The first seeding on the feast of All Saints and the last on the feast of Saint Andrew.
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I Went To A Fiesta Today
it is the feast of San Vicente today,
and all those places named after this saint
took turns in butchering their chickens and pigs
as offering to the powerful miracles of this saint.
some played their gongs to remind
them of the rhythm of love and action
because this saint taught and
showed that God has the power
to cure the sick and liberate
the minds of those who are in prison.
i went to the house of this woman who once
was mad. She confessed her sins of commission
and omission.
She once kicked her husband and
left him.
Now she is serving us food and stays beside her husband.
She smiles. She remembers everything.
Once she once was in deep depression and she prayed a lot
at the chapel of San Vicente.
Light shone upon her forehead.
There was a dove. There was fire. There was a voice.
And surely enough she went home
whole and cured.
Hence, this feast, this thanksgiving, she said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Feast To Eat And Enjoy
Feast!
So delicious are these offerings,
For only you prepared.
Feast and eat.
Until your heart is contented.
Relax.
And take the weight off your feet.
Unbridled and free,
From each and every discourse presented.
Whether disguised in debated argument or not,
To undermine your dining done.
With purposes to have that stopped.
Feast!
So delicious are these offerings,
For only you prepared.
Be daring and selective,
As it is your wish to nourish...
Upon that which feeds your encouragement.
Feast to eat and enjoy.
Nothing tasted to you presented,
Has been created to disappoint, displease...
Or leave you to become agitated or annoyed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wedding Feast
Brother dear brother,I came as quickly as I could
The Digital Haze is broken,The Banished Ones r gone 4 good, gone 4 good"
Now there must b a wedding/Now there must b a feast
A feast, a feast/A smorgasbord at least
A brunch, a munch/Of cake if just a piece
Not just a vat of chitlins/Or turkey meat u c
We r what we eat/So we must eat a leaf
We'll dine under a tree/Unless it snows!
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faith is the ticket to the feast, not the feast.
quote by Edwin Louis Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whither goest the Saints of Art?
Whither goest the lovely Saints -
The Saints that love art and paints?
Whither goest the Saints of Art -
The Saints who set free my heart?
Where did he go - St Haiku?
Did he go hiking or haikuing?
Where is Saint ABC,
He who likes to sail in the sea?
Whither goest St Free Verse,
That one of a heavy purse?
Whither goest Saint Ballad,
son of Sir Brian McSalad?
Where is that ever-loyal
Saint called Rhyme Royal?
Where is St Rhythm and others
who like to give draconian orders?
Where is that one who likes to keep lime
in his storeroom everytime?
Tell him I committed a crime:
I killed Mr Scheme Rhyme! ...
poem by Comfort Ndlovu
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By the feast of Saint Candelora winter is over.
Feast or Famine
Neither feast nor famine
should show its fickle face.
The wine for some
and for most just a trace.
A few bitter drops of bitter liquid
lapped up by their thirst
and why?
Because others must come first?
And who decides this unfair thing?
Must not be the one whose praises we sing.
And who shall stop this unfair thing?
Must not be any that call themselves King.
Neither feast nor famine
should ever be allowed.
And those that feast should hunger
and feed the starving crowd.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Dj Vu
(r, m & b gibb)
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
Im not a saint but stand accused
Youre with someone who thinks loves the same as being used
And now suspicious minds may say its over
Over
Whether I live or die, you are my saviour
Youre my saviour
Its my dj vu, sweet dj vu
Through the feast or famine Ill be with you
Sheltering arms reach out to you
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
The silent nights, I cry your name
Youre with someone who says
They can get you through your pain
These golden years keep on returning
Its hurting
Precious and few
Youre my saviour, youre my saviour
Its my dj vu, sweet dj vu
Through the feast or famine Ill be with you
Sheltering arms reach out to you
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
And cherish what theyve lost
When often its too late
Its my dj vu (memories of you)
Sweet dj vu (keep coming through)
Through the feast or famine
Ill be with you (all that is true)
Sheltering arms reach out to you
Oh baby
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
This is my dedication
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Consider It Done
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
Consider it done.
Getting near a fiscal cliff,
And knowing of it.
But...
ignoring all the warnings,
Or it there to exist...
To feed an addiction to greed,
Regardless of the risks.
Well...
Consider it done.
Your feeding.
Done.
And with a greeding.
Done.
Consider it done.
Done.
Done.
Done.
Consider it done.
The feast.
Consider it done.
That feast depleted,
With a wish for more to eat...
Is done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Call
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life :
Such a Way, as gives us breath :
Such a Truth, as ends all strife :
And such a Life, as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength :
Such a Light, as shows a feast :
Such a Feast, as mends in length :
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart :
Such a Joy, as none can move :
Such a Love, as none can part :
Such a Heart, as joyes in love.
poem by George Herbert
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Gone Unknown By Those Who Feast
Some are born to sow beliefs,
To seed the growth of their feeding.
With a sewing done to aid their flourishing.
Many sit to watch a seeding sown,
To gather from a harvest...
With a feeding of their selfish needs shown.
And those familiar with others,
Misrepresenting the dispersement of their deeds...
Gone unknown by those who feast.
Are the least concern where it is they go,
To sow with a planting of their feet.
With tools provided to allow them to eat,
From 'Whom' bestows those seeds kept to grow.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Feast Of Lights
You never write, you never call
And now you wander in the hall
You look familiar;
I barely know your face at all
We never get together at all
Until the last day of Hanukkah.
I got you a harmonica
And a bag of chocolate coins.
The only thing we have is fights,
But there's got to be a change tonight.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
We never get together at all
Until the last day of Hanukkah.
I got you a harmonica,
And a bag of chocolate coins.
The only thing we have is fights,
But there's got to be a change tonight.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
Please be nice on this feast of lights.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unsaintly
Two saints on a long journey
Towards some unknown destiny
On their way met a pretty houri
At the riverside of Kaveri
She prayed them humbly
“Oh! Hermits holy! Can you take me
To the other side of Kaveri”
The younger saint said with fury
“Don’t you see oh lady?
We are saints! Don’t touch thy body!
But the older saint said kindly
“Oh! Young lady
Climb my shoulders! I’ll carry”
Crossed the river all the three
The girl left the company
Saints resumed their odyssey
After a long walk silently
Burst out the young saint wildly
“You have done something unsaintly
How could you carry that lady? ”
The older saint smiled and said coolly
“I left her at the banks of Kaveri
Do you still carry her in mind heavily? ”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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The Maundy Thursday
In a feast the host must receive the guests
With humility. Else he is the beast
That relegates his guests as mere beggars.
Jesus washed guests' feet on Maundy Thursday.[before the feast]
25.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Infest and Manifest
Why do they glare?
Those who stop to stare...
With a bringing of their gloom,
To pollute environments everywhere.
Do they perceive themselves to be,
Rulers Of Acceptance.
Judges Of Appearances.
Police to guard values and standards...
Molding with age and on the decrease.
Why do they restrict to insist,
Those of ethnic differences...
Should from themselves be distanced quick.
With minds influenced by ignorance,
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
Do they perceive themselves to be,
Rulers Of Acceptance.
Or police to guard what's valued...
Hypocritically!
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
Miseries denying hiding,
Insecurities.
To infest and manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
To infest.
And manifest.
And they feast upon with feeding misery.
To infest.
And manifest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. September
FEAST OF ST. PARTRIDGE
The only saint in all our calendar
Is good St. Partridge. 'Tis his feast to--day,
The happiest day of all a happy year,
And heralded as never yet was May.
The dawn has found us marshalled for the fray,
Striding the close--shorn stubbles ranked in line,
With lust of battle and with lust of play
Made glorious drunk as men are drunk with wine.
There go the coveys, forward birds and strong,
Bound for the mangold where they wheel and stop.
Now, steady, men, and bring the left along.
A fortune waits us in each turnip--top.
With a wild shriek, and then a whirr of wings,
The covey rises. Brace and brace they drop,
Joining the dead ranks of forgotten things
In glorious death, the fierce delight of kings.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Men are paltry fed
All women like men’s talks,
At least in one to one talks.
The bolder ones with them walk.
They blush in incidental touches.
They relish motive touches.
It is the end of it for women
Like pudding after feast.
It is the beginning for men
Like soup ahead of feast.
Men are left starving.
25.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Spread Like Lilies
come little sparrows
hop about all freely
under my laid tables
daily feast upon crumbs
of this our heavenly
daily bread spread like lilies
of God’s harvest fields
sparrows do not spin or weave
freely feast enjoy stay believe.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Butterflies Are Good (taste A Little Like Chicken)
Butterflies are real good
I like God’s butterflies
I so really, truly do
Beautiful, iridescent wings
Of brilliant rainbow hue
Carmine reds, deep purples
And unbelievable blues
I feast my eyes upon
Their most incredible views
I feast not only my eyes
But also my belly too
For they taste absolutely scrumptious
In my salad and in my stew
poem by David Whalen
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