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He is not valiant that dares die, but he that boldly bears calamity.
quote by Philip Massinger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yield not to evils, but attack all the more boldly.
Virgil in Aeneid
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do not yield to misfortunes, but advance more boldly to meet them, as your fortune permits you.
He who sees the calamity of other people finds his own calamity light.
Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 12
An ill-humoured man is captive in the hands of a foe, from the grasp of whose punishment he cannot be delivered wherever he may go.
If from the hand of calamity an ill-natured man escapes into the sky
The evil disposition of his own nature retains him in calamity.
The Calamity (Chapter 101, Holy Koran)
I ask for refuge to Allah from Satan the exiled evildoer.
In the name of Allah the Kind and the Merciful Giver.
What a calamity!
What is the calamity?
How could you understand what the calamity is!
On that day what a pity:
People will be scattered like scared insects
And mountains will be as windblown wool
And then whose good deeds are heavier
They will enjoy happy life forever
And whose weight of good deeds is less
Their home will be Habia abyss
And how can you understand what it is.
It is a burning fiery place.
poem by Asif Andalib
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The difference between a misfortune and a calamity is this: If Gladstone fell into the Thames, it would be a misfortune. But if someone dragged him out again, that would be a calamity.
quote by Benjamin Disraeli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Faith Felt Deeply
And with a faith felt deeply,
Within me like nothing else...
I pray.
Everyday.
There is something unexplainable,
I know inside that connects.
Something there aware of me.
and what it should be,
Without my questioning to accept.
And with hope and not fear,
I boldly take forward steps.
I boldly face obstacles unafraid.
And with faith felt deeply,
I pray.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Will Future Torture Or Enrapture?
Future is unknown
Nothing about it is shown
And so future we do not own
So confusion has grown
Now we may plan
But, God may ban
We may think we can
But God is superior to man
We can never predict
As fate will contradict
Through a different verdict
But, God, we cannot indict
Future is a guarded secret
Which may give a regret
Or success we may get
None can know it, I bet
For future if we carefully save
We will not be poverty's slave
We will not maroon in worry-wave
We can in life very boldly behave
If our plans have loopholes
We will have dolorous souls
Will be perforated our goals
Our losses, the World condoles
Plans can be for future made
With the hope of getting shade
All our duties we must not evade
Real grit must be by us displayed
Future is surely an uncertainty
It may give calamity or equanimity
Hoping has got an excellent utility
Future is safe via a sterling quality
Future will become excellent
If using of present is intelligent
Better to be in life boldly nonchalant
Calmly waiting is in itself a fine talent
As a secret let future remain
Let us postpone our pain
If it becomes a gain
We will feel immensely fine
poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
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He Maid A Bathing
Upon a Summer's day,
'Bout middle of the morn,
I spy'd a Lass that lay
Stark nak'd as she was born;
'Twas by a running Pool,
Within a meadow green,
And there she lay to cool,
Not thinking to be seen.
Then did she by degrees
Wash every part in rank,
Her Arms, her breasts, her thighs,
Her Belly, and her Flank;
Her legs she opened wide,
My eyes I let down steal,
Until that I espied
Dame nature's privy Seal.
I stripped me to the skin,
And boldly stepped unto her,
Thinking her love to win,
I thus began to woo her:
Sweetheart, be not so coy,
Time's sweet in pleasures spent,
She frowned, and cried, away.
Yet smiling, gave consent.
Then blushing, down she slid,
Seeming to be amazed,
But heaving up her head,
Again she on me gazed;
I seeing that, lay down,
And boldly 'gan to kiss,
And she did smile, and frown,
And so fell to our bliss.
Then lay she on the ground
As though she had been sped,
As women in a swoon,
Yield up, and yet not dead:
So did this lively maid,
When hot blood fill'd her vain,
And coming to herself she said,
I thank you for your pain.
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Comfort And Ease That We Embrace In Certainties
there is always comfort
in something certain
basics of life: where to go what to do
when it is finished
there is ease
knowing what a chair is all about
or the exact time when
darkness comes
but there is something more
something that we perhaps all know
there is calamity too
in being certain
in the flowing and the expulsion of the
tight hold of the bud
how can one face the sun?
when wilting is certain sooner than thought
how can one face the mirror
and count the factitious of years
the shedding of masks
the slow showing of the first bone
of the skull
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Distracted Puritan
Am I mad, O noble Festus,
When zeal and godly knowledge
Have put me in hope
To deal with the Pope
As well as the best in the college?
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
In the house of pure Emanuel
I had my education,
Where my friends surmise
I dazel'd my eyes
With the sight of revelation.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
They hound me like a bedlam,
They lash'd my four poor quarters.
Whilst this I endure,
Faith makes me sure
To be one of Foxes martyrs.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
These injuries I suffer
Through antichrist's perswasion.
Take off this chain!
Neither Rome nor Spain
Can resist my strong invasion.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us!)
I have knock'd off three already;
If they let me alone
I'll leave him none;
But they say I am too heady.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city
I met the great red dragon;
I kept him aloof
With the armour of proof,
Though here I have never a rag on.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
With a fiery sword and target,
There fought I with this monster;
But the sons of pride
My zeal deride,
And all my deeds misconster.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I un-hors'd the Whore of Babel
With the lance of Inspiration;
I made her stink,
And spill the drink,
In her cup of abomination.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I have seen two in a vision
With a flying book between them.
I have been in despair
Five times in a year,
And been cur'd by reading Greenham.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I observ'd in Perkins' tables
The black line of damnation;
Those crooked veins
So stuck in my brains,
That I fear'd my reprobation.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
In the holy tongue of Canaan
I plac'd my chiefest pleasure,
Till I prick'd my foot
With an Hebrew root
That I bled beyond all measure.
Boldly I preach, I hate a cross, hate a surplice,
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
I appear'd before the Archbishop
And all the high Commission;
I gave him no grace,
But told him to his face
That he favour'd superstition.
Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice
Mitres, copes, and rochets!
Come hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
poem by Richard Corbet
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Caged
Inside the game of cages hangs a prize
To uplift your heart and mind.
The prize murders the body with violent help,
This will be no prize but a calamity.
If prizes swoon on the player of sport
He or she weans and swears to object
For they are disasters, accidents of the very kind.
A game encases splendid rumours of winning
Like that found in discoveries and contests-
The sick will never conform to cages,
But a prize is enough reward to be called a calamity.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Will You Be There - Michael Jackson
Hold me
Like the River Jordan
And I will then say to Thee
You are my friend
Carry me
Like you are my brother
Love me like a mother
Will you be there?
Weary
Tell me will you hold me?
When wrong, will you scold me?
When lost will you find me?
But they told me
A man should be faithful
And walk when not able
And fight till the end
But I'm only human
Everyone's taking control of me
Seems that the world's
Got a role for me
I'm so confused
Will you show to me
You'll be there for me
And care enough to bare me?
(Hold me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(Softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)
(Lead me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)
(Carry)
(Carry me boldly)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me there)
(Save me)
(Heal me and bathe me)
(Softly you say to me)
(I will be there)
(Lift me)
(Lift me up slowly)
(Carry me boldly)
(Show me you care)
(Hold me)
(Lay your head lowly)
(Softly then boldly)
(Carry me there)
(Need me)
(Love me and feed me)
(Kiss me and free me)
(I will feel blessed)
......
RIP, MJ
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Be Broad
Under coercion a woman may yield.
For a livelihood a woman may yield.
From temptation she would slip and regret.
Don't gossip of them with scorn and contempt..
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Communities Coming Together Facing Catastrophe
Communities coming together
out of love support worry curiosity
in tragic face of catastrophe
sometimes its takes the worst of events
to remind us we are all a part of gods family
when we hold vigil when we pray
hoping in the end all will be well
let everyone make it our okay
a tragic turn an eventful day
heart rendering soul captivating
pray pray pray
and know even in our deaths
we all shall live to see
the dawn of a brighter day
blessed all brave souls
willing to boldly face the flame
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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As an athlete, when you least expect it, you may find yourself standing on the threshold of an accomplishment so monumental that it strikes fear into your soul. You must stand ready, at any moment, to face the unknown. You must be ready to walk boldly thru the wall of uncertainty.
John Bingham in The courage to start
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blackened Wild Rain
Her laughter,
robust and hearty
Her rage,
quick and fierce
one minute,
she was
blackened wild rain
the next,
she was
the delicate bow,
pulled gently across
the sweet strings
of a
Stradivarious
Both,
provincial
and
polished
scared
and
fearless
her flawed
character
and sailor's
tongue
never shied
from away
from others
she lived,
as she loved.
BOLDLY
BOLDLY.
leaning into
life,
untethered
from
opinion.
contradictions
were her
comfortable
companion
The blackened
wild rain
could never
be tamed,
only reigned in,
when necessary.
by
T. Labbe`
SONNET: If The Things We Wished Happen
The things we think, don't happen in our life;
The things happening are not as per our taste;
Our suff'rings, more than joys are very rife;
Most men on Earth are always in a haste.
We want our joys to remain forever;
We want our woes to vanish in a trice;
To achieve this, Man tries to be clever;
And chooses joys that come along with vice.
In life, we take whatever comes along;
All challenges, we ought to face bravely;
But everywhere, we choose things right from wrong;
Our failures help us face life quite boldly.
If all things happened as we think, where's God?
If not on Earth, Heaven will us reward.
poem by John Celes
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Never give in - never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.
Winston Churchill in Speech, Harrow School (1941)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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