Expositor Veritatis
I Slept, and, waking in the years to be,
Heard voices, and approaching whence they came,
Listened indifferently where a key
Had lately been removed. An ancient dame
Said to her daughter: 'Go to yonder caddy
And get some emery to scour your daddy.'
And then I knew-some intuition said
That tombs were not and men had cleared their shelves
Of urns; and the electro-plated dead
Stood pedestaled as statues of themselves.
With famous dead men all the public places
Were thronged, and some in piles awaited bases.
One mighty structure's high facade alone
Contained a single monumental niche,
Where, central in that steep expanse of stone,
Gleamed the familiar form of Thomas Fitch.
A man cried: 'Lo! Truth's temple and its founder!'
Then gravely added: 'I'm her chief expounder.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
If Daddy Only Knew
I wonder if Daddy knew I had to become super-responsible and a miniature adult at the age of 12
I wonder if Daddy knew life at home was full of broken promises and full of disappointment.
I wonder if Daddy knew why he didn't ever carry me fishing
I wonder if Daddy knew why I had to take life so seriously
I wonder if Daddy knew why I couldn't have fun like my other friends
I wonder if Daddy knew I never really knew what 'normal' was
I wonder if Daddy knew I had to lie and cover up the truth about our family for all those years when telling the truth would have been easier
I wonder if Daddy knew why he didn't ever tell me he loved me. Was it because I was a little 'man'?
I wonder if Daddy knew why he didn't come to my graduation?
I wonder if Daddy knew how much I loved him?
I wonder if Daddy knew how many times the arguments and yelling was my bedtime lullaby?
I wonder if Daddy knew..................that I knew
poem by Barry A. Lanier
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I Should Have Listened To Me
(tim hunt/steve bogard/rick giles)
(track 4 - time 3:30)
When you told me you needed a little time on your own
I kinda lied and said Id be alright all alone
My friends said hey man what can you do
Let her see whats missing and shell come back to you
They all said it was for the best
But I knew as I watched you leave
I shouldve listened to me, and gotten down on my knees
I heard the words in my heart, dont tear us apart
Come back baby please
I shouldve swallowed my pride, I shouldve broke down and cried
I was the one who knew that you and I were meant to be
I shouldve listened to me
Call it intuition, an instinctual feeling
When you know you bet it all and your gonna lose everything
Thats what I had when you walked out the door
And as each day passes Im feeling it more and more
Now that Im hear its all so clear
How could I have made you see
I shouldve listened to me, and gotten down on my knees
I heard the words in my heart, dont tear us apart
Come back baby please
I shouldve swallowed my pride, I shouldve broke down and cried
I was the one who knew that you and I were meant to be
I shouldve listened
I shouldve listened to me, and gotten down on my knees
I heard the words in my heart, dont tear us apart
Come back baby please
I shouldve swallowed my pride, I shouldve broke down and cried
I was the one who knew that you and I were meant to be
I shouldve listened to me
I shouldve listened to me
song performed by by Yankee Grey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lacock Nunnery
I stood upon the stone where ELA lay,
The widowed founder of these ancient walls,
Where fancy still on meek devotion calls,
Marking the ivied arch, and turret gray--
For her soul's rest--eternal rest--to pray;
Where visionary nuns yet seem to tread,
A pale dim troop, the cloisters of the dead,
Though twice three hundred years have flown away!
But when, with silent step and pensive mien,
In weeds, as mourning for her sisters gone,
The mistress of this lone monastic scene
Came; and I heard her voice's tender tone,
I said, Though centuries have rolled between,
One gentle, beauteous nun is left, on earth, alone.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Vain Death
ALL the first night she might not weep
But watched till morning came,
And when she slept at dawn, she heard
The dead man call her name.
The second night she watched and wept
And called on death for grace,
And when she slept before the dawn
She saw the dead man’s face.
The third night through she laughed as one
That knows her way to bliss,
And in the instant ere she slept
She felt the dead man’s kiss.
She rose and faced the flickering fire
(And oh, but she was fair!),
Like a wild witch behind her danced
The shadow of her hair.
She took her penknife from its sheath,
The tender blade she kissed,
And by the firelight’s dying leap
She bared her little wrist.
And where the vein ran large and blue
She cut, once and again,
Yet ere she swooned from life, she knew
Her death had been in vain.
For while life thundered in her ears,
Ere yet her pulse might fail,
Far off across the kindless night
She heard the dead man’s wail,
And knew her doom was one with theirs
That kill the life God gave,
And that she might not leave this earth
Her soul alive to save,
But ay must dwell within that house
As in a living grave,
While he for whom she died might ne’er
Win to her in that place,
But must for ever make his moan
Ranging in agony alone
The trackless void of space
poem by Archibald Thomas Strong
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A Vision Of Resurrection
I had a dream. The habitable earth
Its continents and islands, all were bare
Of cities and of forests. Naught remained
Of its old aspect, and I only knew
(As men know things in dreams, unknowing how)
That this was earth and that all men were dead.
On every side I saw the barren land,
Even to the distant sky's inclosing blue,
Thick-pitted all with graves; and all the graves
Save one were open-not as newly dug,
But rather as by some internal force
Riven for egress. Tombs of stone were split
And wide agape, and in their iron decay
The massive mausoleums stood in halves.
With mildewed linen all the ground was white.
Discarded shrouds upon memorial stones
Hung without motion in the soulless air.
While greatly marveling how this should be
I heard, or fancied that I heard, a voice,
Low like an angel's, delicately strong,
And sweet as music.
-'Spirit,' it said, 'behold
The burial place of universal Man!
A million years have rolled away since here
His sheeted multitudes (save only some
Whose dark misdeeds required a separate
And individual arraignment) rose
To judgment at the trumpet's summoning
And passed into the sky for their award,
Leaving behind these perishable things
Which yet, preserved by miracle, endure
Till all are up. Then they and all of earth,
Rock-hearted mountain and storm-breasted sea,
River and wilderness and sites of dead
And vanished capitals of men, shall spring
To flame, and naught shall be for evermore!
When all are risen that wonder will occur.
'Twas but ten centuries ago the last
But one came forth-a soul so black with sin,
Against whose name so many crimes were set
That only now his trial is at end.
But one remains.'
Straight, as the voice was stilled
That single rounded mound cracked lengthliwise
And one came forth in grave-clothes. For a space
He stood and gazed about him with a smile
Superior; then laying off his shroud
Disclosed his two attenuated legs
Which, like parentheses, bent outwardly
As by the weight of saintliness above,
And so sprang upward and was lost to view
Noting his headstone overthrown, I read:
'Sacred to memory of George K. Fitch,
Deacon and Editor-a holy man
Who fell asleep in Jesus, full of years
And blessedness. The dead in Christ rise first.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Last to Leave
The guns were silent, and the silent hills
had bowed their grasses to a gentle breeze
I gazed upon the vales and on the rills,
And whispered, "What of these?' and "What of these?
These long forgotten dead with sunken graves,
Some crossless, with unwritten memories
Their only mourners are the moaning waves,
Their only minstrels are the singing trees
And thus I mused and sorrowed wistfully
I watched the place where they had scaled the height,
The height whereon they bled so bitterly
Throughout each day and through each blistered night
I sat there long, and listened - all things listened too
I heard the epics of a thousand trees,
A thousand waves I heard; and then I knew
The waves were very old, the trees were wise:
The dead would be remembered evermore-
The valiant dead that gazed upon the skies,
And slept in great battalions by the shore.
poem by Leon Gellert
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The Return Of Pan
I stood upon the balcony with my brand new bride
The clink of bells came drifting down the mountainside
When in our sight something moved
- lightning eyed and cloven hooved -
The great God pan is alive!
He moves amid the modern world in disguise
Its possible to look into his immortal eyes
Hes like a man youd meet anyplace
Until you recognise that ancient face
The great God pan is alive!
At sea on a ship in a thunder storm
On the very night that christ was born
A sailor heard from overhead
A mighty voice cry pan is dead!
So follow christ as best you can
Pan is dead! long live pan!
From the olden days and up through all the years
From arcadia to the stone fields of inisheer
Some say the gods are just a myth
But guess who Ive been dancing with
The great God pan is alive!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He's mine boasted the grave in victory
‘He's mine' boasted the grave in victory
'He is dead so now he belongs to me'
Mary and Martha gazed on in despair
Wishing that Jesus had been with them there
Then Martha met Jesus coming to Bethany
to share in their deep grief and agony
Then she told Mary who came to see
and fell at His feet weeping helplessly
'Lord if only you had been on the scene
Then Lazarus' death would never have been'
Four days he had lain in Death's sepulchre
far beyond the reach of any earthly care
'Believe in the Resurrection' He said
For He had the power to raise the dead
'Yes I believe that You're the Son of God'
'Whatever You ask will be granted Lord'
'Where have you laid him? ' sadly Jesus sighed
'Come and see, Lord, ' both the women replied.
Seeing their helplessness at the graveside
Deep tears of sorrow the Son of God cried
They opened the tomb, rolled the stone away
Then they heard Jesus in a loud voice say
'Lazarus come out' and amazingly they saw
That he who had been dead was dead no more
'Remove the grave clothing and let him go'
and each semblance of death was removed so
There His power over death Jesus did show
in that town of Bethany long ago
************
I was dead and in sins sepulchre lay
And then I heard the voice of Jesus say
'Roy come forth from the dead', I came to Him
and stood at the cross wrapped in all my sin
He washed me in His blood so pure and clean
I was made the cleanest I'd ever been
Sins linen bands He removed from my soul
and I stood before Him restored and whole
Come witness the miracle taken place
Here stands a poor sinner saved by His grace
For the Holy Spirit has quickened me
And the power of Jesus has set me free
So, grave no longer gloat in victory
You've been conquered by the King of Glory
Death no longer has any hold on me
now that my Lord Jesus has set me free
Written after reading John 11: 17-44
Halley's Comet
Halley's Comet, I-said-a Halley's Comet
How could you know that I lived in a desperate world?
How could you dream that we were all made out of stone?
What is the truth, what is the faithful lasting proof?
What is the central theme to this everlasting spoof?
Knock on my windows, link up the chains
It's gotta be easy, no splinters no pain
It's Cadillac rainbows and lots of spaghetti
And I love meatballs so you better be ready
I'm going down to the central part of town
I'm going down to the central part of town
Central part of town, I'm going down
I'm going down to the central part of town
["Halley's Comet" over doo-wop]
What did I do?
And don't be blamin' eat my cashew
For everything I do to get the story
And everything I do to pull me in
And everything I say to get the title
But when they use it on me I reject it
What would you do if you ate my daddy's shoes?
What would you say if it was naturally for you?
How would you feel if it rained on ???
How would you like to have your thick strawberry goo?
I'm sinking down, it's a glorious feeling
To make a big difference, my body is reeling
Even Carl Sagan can't shine my shoes
'Cause I know deep inside it's got to ???
(mighty fine something)
I'm going down to the central part of town
I'm going down to the central part of town
I'm going down to the central part of town
I'm going down to the central part of town
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of Him I Love Day And Night
OF him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was dead;
And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love--but he was not
in that place;
And I dream'd I wander'd, searching among burial-places, to find him;
And I found that every place was a burial-place;
The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is
now;)
The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago,
Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead
as of the living,
And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living;
--And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every person and age,
And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream'd;
And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and dispense with
them; 10
And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently
everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be
satisfied;
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly
render'd to powder, and pour'd in the sea, I shall be
satisfied;
Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.
poem by Walt Whitman
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807 Opal Birthstone Of October
Opals - gems with quartz-like structure
Flash and sparkle rainbow colours
Ancient eye stone - deep red fire stone
Eastern Opals truth and faith stone
Pure white Opal - jet black Opal
Crystal clear the water Opal
Elusive - diffuse - mystery stone
Opals - gems with quartz-like structure.
Radiating nature's power
Opals found in far Australia
Central South and North America
Offer pureness hope and healing
Increase visual power and eyesight
Enhance insight faith and feeling
The Opal glows with inner light
Radiating nature's power.
Opal birthstone for October
Linked with star sign funky Libra
Weighs each Opal in his scales
Happiness it gives its wearer
The lovely Opal never fails.
Stone of fortune in Ancient Greece
In Ancient Rome the stone of peace.
Opal birthstone for October.
Opal jewel for love that's faithful
Opals gems with quartz-like structure
Radiating nature's power
Opal birthstone for October
October for birthstone Opal
Power nature's radiating
Structure like quartz with gems Opal
Faithful that's love for jewel Opal.
Dedicated to the Angel of October.
(John Knight - Freezing Colchester - 31 January 2010)
poem by John Knight
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Run, Baby, Run
She was born in november 1963
The day that aldous huxley died
And her mama believed
That every man could be free
So her mama got high, high, high
And her daddy marched on birmingham
Singing mighty protest songs
And he pictured all the places
Where he knew that shed belong
But he failed and taught her young
The only thing shed need to carry on
He taught her how to
Run baby run baby run baby run
Baby run
Past the arms of the familiar
And their talk of better days
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run
She counts out all her money
In the taxi on the way to meet her plane
Stares hopeful out the window
At the workers fighting
Through the pouring rain
Shes searching through the stations
For an unfamiliar song
And shes pictures all the places
Where she knows she still belongs
And she smiles the secret smile
Because she knows exactly how
To carry on
So run baby run baby run baby run
Baby run
From the old familiar faces and
Their old familiar ways
To the comfort of the strangers
Slipping out before they say
So long
Baby loves to run
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death of Magnus Kep
It was ages since I'd seen him,
So I felt quite out of step
With the old Etruscan sculptor
That I knew as Magnus Kep,
He was brooding in an alley
By an old Byzantine store,
Then he saw me, and he beckoned,
And we walked along the shore.
He was hunting there for marble,
For his studio in Graz,
But we stopped in at a wine bar
And we sampled their Shiraz,
And he told me things he'd never said
To anyone before,
About why he searched the Holy Land,
And ruins, by the score.
'I can see their shapes within each block
Of marble, ' he had said,
'And I know that they are waiting
To be freed, because they're dead,
But they lived so long ago that they
Are patient, in despair,
Though their limbs are still as supple,
And there's fragrance in their hair.'
I was sure the heat had got to him,
His eyes had fairly gleamed,
And I thought his mind disordered,
But I listened to his theme,
He was looking for the marble
That contained the wanton form
Of a pornographic priestess
He had glimpsed the year before.
'She was lying in the harbour,
At the bottom of the sea,
Only fifteen feet of water
Separated her from me,
She had lived a thousand years
Before the walls had tumbled in
To the harbour, where she frolicked
In the service of the king.'
Then we stopped and peered over
At the slight and gentle swell,
Down and through the clear water,
There were pillars, where they fell,
There were blackened slabs of marble lying
Scorched, as if by fire,
Where the mighty Alexander
Burned the city known as Tyre!
'Can you see her there? ' he pointed,
And I saw a marble slab,
Lying half upon a pillar,
It was worn, and dull and drab,
'Do you see that haughty forehead,
Do you see her pointed breasts? '
But I only saw a weathered stone,
He conjured all the rest.
We parted, and I heard that he
Had raised that mighty stone,
Had shipped it back to Graz where he
Could work on it alone,
The seasons came and went before
I thought to follow on,
And asked about his sculpture then,
His eyes had fairly shone.
He led me to the basement and
He showed me through the door,
He'd chiseled out just half of it,
That nearest to the floor,
The woman's legs were parted and
Inviting to the king,
Her vulva gaping proudly like
Some fertile offering.
It took my breath away, I stood
And scanned those supple thighs,
Like frankincense and myrrh they were
A balm upon my eyes,
I saw that she was locked in there,
The sculptor hadn't lied,
He'd simply chipped the stone away
And there she was, inside!
I asked him then, 'How long before
We get to see her face? '
He said it didn't matter, he
Would try to lend her grace,
'She's painted like a whore, ' he said,
'Back then, it was the thing,
Her duty was to paint her face
To please her lord, the king! '
For months I sat and wondered how
She'd looked, as she emerged,
She'd lain in stone three thousand years
When Kep had felt the urge
To chisel from her marble vault
Her buttocks, waist and thighs,
Reveal again to living men
The wonder of their eyes!
I never saw Kep whole again,
Confusing? Yes, I know!
They said they'd had to lay him out
Down at his studio.
His head was in a basket, where they'd
Shown him disrespect,
To free him from the fingers she
Had gripped... around his neck!
2 July 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Suffocated
Millie Allstruck suffocated
Her daughter. Millie held
The cushion down. Saw her
Daughter’s arms flap like
Some bird in a trap. Millie
Held her breath for as long
As she could, until the arms
Stopped flapping, until her
Bird was dead. She stood
There holding the cushion
In place waiting for sounds,
Any motion. Millie removed
The cushion, stood gaping,
Holding the cushion, breathing
In deep. Her daughter lay there
Staring into space, a sense of
Peace on her three year old face.
Millie had pushed out the cancer,
Put out the fire. She had her
Daughter back sans pains, sans
The creeping disease, sans
The long nights. She put down
The cushion, placed her daughter’s
Arms across her small chest, closed
The eyes, brushed the hair, thin
And fair. Millie Allstruck stood
And watched and saw sunlight
Touch her daughter’s head as if
The finger of God had touched
And took away. Better to have
Loved and lost than not loved at all,
Millie heard her mother once say.
poem by Terry Collett
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Why we must stay dead after we die
It is Lizard-Man, a Mewok Indian from the San Francisco
Bay Peninsula who said it must be so because the dead smell bad
and the Coyote-Man proved it according to the Ancient Myths
of the First people.
(There’s got to be The First before The Second and The Last)
During a general Powwow gathering of the Great Chieftains,
the MeadowsLark-Man, the Chief of Chiefs, agreed to the ancient
time-beyond-time covenant with LittleLizard-Man about the odor problem
The only one that didn’t agree was BlackLizard-Man.
(Looks like they had skin color discrimination then also)
Since this is an Indian tale it involves an Indian Princess,
the daughter of the GreatGreat Chief, LizardFiveFingers-Man.
BlackLizard-Man, having disagreed, collected a distinctive branch
from a magical tree and laid it across a well-known lovers trail.
(Always these illicit footpaths leading to secretive bushes)
Overnight the twig turned into a rattlesnake that bit the young woman
that evening. When found on the 4th day and brought to her father
she smelled bad by no fault of her own but solely because of
that 4th day agreement and not because she wore no deodorant.
(That is way before the advent of Pale Faces)
stipulating that no dead person can be brought to life after
they have been dead for 4 consecutive moons. That is why
to this day people who die, stay dead never coming back.
Because if they did, the bad smell would kill the Last People.
(Narcissism, the me-first philosophy, was alive and well then also)
Last People are the people that would come after the First people
as goes the Ancient Myths of the Ancient First People who,
by the way, were born without hands until the Lizard people came
which explains why we greet Friendly People with a High-Five.
(Indian ways of telling down-to-earth stories are always simplified)
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2009
AD Something
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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The Slow Nature
(an Incident of Froom Valley)
"THY husband--poor, poor Heart!--is dead--
Dead, out by Moreford Rise;
A bull escaped the barton-shed,
Gored him, and there he lies!"
--"Ha, ha--go away! 'Tis a tale, methink,
Thou joker Kit!" laughed she.
"I've known thee many a year, Kit Twink,
And ever hast thou fooled me!"
--"But, Mistress Damon--I can swear
Thy goodman John is dead!
And soon th'lt hear their feet who bear
His body to his bed."
So unwontedly sad was the merry man's face--
That face which had long deceived--
That she gazed and gazed; and then could trace
The truth there; and she believed.
She laid a hand on the dresser-ledge,
And scanned far Egdon-side;
And stood; and you heard the wind-swept sedge
And the rippling Froom; till she cried:
"O my chamber's untidied, unmade my bed,
Though the day has begun to wear!
'What a slovenly hussif!' it will be said,
When they all go up my stair!"
She disappeared; and the joker stood
Depressed by his neighbor's doom,
And amazed that a wife struck to widowhood
Thought first of her unkempt room.
But a fortnight thence she could take no food,
And she pined in a slow decay;
While Kit soon lost his mournful mood
And laughed in his ancient way.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The Only Voices I hear Are On The Inside
I was born not being able to hear
Born not hearing my mother tell me I'm dear
Born never listening to anyone who spoke to me
Born not enjoying music
Born without the ability to gauge sound, unable to hear the clock tick
But since the day I was born
Since before I could talk, I could scorn
There was one thing I always did hate
And that was the thing deepest inside of me,
The thing for which I cursed fate
Worse than deafness or being unable to see
Since the day I was born I heard voices
Not when loved ones talked, but voices that weren't my choice
To hear, voices that were inside my head
Voices that nobody else heard, but I didn't know if they were lying
Because my hearing has always been dead
I'd hear screeching or dying
When none was there
Those voices they'd tell me what to do and how could I deny them?
They were, they are, and they will be the only ones who care
Because they're the only one that speak to me, I can't find the sin
That I committed to be born like this, to be born broken
I've heard more conversations than any other man
And yet I've never heard man utter a word, through my whole lifespan
The only voices I hear are on the inside
And it's the greatest torment that I hide
They'll just tell me I'm crazy, well in writing
But these voices, they accept me, they sing
These voices they know because they've talked to me
These voices are the only I've ever known the
The first voices I've ever heard
Like a mother, I've never listened to a singing bird
But I've listened to a cacophonous symphony of arguing inside my head
These voices are like the woman I did not choose, but wed
I can't separate myself from them
The only time I hear anything, it's torment to condemn
Me, it's funny that I could never speak to anyone but myself
But I guess I've never, ever, been lonely... not ever.
I
Have
Never
Been
Alone
W ho could save me from myselves?
poem by David Knox
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He who had been dead was dead no more
‘He's mine' boasted the grave in victory
'He is dead so now he belongs to me'
But Death had forgotten about the One
Who's God's One and Only Belovèd Son.
Jesus had arrived upon that sad scene
giving hope where only despair had been.
'I am the Resurrection and Life, ' said He
'The power of Death is subject to me.'
'Where have you laid him? ' sadly Jesus sighed
'Come and see, Lord, ' both the women replied.
Seeing their helplessness at the graveside
Deep tears of sorrow the Son of God cried.
They opened the tomb, rolled the stone away
Then they heard Jesus in a loud voice say
'Lazarus come out' and amazingly they saw
That he who had been dead was dead no more.
'Remove the grave clothing and let him go'
and each semblance of death was removed so
and His power over death Jesus did show
it that town of Bethany long ago.
Passion Grows Here
she had been dead until now
oh, who knew what could grow here
under cement and cold ashes
so thick like snow
oh, who knew what passion could be there
in a heart as cold as stone
who knew what looks of vulnerability lie
behind glassy eyes
behind kind and knotted hands
oh, who knew the song of her heart
everyone knows the song
the song of life
it grows in us
when we are most unaware of it
and springs forth upon us when we don't expect
but when we are ready
and oh, are we ready
look at how many places there are to go
look at all of our brothers and sisters here in this place
write
write
know it
you know it
it cannot be contained
it is life itself
everyone has the song
oh, everyone knows this song
poem by Ms. Queenie
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The Saturday Myth
My daily routine is
To offer morning prayers
In a temple
Run and maintained by a
Board of Trustees
That Saturday I went
With all devotion and enthusiasm
But only to see a display
That the temple will be non-functional
As mother of one trustees
Passed away and temple will be open
For public only after the obituary rites are over
It struck me then
There is a myth in this part of the country
That Saturday obituary noting
Does not go single
Some such reporting will also be soon heard
Returned home with disappointment
And telling myself that
Someone else too is dead somewhere
By the time I reached home
I received a call
Informing me the demise of
A first cousin of mine
Who is younger to me
Myth or message?
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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