high,
Lest all men, turning, pass Thee by.
Thou knowest my voice upon the wine;
Faith knoweth Thee – but no eyes of mine.
Wings fell, swords fell, scabbards fell
Into the yawning throat of Hell;
An Angel host – O Heaven's loss! –
Would not adore Thee on the Cross.
Yet on the Cross when Thou wert lain
Could they not see what love was slain?
Observed they not Thy Godly mien,
How Thou didst welcome death, serene?
How deeper, broader Hell would be
If Lucifer were asked to see
And worship as we worship Thee.
(Ah, when I speak the words that bring
Such helplessness on Heaven's King
Well, little Mass-bell, mightest thou ring.)
Rise manhood, in me rise!
Desire, aspire to sacrifice.
See how His warm blood stains the cup,
Now with Himself lift thyself up.
His paten is a burst of gold,
How much of offering will it hold?
Will it hold youth, - its bloom and glow?
(These wilt Thou garner anyhow.)
Will He take friend and loved one still?
(The weed-strewn graveyard cries – "He will.")
By Thee made, fashioned, let live,
What may I free, untrammeled give?
I give Thee a poor man bearing his load
Along the poor man's bleak highroad;
Now scorned – now pointed at with glee;
"Yon fool wears Christ's mean livery!"
I give Thee an angel? – somewhat less,
Yet wishing an angel's stainlessness,
Hoping Thy sunny love may yield
A lily in a trampled field.
I give Thee unchallenged, full control,
Of what is empire in my soul.
I lead Thee up the palace stair
Of mine own heart – enthrone Thee there!
If but a king forsooth may sing
And be content to be a king;
Unto Thee now, my vows renewed,
I stamp and seal my servitude.
I here proclaim Thy courts are fair;
Charmeth and pleaseth me the air.
I love the whole-souled, full-rolled ring
Of war and front-line soldiering,
Of men who bled – and when they fell –
Did judge the tribes of Israel.
Strip me of buckler, sword and lance,
But Captain – let us both advance!
Keep my poor eyes firm-fixed upon
The altar where God slays His Son.
O Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
I would I had a whiter host!
- Leonard Feeney, S.J.
-
There once was a little German man;
They say he was really out of hand;
And when JP2 croaked,
This Kraut became the new nope!
-
Original Sin.
With what tears and fears
shall I name thee, O nameless?
O child of a single day,
O death, without hope.
You perished at your mother's breast
and descended
as a slave
to the night and misery
devoid of hope.
-
"A Poem for Converted Prostitutes"
St. Mary Magdalena, Pray for us
“The distance between hate and love is a line drawn in the sand,
By Jesus, the Master’s hand; a place where hardened sinners smile,
A dry, dusty place where lonely prostitutes weep awhile.
Where there is shame, there is grace, and the two wed in unison give woman a pretty face.
Whores break in and steal what dead men, like corpses, cannot feel.
Grave robbers dig in the dusty night and lust after what living men crave,
After those lustrous things that separate the knight from the knave.”
-
New Mass, new form of liturgy.
A Catholic/Protestant synergy.
New rite, new springtime for the church,
Has left vocations in a lurch.
The smoke has settled round the world,
The seeds of Vatican II unfurled.
The loss of faith and charity,
And denials of the Trinity.
The Catholic Church, though indefectible,
Would soon be rendered undetectable.
By all the changes man has made,
The kinds that Popes had long forbade.
Please pray and sacrifice for this,
So that our Pope be not remiss.
Pray for his soul and sanity,
To guide all of humanity.
Pray for the bishops and the priests,
Whose hands confect the heavenly feast.
That they not turn against tradition,
The defense of which should be their mission.
We ask Thee, Lord, to set us free
From This modernist mess, to be with Thee,
Forever and ever, world without end. Amen.
-
Hate
I saw the worst of the human heart,
the capacity to hate, disguised as good,
blinding the masses to see evil
as their means of liberation
from the oppressors, real or imagined.
Those images of man, from ages past,
haunting, infecting the mind,
a terminal cancer of the soul,
a fog through which one sees
only darkness,
only doubt,
devoid of love
or empathy
to anyone
but self.
Wrath.
Greed.
Pride.
Envy.
Lust.
Sin.
The death of the soul.
-
Give thanks,
for every good deed and blessing,
regardless of size or value;
from the gift of life from Our Creator,
to the redeeming sacrifice of His Son, Our Lord,
or the sweetest fruits of the Holy Ghost,
that we may know, love and serve,
with all due charity toward our neighbors.
Give thanks for every gift,
and be thankful to be able to give.
In all things give thanks;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus.
-
I wish to know who I am
I may better become the
soul Heaven intends me
to become and attain to
Glorify Jesus as he wills
I ask,I beg,I truly a sinner
wish for Merciful harmony
to enlighten to where I may
be, and what i should see.
On my own I accomplish
nothing. In Jesus everything.
Into and onward's Heaven
can shine its Magnificence .
How can gratitude ever be
shown to thee. Instead the
energy I have been so richly
blessed with should be shared.
Holiness is in action obeying
the will of God and his words.
Holy Ghost come upon who is
able to accept and give honor
to Heaven. Let them be not be
forgotten and let them be able
to remember. Instill peace and
charity and strength to bear all.
-
O Mighty Glorious Lord, We the faithful have not been defeated,
Our light will never go out and thy people with bond and unite.
They shall soon conquer the enemies against us thy children.
We shall soon have leadership with firey zeal from Heaven.
The end of evil will soon be destroyed for its time is running short.
In full measure justice shall be taken upon the wicked .
Holiness will abound and good men shall rise again. Women will
be of virtue soon and the abundant harmony in families shall be.
O Theotokos and Ever Blessed Virgin Mary protect us until we
are able stop the enemies of Christ. O Glorious and Immaculate
Lady in Heaven aid us and bind us all Christians as Jesus wills.
Thou who bore him were closest to him . Let us forget our past sins
and Jesus let thy mother be our mother as well. Let the Angels who
sing before the Holy Throne in Heaven sing in our hearts and souls.
Good Mighty Martyrs for the faith help us to overcome the pains of
the evil doers and help those and heal those who can not do so
them self. Let God arise and his enemies be scattered. Let Jesus
name be sung and ever more be praised without interruption ! Amen.
-
I wish to know who I am
I may better become the
soul Heaven intends me
to become and attain to
Glorify Jesus as he wills
I ask,I beg,I truly a sinner
wish for Merciful harmony
to enlighten to where I may
be, and what i should see.
On my own I accomplish
nothing. In Jesus everything.
Into and onward's Heaven
can shine its Magnificence .
How can gratitude ever be
shown to thee. Instead the
energy I have been so richly
blessed with should be shared.
Holiness is in action obeying
the will of God and his words.
Holy Ghost come upon who is
able to accept and give honor
to Heaven. Let them be not be
forgotten and let them be able
to remember. Instill peace and
charity and strength to bear all.
-
Good day Sunshine O glow for me
I see the sky and clouds move with glee
They move slow and some day fast
I can not stop looking I hope it can last
I know some day it can rain
On those days it is a shame
I hope i not to be inside cause it is a pain
I want to run and not be lame
It is healthy to go outside in summer
I do not like the dark it is a bummer
The inner child is their when i am young
it wants to run and run
Inside my love to live
just wants to have fun.
I never want to stop be alive
i want to go out being my best
and just thrive.
-
Hope is a good thing
it may arise and it may see
Hope can show us the true path
it governs our sense to find out
Hope it brings much to the person
who lost in life things not meant
to stolen and taken away early
Hope it can be like the sun
shining thru the a storm
Hope some time it is like moon
with its calm that seems unseen
Hope It can take out darkness
despair and downtrodden paths
Hope it means that with light
we see what is supposed to seen
Hope we need it many times to
see thru our lonely days
Hope it can be the uplift
when the storms feel like they
may never come to and end
Hope it the most visible sensation
in our life that we may truly accomplish
-
Youth has energy that many wish to keep
We have it for some time until we are much
older and then we sleep
Yes we can have it in heart and soul
Jesus gives us himself make it our goal
Jumping and running we like as children
When we are adults we do that less
and begin to listen.
Offer thyself and keep busy to Christ,
Keep him on thy mind and hear his advice.
He leads us he compels
For our soul his wish to dwell.
He wants us proper before his
Heavenly Father.
Holy Ghost sanctifies us well
and he is not a bother.
Let holiness be thy daily deed,
Let in shine and keep it neat.
Remember the truth to follow his law,
Recall we follow a good example
for not all beds are made of soft straw.
Our ending of life will one day be hear,
Love without measure and Jesus will steer.
Angels can be our side throughout our life.
Angels assist us when trialed with so
much pain and lots of strife.
Let them help us to get to Heaven,
Paradise awaits the pure we hope
we are gettin.
-
O' come, O 'light of
Heaven into our souls
Let the truth of Jesus
shine and be our goal.
Love today for we know
not if we here tomorrow.
Be alive and so their
will be no sorrow. If
and when my time arrives
let others remember me
and harmony still thrive.
In this O Lord I do
this and pray. That
i can live well this day.
Sweetest and kind tender
Jesus bless all of us this
time of year. The cold is
about in the north and some
are in need of shelter. Let
none of the innocents be out
side in the cold and let their
be warmth for them. Shine O'
God and have mercy for them.
Holy Ghost purify them and
ease their pain,suffering and
emotional grief. I wish for
these souls to relieved from
the harsh world they now face.
Let none of them perish in sin.
Heaven abundantly give them some
sign of peace before their passing.
In this they have a chance to
know whether they can attain the
grace for salvation to be sorry
and contrite over the sins committed.
Do not send them to damnation without
having some pray for them. Help
please Jesus and let be united to
thee with thy suffering on the cross.
In them they are a part of thy ways
then and will have completed the
lifels journey here on earth.Amen.
-
Little Therese inspire me
Little soul help me to glee
Heavenly angel help my heart
Angel Therese never part.
Under Heaven i seek thee now
Under the clouds Therese, Aid me to bow.
Humility i wish and i know i need.
O Therese give from Heaven a flower seed.
Thou wish to give us flowers of thy love.
Thou give peace from the Holy Ghost as a dove.
Oh my Angel who in Heaven i look to,
O my Therese bless upon me thy childhood dreams,
I wish i need i want to have the graces of good
so my soul has comfort from that which is cruel,
Be mine be the love O Therese in my mind,
Be sweet to my pain be sweet when i brood,
All for Jesus thru the my Therese,
Instill love instill it inside.
I know i wish for my Jesus for him i want to please.
Help my endeavors O my Therese.
-
O each day i wish to be
near thee my little Therese
My soul feels complete
My heart skips a beat when you are near
Inner heavenly grace blesses me with
the inspiring thou give to me my Therese.
I love Jesus more , I obey Jesus better,
I thank thee often since Therese with
thee my soul shall soften.
I embrace with all my being, Therese what
thou did while hear on earth and seeing.
I know its hard with superiors be harsh,
With thee Little Therese i will be small,
I know Therese as I grow i shall be tall,
Grain from Heaven feeds my soul for I
wish to be nourished now and not go far.
-
In my desire my Little
Therese help through
my night, At times it
hurts at times is a fight,
I feel the pain of those
who wish to keep me away
I know I love God and wish
to speak to him then play,
In thee my Therese i wish to
be that gentle dove,
It is peaceful patient and
kind just like the clouds
up above.
Therese in thee i want to follow
Jesus leads me to him like thee,
Up I need to go but can not some days,
Mother Mary guides me to be,
Having to think like a child can surely pay.
I know that thee my Therese can blossom
a flower of true Heavenly scent.
I need to speak my soul
it wants to repent.
-
Many day and night we pass thru a tunnel
dark and long.
Onward we go to get to the other side.
It feels fun with it when go fast,
It can be a thrill and even a blast.
The tunnel means our inner soul,
To which we nurture with nature
a Heavenly goal.
Soaring thunder across the skies,
Sending needed rain throughout the night,
Healing the land Healing the soil
Helping the flowers over the heat and its boil,
Cool relieves the Sun and hot summer,
Clouds calm it during day and its not a bummer,
We have fun walking to and fro at the park,
Young love the pond and even the tree bark,
Having the love of family and going outside ,
Lets harmony abound with real love and good pride.
Angels watch over the good often ,
They comfort us when playing so the pain will soften.
One day we shall see the end of a full life,
It arrives at time so our time we must bide.
-
Heaven is healthy in thy eyes it glows
it has peace much yet to decide.
Harmony it golden rainbow and has
much color In it the array of unity
seeks to abound Rain comes and the
sun shines for another In life we live
for others and we live for their sound
We want to be with them for ever Loving
them with our whole being Seeing them
leave and away they float like a feather
Up to Heaven many can go without truly
leaving They watch us they help us in our
sleep They calm us when down then hear no
sound or a peep. With them over us always
being near The love never stopped even now
also it became clear. I know my loved one
will wait for me up above I have my time
to live and will be carried by the holy dove.
In my tears the pain subsides the love is
their i wish to cry My heart heals a little
with this in mind Heaven aid me when
weary always with true love inside
-
Often the desire with the love of our life
We seek to be with them we seek and not to
hide We follow we float we break down and
cry We need them to complete our self
We wish to be around them when we sigh
Often they come searching and Often
they arrive late Instead of us being
happy for that special date We burst
into tears feeling they may of been
lost We get so worried we forget the
cost Many time we are close and many
near It is the union of harmony that
makes it clear We hear the breath upon
us when we hug It heals so fast and we
are not smug They often console and
they kiss Telling us I love you since
we both miss The point of separation at
time is their Not for wanting to go for
we are a pair The return after a period
in time When the journey is done Gives us
a sensation that we are one We want to be
near them when we sleep Not because we are
away or even sad it since we are whole and
wish to reap The closeness in bonding is
much When doing so their is alot to touch.
-
History is a reminder for us so we can learn
Helping to guide us so we can yearn
Holding on to the knowledge is oh so well
Heaven gives it so it can dwell.
Pouring out our talent to make things
Properly building to all that can sing.
Pious and loving our Jesus is
Playing is good and praying is better
Pray now and for ever.
Silent time can give us
like the love inside as mist.
It can rise and move as
Jesus wills and insists.
Jovial loving tender heart of fire with
zeal that can take the dry away.
Gathering as the shepherd does
He goes to watch his flock
Visiting the sheep keeping close.
Setting a boundary for those not to get lost
Making them calm not be in storms
or its frost.
Cold bitter waves of winter can be high up
and far north
Cooler and gentler winds in the valley
with the sun that is easier to soar.
Young little tender heavenly children
that seek to search
Graciously blessing its energy to share
where the Holy Dove lands at its perch
Holy Ghost Holy love Holy God
mighty and majestic gather the little ones
Gate them to safety and hide them away
Mount them near the Angels whom
are as bright as the sun
Holy Angels Holy Intercessors Heavenly guides,
Heaven bless us always in strife.
Holy Father Holy Eternal Holy Forever ,
Hail mercy to us the lowly servants now
to thee and to us do not sever. amen.
-
Light
silence.
the light in the ceiling,
shaking, rattling,
60 cycles per second,
droning, flickering;
attractive to bugs
who burn on contact.
tubes of metallic, lifeless light
churning gases
quietly
-
"Freedom isn't Real"
"Freedom is the greatest lie,
for we all serve something
For some it's the call of gold
and other pleasures of flesh.
For others it's the call of Christ,
through marriage and holy orders.
As for the rest, they listen to the quiet whisper
of Lucifer in their ear.
Quietly instructing them how to shine
his unholy light upon this world.
He shows them things
not meant to be seen.
And they pass his visions to earth,
corrupting many who have seen.
Freedom isn't real, for don't you see?
Humans always kneels at somethings feet.
The only choice we really have,
is who's feet we are kneeling at."
I thought of this rough draft back in my days at a public school. The idea hit me while my teacher was teaching us about free choice and not judging people. So I share it with you guys in hopes for some constructive criticism and your opinions. Please be honest too, I don't want a bunch of false praise if it sucks.
-
PRAYER BEFORE A BLOODY CRUCIFIX
Jesu gentle, Jesu holy,
Shew Thou mercy unto me,
My poor heart fains love Thee wholly
As Thou hangst upon the Tree.
As from Thy Crown the Blood pours down
Into a crimson sea,
O Amor Meus I have found
Thee -- do not let me from Thee flee!
Vile my flesh and viler still
Steept in all iniquity
Is my proud and stony will
Yearning for all things but Thee.
At thy feet I long to perish
Ere again I woundest Thee
Take me, Father, for to cherish,
Till in Heav'n I safe shall be.
-
AVE MARIA
Silver-white the Star of Morning,
Tow'r of Gold and Ivory,
Mystic Rose, whose scent adorning
All the Church calls me to thee!
Vessel of a Wine surpassing,
Pale pure Light across the Sea,
Mother Church in blissful Massing,
Ceases ne'er to sing to thee!
Unto thee sweet hymns are raising,
Wretched sinners to the flee,
Midst that glorious fount of praising
Mother, spare one word for me.
-
CHRISTMAS NIGHT
Angel-song, aye, from above
Hast come the God of All,
What gentle wonderment of love,
A Child within a stall!
Angel-song, so sweet and fair,
Bright golden notes and long,
In Bethlem town he resteth, there,
For to set right Man's wrong.
A Sacrifice! This spotless babe,
So pure, so pale, so calm!
The Father's righteous wrath to lave,
Propitiating balm.
Angel-song, surpassing fair,
So crystal-clear and bright,
In straw-pricked darkness, cold and bare,
God hast come down this Night.
-
In a Cowboy's Boots
I dream of being a cowboy
Working off the land,
Leaning tired on hitchin' posts
At the long day's end.
Sore from breakin' horses
And brandin' all the cows
After guzzlin' dirty water,
I'd mop my sweaty brow.
The unforgivin' desert heat
Would chisel my raw hide
And toughen me like cactus
To hide my inner side.
I'd clink when I'd go walkin'
Inside saloon or bar.
But I'd slap the jigger upside down
The moment I saw stars.
I'd prolly carry two guns,
One inside each sleeve,
If with poker there were trouble.
After winnin' I would leave.
Upon a dusty bedroll
I'd lay my oily head
And try to count the distant lights
'Fore killers shot me dead.
They'd lay me in the valley.
Tumbleweeds and kindlin'
Would mark my grave out nowhere
For visits from my child'n.
On the wooden cross these words,
"Lord, pray my soul to keep
In constant sorrow for my sins,
Don't let me go down deep."
Some written to Our Lady
Conceived without any sin:
"Sorry that I killed your Son,
May I now come in?"
Oh, I fancy bein' a cowboy,
Brown tobacco cud I'd spit...
But, I was taught to be a lady
So this dreamin' jes' don't fit.
-
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
I hate the novus ordo,
and so should you.
-
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
I hate the novus ordo,
and so should you.
It cost me my fam
Put my life in a jam
Serves no Lamb
And has potential to damn.
It hides the truth
Promotes the uncouth
Consecrates juice
Being all kinds of loose
Novus Ordo is fake
A lousy remake
Clears pews like a rake
Or a big rattlesnake.
The rubrics are dumb
Making everyone numb
Turns beauty to slum
And the good guy to bum.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I hate the Novus Ordo
Maybe more than you. :wink:
-
When Demas Wouldn’t Leave
For Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this
present world . . .
St. Paul, 2 Tim. 4:10
How cold the hard harrow, the broken spine,
now that the crooked crosiers cadge the creeping populum,
no need to forsake, but gild the branch and vine,
where the herd’s as good as gold, but the fountains excrementum
Demas went out from us, and the old man hurt, took it hard,
when his ember faded into the furnace of the Lord,
but we have blaze ahead, and they are thick with us as lard,
these wolves disguised as sheep, these investors in the Word
O say can he she, by the dawn’s early blight,
How the Amazon fires while the photos are cropped,
How the horns disappear, with their tails out of sight,
Though their mouths are still open from where the corks popped
Demas he left us, but they’re coming apace,
To save them from us and the whole human race,
Where they’ll tinker and tailor with prayers and such
Before returning to Rome, with their lust unto lust
-
I wasn't sure what to do with this. I just learned that the Australian poet Bruce Dawe died in April at the age of 90. Please pray for his soul.
This is his poem, not mine. I am no poet.
The Wholly Innocent,
by Bruce Dawes
I never walked abroad in air
I never saw the sky
Nor knew the sovereign touch of care
Nor looked into an eye.
I never chose, nor gave consent
Nor voted on my fate
Unseen, I came, unseen I went
Too early and too late
This was my life-line trust
As absolute as blood
Now down in the bucket thrust
Anonymous as mud
Oh you within whose God-like power
Lies to so decide
Remember me when, some late hour
Talks turn to genocide
For I was part of that doomed race
Whose death-cell was the womb
But who can clear a bloody space
And call it living room
I never had a name or cried
That central cry "I am"
But in a world-wide shambles died
Defenceless as a lamb
Remember me next time you
Rejoice at sun or star
I would have loved to see them too
I never got that far.
May God reward him for speaking out on behalf of his little ones.
-
In Search of Love
You are surrounded by fog and rain on this night, in need of a guide.
I know the way; so let me, unworthy I may be, show you along the road.
You are seeking Love, the fulfilling kind that everyone wishes to find.
In distress you go from one person to another, to find the living water of ardor.
Hoping that they can give you which you cannot give yourself, you let them in your abode.
Again and again you open your door, but they leave you worse than you were before.
You are like an sculptor who sees that his statue did not meet his mind’s first form.
The cause of your sorrow is you wish to be fulfilled by those who can only fill.
How can you have love if you do not know Love? Only Love itself can calm this storm.
Love, not that crude impulse that the adulteress Francesca took for the true Flame;
Love, which enkindles righteousness in all good hearts, and makes them adore His own Will.
Love, self-giving instead of self-serving, a richness which reaches depths impossible to explain.
Do not act as though I have said something new;
I have only brought it out of the chamber of your soul.
For it had already been written in your heart, a truth already known to you.
Making you in His own likeness, He Who Is implanted in you these desires.
Love shall cast out your fear; and your wounded heart He shall console.
Therefore, pray that He may restore your sight so that you may see the sky.
-
I didn’t write this poem but it brings back good memories:
(http://blob:https://www.cathinfo.com/129e456a-1f59-4dc8-aaf1-888a5870d245)
-
(http://blob:https://www.cathinfo.com/60b02532-2d5a-4318-8528-b7bdf0652f7a)
-
Wow, a thread that was started 14 years ago.
Now that's a necro-bump!
-
I didn’t write this poem but it brings back good memories:
(http://blob:https://www.cathinfo.com/129e456a-1f59-4dc8-aaf1-888a5870d245)
Why thumb down a cute poem?? Oh. You enjoy poetry about the jab.
-
Here is a poem by a woman who later converted to Catholicism:
The Lord God Planted a Garden
By Dorothy Frances Gurney (1858-1932)
THE Lord God planted a garden
In the first white days of the world,
And He set there an angel warden
In a garment of light enfurled.
So near to the peace of Heaven,
That the hawk might nest with the wren,
For there in the cool of the even
God walked with the first of men.
And I dream that these garden closes
With their shade and their sun-flecked sod
And their lilies and bowers of roses,
Were laid by the hand of God.
The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth, –
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
-
I thought I would never see,
such global insanity.
When a duck thinks it's a moose,
and Yeats says anarchy has been loosed.
So until Birnam wood comes to Dunsinane,
I am off to bed for my head cries in pain.
-
St. John's Cathedral in Limerick
Is made of stone and not of brick
Some may believe
That I deceive
See for yourself, I don't, please click (https://www.google.com/search?q= st+john's+cathedral+in+limerick&tbm=isch)!
-
My first religious poem, written in 2003.
Am I To Be
If it's your will, am I to be seen
And if that's so, will anyone look
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be heard
And if that's so, will anyone listen
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be touched
And if that's so, will anyone feel
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be fed
And if that's so, will anyone feed
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be held
And if that's so, will anyone hold
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be loved
And if that's so, will you love me
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
If it's your will, am I to be
And if that's so, do you really want me
But it's out of my hands
Please give me a chance
But not as I will
It was her will, and given free
And so long ago, she accepted it to be
But now it's in your hands
Please give me a chance
As Mary did He
-
Ten years later another poem.
Reunion
Eyes grow weary, have they learned to see
During years of absence, you from me
Your story's at end, your chosen plot
Time draws near, but you may know not
Shall I see my mother, perhaps my dad
Ever watchful, my being glowing so glad
It is time, I wait with mounting joy
For them once again to be girl or boy
That which was separate, will now be one
Your chosen tasks are nearly done
At the entrance, there I stand
Reunion time is close at hand
From the palm of His hand I've watched you grow
Seeds of goodness, We watched you sow
Come be with me and share His land
I await the touch of your sweet hand
I fault you not, as you can see
I love you so, come be with me
So hasten forth, with lifted heart
No longer more shall we be apart
These words I write, so dear to me
Express my desire that you'll be free
If the gate be locked, search for the key
But look not far, in your heart it will be.
Reunion's point of view is from an unborn child who grew up with God and has learned unbridled compassion. The child holds no malice and wants its parents to be able to enter heaven.
-
March of 2016
Purpose
Fragile glimpses, of more to be sought
Easily succuмb to the warmth of the now
They drift in the cacophony, that overwhelms
The hidden recesses, of incomplete thought
Acceptance is bliss, wonder not why
Consider no need, to ponder what is
Direction not found, just follow along
Serenely observe, all that flows on by
Within lies a spark, a chance to soar
Given such chance, if it's to be seen
Look out far and search inward deep
Choices there are, to accomplish more
Coming this far, the decision is due
To hope for the best, as do the rest
Or follow your heart, brighten the light
Show your face; I thought, it is you.
The poems point of view is concealed in the last line. Specifically the words "I thought". In English we always capitalize the word I. However here the "I" is God. The last five words mean that God says that He thought and you were created.
-
Little Horn is on the throne
And Catholic fast asleep
What rises past the ocean stone
Is Leviathan from the deep
A harlot Beast with crimson lips
An idol that we adore
"Our Lady" of Apocalypse
All hail our scarlet whore
-
His (Family)
An image formed so long ago
Its beauty and dignity unsurpassed
Bestowed upon creatures incomparably blessed
Who now dare presume to alter the flow
The image is threatened as never before
Fervor to change its essence exists
Willingness to concede is most evident
Integrity corrupted from surface to core
Three united in faith, love and joy
Mother and father with Father above
Meant to be bound till one Earth departs
Are under attack by the deceivers ploy
Whether adopted or conceived
Cherished shall they be and realizing that
A mother and a father should be the seed
Of this tenet they should not be deceived
-
da roun earth
by bodeens
earth is round
it is good
gravity bound
im in da hood
-
His Sorrow
We presume to know of a far better way
But our devices will falter somewhere, someday
Surely there will come a time, a time to pay
We don't care, our chosen course we shall stay
In light of His sorrowful passion, asking for wisdom is the best way
Contemplate well, be wise with our choices
Discern the good path, don't heed the tainted voices
Interpret His teachings with faithful discretion
Do not falter and succuмb to the common obsession
In light of His sorrowful passion, be thankful to God every day
Share His blessings with one and for all, conquer our greed
Remember from Whom it is given, and take only for need
Your earned spiritual merits freely offer to Mary
For she knows where to place them for seed
In light of His sorrowful passion, hold nothing back, just give it away
Presumptuous are we who question His plan
Hallowed be the wonderous union of woman and man
Each to love and to cherish until one life departs
Defend to the end, the Divine will as much as you can
In light of His sorrowful passion, follow His will and enter the fray
Chaste should we be, before the big choice
The "I do" we spoke, He remembers our voice
To tear the union apart does ravage His heart
Any other style union upon us don't foist
In light of His sorrowful passion, His definition of marriage, be on our tray
Temptation is there, it etches away, seeking our defeat
Its dominion so great, it captivates His earthly elite
Preach the doctrine of God, not the twisted version of the temptor
Pray to lead well the masses while following His holy scepter
In light of His sorrowful passion, cherish His church, let it not sway
Dare we to clone in His image, but lacking a soul
Tempt we then our God, the being to be made whole
A creation such as this, a new life which we stole
Our pride do we praise, or our Maker do we console
In light of His sorrowful passion, I know you not, don't hear Him say
Cherish the unarrived, lovingly embrace they who are old
For our life is His gift, pure and precious, all from the same mold
Turn not the womb into a gruesome cσncєnтrαтισn cαмρ
The decision is His alone as to when goes dark our worldly lamp
In light of His sorrowful passion, treasure all life and follow His way
Should we question why one is made girl or one a boy
With His decision from above do we possess the wisdom to toy
Does that infer that the maker has created a grievous mistake
The image of beings that He has made, we dare to remake
In light of His sorrowful passion, accept what is given and follow His way
Genetic manipulation, cross species and mechanical man
Don't limit your imagination, do try all that you can
By defiling My temple you are forcing Me out
But remember Who'll have the last word, the final shout
In light of His sorrowful passion, He is our light, He opened the way
Our fellow believers should all take heart
In knowing that afterwards, He'll set us apart
When we leave this place, we'll do so in grace
Pray for us all, that we may then see His sweet face
In light of His sorrowful passion, eternal life was given that day
If while reading this now you say you feel hurt
Imagine My pain, crucified, covered in blood and dirt
Will you visit me just once to ease My distress
Or ignore Me completely in sheer haughtiness
In light of His sorrowful passion, soften your heart and kneel down to pray
-
Code of Silence
Bride of Christ we will defend
We are here for Him to send
For the souls that need to mend
This unholy deception, it must end
The violated they saw fit to scare
Were told their stories not to share
Although 'twas said that they did care
Their consolation, anything but fair
Holy Spirit please send your light
Expose the secrecy to our sight
With Your power peer into the night
Be our guide throughout this fight
Through our anguish and our pain
The love of Christ we always maintain
Our souls they sought for their own gain
Decades of abuse, from sons of Cain
Can they not hear our pleading calls
That loudly echo through the holy halls
Of course their empire, it must not fall
Vowed to be defended by one and for all
The defiled who listen with open ear
Rarely hear that justice will cost dear
The very souls that should be drawn near
Are ghostly shadows in the temptor's mirror
How much faith have they wrecked then
In secret to set Barabbas free once again
To embrace the darkness as an old friend
Crucify Christ time after time, without end
Code of Silence was penned in response to the Diocese of Buffaloing's continued practice of releasing unflattering news in "carefully metered doses after being found out". They should not follow the laws of man but should instead be following the laws of God. Pride, power, money and a fear for their existence govern their decisions. Non celibate clergy, and those who cover it up are committing adultery since they are betrothed to the bride of Christ. Their denial of offenses is disheartening and condemns their souls. Can they not see that one report of abuse is enough to investigate? Judas only offended once. Also the misuse of funds has not been properly addressed.
-
Prepare was written during Advent 2018.
Prepare
Say the word, if you'll be free
Accept their blame, to be like Me
With opened eyes, you shall see
Lay bare your soul, on bended knee
For but a price, I surrendered My life
My peace exchanged, for all their strife
My heart pierced deep, as if by knife
Nailed upon a cross, their hate so rife
But on your own, you cannot obtain
A place within, the eternal domain
So deeply strive, steady course maintain
And from all vice, you must refrain
Humbly enter, the worthy chase
Abandon all, the filth and base
Implore My grace, for your sins to erase
Only then will you see, the Father's face
-
The poem Adam came out on December 9, 2018. Inspired by my puzzlement with Mark 14:51 since at least the late 1980's.
Adam
Arisen from dust, life into me thrust
a copy to behold, from the best mold
at first alone, now with one from my own
destiny unknown, a garden our home
avoid but one tree, or loose eternity
deception has won, what have I done
caught in a lie, my descendants will die
but pity has shone, a new shoot has grown
my error cost dear, the accusers draw near
now naked I flee, to avoid death on a tree
Mark 14:51
A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, he fled naked, leaving his garment behind.
Could it be that the young man was indeed Adam, once again hurrying off to hide knowing that he was responsible for what was to happen to Jesus?
-
The poem Adam came out on December 9, 2018. Inspired by my puzzlement with Mark 14:51 since at least the late 1980's.
Adam
Arisen from dust, life into me thrust
a copy to behold, from the best mold
at first alone, now with one from my own
destiny unknown, a garden our home
avoid but one tree, or loose eternity
deception has won, what have I done
caught in a lie, my descendants will die
but pity has shone, a new shoot has grown
my error cost dear, the accusers draw near
now naked I flee, to avoid death on a tree
Mark 14:51
A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, he fled naked, leaving his garment behind.
Could it be that the young man was indeed Adam, once again hurrying off to hide knowing that he was responsible for what was to happen to Jesus?
A thoughtful poem!
I do not think that it could have been THE Adam, but this man was perhaps another of the disciples? Perhaps this very same disciple was named Adam, this adding a great layer of symbolism to this mystery.
-
Released before Christmas in 2018, Gimme Some Sugar, addresses a hidden problem.
Gimme Some Sugar
Gimme some sugar to soothe your soul
Attend to my advice and attain your goal
Rename your problem and do it with tact
Surely believe in me, I will have your back
Never mind the unseen, ignore their cries
Pay no attention to the complainers' sighs
You are free to do whatever you please
And with my guidance it will be a breeze
A person cannot be until one does it see
So abandon all concern and listen to me
If it feels good then do it you must
I know all the rules, in me you can trust
Change your nature to be like mine
Follow my steps and you will do fine
Try a new twist, it is certain to be sweet
And do not worry if the wrong ends meet
Remember our fun and good talk
When hand in hand we will walk
For when our companionship is done
You can be sure that we will be one
When I wrote this, I was thinking about how things are "rebranded" so to speak, to make them sound innocuous. Murder became abortion, gαy Related Immune Disease (GRID) became AIDS (Who is it aiding anyways?), calling a same sex union marriage (wrong ends meet), etc.
Tonight (12-25-2018) while saying the Divine Mercy Chaplet, I finally got it. An inkling that I may have written
about far more than I had realized. I converted to Catholicism in 1986, so I do not know the pre Vatican II
church.
So I was curious and decided to do some research.
No longer does the priest face the tabernacle during Mass. He is now the center of attention. Our priests should be like the priests of the Old Testament, a representative standing for and before the people — between themselves and the Holy of Holies — praying for them and offering their sacrifice in a unique and
consecrated way. Now the priest has been demoted to a liturgical salesman with his boss hiding in the back room. In addition the Mass responses have been mellowed, it is no longer mandatory to kneel and receive Jesus on the tongue and strange changes to church doctrine have since been enacted or proposed.
-
Released on January 2, 2019, Fairness came to be in response to what someone had said to me earlier that same day.
Fairness
With the same love as when I thought of you
throughout your journey I will be there too
My presence if not in body then in spirit best
beloved you are, as precious as all the rest
If you stumble and fall I will not forsake you
within a world so harsh and difficult to view
Have patience and love and in time you may see
all that I have done, was meant to set you free
My life I have surrendered to give life to you
forgive all the wrongs, then forgive yours I do
I provide for each one to the betterment of all
in ways you must trust, with fair love do I call
Fairness refers to our Heavenly Father and to earthly fathers as well.
-
Released before Christmas in 2018, Gimme Some Sugar, addresses a hidden problem.
Gimme Some Sugar
Gimme some sugar to soothe your soul
Attend to my advice and attain your goal
Rename your problem and do it with tact
Surely believe in me, I will have your back
Never mind the unseen, ignore their cries
Pay no attention to the complainers' sighs
You are free to do whatever you please
And with my guidance it will be a breeze
A person cannot be until one does it see
So abandon all concern and listen to me
If it feels good then do it you must
I know all the rules, in me you can trust
Change your nature to be like mine
Follow my steps and you will do fine
Try a new twist, it is certain to be sweet
And do not worry if the wrong ends meet
Remember our fun and good talk
When hand in hand we will walk
For when our companionship is done
You can be sure that we will be one
When I wrote this, I was thinking about how things are "rebranded" so to speak, to make them sound innocuous. Murder became abortion, gαy Related Immune Disease (GRID) became AIDS (Who is it aiding anyways?), calling a same sex union marriage (wrong ends meet), etc.
Tonight (12-25-2018) while saying the Divine Mercy Chaplet, I finally got it. An inkling that I may have written
about far more than I had realized. I converted to Catholicism in 1986, so I do not know the pre Vatican II
church.
So I was curious and decided to do some research.
No longer does the priest face the tabernacle during Mass. He is now the center of attention. Our priests should be like the priests of the Old Testament, a representative standing for and before the people — between themselves and the Holy of Holies — praying for them and offering their sacrifice in a unique and
consecrated way. Now the priest has been demoted to a liturgical salesman with his boss hiding in the back room. In addition the Mass responses have been mellowed, it is no longer mandatory to kneel and receive Jesus on the tongue and strange changes to church doctrine have since been enacted or proposed.
This poem reminds me of the song "No sugar/A new Mother Nature" - societal revolution and Nature turned on its/her head
"There's a new Mother Nature taking over...she's getting us all"
-
This poem reminds me of the song "No sugar/A new Mother Nature" - societal revolution and Nature turned on its/her head
"There's a new Mother Nature taking over...she's getting us all"
I am familiar with No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature by the Guess Who.
Gimme Some Sugar is not tied to music but I do have a secular poem that became so. And the name of the group that sung the song is amazingly close to the Guess Who.
Pre-priced Package
See that shiny package, on the upper row
Its base cardboard shelf mate, is not the way to go
There must be embossed letters, of metallic sheen
And it must be shrink wrapped, so it's always clean
Add a few more staples, and a cute twist tie
You know it should be fancy, if I'm going to buy
Prominent the brand name, in colors no less than eight
The text it must be fancy, never print it straight
Don't forget the bar code, or the warranty card
Packed in lots of peanuts, in case if it gets jarred
To deter the wayward, affix a radio tag
Then place your corporate logo, on the check out bag
Beware the competition, don't be such a slouch
For reuse they have added, a see through zipper pouch
Please sprinkle on some glitter, for a final touch
And get a catchy jingle, to make me pay that much
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll buy it in a snap
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll keep coming back
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll buy it in a snap
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll keep coming back
I was thinking about consumerism while writing. As I wrote I reviewed the first few lines quickly and the tune of Pinball Wizard by the Who popped into my head. Naturally, the rest of the poem had to follow suit.
-
I am familiar with No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature by the Guess Who.
Gimme Some Sugar is not tied to music but I do have a secular poem that became so. And the name of the group that sung the song is amazingly close to the Guess Who.
Pre-priced Package
See that shiny package, on the upper row
Its base cardboard shelf mate, is not the way to go
There must be embossed letters, of metallic sheen
And it must be shrink wrapped, so it's always clean
Add a few more staples, and a cute twist tie
You know it should be fancy, if I'm going to buy
Prominent the brand name, in colors no less than eight
The text it must be fancy, never print it straight
Don't forget the bar code, or the warranty card
Packed in lots of peanuts, in case if it gets jarred
To deter the wayward, affix a radio tag
Then place your corporate logo, on the check out bag
Beware the competition, don't be such a slouch
For reuse they have added, a see through zipper pouch
Please sprinkle on some glitter, for a final touch
And get a catchy jingle, to make me pay that much
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll buy it in a snap
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll keep coming back
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll buy it in a snap
It's a pre-priced package, and we'll keep coming back
I was thinking about consumerism while writing. As I wrote I reviewed the first few lines quickly and the tune of Pinball Wizard by the Who popped into my head. Naturally, the rest of the poem had to follow suit.
Definitely has a song feel to it.:cowboy:
-
The Wedding at Cana was penned on January 22, 2019.
The Wedding at Cana
A portent of events that had yet to unfold
All followers invited is what we are told
His mother's request He puts not on hold
The ceremonial water its change we behold
Filled to the brim with nothing held back
Sweetened with goodness, nothing to lack
The best for the last to consummate a pact
His hour not here, there is no turning back
Bridegroom, headwaiter and servers are there
But of the bride, there is mention nowhere
Or could that omission be to make us aware
That the bride of Christ will soon be in our care
-
Holy Bond
Spread on a table that man had not made
Rained down from heaven now in the glade
Heavenly flakes much whiter than frost
Gather it quickly for in the heat it be lost
Take what you need and store none away
My directions abide that no one shall stray
Sweet be the taste, different for each one
The bread of the angels for now till I come
One jar before Me for those yet to come
A bountiful harvest do remember this one
As a sign of My covenant place in the Ark
Your hunger abated walk not in the dark
When thousands sat down upon the grass
I provided for their needs with this repast
A handful of loaves before them I broke
Leftovers there were, after I had spoke
Share now this table fashioned by man
Loaves you have broken because you can
Changed into My body, not a mere sign
A Holy Bond between your heart and Mine
All of My people, I place before you a choice
Pray that your reason has heeded My voice
But beware of temptation clouding your view
Accept now this morsel that I offer to you
-
Tomorrow
Through swaying trees we gaze upon
An evening crescent betwixt the sheaths
New beginnings, of soon to be leafs
Remembering our friend who has gone on
We shall all follow the path to the end
Routes that we take are different for each
Along the way we have goodness to teach
Until the day we join our dear friend
Too small to comprehend the necessity
We wonder now as upward we do stare
The grace of God we pray you do share
Immersed in His love for all eternity
Tomorrow was penned on May 8, 2019. In a span of about three weeks four people who we knew in one way or another made a decision for God. One of them took a spouse unwillingly.
-
Lost was written on Wednesday March 18, 2020.
Lost
I know of a land where truth once it did trod
A land where one often heard mention of God
Where the good was not twisted for one's gain
Where all of the words had meanings so plain
Where the rights of the many were not forsaken
Where ungodly desires were not undertaken
We're told to abandon our God, hunker in place
Reigns now greed and fear, anxiety we embrace
Sorrowfully does my heart long for that place
I've searched on the ground, stared into space
Here I am now musing upon that loss of grace
Wondering if we'll turn to see His sweet face
-
Written on September 12, 2021.
We
Thusly
A thought
The first letter
A sentence ensues
The paragraph develops
A chapter has been inscribed
The new story can be ascertained
A position on the bookshelf is reserved
The copywriter will never be discouraged
Just as a story begins with a thought and progresses so does our conception and earthly existence.
I was reading our church bulletin before Mass and saw a notice asking for religious education teachers for our youth. As I reflected on that I felt that I would not be suitable. That afternoon I wrote a non rhyming poem which flowed from my earlier contemplation. I have never written such a poem before. After finishing I did some research and discovered that it is a type known as a shape poem.
My contemplation centered around how to provide children with an analogy about life and abortion. A writer begins with a thought and God wills us into existence with a thought. And He will never be discouraged.
-
Began on March 16, 2022 and was finalized on March 21, 2022.
Meaning
“We assign to things whatever meaning we choose,
All events, all values weighed in our minds are without depth.
The subject determines the object, so ready your noose!
Banish love from your hearts and deny the ‘consummatum est’.”
Such as fools err; as we cannot imagine nothingness’ abyss
To see good or bad in anything is something that we cannot dismiss.
Let language here corroborate; does any word go undefined?
Since even meaningless means, their words show themselves blind.
Just as nothing’s road never was, and never can be
So too then must the road of meaninglessness not be.
Where does meaning’s road come to?
From He who said “EGO SUM QUI SUM”.
For through Him all things were made,
And through His Son flesh became,
And through His Spirit Blest sets hearts aflame.
.....
Self commentary:
The first paragraph is a summation of the opinions and conclusions of those who deny the existence of objective meaning, and rather say that we “create” meaning through our perceptions. Thus this view renders meaning mostly worthless since, according to its principles, all of our interpretations of meaning are without objective truth. The most heinous of these conclusions to deny the value of the Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Then the speaker (yours truly) goes on to refute these claims, taking inspiration from the poem Truth by the Greek philosopher Parmenides of Elea and the enlightening words of Bishop Williamson from his many conferences on Modernism. To say that we “construct” meaning is to essentially make a meaning construct in of itself, and such an act also dances around the objective truth that there is an objective means of interpreting events, otherwise language itself would be useless since we would not be able to agree on words having definitions and connotations.
The part of Parmenides’ poem that best summarizes what I got out of it is this excerpt:
(B2) But come now, I will tell you — and you, when you have heard the story, bring it safely
away —
which are the only routes of inquiry that are
for thinking:
the one, that is and that it is not possible for
it not to be,
is the path of Persuasion (for it attends upon
Truth),
the other, that is is not and that it is right that
it not be,
this indeed I declare to you a path
entirely unable to be investigated:
For neither can you know what is not (for it is
not to be accomplished)
nor can you declare it.
(Proclus, Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus 1.345.18 lines 3-8: Simplicius, Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics 116.28; tmpc)
From page 27 of the book Readings in Ancient Greek Philosophy, from Thales to Aristotle, edited by S. Marc Cohen, Patricia Curd, and C.D.C. Reeve.
This poem reaches its climax with a forceful highlighting of the importance of God and His relationship to being. He is both infinitely greater than man but is also infinitely simple, as His declaration to Moses on Mount Sinai indicates. He is also the source of all being, and all meaning.
I was inspired to make this connection, and I credit Fr. Hesse with providing me with the wisdom to in some part understand this holy mystery. Specifically I refer to (if my memory serves me right) the conference entitled The Proof of God and His One True Church (https://archive.org/details/FatherHesse/Fr.+Hesse+-+The+Proof+of+God+and+His+One+True+Church+(Remastered).mp3).
This poem then ends with a praise of the Holy Trinity, tying It to the Oneness of God brought up in the previous two lines. I attempted to demonstrate the distinctness of each Person of the Trinity in these three lines; perhaps I may have erred in making the association of the Father with the creation of all things as strong as it is, as if to push aside the involvement of the Son and the Holy Ghost in the Creation. I did not mean for such an interpretation, I just wished to be general here as to attempt to highlight the truth that each of the Three Persons are distinct yet make up a society of One God. I used terza rima here, as it is said that Dante invented this style to honor the Blessed Trinity. It is both a tribute to the Holy Trinity but also, in a lesser way, to the Catholic genius of Dante Alighieri.
-
Began on March 16, 2022 and was finalized on March 21, 2022.
Meaning
“We assign to things whatever meaning we choose,
All events, all values weighed in our minds are without depth.
The subject determines the object, so ready your noose!
Banish love from your hearts and deny the ‘consummatum est’.”
Such as fools err; as we cannot imagine nothingness’ abyss
To see good or bad in anything is something that we cannot dismiss.
Let language here corroborate; does any word go undefined?
Since even meaningless means, their words show themselves blind.
Just as nothing’s road never was, and never can be
So too then must the road of meaninglessness not be.
Where does meaning’s road come to?
From He who said “EGO SUM QUI SUM”.
For through Him all things were made,
And through His Son flesh became,
And through His Spirit Blest sets hearts aflame.
.....
Self commentary:
The first paragraph is a summation of the opinions and conclusions of those who deny the existence of objective meaning, and rather say that we “create” meaning through our perceptions. Thus this view renders meaning mostly worthless since, according to its principles, all of our interpretations of meaning are without objective truth. The most heinous of these conclusions to deny the value of the Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Then the speaker (yours truly) goes on to refute these claims, taking inspiration from the poem Truth by the Greek philosopher Parmenides of Elea and the enlightening words of Bishop Williamson from his many conferences on Modernism. To say that we “construct” meaning is to essentially make a meaning construct in of itself, and such an act also dances around the objective truth that there is an objective means of interpreting events, otherwise language itself would be useless since we would not be able to agree on words having definitions and connotations.
The part of Parmenides’ poem that best summarizes what I got out of it is this excerpt:
From page 27 of the book Readings in Ancient Greek Philosophy, from Thales to Aristotle, edited by S. Marc Cohen, Patricia Curd, and C.D.C. Reeve.
This poem reaches its climax with a forceful highlighting of the importance of God and His relationship to being. He is both infinitely greater than man but is also infinitely simple, as His declaration to Moses on Mount Sinai indicates. He is also the source of all being, and all meaning.
I was inspired to make this connection, and I credit Fr. Hesse with providing me with the wisdom to in some part understand this holy mystery. Specifically I refer to (if my memory serves me right) the conference entitled The Proof of God and His One True Church (https://archive.org/details/FatherHesse/Fr.+Hesse+-+The+Proof+of+God+and+His+One+True+Church+(Remastered).mp3).
This poem then ends with a praise of the Holy Trinity, tying It to the Oneness of God brought up in the previous two lines. I attempted to demonstrate the distinctness of each Person of the Trinity in these three lines; perhaps I may have erred in making the association of the Father with the creation of all things as strong as it is, as if to push aside the involvement of the Son and the Holy Ghost in the Creation. I did not mean for such an interpretation, I just wished to be general here as to attempt to highlight the truth that each of the Three Persons are distinct yet make up a society of One God. I used terza rima here, as it is said that Dante invented this style to honor the Blessed Trinity. It is both a tribute to the Holy Trinity but also, in a lesser way, to the Catholic genius of Dante Alighieri.
Well done indeed!
-
Penned on April 8, 2022.
Inobservance
My beloved did grant, her permission received
That I may enter within, in a most blessed way
Destined to counter the ways, of those in decay
To unloose the bonds, of those sorely deceived
Immediately hastening forth, quickly we did go
To complete a task, embarked on an arduous trip
The spirit to bestow, with an unquenchable grip
To delineate a path, the way for mine to know
Why did Mary visit Elizabeth? Perhaps we should consider that Jesus was also visiting.
Could the visitation have been an "inobservant" sign that John the Baptist was baptized in
the womb by the Holy Spirit?
-
The Wood of the Cross: A Good Friday Poem
Behold the wood,
The Wood of the Cross,
Betwixt heaven and Earth,
The lamb for man's salvation.
Rejoice oh mankind,
For the gates of heaven once closed,
Now open to all who are worthy
Yet mourn oh cruel man,
And behold the wood of the Cross.
There lies your Christ,
In agony throughout,
His back torn to shreds,
And his head pierced
With a crown of thorns.
His sacred heart beats on,
as a drum for a regiment,
Onwards to reconquer,
And repair the sin of Adam.
For 3 hours long,
He hung in agony untold,
Till he uttered "consummatum est"
And all of creation grieved.
Glory to you, O divine Messiah!
Glory to you, O King of Kings!
For thou hast redeemed the world,
Upon the wood of thy Holy Cross.
-
I’m published at the Society of Classical Poets:
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/07/26/elegy-for-the-child-never-conceived-by-joshua-c-frank/
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/06/17/a-modernization-of-to-his-coy-mistress-by-joshua-c-frank/
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/06/13/what-is-pro-choice-and-other-poetry-by-joshua-c-frank/
-
Someone mentioned that I should put my actual poems here in addition to the links, so here they are. Please show these (especially the first, as people have told me it can make a real difference) to as many people as possible and encourage them to do the same.
Elegy For The Child Never Conceived
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, July 26, 2022)
His would-be parents had but days;
The procreative ship sat docked,
And with the passengers’ delays,
That ship is gone, forever locked,
But if, instead, he’d been conceived
And been allowed to live and die,
His soul could one day be received
In the embrace of God Most High.
And hence it grieves my heart to see
A child-shaped space unoccupied,
Not running in the grass with glee,
Nor leaning on his mother’s side,
And no one in his space in bed
To kiss goodnight while tucking in;
No smiling face, no heart well-fed,
No warm caress from hands to skin.
When weighed against one human soul,
No sacrifice too great to give
Could ever be for such a goal
That one’s own child may simply live.
God’s Way And My Way
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, June 13, 2022)
I thought I could cheat the system
And fight all the rules and resist ‘em,
But God has His way
At the end of the day;
Now I’ve too many problems to list ‘em!
A Modernization of “To His Coy Mistress”
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, June 17, 2022)
You say we should some years delay
The coming of our wedding day,
But God commanded us to try
To fruitful be and multiply.
To make new life, we cannot shirk;
The night shall come, when none can work.
Just as she cannot grow more legs,
A baby girl has all her eggs;
In adolescence they will start
To walk onstage and then depart,
And monthly one by one they pass
Like sand grains in an hourglass,
And once the time onstage is missed,
One soul for Heaven won’t exist.
That we may strive to give them life,
Come with me now and be my wife.
What Is “Pro-Choice?”
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, June 13, 2022)
If my child were sent to die,
Be chopped to pieces like a pig,
To spare him death, I’d plead and beg,
His life with mine to buy.
Yet pregnant moms demand their “rights”
To chop their children in their wombs
In hit-men’s bright and sterile rooms,
As if they’re parasites.
To liberals, if a pregnant woman
Wants the baby, it’s her child.
If not, it’s vermin, it’s reviled;
It somehow isn’t human.
To you who call yourselves “pro-choice:”
Your unborn victims have no voice.
Shoulders of Giants
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, June 17, 2022)
I’m standing up high on the shoulders of giants
Where I can see farther than many a man
I reach down my hand to lift up some new clients
They tell me they’re happy down where they began
I swing to new giants and climb on their shoulders
Ever ascending through year after year
Searching the heights for some fellow beholders
To find me a wife and to raise children here
We’ll teach them to follow us higher and higher
And see things so few eyes have gazed on before
And strive all our days to pursue that desire
Till we all disembark on the heavenly shore!
TV Bubble
(First published at the Society of Classical Poets, June 17, 2022)
I passed three houses in a row,
The men like snakes charmed by the game.
The windows I jogged past would show
The footage on each screen the same.
One picture hung in many a mind,
And here I’ve just one trouble:
Since I don’t watch, I’ve been maligned
As “living in a bubble!”
More will follow once they’re published. I’m not comfortable posting them publicly until then.
-
I got more published!
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/08/27/a-villanelle-for-robert-hoogland-by-joshua-c-frank/
(Hoogland was imprisoned (https://www.theepochtimes.com/a-moms-research-part-6-staying-steady-in-the-swirl-of-transgenderism_4078687.html) for calling his daughter female)
A Villanelle for Robert Hoogland
Their mouths are gagged, their hands are bound;
Their children taken by the state,
These parents have no legal ground.
While children run and play around
The lip of Hell’s wide, yawning gate,
Their mouths are gagged, their hands are bound.
If they should ever make a sound,
They’ll age in jail for crimes of hate;
These parents have no legal ground.
Their efforts will be quickly drowned
As red tape seals their children’s fate.
Their mouths are gagged, their hands are bound.
Their children seized, locked in the pound,
Can’t help them now, for it’s too late,
These parents have no legal ground.
Must we raise our kids unsound
And watch them eat the devil’s bait?
Our mouths are gagged, our hands are bound;
We parents have no legal ground.
.
The Great Satan
We’ve taught the China folk to snack
To sell them our potato chips;
We stabbed their culture in the back
With words of treasures on our lips.
Thus now we teach the world to sin
To sell them poisons for their faith:
More time with trinkets, less with kin,
And no regrets till it’s too late.
Colonialism is okay
As long as churches are suppressed.
Exporting devils every day,
That’s the mission of the West.
The West once shone atop a hill,
But now it’s Satan’s global shill.
-
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/10/05/the-tech-addicts-lament-and-other-poetry-by-joshua-c-frank/
The Tech Addict’s Lament
As I take one more hit of electronic cocaine,
I snort a fresh shot of noise into my brain
And feel the cacophony’s endless refrain
Charging at me like a runaway train.
I collapse on the floor, and I think, “What a drain!
I’d love to walk out, and I’d love to abstain,
But the slowness of real-space seems flat and mundane.”
So, I’m tied to the tech with a thick iron chain.
.
Ballad of the Video-Game Hero
I rode in a mine cart, back home from the land
__Of my favorite video game,
Through the pixelized prairie and vast seas of sand,
__Over rivers of lava and flame.
The hero sat there in the rickety cart
__Staring off into pixel-sky space,
Much older than on the game cartridge’s art,
__With tears on his wide, wrinkled face.
“I’m leaving and never returning,” he said.
__“Come listen and hear my sad story.
The princess and I, we hoped someday to wed,
__Way back in the days of my glory.
“The dragon would kidnap the princess, then I
__Would run through an obstacle course
To his minions’ dark castles in mountains up high
__And take back their strongholds by force.
“My princess was in the last castle I’d raid;
__I always found treasures to haul.
The Kingdom would welcome me with a parade
__And a sumptuous banquet for all.
“But after some years, the dragon found ways
__To undermine me and my quest.
He gave up the tactic of ‘pillage and raze’—
__Bribed the people with treasure-filled chests!
“My princess then fell for the dragon’s top minion;
__The Kingdom surrendered the war
And exiled me out of the dragon’s dominion—
__They don’t want to be saved anymore!”
We came to my world, and we sealed up the gate
__To the land of his video game.
My world is secured from his land’s tragic fate,
__But I’m worried for us just the same.
For evil has bribed all the people here, too,
__With shiny new gadgets galore.
No more do they care for what’s good and what’s true—
__They don’t want to be saved anymore!
.
One-Man Duet
There’s a musician on the ’Net
With himself in a duet.
On the screen, the doubled fellow
Plays both violin and cello.
To viewers, it would thus appear
That he’s two players, like we hear.
First he played the violin,
Recorded it with his machine,
Then played his cello, harmonized
With silent notes, all mechanized—
No soul, no mind behind what brings
A faithful echo of his strings.
While playing both the parts alone,
Recording selfies on his phone,
He knows bowed instruments are made
With other people to be played.
What kind of world must he abide,
Where no one’s playing at his side?
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https://classicalpoets.org/2022/11/11/no-extra-lives-by-joshua-c-frank/
No Extra Lives
While all his friends were learning skills
To gain them wives or pay their bills,
John fought with monsters on a screen,
Got knighted by a game world’s queen,
Amassing troves of digi-treasure
That bought eight bits of gaming pleasure.
But as the habit lasted longer,
John’s dungeon shackles grew much stronger.
His friends moved on and all gained wives
While he sat gaining extra lives—
One-upped by men just half his age
Who’d put in time and earned life’s wage.
One day, much older, John awoke
And felt his electronic yoke:
No friends, no wife, and children none,
His life still stalled at World 1-1.
No princess wishes to be saved
By a gaming hero thus enslaved.
John’s game-themed room now seemed a waste,
An emblem of his time misplaced.
No dragon’s hoard of jewels and gold
Could buy back time and youth he’d sold
For shiny bits of program code—
He wept beside perdition’s road.
But, leaving home and breaking free,
He had no guide for strategy.
The social world seemed too complex
To a man who lived in pixel specks,
And so he ran back home to game,
Never quitting, to his shame.
The moral of this tale in rhyme?
Work while you’re young, don’t waste your time.
Don’t put your life goals off till later;
Shoot down your schedule’s space-invaders,
Or, like our captured gamer guy,
You’ll find your life has passed you by.
-
If you like my poetry, I’m getting published all the time; I even have my own page at the magazine that publishes me now:
https://classicalpoets.org/?s=Joshua+C.+Frank
-
https://classicalpoets.org/2022/11/11/no-extra-lives-by-joshua-c-frank/
No Extra Lives
While all his friends were learning skills
To gain them wives or pay their bills,
John fought with monsters on a screen,
Got knighted by a game world’s queen,
Amassing troves of digi-treasure
That bought eight bits of gaming pleasure.
But as the habit lasted longer,
John’s dungeon shackles grew much stronger.
His friends moved on and all gained wives
While he sat gaining extra lives—
One-upped by men just half his age
Who’d put in time and earned life’s wage.
One day, much older, John awoke
And felt his electronic yoke:
No friends, no wife, and children none,
His life still stalled at World 1-1.
No princess wishes to be saved
By a gaming hero thus enslaved.
John’s game-themed room now seemed a waste,
An emblem of his time misplaced.
No dragon’s hoard of Jєωels and gold
Could buy back time and youth he’d sold
For shiny bits of program code—
He wept beside perdition’s road.
But, leaving home and breaking free,
He had no guide for strategy.
The social world seemed too complex
To a man who lived in pixel specks,
And so he ran back home to game,
Never quitting, to his shame.
The moral of this tale in rhyme?
Work while you’re young, don’t waste your time.
Don’t put your life goals off till later;
Shoot down your schedule’s space-invaders,
Or, like our captured gamer guy,
You’ll find your life has passed you by.
Very good.
I think English is not that good for poetry, at least most English poetry sounds bad to me because it is severely limited by the lack of declensions and fixed word order, however, this sounds pretty good, probably because of your alliteration.
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Very good.
I think English is not that good for poetry, at least most English poetry sounds bad to me because it is severely limited by the lack of declensions and fixed word order, however, this sounds pretty good, probably because of your alliteration.
Thanks! This poem earned me high praise from a university English professor, leading a friend who’s a very experienced and prolific poet and knows him to tell me this means I’ve made it as a poet.
Poetry in English was not always in its present form; originally, it was in alliterative verse, where there were a fixed number of stressed syllables per line (usually four) that always started with the same sound within each line, but didn’t necessarily rhyme or have a fixed number of unstressed syllables between two stressed ones.