AULD LANG SYNE -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM TRADITIONALLY SUNG ON NEW YEAR’S EVE AT THE START OF THE NEW YEAR

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wandered mony a weary fit
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

By

The great Scottish poet Robbie  Burns

A Sonnet for ash wednesday

Brought from the burning of Palm Sunday’s Cross

I resume the thread of Sounding the Seasons, the sonnet sequence I have been posting here, and which s also available as a book from Canterbury Press, with this sonnet for Ash Wednesday. As I set about the traditional task of burning the remnants of last Palm Sunday’s palm crosses in order to make the ash which would bless and sign our repentance on Ash Wednesday, I was suddenly struck by the way both the fire and the ash were signs not only of our personal mortality and our need for repentance and renewal but also signs of of the wider destruction our sinfulness inflicts upon God’s world and on our fellow creatures, on the whole web of life into which God has woven us and for which He also cares. So some of those themes are visted in this sonnet. As we go through Lent I will post sonnets reflecting on each of the three temptations of Christ in  the wilderness, as well as for Mothering Sunday and the Feast of the  Annunciation which also falls in Lent. As before I am grateful to Margot Krebs Neale for the remarkable commentary on these poem

Ash Wednesday

Receive this cross of ash upon your brow,
Brought from the burning of Palm Sunday’s cross.
The forests of the world are burning now
And you make late repentance for the loss.
But all the trees of God would clap their hands
The very stones themselves would shout and sing
If you could covenant to love these lands
And recognise in Christ their Lord and king.

He sees the slow destruction of those trees,
He weeps to see the ancient places burn,
And still you make what purchases you please,
And still to dust and ashes you return.
But Hope could rise from ashes even now
Beginning with this sign upon your brow.

 

Beginning with this sign upon your browBy Malcolmquite

Mother

 

A sweet enchanting smile

Warm and tender charms

The things I remember

While safe in mother’s arms

 

Protected from all troubles

Comforted when in pain

Kissed gently on the cheek

To make all better again

 

Guided through my infant life

Of things I should not do

Taught me right from wrong

And shown things old and new

 

I want to thank you mother

I cherished all the years

Even when I was punished

And cried so many tears

 

And now that I am older

My love for you is strong

Although you are no longer with me

To the Spirit world you have gone

 

I know you will always be near me

For your love will never die

At times when I need you

I will always feel you nigh

 

I should like to say thank you

For all that you have done

For I will always cherish you

From your grateful Son.

 

Malcolm Bradshaw

On May Morning by John Milton – Famous poet

 

 

John Milton was born on December 9, 1608, in London, as the second child of John and Sara (neé Jeffrey). The family lived on Bread Street in Cheapside, near St. Paul’s Cathedral. John Milton Sr. worked as a scrivener, a legal secretary whose duties included preparation and notarization of documents , as well as real estate transactions and moneylending. Milton’s father was also a composer of church music, and Milton himself experienced a lifelong delight in music. The family’s financial prosperity afforded Milton to be taught classical languages, first by private tutors at home, followed by entrance to St. Paul’s School at age twelve, in 1620. 

In 1625, Milton was admitted to Christ’s College, Cambridge. While Milton was a hardworking student, he was also argumentative to the extent that only a year later, in 1626, he got suspended after a dispute with his tutor, William Chappell.

On May Morning

Now the bright morning Star, Day’s harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

On May Morning

by John Milton

SON’S AND LOVER’S 100 YEARS OLD – D H Lawrence

 

Sons and Lovers Quotes

Quote 1: Paul continually prays for his mother’s safety: “‘Make him stop drinking’. He prayed every night. ” ‘Lord, let my father die’, he prayed very often. ‘Let him not be killed at pit'”, he prayed when, after tea, the father did not come home from work.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 60

Quote 2: “He was an outsider. He had denied the God in him.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 63

Quote 3: “All day long, as she cleaned the house, she thought of him. He was in London: he would do well. Almost, he was like her knight who wore her favour in the battle.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 79

Quote 4: “Not even the Mediterranean, which pulled at all his young man’s desire to travel, and at his poor man’s wonder at the glamorous south, could take him away when he might come home.” Part 1, Chapter 4, pg. 82

Quote 5: “But still, in her heart of hearts, where the love should have burned, there was a blank. Now, when all her woman’s pity was roused to its full extent, when she would have slaved herself to death to nurse him and to save hum, when she would have taken the pain herself, if she could, somewhere far away inside her, she felt indifferent to him and to his suffering. It hurt her most of all, this failure to love him, even when he roused her strong emotions.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 86

Quote 6: He feels as if he is a “prisoner of industrialism.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 7: “Already his heart went down. He was being taken into bondage. His freedom in the beloved home valley was going now.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 89

Quote 8: “He liked to watch his fellow-clerks at work. The man was the work and the work was the man, one thing, for the time being. It was different with the girls. The real woman never seemed to be there at the task, but as if left out, waiting.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 9: “The trains roared by like projectiles level on the darkness, fuming and burning, making the valley clang with their passage. They were gone, and the lights of the towns and villages glittered in silence.” Part 1, Chapter 5, pg. 112

Quote 10: Mrs. Morel “clung now to Paul.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 114

Quote 11: As Paul says, “But I like the feel of men on things, while they’re alive. There’s a feel of men about trucks, because they’ve been handled with men’s hands, all of them.” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 123

Quote 12: All Mrs. Morel can say is, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 139

Quote 13: When the critical moment arrives, Mrs. Morel cries to Paul, “‘My son.'” Part 1, Chapter 6, pg. 141

Quote 14: “Then he was so ill, and she felt he would be weak. Then she would be stronger than he. Then she could love him. If she could be mistress of him in his weakness, take care of him, if he could depend on her, if she could, as it were, have him in her arms, how she would love him!” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 143

Quote 15: “She stimulated him into appreciating things thus, and then they lived for her. She seemed to need things kindling in her imagination or in her soul before she felt she had them. And she was cut off from ordinary life by her religious intensity which made the world for her either a nunnery garden or a paradise, where sin and knowledge were not, or else an ugly, cruel thing.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 149

Quote 16: Paul asks her in frustration and anger, “‘ What do you tremble your soul before it?…You don’t learn algebra with your blessed soul. Can’t you look at it with your clear simple wits?'” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 156

Quote 17: “They were going to have a communion together – something that thrilled her, something holy.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 159

Quote 18: Miriam almost worships the flowers, but Paul feels strangely “imprisoned” by the roses and its “white, virgin scent.” Part 2, Chapter 7, pg. 160

Quote 19: Mrs. Morel tells herself that through Paul, “she was to see herself fulfilled.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 183

Quote 20: With his mother, Paul is happy and proud that his mother takes charge of his life; with Miriam, he is filled with “something more wonderful, less human, and tinged to intensity by a pain, as if there were something he could not get to.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 192

Quote 21: Mrs. Morel believes that Miriam is not an “ordinary woman, who can leave me my share in him. She wants to absorb him till there is nothing left of him, even for himself. He will never be a man on his own two feet – she will suck him up.” Part 2, Chapter 8, pg. 193

Quote 22: Disgusted with her behavior, Paul asks, “‘You’re always begging things to love you as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them – You don’t want to love – your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.'” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 218

Quote 23: “Something in the eternal repose of the uplifted cathedral, blue and noble against the sky, was reflected in [his mother], something of the fatality. What was, was. With all his young will he could not alter it. He saw her face, the skin still fresh and pink and downy, but crow’s-feet near her eyes, her eyelids steady, sinking a little, her mouth always closed with disillusion; and there was on her the same eternal look, as if she knew fate at last.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 240

Quote 24: He writes, “I can give you a spirit love, I have given you this long, long time; but not embodied passion. See, you are a nun. I have given you what I would give a holy nun…In all our relations no body enters. I do not talk to you through the senses – rather through the spirit. That is why we cannot love in the common sense.” Part 2, Chapter 9, pg. 251

Quote 25: “At this rate he would not live. He had that poignant carelessness about himself, his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of suicide. It almost broke her heart. With all the passion of her strong nature she hated Miriam for having in this subtle way undermined his joy.” Part 2, Chapter 10, pg. 258

Quote 26: Miriam tells herself, “She would submit, religiously, to the sacrifice. He should have her. And at the thought her whole boy clenched itself involuntarily, hard, as if against something; but Life forced her through this gate of suffering, too, and she would submit. At any rate, it would give him what he wanted, which was her deepest wish.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 284

Quote 27: “She knew she felt in a sort of bondage to him, which she hated because she could not control it. She hated her love for him from the moment it grew too strong for her. And, deep down, she had hated him because she loved him and he dominated her. She had resisted his denomination. She had fought to keep herself free of him in the last issue. And she was free of him, even more than he of her.” Part 2, Chapter 11, pg. 296

Quote 28: Paul says, “‘[Passion is] what one must have, I think – the real, real flame of feeling through another person – once, only once, if it lasts three months. See, my mother looks as if she’d had everything that was necessary for her living and developing. There’s not a tiny bit of feeling of sterility about her.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 317

Quote 29: She tells herself, “‘If he must go, let him go and have his fill – something big and intense, he called it. At any rate, when he had got it, he would not want it – that he said himself; he would want the other thing that she could give him. He would want to be owned, so that he could work. It seemed to her a bitter thing that he must go, but she could let him go into an inn for a glass of whisky, so she could let him go to Clara, so long as it was something that would satisfy a need in him, and leave him free for herself to possess.'” Part 2, Chapter 12, pg. 318

Quote 30: He feels that “sometimes he hated her, and pulled at her bondage. His life wanted to free itself of her. It was like a circle where life turned back on itself, and got no farther. She bore him, loved him, kept him, and his love turned back into her, so that he could not be free to go forward with his own life, really love another woman.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 345

Quote 31: “She knew how stark and alone he was, and she felt it was great that he came to her; and she took him simply because his need was bigger either than her or him, and her soul was still within her. She did this for him in his need, even if he left her, for she loved him.” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 353

Quote 32: As Paul watches Clara swim in the sea, he thinks to himself, “‘She’s lost like a grain of sand in the beach – just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning. Why does she absorb me?'” Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 358

Quote 33: Not only does he feel “imprisoned” when he is with her, Clara also feels that he yearns to break free from her. Part 2, Chapter 13, pg. 359

Quote 34: “It was almost as if he were a criminal. He wanted her – he had her – and it made her feel as if death itself had her in its grip. She lay in horror. There was no man there loving her.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 387

Quote 35: Paul tells Clara, “‘She’s got such a will, it seems as if she would never go – never!'” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 388

Quote 36: “Sometimes they looked in each other’s eyes. Then they almost seemed to make an agreement. It was almost as if he were agreeing to die also. But she did not consent to die; she would not. Her body was wasted to a fragment of ash. Her eyes were dark and full of torture.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 392

Quote 37: “And now he looked paltry and insignificant. There was nothing stable about him. Her husband had more manly dignity. At any rate hedid not waft about with any wind. There was something evanescent about Morel, she thought, something shifting and false. He would never make sure ground for any woman to stand on. She despised him rather for his shrinking together, getting smaller. Her husband at least was manly, and when he was beaten gave in. But this other would never own to being beaten. He would shift round and round, prowl, get smaller.” Part 2, Chapter 14, pg. 407

Quote 38: “She was the only thing that held him up, himself, amid all this. And she was gone, intermingled herself. He wanted her to touch him, have him alongside with her. But no, he would not give in…He would not take that direction, to the darkness, to follow her.” Part 2, Chapter 15, pg. 420

In the bleak mid winter your favourite Christmas poem

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man

I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.

Christina Rossetti

1872

Soldiers’ Christmas

Soldiers’ Christmas

© Ted L Glines

Creeping through the silent night,
Things that move are things of fright,
Sleighbells never ringing now
Angels seldom singing, now
Nothing comes to make their season bright.(Chorus)
Ring the bells and praise the Lord
For our soldiers’ love outpoured,
Post their names upon your tree
As they fight to keep us free,
Remember … their gift forevermore.Helicopters – guns and tanks
Moving now in guarded ranks,
Not a bit of Christmas cheer
That must wait ’til Home next year,
Since their only present is your “Thanks.”(Chorus)
Ring the bells and praise the Lord
For our soldiers’ love outpoured,
Post their names upon your tree
As they fight to keep us free,
Remember … their gift forevermore.

Now with many flags unfurled
Boys and girls from ’round the world
Lift their voices – battle cry
Bound to win or bound to die
Brave young heroes all – to chaos hurled.

(Chorus)
Ring the bells and praise the Lord
For our soldiers’ love outpoured,
Post their names upon your tree
As they fight to keep us free,
Remember … their gift forevermore.

Here at home with Christmas cheer
In this fun time of the year,
Let’s pause a bit from what we’ve planned,
Singing songs – with praises … and
Send a loving hug to soldiers dear.

(Chorus)
Ring the bells and praise the Lord
For our soldiers’ love outpoured,
Post their names upon your tree
As they fight to keep us free,
Remember … their gift forevermore.

Christmas Poem

Our soldiers know exactly what it is like to be serving so far away from home and thinking about you on Christmas Day (and every other day). Your letters and care packages mean so very much to them. Many of them are in Iraq and Afghanistan where life is waiting for the next gun shot or explosion. Many others are in support postings elsewhere. I have a friend serving in a German hospital where her patients are wounded soldiers from the war zones. She has a deep need to know that you care about her. They all do!

RAIN

Sheltering in a doorway from

Diagonal machine-gun rain

Bullets that riddled the church;

Hallowed windows remained stained.

A man, revered, spoke of community

Spirit, occasionally in a Latin tongue

I listened via an agnostic ear

Who was I to say he was wrong?

Sitting at the back drying out

With people who queued for wine

And solace, much more else:

Seeking words from that divine.

As wine turned back to holy water

The heavens opened up

I walked amongst the gathered people

And drank from cherished cup.

STEPHEN HOLLOWAY

 

A misleading innocence

 

Some nonentities were looking for solace

And found it in  pride -ing themselves on insolence 

Toward the Prophet and a massive populace

On the pretext of freedom and spontaneous innocence

Anyone with little discernment can detect their malice

 

In short order, they spread such contemptuous rudeness

And made it a new trend and of frequent occurrence

To inflame people’s emotions and increase their sufferance 

And push the credulous to revulsion and violence

Just to satisfy the interests of people of consequence

 

I wonder, how can a spiteful fiend preach tolerance?

I wonder, how to be caught red-handed and claim innocence?

I wonder, how to prick people and impose silence?

I wonder, how to be corrupt and have conscience?

I wonder, how to support flagrant miscarriage of justice?

 

Hey! None of your pictures, words or movies

Can diminish the Prophet’s brilliance

 Nor make anyone of you a genius

Refine your creativity for the sake of peace

And remember: buttocks never release a masterpiece.

 

© Chaouki MkaddemSeptember 22, 2012

Christmas light

The twinkling lights of emerald green
And brilliant blue and white
Are piercing darkness, all enshrouded
In the black of night.

The scarlet Christmas lights reveal
To us the price He paid
In giving all, His life in death,
The way to God was made.

The greens remind us of His love
In making life forever,
That we who trust Him may be sure
That He’ll forsake us never.

The blues speak of eternity,
The never ending span,
The timeless age, unnumbered years,
According to His plan.

The hue most beautiful of all
Tells of His righteousness,
A robe of snowy, spotless white,
In faith ours to possess.

The tree’s bedecked, the window’s bright,
A star and tinkling bell,
The gifts are made, the carol’s played,
Do not the story tell.

He came to die and not to live
We worship not the child,
But God incarnate, holy, great,
Not virgin, or infant mild.

We cannot worship stars above,
Nor mangers filled with hay,
Not e’en the cross made out of wood,
Raised to the sky that day.

But Christ alone, for He is God,
He’s all we’ll ever need.
Remember not His birth alone,
For in His Word we read:

“This do in memory of me,”
His death, for this He came.
His body broken, bleeding sore,
He hung in blinding shame.

The sun refused to shine at noon,
The darkness fell as night,
The temple veil was rent in twain,
God spurned this Prince of Light.

On Him was sin, all yours and mine,
A black and ugly guilt.
The world’s Light died, “It’s done,” He cried,
His precious blood was spilt.

It’s crimson red, it’s giving life,
We have in faith believed it,
For sinners we can now be free,
Because we have received it.

So, Christmas lights of red and green,
Of amber, blue, and white,
We look beyond the lovely scene,
To God our Christmas Light. 

By Majori Morrison

Medley of christmas poems

The Star

I have a star that’s shiny,
Its like those up in the sky –
That radiate a brightness,
From the heavens, oh so high!

Stars like to glimmer and twinkle,
Constellations are fun to find –
But the star that shone over Bethlehem,
Led to the Savior of all mankind.

Let us thank God for the star
That led the shepherds and others to him.
We want to praise our  Lord Jesus
Beautiful star of Bethlehem

The Heart

I bring you my heart
That is now filled with love,
Because God sent a baby
From Heaven above.

I bring you my heart
Its so happy within,
I know Jesus loves me –
He died for my sin.

I bring you my heart
You should give yours away,
Give it to Jesus –
And be saved today!

The Wreath

I would like to show you this wreath.
Isn’t it shaped so perfectly round?
You see, there’s no end of it’s circle,
And the beginning cannot be found.

That is how it is with God’s love –
We don’t know when it first began,
But He promised it would last forever,
And one day with Him we will stand.

uld like to show you this wreath.
Isn’t it shaped so perfectly round?
You see, there’s no end of it’s circle,
And the beginning cannot be found.

That is how it is with God’s love –
We don’t know when it first began,
But He promised it would last forever,
And one day with Him we will stand.

The Bell

Ring the bell!
Let the whole world know,
That Jesus was born
In a manger long ago.

Ring it loud,
So all can hear.
Go tell the world
That the Savior is near!

Ring it for the saved,
But especially for the lost!
Tell them Jesus loves them,
And died upon the cross.

Ring it with joy
When to your friends you say,
“He didn’t stay in the tomb –
He rose on the third day!”

We ring the bells with gladness
Now at Christmas, a time of joy.
We thank our heavenly father,
For Bethlehem’s baby boy!

The Baby

I have a tiny baby,
I like to hold it near –
So it will know that I’m the mommy (or daddy)
And won’t have any fear.

God had a tiny baby,
That he gave to Mary one day.
She laid him in a manger,
On a little pillow of hay.

I love to kiss my baby
And I think that Mary did, too.
I’ll send a Christmas kiss to Jesus *
And then I’ll send one to you!**

 

The Stone

The angel appeared to the shepherds
And gave them such wonderful news.
As they started running to Bethlehem,
One almost lost his new shoes.

You see, his foot hit a rock,
Not a boulder, but a stone big enough
To trip him and cause him to stumble,
And he landed on ground that was rough!

But he managed to get to the manger
In spite of that rock in the way
To worship this baby, this Jesus,
He would serve Him till his dying day.

This baby grew up and was followed
By many as he preached and he healed,
But He died on a hill called Mt.Calvary,
Then to a borrowed tomb that was sealed.

It was closed up with a very large boulder,
A big stone of magnificent size,
But it would take more than this rock to hold him –
He had told them that one day he’d rise.

The stone was moved from the entrance
Jesus came forth on the third day
I would love to have been there to see it
As that great stone was rolled away

 

The Gift

The wise men searched for Jesus.
Following a very bright star.
They finally found him in Bethlehem,
And brought gifts to him from afar.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh
Were the presents that the kings gave.
They worshiped this very young Christ-child,
They were glad their souls he would save.

I will offer three presents to Jesus,
That money cannot even buy,
And I’m sure that he will love it –
I’ll give Me, Myself, and I !

The Lamb

I have a little baby lamb,
Shhh, I think he’s asleep.
I am a Bethlehem shepherd,
In the field just watching my sheep.

One night an angel appeared,
And told us about the birth –
Of a baby that was placed in a manger,
He was the Savior of the earth!

We ran to meet this Master
And we fell down and worshiped right then –
This tiny lamb of Jehovah,
Who could save us from our sin.

So stay close to His side always,
This Lamb whose your shepherd, too.
He will never lead you the wrong way,
And will be ever faithful and true.

The Song

I have a song about Jesus
When he first came here, you see.
Its about his birth in the stable
Oh, won’t you sing it with me?

It’s called Away in a Manger,
And it tells of this tiny baby boy.
Let’s lift our voices to Heaven –
And sing of His wonderful joy!

By Cheryl Taylor

Walking by Landmarks

 

~
I took a walk outside the other day
And realized the world has remained the same
The fields are changing as the
Clouds build their quiet momentum
But the stroll is a similar cadence
One can never be moving too soon
While in life missing steps
Would be
A bit nerve wracking
~
I took a walk outside the other day
Skies with their hue of golden blues
Will always brighten my day
Even as the wind’s ice take form
I seek a quiet comfort internally
Only to recognize again
The sudden calm’s change
Might be
A tad unrelenting
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And questioned what occurs
When my mind begins to sway
Off course into a never-land
Of energy no less endearing
Yet driven by our world’s demands.
Could be
A new awakening
~
I took a walk outside the other day
And when I listened to the sweet melody
Of simple pleasure in nature’s Grace
I could imagine a peace
A love of beauty and delight
Shed all aspects of the past
Only to relish a newer day again
Will we
Ever make allowances
~
I took a stroll while on a new avenue today
Noted the people’s intent to thrive in the gray
~
Thom Amundsen
http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

Welcome friend

 

Open the door to the spirit world,

A loved one is on their way,

To join all those that loves them,

For them it is a special day.

 

For them the suffering has ended,

Released from all earthly pain,

To walk in the presence of God,

To live and smile again.

 

To cast away the earthly shell,

To set the spirit free,

For they will be dearly blessed,

In the spirit world, they will see.

 

Just another dimension,

Just another sphere,

Returning to their home,

To those they hold so dear.

 

Do not look on their death with sorrow,

But send them on their way,

With love and reassurance,

To the spirit world to stay.

 

 

Malcolm G Bradshaw

“The Son Writes” – Promote Yourself

Death is blackened
by white roses orchestrating
the stage for grief.

My father wrote
those three lines,
before he died.
Now I hear them,
those lines, once more
as his fellows gather and muse
and drink about.

He was a good mentor,
a sensational man of letters–
his passing is felt.

But I’m the only one who manages to see
what my father wrote–lines
ready to be drowned by history’s waves.
I see through the mush,
and the things my father did
to achieve a pedestal amongst guardians
of the ivy halls. But, he remains
for now, while I am alive and trying to confine
my own place for when they look at me
they only see the son, the shadow
of his greatness.

 

Andrew Geary

andrewgearypoetry.wordpress.com

Truth or truth – Promote Yourself

 

Truth is truth, excepting the occasions when it is not.

My Truth is not my friend’s truth,

Not my father’s truth, my child’s.

 

Truth can only be expressed in words. Relative and poorly constructed.

And words are fallible, unstable, misused and abused.

 

Words are no more than signs and symbols,

Signifiers of a subjective existence.

 

A Childs’ game of categories, to compartmentalise a continuum.

Words change, expand and contract, as endlessly they shift

As grains of sand on a beach.

 

There is no truth in a dictionary, every word a lie.

Words cannot be what they seek to represent,

They cannot transcend.

 “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.”
Truth is the trick of a conjuror, the white rabbit

No longer in the hat. With Sleight of Hand our daylight truths

Become in darkness, our deepest fears.

 

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,

And the Word was God”  but my God is not yours,

Real truth lies only with the Omnipotent.

 

And what treasons are committed in the treachery of a word.

Innocence slain, commands, orders, and just cause for the belligerent.

Give your life only for love.

“Verum esse ipsum factum” – All truth is a lie.
 
© John Bullock 2013

John Bullock

Journalist, Editor & Writer
07824 602520
john.bullock@live.co.uk
http://about.me/john_bullock17
http://johnbullock.wordpress.com
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A Farewel (To Worldly Joys.)-by Anne Killigrew FAMOUS FEMALE POET

 

Anne Killigrew (1660—1685) was an English poet. Born in London, Killigrew is perhaps best known as the subject of a famous elegy by the poet John Dryden entitled To The Pious Memory of the Accomplish’d Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew (1686). She was however a skilful poet in her own right, and her Poems were published posthumously in 1686. Dryden compared her poetic abilities to the famous Greek poet of antiquity, Sappho. Killigrew died of smallpox aged 25.

 

A Farewel (To Worldly Joys.)

FArewel ye Unsubstantial Joyes,
Ye Gilded Nothings, Gaudy Toyes,
Too long ye have my Soul misled,
Too long with Aiery Diet fed:
But now my Heart ye shall no more
Deceive, as you have heretofore:
For when I hear such Sirens sing,
Like Ithaca’s fore-warned King,
With prudent Resolution I
Will so my Will and Fancy tye,
That stronger to the Mast not he,
Than I to Reason bound will be:
And though your Witchcrafts strike my Ear,
Unhurt, like him, your Charms I’ll hear.

by Anne Killigrew

A sonnet for St. Benedict

On July the 11th the Church celebrates the feast of St. Benedict of Nursia, the gentle founder of the Benedictine order and by extension the father of Monasticism. A moderate and modest man he would have been astonished to learn that his ‘simple school for prayer’, his ‘modest rule for beginners’ led to the foundation of communities which kept the Christian flame alight through dark ages, preserved not only Christian faith, scripture, and culture,but also the best of Classical Pagan learning and culture, fed the poor, transformed societies, promoted learning and scholarship, and today provides solace, grounding, perspective and retreat not only to monks and nuns but to millions of lay people around the world.
Here is my sonnet for Benedict, drawing largely on phrases from the Rule, I dedicate it to the sisters at Turvey Abbey. It will appear in my next book with Canterbury Press, The Singing Bowl

As always you can hear the sonnet by clicking on the ‘play’ button or the title.

You sought to start a simple school of prayer,
A modest, gentle, moderate attempt,
With nothing made too harsh or hard to bear,
No treating or retreating with contempt,
A little rule, a small obedience
That sets aside, and tills the chosen ground,
Fruitful humility, chosen innocence,
A binding by which freedom might be found

You call us all to live, and see good days,
Centre in Christ and enter in his peace,
To seek his Way amidst our many ways,
Find blessedness in blessing, peace in praise,
To clear and keep for Love a sacred space
That we might be beginners in God’s grace.

Malcolm Guite

Lest We Forget

Have we forgotten their ultimate sacrifice?
Of these men and women who died in their millions?
Brave and true, without question,
proud to be British, not ashamed to be Christian.

So many years have passed,
it seems our memory doesn’t last.
Forgetting these courageous people, to our shame.
Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our memory?
That we have forgotten them already?
Died in their millions fighting for our freedom,
believing in our free democratic ideology. 

What does it take to wake up this country,
to rise once again from its complacency?
How much more do we take, before we decide to fight,
for our beliefs, our traditions and our liberty?

Armed Forces Day in the UK 
Lest We Forget
by Simon Icke UK