To the poet, to the philosopher, to the saint, all things are friendly and sacred, all events profitable, all days holy, all men divine.
quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
quote by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Prayer to St. Francis
'The eyes of the saint make all beauty holy and the hands of the saint consecrate everything they touch.' Thomas Merton
Look at me, O Saint,
sagging skin,
thinning hair, face
lined with roads
too far traveled.
Can you see
in me God's
beauty?
Then touch me!
O take into
your holy palms
my living heart.
Fill me with desire!
Make of me
a holy psalm,
consecrated host,
eternal fire.
poem by Steven Federle
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Sacred Holy Breath
Sacred holy breath
Flows gentle across my chest
Not a sound no air displaced
Not a tear no second guess
Just peace, in my sacred face
Just released love that was put to test
Having hands holding each others fears
Holding hands fate-ing future seers
More than holy we have arrived
Even in this insanity our time abides
sacred Holy, breathe again
Sacred Breath Holy again and again
Flows gentle if this wind
Your love can send
poem by Midnights Voice
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Who Will Invite The Holy Spirit Into Their Life?
Who will invite
the Holy Spirit
to enter into their life?
What great journeys
will you go on?
What great adventures
will you have
in search of The Holy Spirit
of divine God?
Truly where will you go
even unto
the ends of the earth?
Will you search an entire
world to find
at last The Holy Spirit
of divine God?
If you would find at last
The Holy Spirit of divine God
then open your Bible.
Read learn the divine word.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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O' Holy Night
Oh holy night!
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!
Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh holy night when Christ was born
Oh fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh holy night when Christ was born
(Holy night Holy night when Christ was born
Holy night Holy night when Christ was born)
Holy night
song performed by by Destiny's Child from 8 Days Of Christmas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem Is The Metaphor/ For All The Poet Is Not
The poem is the metaphor
For all the poet is not-
It lives in its own way
Beyond the fine line
Of the poet’s sacred intention.
It knows a holiness of its own,
And perhaps no holiness at all.
It is what it is
As all things are what they are-
And if it means more than first appears,
And if it says endlessly new sounds,
The poet never knew he uttered,
Still somehow deeply it connects
To where he is and what he was and what he will be,
When he is not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Holy Sabbath Day
God created the things He thought
Over the six days of the week,
And being pleased with His own work,
The Sabbath Day of rest, He sought!
God made the Sabbath Day for man
So that his body, heart and mind,
From week-days’ drudgery, rest find,
And thereby increase his life’s span!
God made the Sabbath Day holy
So that man could be nearer God,
And keep his soul afilled with grace,
And keep the heaven’s road always!
The Sabbath Day is crucial
For man to keep off diseases
Those afflict him these modern days,
And add more years to life on earth.
The Sabbath is the answer to
The affluent illnesses that
Affect most men including stress,
Avoiding all things of excess!
Man, keep the Sabbath Day holy;
Give rest to body, mind and heart;
Cleanse soul from sins by divine art,
And do your duty for your part.
On this day, think of God much more,
And thank Him for His blessings shown;
Pray fervently from your heart’s core,
And keep off evils known, unknown!
For, holy, holy is the Lord
Of heavens, earth – the most high God;
Whatever He says may look odd;
All will be fine, heeding His Word!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-23-2009
poem by John Celes
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Here I Come-4
Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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I Am Just a Poet
I am just a poet.
A philosopher of sorts.
One who cohorts with others...
With common ideals as if at sport.
I am just a poet.
Observing those in an environment.
Trying to make sense of activities done.
And why some are done without consciousness.
I am just a poet.
Blessed to have what I do as a gift!
And living each moment to understand more of life.
As I share this point of view through the poems I write.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Secret Place
i only have the key to that door.
i can open it anytime and stay there for a while
away from the crowd
away from the daily occurrences
it is a closed door
conference with myself where i talk and listen at the same time
it is dark but it is peaceful
it is small but everything in me is there: whole and intact
i only have the key
and i am not opening
or when i open it
i keep it closed that way
it is sacred
as sacred as my secret
it is holy
as holy as my soul
it is a mystery
for all the things that i worship
it is mine
and you are not welcome.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Of the Jews (50 A.D.)
Painter and poet, runner and discus-thrower,
beautiful as Endymion: Ianthis, son of Antony.
From a family on friendly terms with the Synagogue.
"My most valuable days are those
when I give up the pursuit of sensuous beauty,
when I desert the elegant and severe cult of Hellenism,
with its over-riding devotion
to perfectly shaped, corruptible white limbs,
and become the man I would want to remain forever:
son of the Jews, the holy Jews."
A most fervent declaration on his part: "...to remain forever
a son of the Jews, the holy Jews."
But he did not remain anything of the kind.
The Hedonism and Art of Alexandria
kept him as their dedicated son.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Merkabah
Some tell of love stories where fire becomes a mother in healing
Wheels within wheels, where hell becomes a myth, and heaven becomes the
present
The cosmic chariot of the soul, the sacred fire, and transfiguration of
energy
It comes from the deep darkness within ones Neshamah,
Prayer to the divine Elohim, and the18th breath of life
Once ascended in that ring of fire, a being can fly beyond space and
sky
Some call it the fire in the sky, seen only through sacred third eyes
Sweet like the spirit of the sacred Shekinah,
One key in Metatronics
The visual, spiritual, and the physical, all become one in this hour of
light
To the holy vehicle of ascension, sacred and pure, flower of life
poem by Josephe Buchanan
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Silent Night Medley
O holy night the stars are brightly shining
This is the night of our dear saviors birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appeared and his soul felt its worth
At thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
O come o ye faithful
Joyful and triumphant
O come ye o come ye to bethlehem
Come and behold him, born the king of angels
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him
O come let us adore him christ the lord.
Fall on your knees
O hear the angels voices
O night divine
O night when christ was born
Oh night divine o night o holy
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Woah
Oh holy night
When jesus was born
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Look at those stars in the sky
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Jesus was born tonight
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
Oh holy night
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocent Face Vavroovahana Patra
The innocent face allures the poet in the morn;
The Beauty magnifies the beauty of the dawn.
Mind derives peace;
Poet lives with Divine Bliss.
Poet is a lover of Beauty;
Beautiful things enchant the poet with gaiety.
Loves Silvery face delightfully;
Loves innocent hearts silently.
Vernal chilly Breeze kisses the crisp hair delightfully;
Fragrance of Beauty bathes poet's body with gaiety.
Poet is inspired to remain in a world of peace;
Praying in the lap of Nature derives Divine Bliss.
Innocent rural Beauty proceeds silently;
Poet, a lover of Beauty, beholds enthusiastically.
Innocence provides delight;
Inspiration is a Brook of Delight.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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On the Death of Mr. Crashaw
Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given
The two most sacred names of earth and heaven,
The hard and rarest union which can be
Next that of godhead with humanity.
Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;
Like Moses thou (though spells and charms withstand)
Hast brought them nobly home back to their Holy Land.
Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou
Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now.
Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine,
And joy in an applause so great as thine,
Equal society with them to hold,
Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old.
And they (kind spirits!) shall all rejoice to see
How little less than they exalted man may be.
Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell,
The heavenliest thing on earth still keeps up Hell.
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land;
Still idols here like calves at Bethel stand.
And though Pan's death long since all oracles broke,
Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke:
Nay with the worst of heathen dotage we
(Vain men!) the monster Woman deify;
Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face,
And Paradise in them by whom we lost it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Muses thus
Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous!
Thy spotless Muse, like Mary, did contain
The boundless Godhead; she did well disdain
That her eternal verse employ'd should be
On a less subject than eternity;
And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take
But her whom God himself scorn'd not his spouse to make.
It (in a kind) her miracle did do;
A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.
How well, blest swan, did fate contrive thy death;
And make thee render up thy tuneful breath
In thy great mistress' arms! thou most divine
And richest offering of Loretto's shrine!
Where like some holy sacrifice t' expire
A fever burns thee, and Love lights the fire.
Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chapel there,
And bore the sacred load in triumph through the air.
'Tis surer much they brought thee there, and they,
And thou, their charge, went singing all the way.
Pardon, my Mother Church, if I consent
That angels led him when from thee he went,
For even in error sure no danger is
When join'd with so much piety as his.
Ah, mighty God, with shame I speak't, and grief,
Ah that our greatest faults were in belief!
And our weak reason were even weaker yet,
Rather than thus our wills too strong for it.
His faith perhaps in some nice tenents might
Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.
And I myself a Catholic will be,
So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee.
Hail, bard triumphant! and some care bestow
On us, the poets militant below!
Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse chance,
Attack'd by envy, and by ignorance,
Enchain'd by beauty, tortured by desires,
Expos'd by tyrant Love to savage beasts and fires.
Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,
And like Elijah, mount alive the skies.
Elisha-like (but with a wish much less,
More fit thy greatness, and my littleness)
Lo here I beg (I whom thou once didst prove
So humble to esteem, so good to love)
Not that thy spirit might on me doubled be,
I ask but half thy mighty spirit for me;
And when my Muse soars with so strong a wing,
'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee to sing.
poem by Abraham Cowley
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You wouldnt want to be Him
fan met a friend
of her admired poet
and started asking
all things about him
whether he is
friendly, lovely,
artistic to the
routines of
the poet's life
the friend smiled
and gladly answered
all the questions
but gave a damper
when he concluded
it with 'but You wouldnt
want to be him'.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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For your name my love
The sound of your name
For me my divine lover denotes
The lyric of the holy wind
As it cuts swathes through
The sacred pines
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Poetry Societies
Poetry Societies
cherish their chosen
poet with such passionate
fervour ardent intensity
promote them safeguard them
maintain religiously preserve
their sacred recordings writings
like interactive shrine museums
white gloves sealed immaculate
pristine white when handling
sacred artifacts from centuries past
holy relics encased in icon niche
keepers of sacred
poetic fire
protectors of
treasured Holy Grails
documents deemed
culturally significant
immensely revered in
mausoleum pilgrimage
keeping the eternal
flame burning
sacrament safeguarded
held in perpetual
trust for future generations
devotees destined to recognize
hallowed intrinsic wisdom
reverence read upon every page
poem by Terence George Craddock
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