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Hearing Mass is the ceremony I most favor during my travels. Church is the only place where someone speaks to me and I do not have to answer back.

quote by Charles de Gaulle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Church is the only place where someone speaks to me and I do not have to answer back.

quote by Charles de Gaulle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Standing On Ceremony

Remember your manners
Will you please take your hat off
Your mother is dying
Listen to her cough
We were always standing on ceremony
We were always standing on ceremony
Cant you show some respect please
Although you didnt in real life
Your mother is dying
And I God damn well hope youre satisfied
We were always standing on ceremony
We were always standing on ceremony
So please play another song on that juke box
Please play another pretty sad song for me
And if that phone rings, tell them that you havent seen me
If that last phone rings
Tell them that you havent seen me for weeks
And this one heres on me
Standing on ceremony, standing on ceremony
Standing on ceremony, standing on ceremony
Standing on ceremony, you were always standing on ceremony
(standing, on ceremony)
(standing, on ceremony)
(standing, on ceremony)
(standing, on ceremony)
(standing, on ceremony)
(standing, on ceremony)
...

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why are some great?

The mass and the velocity
Determine an object's movement.
A winged seed travels,
Thanks to the lighter mass.
A bullet travels fast,
Thanks to the velocity.

Successful men are more
From their velocity,
The capacity to spread,
Than from the worthiness
Of their deliveries.
No man can become great
Without maneuvering power.
29.04.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Happens Next? .....

for now i do not go to church
and hear Sunday mass,
i am coming back as always
early morning
and late at night and between
my busy hours
to savor this forbidden place
with no other objective and wish
that i be finally bored
in this kind of hell
choice and find this place later on
to be horrible
seriously, and sincerely
from the inner conviction of my mind
so i may never find myself
back to this place again
and then finally i tell myself
now i am convinced
now i win
now i must leave
and i will never come back again

but when will this really happen?
only when i am dead?
when it is too late?
when it is already irreversible?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Church Not Made With Hands

Bye-bye shadowlands
The term is over
And all the holidays have begun
Now she walks in fresh fields
Her tracks are on the land
She is everywhere and no place
When its dark and evening falls
She moves among men
They would seek to have her as a prize
But she is in the shadows
The ocean and the sand
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
She is dancing high as clouds
Faster than the arrow
As straight as any crows that flies
Accross great seas she travels
Up through rising lands
She is everywhere and no place
Her church not made with hands
Not contained by man
Isnt that a pretty sun
Setting in a pretty sky?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
Will we stay and watch it darken?
The church not made by hands
Not contained by man
That precious place
Unmade by man

song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scenes from a Parish

The weekday Mass at 6 a.m.
brings old folks out
from bungalows
around the church.
They move like caterpillars
down sidewalks,
some with canes,
some on walkers.

Young Father Doyle says the Mass
and is renowned for giving
homilies on weekdays
superior to homilies
heard in other churches
even on a Sunday.

After Mass, he goes back
to the rectory to care
for a mother older than
most of his congregants.
A gracious lady, his mother
cannot move or talk
because of a stroke.

But every Sunday at noon,
when the church is overflowing
with people wanting Mass to start,
Father Doyle, in full vestments,
wheels his mother in a lump
down the middle aisle
and lifts her like a chalice
and places her in the front pew
before he ascends to the altar.

Sometimes at night,
when his mother is finally asleep,
he returns to the church
and rehearses in the dark
three hymns she long ago
asked him to sing at her funeral.

He practices the hymns
because the doctor said
she could go at any time
and when that time comes,
he doesn't want to miss a note.
The last thing she ever said was
'Son, I'll be listening.'

poem by Donal Mahoney
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Sex & The Church

Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Church Mass....

there they go again
(i within)
hearing mass in
the church,

it is Saturday
evening,

it is a show of
music and poetry
of song and
choreography

uniformed ladies and
gentlemen
white and gray and
carrying candle lights
for accent

i like this show
as i perspire a lot
in this multitude

what i do not like
is this
what do i understand
by all these
mixes?

i sit on one of those
chairs
thinking about
nothing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God speaks to me not through the thunder and the earthquake, nor through the ocean and the stars, but through the Son of Man, and speaks in a language adapted to my imperfect sight and hearing.

quote by William Lyon Phelps
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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See That My Grave Is Kept Clean

(first releaseblind lemon jefferson)
Well theres one kind of favor Ill ask for you
Well theres one kind of favor Ill ask for you
Theres just one kind of favor Ill ask for you
You can see that my grave is kept clean.
And theres two white horses following me
And theres two white horses following me
I got two white horses following me
Waiting on my burying ground.
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Means another poor boy is underground.
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Means another poor boy is dead and gone.
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
Now I believe what the Bible told.
Theres just one last favor Ill ask for you
And theres one last favor Ill ask for you
Theres just one last favor Ill ask for you
See that my grave is kept clean.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond The Unknown

Perfect night
The moon shines bright
But covered with blood
Because this is an evil night
Calls for a sign
Is what the invokers are meditating
The souls from beyond
Are hearing them calling
Moving objects
Sinister sounds in the air
Nerves tense
Hands holding tight
You can feel it answering everywhere
The seekers are happy
Thinking that they are hearing
The voice from their loved one
[Chorus:]
Beyond the unknown
Powerful spectre
Closing in
Is it a dream
Or is it true
Beyond the unknown
Communication begun thru the incarnated body
Of the spiritual leader
Questions are asked, answer correct
But they don't know the real horrors
Behind the spirit of the dead
Ceremony is over now
Relatives left in satisfaction
Knowing that he's resting in eternal peace
[Lead]
Days have passed
Then there was a knocking at the door
Live in the flesh
The missing one that they thought was dead
Memories coming back
Realizing what they have heard
Was nothing but a malignant force
Telling them nothing but lies
[Repeat chorus]

song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sundays Past

On Sunday mornings you would wear a dark suit
With a tie and shiny shoes you are ready to en route
The church bells would ring calling for morning mass
While you check the weather through the window glass
A last glance in the mirror and you are on your way
You join the church goers without any further delay

Walking over uneven cobblestones in our small town
Children would jump on the sidewalks up and down
Dressed up for church everyone is wearing their best
Thinking about the priest and what they have to confess
Men lifting their dark hats as they wish a Good Morning
Then pass by the cemetery bowing heads as in mourning

The church bells now ringing louder and more demanding
Calling all sinners to mass without misunderstanding
I always knew that right then the decision was made
And it was agreed to skip church without being afraid
Through the old alley you and others took a known detour
Heading straight to the pub on the corner that is for sure

Around noon I would go to meet my father by the church
And he would talk about mass having done some research
At home my mother would just smile and shake her head
While my father gave her a wink that was hardly misread
Joking around we would eat lunch smiling with every bite
Keeping my father's Sunday secret and the world was alright

© 2011

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Living As God Favored

As I walk I feel the presence of God
No matter how uncertain I may feel at times, I know he is with me
When you have blessings coming from all places, that's the favor of God
Looking back, when I could have and should have lost my way, I had the favor of God

The Scripture says, the will of God will not take you,
Where the grace of God will not protect you and that's a fact
God is good and life is easy when you know you have the favor of God

poem by Coker George
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Psalm 132

O Lord your church goes through the motions
It travels many lands and crosses vast oceans
Yet what is a people with no King on the throne?
What is a man if he is all alone?

What is a song without any words?
What's the point of the sky if there are no birds?
Can the fish in the sea swim without water?
Will the church ever listen to what you have taught her?

And yet you have promised to dwell in your people
You did not promise to dwell beneath a steeple
For the Zion you promised is this place in my heart
This was always your plan, right from the start

With my whole heart I cry out unto thee
I come before you on bended knee
Take this place, take my heart, take all that I am
Fill me with love like the mightiest dam

And with the power of this dam to generate love
Rend the heavens my Lord, flow down from above
And your Kingdom and glory shall ever be
Engulfed in this wonder, eternally

poem by Frank McEleny
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Snake Charming

The occult was scrounging
in stringent way
to resurrect the past.

No answer. There will never be
an answer. Where questions stand
an answer was not there.

Acquittal in setting sun. Endless
love making had passed
with the moon. We will not-

recreate the bronzed body.
Night, curse and a tale of
purple, pink horse, accepting

a libation for the penile
god. A savior was present
to watch the ceremony of surrender.

The serpent was ready to bite.

poem by Satish Verma
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In The Emptiness Of The Church ...

it is when i finally decide to go
to church this afternoon
after a long time of hibernation
in the world of words
in the most silent privacy
only to find out that the church
too is empty but the priest just the
same has to say mass

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dialogue On Non-death

Drowning her children
back in her womb,
a big tear rolls down the cheek of earth.
She was sitting on broken bones
to watch the terror,
ear for ear to listen,
eye for eye to see.
Hope was becoming ephemeral.

Nostalgia for breathing in,
the scented grains of death’s fruit,
no analogue, no relics of blood
and a ceremony of water, soil and wood.

All gone. It is a battered rubble
back to back, autoclaved, clean.
We walk back, heads bowed, shaven,
absolutely fouled with no immediate answer.

Was there a dialogue on non-death?

poem by Satish Verma
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The Traveller

Reply to Rudyard Kipling’s ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone.’

Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps on the nights;

For courage goes down at the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.

He speeds but to grief though full gaily he ride
Who travels alone without love at his side.

Who travels alone without lover of friend
But hurries from nothing, to naught at the end.

Though great be his winnings and high be his goal,
He is bankrupt in wisdom and beggared in soul.

Life’s one gift of value to him is denied
Who travels alone without love at his side.

It is easy enough in this world to make haste
If one live for that purpose – but think of the waste;

For life is a poem to leisurely read,
And the joy of the journey lies not in its speed.

Oh! vain his achievement and petty his pride
Who travels alone without love at his side.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Parasite

Lifting the mask from from a local clown
Feeling down like him
Seeing the light in a station bar
And travelling far in sin
Sailing downstairs to the northern line
Watching the shine of the shoes
And hearing the trial of the people there
Whos to care if they lose.
And take a look you may see me on the ground
For I am the parasite of this town.
Dancing a jig in a church with chimes
A sign of the times today
And hearing no bell from a steeple tall
People all in dismay
Falling so far on a silver spoon
Making the moon for fun
And changing a rope for a size too small
People all get hung.
Take a look and see me coming through
For I am the parasite who travels two by two.
When lifting the mask from a local clown
And feeling down like him
And Im seeing the light in a station bar
And travelling far in sin
And Im sailing downstair to the northern line
Watching the shine of the shoes
And hearing the trials of the people there
Whos to care if they lose.
And take a look you may see me on the ground
For I am the parasite of this town.
And take a look you may see me in the dirt
For I am the parasite who hangs from your skirt.

song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Church Bells

Church Bells
Once I lived in a charming English village, near
an ancient church, every Sunday morning
on my only day off, the bloody bells chimed.
Thought I saw a woman cycling to mass in
the mist, and it wasn´t Germaine Greer.
When Muslims ruled Andalusia, they tolerated
Christians, but a poet of that time -Ibn Baqi-
circa 1059 1112, wished they wouldn´t clang
bells so hard waking him up when air was cool,
sleep sweet and his Christian mistress had to
get up and go to mass. So far nothing has
changed, dear Ibn Baqi, the bells keep on tolling

poem by Oskar Hansen
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