The bowels support the heart, and not the heart the bowels.
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Psalm 41
v.1-8
L. M.
Charity to the poor; or, Pity to the afflicted.
Blest is the man whose bowels move,
And melt with pity to the poor;
Whose soul, by sympathizing love,
Feels what his fellow saints endure.
His heart contrives for their relief
More good than his own hands can do;
He, in the time of gen'ral grief,
Shall find the Lord has bowels too.
His soul shall live secure on earth,
With secret blessings on his head,
When drought, and pestilence, and dearth
Around him multiply their dead.
Or if he languish on his couch,
God will pronounce his sins forgiv'n;
Will save him with a healing touch,
Or take his willing soul to heav'n.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 09
A sick man having been asked what his heart desired replied: ‘That it may not desire anything.’
When the bowels are full and the belly pains
There is no use in all other things being right.
Pray God in the bowels of his mercy to send you his Holy Spirit; for he hath given you his great gift of utterance, if it pleased him also to open the eyes of your heart.
Deep Within The Bowels Of Foreign Wombs We Search
Deep within the bowels of foreign wombs we search,
For something.
Anything...
That reveals a familiarity.
An acceptance discovered,
To claim and not reject...
If its presence upsets.
Beginning thoughts that initiate conflict.
With a probing that dissects.
To then attack if not reflecting...
What we are limited to perceive.
And yet...
Deep within the bowels of foreign wombs we search,
For that which expresses on it's own turf...
What it is as it exists with intentions to leave undamaged.
And if it can not be labelled...
We declare war against it.
Until we find it can be recognized to benefit our interests.
At an expense that creates havoc and dismay.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pray To Satan
I will embrace this cold cruelty of a sensation
Defined as utter deliverance through undefiled perception,
To allow my bloodstream its allotted pacification,
In pleasurable asphyxiation,
Satan hath claimed our beloved insecurity
Pariahs unleashed,
Infernal acceptance of divinated intent,
Incompetence I will squander
In our age of glorified flesh,
This spirit is slave to Helvete,
And thus lust hath prevailed,
Running rampant through black veins
Orgasmic torture within the bowels of the subconscious,
And the eyeless squalor shall be washed away
Until the very bowels of history bury this martyred filth forevermore,
Consecrating the name of Satan through stone,
Proclaiming darkness through ageless decree,
I will propagate the ending
Until time herself begs for the horns of her creator...
AVE SATANAS
poem by Jack Cropes
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I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.
quote by Oliver Cromwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Of A New Day
With the evening
You softly land on my soul.
I don't see or hear you
But know for sure you're there.
In the silence of a day end
When the stars rise in the far universe
And to their nests the birds disperse
You come down to nest in my heart.
Just then from the ocean's bowels
A luminescence rises with a sweet haze
To paint afresh all hopes the day stole.
Softly lands dream of a new day in my soul!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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We too could wrest iron from the bowels of the earth and fashion it into ships and machines.
quote by Jose C. Orozco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Importunate Widow
Our Lord, who knows full well
The heart of every saint;
Invites us, by a parable,
To pray and never faint.
He bows his gracious ear,
We never plead in vain;
Yet we must wait, till he appear,
And pray, and pray again.
Though unbelief suggest,
Why should we longer wait?
He bids us never give him rest,
But be importunate.
'Twas thus a widow poor,
Without support or friend,
Beset the unjust judge's door,
And gained, at last, her end.
For her he little cared,
As little for the laws;
Nor God, nor man, did he regard,
Yet he espoused her cause.
She urged him day and night,
Would no denial take;
At length he said, I'll do her right,
For my own quiet sake.
And shall not Jesus hear
His chosen, when they cry?
Yes, though he may awhile forbear,
He'll help them from on high.
His nature, truth and love,
Engage him on their side;
When they are grieved, his bowels move,
And can they be denied?
Then let us earnest be,
And never faint in prayer;
He loves our importunity,
And makes our cause his care.
poem by John Newton
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Maybe Our Heart is Like
Maybe our heart is like an ear
For it can hear
Maybe our heart is like the skin
For it can feel
Maybe our heart is like a glass
For it can be broken
Maybe our heart is like an enemy
For it can deceive
Maybe our heart is like a butter
For it melts
Maybe our heart is like a dough
For it can be softened
Maybe our heart is like a plant
For it dies
Maybe our heart is like a cement
For it hardens
Maybe our heart is like a support beam
For it can be strengthened
Maybe our heart is like a monk
For it meditates
Maybe our heart is like a child
For it loves to play
Maybe our heart is like a fire
For it warms others hearts.
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Is God a man with two arms and legs like me? Does He have eyes, a head? Does He have bowels? Well I do, and that makes me more wonderful than He is!
quote by John Harvey Kellogg
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A Manly Heart
The manly heart carries gold and silver,
One shines and the other slivers;
The jewels, the diamonds, the happiness, the pains,
Were all kept to the heart.
And nights may travel in strong confusion,
For women there are strong years,
For men there is fair weather and stings,
The memories of our behaviour may live.
Hours of confusion, days of affliction,
Tear into our bowels as we swill our water;
Boiling liquid of the same strength
Dives into the bellies of the juicy soul.
And emotions, once as strange as success,
Float softly in our souls of learning,
Confusion crept on this man I am,
Woe dissolved me, woe descried my being.
poem by Naveed Akram
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We lived in the bowels of New York City. It was a struggle just to survive. This nice suburban kid hadn't had to do much of that before.
quote by Peter Bergman
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The person who is coming from the bowels of the earth doesn't despise even the smallest amount of sunshine.
When Klopstock England Defied
When Klopstock England defied,
Uprose William Blake in his pride;
For old Nobodaddy aloft
. . . and belch'd and cough'd;
Then swore a great oath that made Heaven quake,
And call'd aloud to English Blake.
Blake was giving his body ease,
At Lambeth beneath the poplar trees.
From his seat then started he
And turn'd him round three times three.
The moon at that sight blush'd scarlet red,
The stars threw down their cups and fled,
And all the devils that were in hell,
Answerèd with a ninefold yell.
Klopstock felt the intripled turn,
And all his bowels began to churn,
And his bowels turn'd round three times three,
And lock'd in his soul with a ninefold key; . . .
Then again old Nobodaddy swore
He ne'er had seen such a thing before,
Since Noah was shut in the ark,
Since Eve first chose her hellfire spark,
Since 'twas the fashion to go naked,
Since the old Anything was created . . .
poem by William Blake
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Like An Adamant Stone
Thank Father Yahweh for His mercy and not me,
For He has made everything possible for us all on this earth;
And today you are enjoying the fruits of my labour.
Bold and beautiful,
And like an adamant stone!
But harden than a flint to cut your muse;
For the boldness of your love is so faithful to my sweet heart.
Feed your belly and fill your bowels with my sweet love,
With each day for a year to teach you my ways;
For wisdom is all that you need in this life,
Because the road of life is not very easy at times!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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. . . I consider looseness with words no less of a defect than looseness of the bowels.
quote by John Calvin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I consider looseness with words no less of a defect than looseness of the bowels.
quote by John Calvin
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Growing old
I know people who think
that it’s a blessing
to grow old
and become like a child again,
but I think that it’s a terrible thing.
To be frail
and not to be able
to walk properly,
to whet your pants
and your bed
to be out of control of your bowels
and to act
as if you do not care
what others think, is really scaring.
poem by Gert Strydom
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