The Synod of Bishops has existed for forty years. In that long span of time it has been for all of us a good school for introducing us to the universal dimension of the Church.
quote by Karl Lehmann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boys I Went To School With
We played football in the school yard and we swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow
And the boys I went to school with perhaps now looking gray
And many of them from the Homeland shore like me live far away.
Many of the boys I went to school with and that's going back more than four decades in time
Are now ageing grand fathers and years beyond their prime
And those legs that could move so quickly some forty years ago
Now feeling tired and heavy and their fastest pace is slow.
The boys I went to school with have known a better day
And that time takes care of everyone it would be fair to say
Our young years went too quickly and time just flitted by
And on looking back it seems like only yesterday when I was a school boy.
Some of the boys I went to school with to the grim reaper have gone
But life back in the old Hometown as usual carries on
And in the fields near Millstreet Town where the rank rushes grow
The Finnow on towards Drishane and the Blackwater flow.
Most of the boys I went to school with I have not seen for years
But for my fading memories I don't have any tears
We played football in the school yard and in Summer swam in the Finnow
But the years go by so quickly and to father time we bow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Edu-mac-cation
‘EDU-MAC-CATION’
I am going back to school to finish my education
Something, I should have done forty years ago
Will I succeed this time around?
Oh dear, I very much hope so
I have tried several times before
Somehow, I always failed
Couldn’t concentrate, hadn’t the patience
Think it’s time I got it nailed
GCSE’s in Maths and English
I have to follow those paths
Not so bad at English
Bloody useless at Maths
That was when I was in school
All of forty years ago
I was jack the lad back then
Now I really want to know
I know it has been coined before
Now, I believe it to be the truth
What some clever person said
Education is wasted on the youth
MICMAC
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Universal Traveler
Universal Traveler - Air
(Talkie Walkie; Trans. by Tish)
I know so many
Places in the world
I follow the sun
In my silver plane
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
If you have a look
Outside on the sea
Everything is white
It's so wonderful
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
I met so many
People in my life
I've got many friends
Who can care for me
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Trust fills everywhere ?
And tomorrow
Is a brand new day
Let's go somewhere else
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
Universal traveler
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
So far
So far
So far away
song performed by by Air
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Say
Some say that life is a burden,
Some say that life is a blessing,
Some say that life is a cycle,
But I say taht life is boring.
Some say that church is religious,
Some say that church is precious.
Some say that church is annoying,
But I say that church is and will forever be holy.
Some say that our culture is unique,
Some say that our culture is rich.
Some say that our culture is highly respected,
But I say that our culture is a lot to deal with.
Some say that school is a lot of work,
Some say that school is no place for a fool.
Some say that school is a drag.
But I say that school is awesome and cool.
poem by Moana Tuigamala
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Those That I Went To School With
Some of them with the departed and the others growing old and gray
Those that I went to school with in the long gone yesterday
From the boys and girls I went to school with many years before I reached my prime
I am separated by distance and by long years of time.
Some of them live far distant from Hibernia's windswept shore
And from the Town in View of Clara hill overlooking Claramore
And some of them remained in Duhallow married and there raised their family
And some of them remained unattached single and fancy free.
Most of those I went to school with I have not seen for years
And for the past and for what has been I've shed nostalgic tears
Like every other migrant for the past forever gone
But the present is what matters and we keep on keeping on.
Of those I went to school with good memories I retain
Though most of them I realize I will never meet again
We've gone our separate ways in life but memories of them I do recall
And happy memories of what was the best memories of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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You can dream too
as creation shadow the past, reality becomes so
revealing to felt, the journey is sensing the end, the
start of a new and wonderful dimension of life
if the things you love most wonder in your midst, like
magic then the different is so intense than loosing your
own, senses in a most wandering things happened in
your life
life is made and level in many degrees, thats the
dimension we are created, it is like bubble that floats
in the midst air, and exploded when time will come
a matter of something that gives us the real meaning
of our existence, the essence of why, we, the you and
me have to grow in the most respected ways in this
given paradise
what then I, in any of your dream, do I existed in your
dimension, or just a pattern of footprints that the memories
of yesteryears remember me for you I am in love
may the love of the creator, wonder the dimension of
barrer, we build, and may those, barrier makes us
free, to reach our dreams to fulfill our destiny
then, let this be the beginning that, the dimensional level
you and me attain be the Parousia, where our spirit lifted to
the most high and receive the merit to step the unknown
of another dimension of life
.....Life is like a Dream.....
poem by Antonio Liao
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She was in the profession
She stopped her work at her lawn when she saw me
and leaned over the fence and we talked for over two hours
with my elbow on her posts and my feet resting
against the palings.
She had worked forty years in the same profession
and had seen generations through the doors. She
had enjoyed her work and people still call her to
tell her about themselves; they express their gratitude
and how much of a difference she had made.
She walked down the fence, waved her arms
and returned to the corner where I stood.
But what was work for?
she asked.
Forty years doing what was good for others
but nothing that was good for myself.
What was work for? she sighed.
What were forty years for? It destroyed me.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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A Good Boy
i was baptised a child
few weeks old
at an old church
ten minutes from home on foot
which grandma did
we did not have a car
just driven by a faith in christ
the cross rises so high up
it (the church) still stands today
given a facelight
turning from
a single storey
rectangular humble structure
to a round tall cathedral
only strong young men and women
could reach; alas those thirty forty
steps that have prevented mom
from going to church
too steep for old bones
i was told Christ is the Son of God
all 12 years of education
at an irish run missionary school
where chapel prayers, confessions
and important catholic days
filled the time table too
now swept by tide of time
a river where streams
and tributaries flow into
all the knowledge of the world
they threw me a koran
they threw me buddha's eight fold paths
they threw me bhagavad gita
all those crysal clear catholic teachings challenged
my world helter kelter
torn between heaven and hell
to be a good boy
to remain truthful
yet longing for the truth
in this blurred world
that shouts about miracles, god
from all angles
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In The Fields By The Sullane
In the fields by the Sullane that flows through Macroom
The wildflowers of Nature are now in full bloom
And the ageing migrant remembers today
The place where he lived in as a boy near a town far away.
His soul mate and the best friend he ever did know
His Aussie wife passed on a few years ago
Their grandchildren teenagers and time ticking on
And his best Seasons to the forever long gone.
To the young mind the far off hills always look green
And he left friends and family when he turned nineteen
The wanderlust in him for the big World out there
From the fields by the Sullane he would live elsewhere
Forty eight years out of Macroom in time quite a span
In this Southern Country a gray haired ageing man
The years telling on him the years never lie
Far from the Sullane he is destined to die.
To this Southern Land his best years he did give
And on his retirement pension he now has to live
The passing of time has left him walking slow
The one from the fields where Sullane waters flow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Am Told
For forty four years now
Each morning I woke up
I go straight to prepare
A cup of coffee for my wife
It's a ritual that I do
For forty four years
Not that she asks for it
But it's what I love to do
Love is what commands me
To lit a kettle to boil a water
For she likes it when its so hot
A coffee she drinks quite early
Suddenly, now that it's our anniversary
I do the thing I 've been doing ever since
We got married for forty four years back
Yet for the first time I am told just so today
That the coffee I served her now tasted bad
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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I am rediscovering the whole sexual dimension of life at the age of 86, really. And that also means discovering the feminine. So the whole of this dimension, which I had been seeking for a very long time, is now sort of opening itself up to me.
quote by Bede Griffiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dan And Nora Sullivan
They lived in the cottage by the gate to Tubrid Well the Sullivans Nora and Dan
For at least three score and ten years in time a lengthy span
Till failing health and the wear of age on them both did take toll
And the turning back of the hands of time is beyond human control.
The brother and sister Dan and Nora Sullivan I never more will see
They were claimed by the reaper the one who will claim me
But memories of them till my end with me I will retain
And each time I look back on my past they come to life again
I do recall at Christmas time Nora always remembered me
A greeting card from a dear old friend beyond the northern sea
She outlived Dan by six or seven years and news of her death reduced me to tears
For a mentor and role model of my long gone childhod years.
I knew them in my younger years from the same Townland as I
Two people I looked up to when I was a school going boy,
Dan and Nora Sullivan they could not live with a lie
And it truly could be said of them that they would not harm a fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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39
I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair—
I’m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I’m going on for forty,
Where man’s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows’ feet,
In spite of all my sins.
Then here’s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the living Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood’s grave—
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair—
We’ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.
Then here’s the wide, free Forties—
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wide, free Forties!
We’re good for ten years more!
The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
’Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
’Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we’ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them—
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.
So here’s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here’s the good old Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Time Stands Still For The Likes Of Me
Time stands still for the likes of me
Other than this moment, time does not exist
There is no past or future beyond this moment
Just this moment in time exists, and nothing more
The passage of time has no effect on me, ill or otherwise
I do no feel it's passing
It's comings and goings are lost on me
I am stuck - lost - in a timeless era
I do not seem to age, neither physically nor mentally
They say it is only 'natural' for my body to look and feel 'young'
It is merely my age that makes me feel this way
That it is only my youthfulness
But why, then, does my mind not age?
I have felt no progression on my part since grade school
I feel as though the past ten years did not exist
Middle school and high school are a blur to me
No real memories or recollection of that time in my past
I have nothing to prove it ever existed, save for the passing of time
Yes, time has stopped for me
My memory is at a standstill
I have a brain freeze that has lasted nearly a decade
I look no older than a 15 year old girl
A high school sophomore
And I carry virtually the same mentality
Time stands still for the likes of me
poem by DiAnne Douglass
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Girl of Fifteen
Girl of fifteen,
I see you each morning from my window
As you pass on your way to school.
I do more than see, I watch you.
I furtively draw the curtain aside.
And my heart leaps through my eyes
And follows you down the street;
Leaving me behind, half-hid
And wholly ashamed.
What holds me back,
Half-hid behind the curtains and wholly ashamed,
But my forty years beyond your fifteen?
Girl of fifteen, as you pass
There passes, too, a lightning flash of time
In which you lift those forty summers off my head,
And take those forty winters out of my heart.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Maryknoll
Women priests are not allowed no matter how loud they scream,
They fired one priest already for going along with their dream,
So the Catholic Church takes this serious and no women priests allowed,
Though some priests may have been pedophiles; this is never said out loud.
Some Maryknoll fathers and brothers liked this women-priest notion,
They didn't realize this idea would cause such a commotion,
Though the Church of England has had women priests for years,
And some of them may one day be bishops without many fears.
I don't know much about this whole religious painful affair,
But I think it's time for a change in the real world out there,
This is the twenty first century with the Internet all around,
Not the fifteenth century where we had to knuckle down.
poem by James Bredin
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Welcome back To School!
Welcome Back To School
Welcome back to school
Summer's over and once again school rules
It's now September a long way from June
Glad to have you welcome back to school
Let's get down to business
You have had your fun
Summer vacation is now long gone
Now it's time to learn
Welcome back to school
Learn prepare to take command of your world
Put control of your future in your hands
It's good to welcome you back to school
We are going to make learning fun
With that in mind we have updated our curriculum
Don't look so serious show some enthusiasm
All together now are we ready are we ready to learn
Welcome, welcome, welcome
Welcome back to school.
Anthony S.Phillander©080912
poem by Anthony Shurland Phillander
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English Jan
She still has her English accent the one known as English Jan
And she never was a mother nor a wife to any man
She ages without dyes or makeups her hair is silver gray
But do not say about her she has known a better day.
She migrated to Melbourne from Blackpool her Hometown by the Irish sea
When she was in her early twenties in nineteen fifty three
Fifty one years in Australia yet she remains undimmed by time
And more than forty years have passed since she was in her prime.
For forty years a school teacher her retirement she enjoy
And she will make the most of every day until the day she die
She plays bowls on a saturday and on sunday evening after eight
She socializes with her friends and always until late.
On sunday mornings at the Corner cafe she is one I always see
And she does always say hello and smile and wave at me
So down to earth and carefree and untainted by conceit
And one of those good people I feel happy for to meet
She does not use dyes or makeups and she ages in the natural way
And she is one of those nice people who makes a new friend every day
From the English Town of Blackpool by the cold Irish sea
She migrated to Melbourne in nineteen fifty three.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Twenty- Fifth Yahrtzeit Of My Father
Dad I have written so many words about you
I have repeated your words again and again
I have described you
Laughed and cried in remembrance of you and Ma
All these years-
But what is it to you?
What does it all mean?
Is it ‘all just a dream'
There also?
Have these passing years meant anything for you?
Do you know of us and are you aware of all that has happened?
And when I come there most likely less than twenty- five years now
Will we meet again?
And will this longing to meet you end with nothing
Or with its realization?
Or perhaps will it never end
As we will both long from there too
Of the time we had together here for forty - five years?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Forty Years Of Warning
Why did God wait forty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus?
An entire generation?
Before was fulfilled the prophecy of Jesus about the destruction of the Temple and fate of Jerusalem!
The number forty is symbolic of trial testing and punishment in Biblical symbolism.
Moses lead the Israelites through forty years of punishment in the wilderness before a new generation
was allowed to enter
the promised land.
Was waiting this forty years
to definitively
prove God's patience?
To allow the Jews time to repent
to turn back to God
to exhibit appropriate
behaviour and worship
so that God could
bless them as God desired
instead of punishing
them as he had warned?
Copyright © Terence GeorgeCraddock
See also 'Temple And City Were Destroyed In 70 A.D.! ' and 'The Fall Of The Temple In 70 A.D.! '
poem by Terence George Craddock
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