There are no galley-slaves in the royal vessel of divine love - every man works his oar voluntarily!
quote by Saint Francis de Sales
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Royal Family
Royal parents,
Royal birth,
Royal relationship,
Royal love,
Royal wedding,
Royal pregnancy,
Royal child,
Royal family;
Roya, loyal! !
The lineage,
The history,
The heritage;
Nancy, pregnancy!
Line, lineage;
And, you still have her in your heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Schumacher wouldn't have let him past voluntarily. Of course he did it voluntarily, but he had to do it.
quote by Murray Walker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Magic Of His Designs
The magic of His designs
all around us we see,
the working of His divine skill
nature continually displays
and in mysterious ways
His unending love
works selflessly
falling for evermore
like showers from above
and even if we do not want to admit
that He exists and judge His works
by our own feeble sense
make statements by our science
we still do err in incompetence
while His works persist,
His amazing grace and love stays boundless.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The yin yang moon
Hung upon the sky
Weaves the web of stars
Down the water glide
A half created vessel I am - they say
Measuring sand in my body grain
Flat forehead upward hope sunk unsung
I’ll starve my eyes on Milky waves
Glaring at those lines divine
No I will not be a half created vessel
Lying under the bags of clouds
No I will not be a half created vessel
I’ll be a mermaid of the sky
Embedding the last floating cry
Inspired by ‘Hombre Ante el Infinito’ (Man Contemplating Infinity)
a painting by Rufino Tamayo
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Women cannot be free.
The chastity of woman is not practised voluntarily.
It is coerced by generations by patriarchy
With the dire consequence of death and estrangement.
In a cage, she feeds without lust, lusts without food.
Men never free women; Masters never free slaves.
04.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Frail (You Might As Well Be Me)
You lead me
I do need redemption
Whenever I don't know
I feed you balance
We will not rest
Until the search ends
I bleed for you
I voluntarily give myself
I need my fraility
Oh so soon
I will unfold
I bleed for you
I voluntarily give myself
song performed by by The Gathering from How To Measure A Planet?
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sugar-Plums
No, no, pretty sugar-plums! stay where you are!
Though my grandmother sent you to me from so far;
You look very nice, you would taste very sweet,
And I love you right well, yet not one will I eat.
For the poor slaves have labour'd, far down in the south,
To make you so sweet and so nice for my mouth;
But I want no slaves toiling for me in the sun,
Driven on with the whip, till the long day is done.
Perhaps some poor slave child, that hoed up the ground,
Round the cane in whose rich juice your sweetness was found,
Was flogg'd, till his mother cried sadly to see,
And I'm sure I want nobody beaten for me.
So grandma, I thank you for being so kind,
But your present, to-day, is not much to my mind;
Though I love you so dearly, I choose not to eat
Even what you have sent me by slavery made sweet.
Thus said little Fanny, and skipp'd off to play,
Leaving all her nice sugar-plums just where they lay,
As merry as if they had gone in her mouth,
And she had not cared for the slaves of the south.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Vessel
The Vessel was a thing of clay.
the sort you use, then throw away.
It was worth little, of itself,
but that vessel was filled with Love.
It poured out Love upon the Living
Free and selfless was its giving.
When at last the clay was dry,
it was the vessels time to die.
It shattered on the sands of time,
now half a lifetime gone from mine.
The vessel was my Dad you see-
and by his gifts I was set free.
I wept the day he met his end-
will I ever see his like again?
God willing on a higher plane
I'll get to call again his name.,
but if my journey ends in dust,
he taught me how as all men must.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Sonnet: A Pot of Special Clay
The Potter chose to make a pot of clay,
And used some special earth to mould its frame,
That turned to be a vessel, which one day,
Became so holy, bringing Him, great name!
God filled the vessel with His divine grace,
And placed it on His sacred altar, when
The vessel glowed with beauty, worth much praise:
And quenched were souls, who drank from it often!
And when the pot had done its job on earth,
It cracked one day when old, and turned to dust:
But looked much finer than ev’n gold, at birth;
For, it had held the blood of Jesus Christ!
By fulfilling His Maker’s ardent aim,
The pot had turned to dust, from whence it came!
Fondly dedicated to a deceased ‘Man of God’,
Brother Dr. DGS Dhinakaran,
JESUS CALLS MINISTRY, TN, India
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-22-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Vessel That I am!
I am a weak vessel.
Strengthen me, O Lord!
Help me fill up to the brim
With virtues of all sorts.
I am a small vessel.
Make me hold more, O Lord!
Take away my porosity;
Let things remain intact.
I am a clay vessel.
Polish my sides, O Lord!
Let me stand most splendidly,
Glorifying my God.
I am a mere vessel,
Distorted somewhat, O Lord!
Place me on a rocky base,
To show the world my class!
The vessel whatever that I am
Will serve Thee only, Lord.
Fill me up with thy grace, O God
To prove that I’m fine clod!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-1-2009
poem by John Celes
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Within this Earthen Vessel
WITHIN this earthen vessel are bowers and groves,
and within it is the Creator:
Within this vessel are the seven oceans
and the unnumbered stars.
The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser are within;
and within this vessel the Eternal soundeth,
and the spring wells up.
Kabîr says:
'Listen to me, my Friend!
My beloved Lord is within.'
A Pict Song
Rome never looks where she treads.
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on--that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.
We are the Little Folk--we!
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you'll see
How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!
We are the taint in the blood!
We are the thorn in the foot!
Mistletoe killing an oak--
Rats gnawing cables in two--
Moths making holes in a cloak--
How they must love what they do!
Yes--and we Little Folk too,
We are busy as they--
Working our works out of view--
Watch, and you'll see it some day!
No indeed! We are not strong,
But we know Peoples that are.
Yes, and we'll guide them along
To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you--you will die of the shame,
And then we shall dance on your graves!
We are the Little Folk, we, etc.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Restrict the wants to things in hand
The milk that is not full in a vessel
Can be full in an exact vessel
And even spill over from a smaller one.
Your want is the vessel and things, the milk.
25.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The World Is A Sacred Vessel
'The world is a sacred vessel...' Thomas Merton
blue vessel
in black vacuum
miracle world
encircling
thrall of this perfect star
sacred vessel,
His living cup
to beloved proffered,
wedding gift
beyond measure.
poem by Steven Federle
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Psalm 8
God's sovereignty and goodness.
O Lord, our heav'nly King,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine.
When to thy works on high
I raise my wondering eyes,
And see the moon, complete in light,
Adorn the darksome skies
When I survey the stars,
And all their shining forms,
Lord, what is man, that worthless thing,
Akin to dust and worms?
Lord, what is worthless man,
That thou shouldst love him so?
Next to thine angels is he placed,
And lord of all below.
Thine honors crown his head,
While beasts, like slaves, obey;
And birds that cut the air with wings,
And fish that cleave the sea.
How rich thy bounties are!
And wondrous are thy ways
Of dust and worms thy power can frame
A monument of praise.
[Out of the mouths of babes
And sucklings thou canst draw
Surprising honors to thy name,
And strike the world with awe.
O Lord, our heav'nly King,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Morton
An estimate of 14 million African Slaves were shipped out!
That was from the 1400's and into the 1800's;
But my love to you is deeper than the ocean!
And history is all around us and you are Morton my love,
But i do love you like death itself.
Extinguish your natural love to me,
For without you i am nobody;
And let the light teach us all,
For the fiddle of a change is around us.
A facetious act,
And of the long animated dreams of love!
But you are another part of me,
And i really know the story of the African Slaves.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hymn 160
Custom in sin.
Let the wild leopards of the wood
Put off the spots that nature gives,
Then may the wicked turn to God,
And change their tempers and their lives.
As well might Ethiopian slaves
Wash out the darkness of their skin,
The deed as well might leave their graves,
As old transgressors cease to sin.
Where vice has held its empire long,
'Twill not endure the least control;
None but a power divinely strong
Can turn the current of the soul.
Great God! I own thy power divine
That works to change this heart of mine;
I would be formed anew, and bless
The wonders of creating grace.
poem by Isaac Watts
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She Works Hard For The Money
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
Onetta there in the corner stand
and wonders where she is and
it's strange to her
some people seem to have everything
Nine a.m. on the hour hand
and she's waiting for the bell
and she's looking real pretty
just wait for her clientele
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
Twenty five years have
come and gone
and she' seen a lot of tears
of the ones who come in
they really seem to need her there
It's a sacrifice working day to day
for little money just tips for pay
But it's worth it all
just to hear them say that they care
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
She already knows
she's seen her bad times
she already knows
these are the good times
She'll never sell out
she never will
not for a dollar bill
she works hard
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
She works hard for the money
so hard for it honey
she works hard for the money
so you better treat her right
song performed by by Donna Summer from The Donna Summer Anthology
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the mountain top at a seaside?
I saw the ship near the rocks
Her anchor drops
And on the mast
A segull rests!
It's getting darker the sky
And the lights flickering
On board the Vessel.
A Watch-keeper walks on the deck
And a Seaman sits on a bollard
With a fishing rod.
I shouted; 'Have you got a spare cabin
For an old bard and I could have work voluntarily Captain
If it's possible? '
I threw my tattered Seaman's Book
Which was not endorsed since a long time.
O the painful early morning my dream-ship already sailed
To her destined port and I grabbed my old book with a lament!
*[My deceased poor Mom always says; 'The joy of being an old is nothing but sadness.']
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Goree Island
Goree Island!
And, of the speech from the Slave House;
For the records are very clear! !
And like the Africans being shipped to America in the 16th to the 19th Centuries,
But, where is the secret hid out of the Gold? !
To all flying insects and to all the things that moves on the ground,
And to stimulate creativity with the discreet of tears;
But, my people were sold out into slavery.
More slaves were sent to Brazil from Africa!
And like the storm at sea with the muse of the days gone by;
But, every person today shall give as he or she is capable of doing so.
Oh life, i am now swallowed by this great fish! !
But the aroma of this hole is in the secret yard of the red valley;
And like the Africans shipped out to America in the slavery days.
The works of the slaves and the muse of their love,
But the fiddle is now with the saddle!
And like the emotions of romance and the passions of love,
But, in Goree island i will always remember the days of slavery.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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