Carmelite
As Death was a-riding out one day,
Across Mount Carmel he took his way,
Where he met a mendicant monk,
Some three or four quarters drunk,
With a holy leer and a pious grin,
Ragged and fat and as saucy as sin,
Who held out his hands and cried:
'Give, give in Charity's name, I pray.
Give in the name of the Church. O give,
Give that her holy sons may live!'
And Death replied,
Smiling long and wide:
'I'll give, holy father, I'll give thee-a ride.'
With a rattle and bang
Of his bones, he sprang
From his famous Pale Horse, with his spear;
By the neck and the foot
Seized the fellow, and put
Him astride with his face to the rear.
The Monarch laughed loud with a sound that fell
Like clods on the coffin's sounding shell:
'Ho, ho! A beggar on horseback, they say,
Will ride to the devil!' -and thump
Fell the flat of his dart on the rump
Of the charger, which galloped away.
Faster and faster and faster it flew,
Till the rocks and the flocks and the trees that grew
By the road were dim and blended and blue
To the wild, wide eyes
Of the rider- in size
Resembling a couple of blackberry pies.
Death laughed again, as a tomb might laugh
At a burial service spoiled,
And the mourners' intentions foiled
By the body erecting
Its head and objecting
To further proceedings in its behalf.
Many a year and many a day
Have passed since these events away.
The monk has long been a dusty corse,
And Death has never recovered his horse.
For the friar got hold of its tail,
And steered it within the pale
Of the monastery gray,
Where the beast was stabled and fed
With barley oil and bread
Till fatter it grew than the fattest friar,
And so in due course was appointed Prior.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Ishtar
On Mount Carmel,
I met four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal!
On Mount Carmel,
I met also the prophets of Ishtar!
But who will bring the truth to them? ! !
For they were all serving the Sun God.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands
"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel
glances?"
"I will keep them piercing my
heart."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save
There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'
poem by Terry O'Leary
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The Selfish Shellfish
Deep in the briny sea
Was a monk fish monastery;
A prayerful variety
Of contemplative piety
From gentle soles to trout,
All swimmingly devout,
Where once a pious oyster
Went strolling ‘round the cloister,
And he was quietly grumbling,
His tummy it was rumbling.
He spied a tasty morsel,
A fellow shark monk's dorsal.
He lopped it with his chopper,
And hid it good and proper.
He'd eat it some time later
With peas and beans and ‘tater.
There's no way he would share it,
His stomach wouldn't bear it.
Meanwhile the poor old shark monk
Swims round and round like he's quite drunk.
To swim quite straight he needs all fins;
He twists and swerves, he dives and spins
Into a crazy cork screw loop;
His fin must be saved from the soup.
The other monks are looking
At what the oyster's cooking.
They see he has the shark fin;
They can't allow this shell fish sin
And since he is a sinner,
They confiscate his dinner,
And sew in back on shark monk's back
So he can get himself on track.
The oyster now is pleading;
Forgiveness he is needing.
He's being quite rambunctious;
He's big and plump and scrumptious,
And so the monks decide his fate
Is to be served up on a plate.
So now they all are wine-ing,
They're dancing and they're dining,
In their monastic cellar
On oyster Rockefeller.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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The Strength of the Lonely
(What the Mendicant Said )
The moon's a monk, unmated,
Who walks his cell, the sky.
His strength is that of heaven-vowed men
Who all life's flames defy.
They turn to stars or shadows,
They go like snow or dew—
Leaving behind no sorrow—
Only the arching blue.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Anima Ignis (Soul Fire)
This is the gift unto me: The power of the Judah Lion!
A holy, holy, present I see: It comes from the Mount Zion!
My Soul burns, My Spirit truly yearns,
God has given the power that discerns,
And gives my Soul Fire!
Many and many a moon ago,
A devil of temptation brought man low!
Yet a sacrifice was given to sinful man,
And achieved the impossible, which only holy blood can!
Through great pain and tempting,
His death brings me gain and my soul is singing...
Of all this weariness of Mortal Attire,
I sing of my Salvation, and my Soul Fire!
This is the Gift unto me: The power of the Judah Lion,
A holy, holy present is He: He comes from the Mount Zion,
My Soul burns, My Spirit yearns,
God has given the Power that discerns,
And gives me my Soul Fire!
poem by Joseph Oliver
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You Only Tell Me You Love Me When Youre Drunk
What a performance tonight
Should I react or turn off the light
Looks like youre picking a fight
In a blurring of wrong and right
But how your mood chances
Youre a devil, now an angel
Suddenly subtle and solemn
And silent as a monk
You only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
Its better than nothing I suppose
Some doors have openend
Others closed
But I couldnt see you exposes
To the horrors behind some of those
Somebody said listen dont you know
What youre missing
You should be kissing him instead of
Dissing him like a punk
But you only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
You only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
All of my friends
Keep asking me why, oh why
Do you not say goodbye
If you dont even try youll be sunk
cause you only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
Whats the meaning
When you speak with so much feeling
Is it over when youre sober
Is it junk
You only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
You only tell me you love me
When youre drunk
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Like Tomato Sauce
i like tomato sauce
and so i keep lots of
and different kinds of
tomato sauces inside
the ref and when i open
it one night i thought
tomato sauce are also
water and i am in a trance
of some sort or something
i drink tomato sauce
and i remember you:
saucy, so saucy
i thought i am floating
in the river filled with
tomato sauce, yes,
my point is: be proud
i always think of you.
saucy, yes, so saucy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bad Monk
On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed
Murals displaying Truth the saint,
Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails
Brought to an austere chill a warming paint.
In the times when Christ was seeded around,
More than one illustrious monk, today unknown
Took for a studio the funeral grounds
And glorified Death as the one way shown.
—My soul is a tomb, an empty confine
Since eternity I scour and I reside;
Nothing hangs on the walls of this hideous sty.
O lazy monk! When will I see
The living spectacle of my misery,
The work of my hands and the love of my eyes?
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Here I Come-4
Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Those Middle Class Days
Clawing up from a struggle,
And snuggled once on that horse...
With a pride and a grin,
One wore when one rode in then...
Isn't easy these days,
To mount back on...
And giddy-up to ride away again.
No.
Some chose to get off their high horses,
To deepen their debts.
With a credit now...
Needing to be repaid with a lot of regret.
And...
Those middle class days feasted,
Now have gone.
Unbelieving that a riding on a high horse...
And the barn it was kept,
Has vanished to be either auctioned or pawned.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Riding
IF I should live again,
O God, let me be young,
Quick of sinew and vein
With the honeycomb on my tongue,
All in a moment flung
With the dawn on a flowing plain,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the sun and the rain.
If I, having been, must be,
O God, let it be so,
Swift and supple and free
With a long journey to go,
And the clink of the curb and the blow
Of hooves, and the wind at my knee,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the hills and the sea.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Best way to keep a secret is tell it, just like that – mixes in with all the other palaver – nobody’s gonna listen, believe you or even care: the Secret
told the lady behind the counter
at the deli that I’m crazy and she just laughed and said no! But it’s true I really am crazy
And she said you don't look crazy
And I said no I don't suppose I do
That's part of my problem though I look normalwhateverthatis but I’m not
I walk around in a world of normal people and every once in a while I have to poke someone and tell them I’m not in the same world as they are and then they don't think I’m crazy
but that I am crazy for saying so
And she leaned over at me finally and said
What is it you are crazy weeth? And I said
I’m bi-polar. You know, manic-depressive?
And her eyes glazed over like the hams and salami
You don't know what that is do you? I said
And she said
No I don't know. What is that? And I said
That's what I am, I’m manic-depressive
Andshesaid in hersweetest sleepy-eyed droopy-eyelid limpid voice
I’m sorry I’m very sorry you're … whatever it is you said...
I tell you what (she said) ! ! Get far away! Just get away from it all for a while! Take a vacation when's the last time you took a vacation?
Go drive somewhere in your car even if you don't know where you're going!
and I said i can't get away from myself I’m sorry
I have to take me with myself wherever I go he goes and I come
I go and he comes I wish I could...
Then I realized this was just too much about me and my words trailed off
What vacation did she want to/ need to take! ? What was crazy when crazy really came to her? What was it for her to speak her heart to a stranger?
What did all my words spun and flung so carelessly bite into I didn't know this lady
So I said well, yea, you know I’ll do that
And she smiled it meant a lot that’s what you have to give when you're
In yourself
Gave her the response she needed to hear
heart to heart
Appreciate it really- your idea- I’ll do it!
I’m gonna try and do that
And by the way
don't mind all my crazy talk
You know, I’m just a little crazy
And she said no! And I said yes! No! Yes! Ha haha
I am
And I could hear myself and how I must sound to her
Like some bothersome man who needs the attention - lonely most likely like men get when they think about it and probably - more than likely
They had too much liquor
The alcohol- and the way they talk
because they're drunk - they talk around women
And can’t see the barriers and can't see that they're seen sloppy drunk they say
Don't pay me any mind, I’m just crazy
And then they tap the sides of their head like it'll rattle
and they grin
that awkward, hanging grin
When their lips and tongue are thick their heads spinning and the room is turning around them
And he thinks I’m putting on a pretty good show
I’m drunk and I know it
Don’t show it too much
Want to be loose but not too loose and lose their respect and he thinks in the far back of what’s left functioning in that mind he's pickling
That because he can't see straight
that nobody else can either
But knowing they’re pretty drunk they stumble and sway towards the door because you don't score women when you're drunk
You just have some fun
And practice the lines you're too introverted to say sober you have some fun and kill another night
Stumbling and waving as they go thinking for the life of them
I’m crazy to be this drunk but I’m a crazy guy
Until they wake up the next morning and find out they're not crazy at all just sick
And it's the same-ol same-ol: job, wife or kids a pale sheet pulled over the world of lights and fancy
But I wake up the next day (woke up one day, that is) and find out
(found out)
No hang over just a spill-over
a continuation of what I thought had been a bad experience
and now it’s just my life
and life just kind of flip-flopped on me in the night
So I turned around walked away from the nice lady iknewjustasmidgenbetter in the deli
to tap the side of my head and grinned at her
a wide but fading grin
attempting to leer
poem by Tom Courtney
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To The Hypocrite
i
Many kiss the hand
they wish cut off
ii
we despise the pleasure of pleasing people
whom we despise
iii
The lips are smiling,
but is the heart?
iv
A hypocrite is the kind of politician
who would cut down a redwood tree,
then mount the stump
and make a speech
for conservation
v
The value of an idea
has nothing to do
with the success
of the man
who expresses it.
vi
It is with pious fraud
as with a bad action;
it begets
a calamitous necessity
of going on.
vii
Every man alone is sincere;
at the entrance of a second person
hypocrisy begins.
viii
The wolf was sick,
he vowed a monk to be-
But when he got well,
a wolf once more was he.
ix
It is a trick among
the dishonest to offer
sacrifices that are not needed,
or not possible,
to avoid making
x
For neither man
nor angel can discern hypocrisy,
the only evil
that walks invisible.
those that are required.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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381
i
Many kiss the hand
they wish cut off
ii
we despise the pleasure of pleasing people
whom we despise
iii
The lips are smiling,
but is the heart?
iv
A hypocrite is the kind of politician
who would cut down a redwood tree,
then mount the stump
and make a speech
for conservation
v
The value of an idea
has nothing to do
with the success
of the man
who expresses it.
vi
It is with pious fraud
as with a bad action;
it begets
a calamitous necessity
of going on.
vii
Every man alone is sincere;
at the entrance of a second person
hypocrisy begins.
viii
The wolf was sick,
he vowed a monk to be-
But when he got well,
a wolf once more was he.
ix
It is a trick among
the dishonest to offer
sacrifices that are not needed,
or not possible,
to avoid making
x
For neither man
nor angel can discern hypocrisy,
the only evil
that walks invisible.
those that are required.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Le Mauvais Moine (The Bad Monk)
Les cloîtres anciens sur leurs grandes murailles
Etalaient en tableaux la sainte Vérité,
Dont l'effet réchauffant les pieuses entrailles,
Tempérait la froideur de leur austérité.
En ces temps où du Christ florissaient les semailles,
Plus d'un illustre moine, aujourd'hui peu cité,
Prenant pour atelier le champ des funérailles,
Glorifiait la Mort avec simplicité.
— Mon âme est un tombeau que, mauvais cénobite,
Depuis l'éternité je parcours et j'habite;
Rien n'embellit les murs de ce cloître odieux.
Ô moine fainéant! quand saurai-je donc faire
Du spectacle vivant de ma triste misère
Le travail de mes mains et l'amour de mes yeux?
The Bad Monk
Cloisters in former times portrayed on their high walls
The truths of Holy Writ with fitting pictures
Which gladdened pious hearts and lessened the coldness,
The austere appearance, of those monasteries.
In those days the sowing of Christ's Gospel flourished,
And more than one famed monk, seldom quoted today,
Taking his inspiration from the graveyard,
Glorified Death with naive simplicity.
— My soul is a tomb where, bad cenobite,
I wander and dwell eternally;
Nothing adorns the walls of that loathsome cloister.
O lazy monk! When shall I learn to make
Of the living spectacle of my bleak misery
The labor of my hands and the love of my eyes?
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Evil Monk
The walls of cloisters on their frescoed lath
Displayed, in pictures, sacred truths of old,
Whose sight would warm the entrails of one's faith
To temper their austerity and cold.
In times when every sowing flowered for Christ
Lived famous monks, now out of memory's reach;
The graveyard for their library sufficed,
And Death was glorified in simple speech.
My soul's a grave, where, evil cenobite,
To all eternity I have been banned.
Nothing adorns this cloister fall of spite.
O idle monk! Say, to what end were planned
The living spectacle of my sad plight,
Love of my eye, or labour of my hand?
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Le Mauvais Moine
the wide cold walls of cloisters, long ago
set forth God's Holy Truth for all to see,
and gazing friars there, with hearts aglow,
rejoiced despite their chill austerity.
then, when the seed of Christ would always grow,
illustrious monks, now lost to memory,
would choose the burial-plot for studio
to chant Death's glory, unaffectedly.
my soul's a tomb, which — wretched friar! — I
have paced since Time began, and occupy;
bare-walled and hateful still my cloister stands.
o slothful monk! when shall I learn to find
in the stark drama of this living mind
joy for mine eyes and work to fit my hands?
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
The Bad Monk
On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed
Murals displaying Truth the saint,
Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails
Brought to an austere chill a warming paint.
In the times when Christ was seeded around,
More than one illustrious monk, today unknown
Took for a studio the funeral grounds
And glorified Death as the one way shown.
—My soul is a tomb, an empty confine
Since eternity I scour and I reside;
Nothing hangs on the walls of this hideous sty.
O lazy monk! When will I see
The living spectacle of my misery,
The work of my hands and the love of my eyes?
Translated by William A. Sigler
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Good night, because we must
114
Good night, because we must,
How intricate the dust!
I would go, to know!
Oh incognito!
Saucy, Saucy Seraph
To elude me so!
Father! they won't tell me,
Won't you tell them to?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Eine Welt Ohne Dich
Ich will nicht sehen, was ich sehe
Nicht hren, was ich hre von Dir
Ich will nicht wissen, was ich wei
Denn es ttet die Hoffnung in mir
Es ist mir ganz egal, wer der Schuldige war
Ich will dich zurck, was auch immer geschah
Refrain:
Ich will nicht gehen, in eine Welt ohne Dich
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Da, da, da,
Ich will nicht fhlen, was ich fhle
Nicht glauben, was man mir erzhlt
Ich will nicht hassen, wen ich liebe
Wenn mir Deine Liebe so fehlt
Diese Bilder von Dir, rauben mir den Verstand
Sind wie Schsse ins Herz, ins Gedchtnis gebrannt
Refrain:
Ich will nicht gehen, in eine Welt ohne Dich
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Nur mit Trnen im Blick, denk ich an Dich zurck
Wenn ich geh wird der Abschied sehr schwer
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Da, da, da,
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
Nichts ist so leer, wie eine Welt ohne Dich
song performed by by Yvonne Catterfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smile and Grin
Smile even when the path is rough
Grin even when the competition is tough
Smile when the battle is fierce
Grin when the words[truth] pierce
Smile as the head aches in severe pain
Grin as your hard work brings no gain
Smile to the bank when the figures there are few
Grin to tank when all in it is dew
Smile with your siblings in sorrow
Grin with the tidings that says you borrow
Smile when you pursue but you seem lazy
Grin when the future seems hazy
Smile just as a love is lost
Grin though the cost is a lot
Smile as you lose your freedom
Grin as you belong to the thorn's kingdom
Smile when you fall into a ditch
Grin when you encounter a hitch
Smile when locked lies you door
Grin when you appear climbing but still lay on the floor
Smile when situations are not conforming
Grin when circumstance is not reforming
Smile when dreams are not becoming goals
Grin when goals are leading you to gaol
Smile as the flight to wealth is delayed
Grin as the bad news is relayed
Smile for your foes and enemies
Grin as you await your nemesis
Smile as you pay for what you bought not
Grin as you say words you thought not
Smile when you meet with a cheat
Grin when you move like a watch the speed of cheetahs
Smile as you pass through the journey of perseverance
Grin as you wish but must dwell in temperance
As a smile is a confidence of change
and Grin, an outward symbol for revolution residing within range.
poem by Adedolapo Olisa
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Bowles And Campbell
To the tune of 'Why, how now, saucy jade?'
Why, how now, saucy Tom?
If you thus must ramble,
I will publish some
Remarks on Mister Campbell.
ANSWER
Why, how now, Billy Bowles?
Sure the priest is maudlin!
(To the public) How can you, d--n your souls!
Listen to his twaddling?