Religious Progress
Professor dear, I think it queer
That all these good religions
('Twixt you and me, some two or three
Are schemes for plucking pigeons)
I mean 'tis strange that every change
Our poor minds to unfetter
Entails a new religion-true
As t' other one, and better.
From each in turn the truth we learn,
That wood or flesh or spirit
May justly boast it rules the roast
Until we cease to fear it.
Nay, once upon a time long gone
Man worshipped Cat and Lizard:
His God he'd find in any kind
Of beast, from a to izzard.
When risen above his early love
Of dirt and blood and slumber,
He pulled down these vain deities,
And made one out of lumber.
'Far better that than even a cat,'
The Howisons all shouted;
'When God is wood religion's good!'
But one poor cynic doubted.
'A timber God-that's very odd!'
Said Progress, and invented
The simple plan to worship Man,
Who, kindly soul! consented.
But soon our eye we lift asky,
Our vows all unregarded,
And find (at least so says the priest)
The Truth-and Man's discarded.
Along our line of march recline
Dead gods devoid of feeling;
And thick about each sun-cracked lout
Dried Howisons are kneeling.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Have you Really ever understood yourself?
Life is a journey of lessons
But we get lost in recess
on the way
Homework forgotten and neglected
far too much time
spent in play
We became followers and shirkers
Too lazy to put effort in
Where we could have made ourselves
brilliant
We just struggled with no depth within
Religion was made for the lazy
the ones who lost touch long ago
The Bible a book packed with lessons
that most of the world didn't know
A misunderstood work used in error
Wars caused through Man's ignorance
of the word
Left a world struggling in terror
long buried truth never heard
Religion was born out of fears
a lost time with nothing to hold
superstition was ripe and compelling
It caused man to become violent and bold
The truth is that man is but spirit
here on this earth as his school
a place where trial an error
have made religion the work of a fool
Spirit was given a place here
to have faith in a God it can trust
Believing in him is the answer
accepting this fact is a must
We need to get rid of religions
Cults that man now seeks for power
get back to the truth in our system
for this is the time and the hour
We have a mind so amazing
we can be anything that we think
without superstition and religion
our spirit fills with wisdom to the brink
Nothing holds back a true spirit
No religion or cult formed by man
Control by those people not Gods will
Certainly was not part of God's plan
Within us we hold all the power
That was given to us for our own
We just have to think it to receive it
The power of this not well known
Man may never learn his lessons
and have to return over again
but during the time of his schooling
he will have to start using his brain.
poem by Janice M Pickett
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Jesus Christ Touched My Heart
Jesus Christ touched my heart
each expressed sentiment rang true
when Jesus spoke each thought
asked ‘Who Will We Worship Now'?
each parable as I read I instantly knew
each parable questioned souls me and you
each parable declared truth acts we do
materialism greed preaches ego success
materialism preaches individual achievement
materialism lives in sanctuaries of gold
materialism loves windows of colored glass
materialism hates getting manicured hands dirty
materialism lives on prestige side of towns...
It has decades this soul bothered
that all the world's great religions
build huge temples to their God
or God's beautiful though shaped
by worship honouring host hands
many built in worship great houses
to their God or Gods who need
no houses to shelter chill starved
mortal suffering dirt dying bodies;
but so many temples built so few
homes for orphans the sick the poor
living flesh souls God does adore.
Where do you think noble God
in truth is to be most found?
In houses of worship countless
built by hands of his own clay?
Or in hospitals, orphanages,
soup kitchens, simple homes
of the poor; and the homeless
streets where beloved poor
so often fall asleep desperate?
Remember greed rich those first
with men are often last with God.
Jesus is most often recorded in
the company of the poor those not
approved by cream of society; not
among glittering robes of the elite
in their palaces. What example do
you think Jesus was giving? Two
of the reasons Rome hated religion
Christianity were, early Christians
refused to worship Rome's rulers as gods
and Christianity taught the slave was
equal to the master. Two lessons
world leaders so often still resent.
Even today we can still judge best
civilizations, a country by how,
they treat the least of their citizens.
Honour this scale who measures
up, who would God approve?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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None Else Can Make This Boast
How can religion head still rise
How are it’s sects yet fooled
When faith that’s based on man made lies
Is by the devil ruled
Religion says its prayers in vain
Their footing’s not on high
But Christ who died who rose again
Lives now no more to die
There’s no one else to make this boast
Not one from Heaven or earth
But Jesus through His Holy Ghost
The first with second birth
That man must die is plain to see
All flesh must meet the grave
But Christ states life; He’ll give us free
Through faith, man’s soul He’ll save
When minds this statement understand
When hearts accept these facts
Christ will raise to dwell His land
As in the book of acts
The facts are there they’re plain in view
The truth’s before our eyes
Through faith in Christ, we’re born anew
We’ve hope in Him to rise
We find these facts from deep inside
God’s Spirit leads to see
He comes to help He comes to guide
He comes as guarantee
He comes to those who’s hearts are true
Who’s faith in Christ is real
As sure as earth drinks morning dew
There’s life within God’s Seal…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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In His Hands
My soul is in the hands of God, not earthly men on earthly sod,
I have been bought by His Son, through the blood of only One.
In the Son alone, I take my stand, securely in the Father’s Hand.
A life in Heaven, I’m assured, not through religion, but my Lord.
And when I pray, I pray to Him, not to another one also with sin,
For I have access to His Throne, and He calls me His very own.
Religion is not what I profess, and to a priest, I do not confess,
As I have a Priest high above, who died for me, moved by love.
Religion did not save my soul, for it was Christ, who died for all,
All religions were diminished, when The Son said “It is Finished”.
Now all the work has been done, upon the cross by God’s Son.
I do not give mere men praise, as the Cross of Christ I will raise.
Only by Grace I’ve been saved, from a heart that’s so depraved,
Through this Grace I received, it was God’s Truth that I believed.
Saving Truth that sets men free, a Truth that flows from Calvary,
Freed of man’s religious rules, which only create religious fools.
I only have one Father in Heaven; all others are Spiritual Leaven,
Part of the coming apostasy, built through eyes that cannot see.
With Christ there’s no uncertainty, regarding my place in Eternity,
For the moment I leave this place, I shall be greeted by His face.
Through my journey in this life, I fix my eyes upon Jesus Christ,
Who opened them and my heart, with a Hope for when I depart.
A Hope, not on religious emptiness, but on His Righteousness,
Righteousness from God above, to save me by a Savior’s love.
(10/2007)
Keep Dreaming...
Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.
If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.
If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.
If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.
If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.
If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion. For as we all know,
the 'right religion' is one that you
believe in. For to think ones religion
is 'the right and only religion'
that would make billions of others,
who did not believe in your religion...wrong.
All religions, if one truly believes in
them, are the right ones.
If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.
If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.
If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.
If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.
If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand, to those in need.
Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....
If hope were a human, I would hope, that it
realized, that if we want a better world,
then we have to be better ourselves.
If Hope Were...?
Hope...Do you know what is?
Hope, anything that one wants, and at
the moment of 'hope' they do not have.
If hope were a feeling, I would hope,
it be one of honesty and integrity.
I would hope it would be love and empathy.
If hope were a food, I would hope it
would be filled with nourishment.
If hope were music, I would hope, it
was the kind of music, that you loved.
If hope were a sound, I would hope it
would by a symphony of love.
If hope were a religion, I would hope it
was your religion. For as we all know,
the 'right religion' is one that you
believe in. For to think ones religion
is 'the right and only religion'
that would make billions of others,
who did not believe in your religion...wrong.
All religions, if one truly believes in
them, are the right ones...for you.
If hope were belief, then I would hope,
that belief would be, that there is one
Supreme Being; who is by-lingual and
of all faiths, and all creeds and colors.
If hope were knowledge, I would hope,
it had patience, understanding, the
ability of comprehending the other
persons point of view. I would also hope,
that it had an unquenchable thirst,
to continue to learn by experience and
research.
If hope could be seen, I would hope, all
would see, the good in their fellow man.
If hope were a wish, I would hope
that all your dreams, and ambitions
came true.
If hope were you...if hope were me, I
would hope, we never lost sight of
those less fortunate. I would hope
we would never be so self-centered
or busy, that we neglected to extend
a helping hand to those in need.
Finally if you hope this ends, let me
conclude by saying....
If hope were a human, I would hope, that it
realized, that if we want a better world,
then we have to be better ourselves.
To kill a son
He won't say to kill son
There are various reasons
What can be dearer to kids?
Find out the correct leads
He meant to shed the dear one
No one took the notice and bothered none
Same age old sticking to orthodox views
Time is ripe now to think about dews
What do we offer in turn?
Is that only prayer for good return?
Sincere words for only well being?
Think not of worshiping to become king?
We just picked words but not spirit
It was clear and could be read even in dimly lit
It was meant to be understood by all
Good message with divine call
It is no different today
We have found the excuses on the way
We want the hope with bright ray
But do not heed what He has to say
Only three words he wanted to give
Love to others and make it to believe
No return for sins and try to forgive
Try to bear the pain and help to relieve
Poor and downtrodden are two eyes of God
Believe in Him and conscious not to be sold
Help them and get in turn all what you desire
He is there to look after all and admire
Many religions of the world has come up of their own
It had blessings from God and nicely given
Always on some understanding for followers
They will uphold the values and not lower
When some words are taken as spoken form mouth
You can’t interpret it as north for south
They are well intended and not meant to flout
The religion and preaching is all this about
It has survived the bad taste of the time and age
We have still preferred to confine to the cage
We conviniently hold the views to our advantage
We try to act differently even after reading from golden pages
God will never demand precious things from you
This is paramount fact and quite true
Nothing else is expected except true understanding
It will ever lasting and always binding
He is true father and rescues us in the time of crisis
There is laying of so much emphasis on this
He will direct us to do what ever is within our capacity
As he is fully aware and conscious of our ability
So love any religion you believe in
Pray any God you think you can close in
There may be overall change in your approach
The influence is ever lasting as such
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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In The Fulness Of Time Story Poem
The high priest cleansed the altar stone.
Prepared it for the sacrifice,
this task was his and his alone.
No lesser person would suffice.
The voice of God spoke through his priest
and no man dared to disobey
from the greatest to the least.
The high priest held the power to slay.
The sacrifice a comely youth
was not coerced he volunteered.
He had no doubt it was the truth
that for his life all debts be cleared.
Then suddenly a blinding light.
White fire consumed the altar stone,
the high priest fled in mortal fright.
The voice of “God” was but his own.
The Goddess made her wishes known.
A demonstration of her power,
she had destroyed the altar stone.
No longer need her people cower
beneath the high priests cruel rule
The could return to the old ways,
he high priest was power mad fool.
Who had perverted ways to praise
The Goddess for all that she supplied.
To keep her children clothed and fed
Her laws to everyone applied
from their birth ‘til they were dead.
There would be no more sacrifice
of pretty maid or comely youth.
Their honest worship would suffice
The Goddess re -proclaimed the truth.
That men should live in amity
obey her laws and they would thrive.
That they had strayed so foolishly.
The Goddess could and would forgive.
Beware of self appointed priests.
They do not, cannot speak for me.
But treat them as you would wild beasts
which threaten your security.
My yoke is not too hard to bear.
Just listen to your inner voice
and heed the quiet words you hear.
Be glad my children and rejoice.
I watch and ward and will protect
my children who obey my rules
The disobedient can expect
the punishment reserved for fools.
For they will surely come to grief.
No false priest can usurp my place
and propagate his false belief.
I am the guardian of your race.
Though fierce invaders seize control.
Forbidding you to worship me.
They will never achieve their goal
believers worship secretly.
In sacred groves and forest glades
as I have always bid them to.
The loyal youths and faithful maids
to my commands will remain true.
Religions come, religions go
as new religions take their place.
But as my true believers know.
Only the goddess rules by grace.
The old religion ever new
although sometimes its underground
or camouflaged but in full view.
In all religions I am found.
Still worshipped under different names.
Regarded as a saint sometimes.
Like children’s silly party games
I will endure through trying times.
My faithful daughters know its me
but let the priests think otherwise.
Their stiff necked pride won’t let them see.
What’s happening before their eyes.
In time I’ll take my rightful place
be worshipped universally.
Return men to a state of grace
where everyone lives peacefully..
15-Apr-08
Http: //blog.myspace.com. /poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Religion or Life
Religion I hate, Life I love; one’s from earth the other from above,
The Life I love is from God, while religion is from this earthly sod.
A religion of earth leads to death; Life from God is eternal breath,
New Life is given by Christ Jesus, as religion will only mislead us.
Religion, call it what you may, distorts Truth from God’s only way,
The way provided to all of us, who in God’s Word place their trust,
New Life from God, in His Son, regarding truth, is second to none,
For religion truthfully has no part, in truly changing a sinner’s heart.
Religion can make us feel good, creating a common brotherhood,
Filling life with religious stuff, but salvifically it doesn’t do enough.
It doesn’t reach the heart of men, inspiring them to be Born Again,
Through the Spirit of Jesus Christ, who alone offers men New Life.
Religion can fill a need on earth, but, eternally men need new birth,
We need to be born spiritually, to have new life with God eternally.
All religions on earth my friend, with the world will come to an end,
While all who have Life from God, will live beyond this earthly sod.
Religion comes in many forms, and around men’s ways conforms,
While God’s Only Way is higher, with Eternal Life being His desire,
Which will be granted to all of us, who, in His Son place their trust,
A Life far above all man’s ways, while giving to God eternal praise.
(Copyright ©06/2008)
The Way, The Truth, The Light
We were born into that fake religion
But now we are so glad we got out
For Truth always wins over deception
As Faith shows what God is about.
My children and I were Catholic
I say 'were' because that was the past
To be fooled forever is indeed pathetic
But all the plans of God were steadfast
He made a way for us to know Him
In circumstances quite like Damascus
At a time in our lives when all was dim
We encountered the LORD Christ Jesus
His Word through the Bible removed the scales
From our blinded eyes filled with falsehood
By the Light of His Spirit Who never fails
Christ in us leading towards all that is good
From glory to glory in His image and likeness
His work in us now destined for completion
We are free to worship in spirit and brightness
The One True God and not man's religion.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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I Got It Bad
(1941) paul francis webster, duke ellington
My baby ever treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain't good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
But when the weekend's over and monday rolls aroun'
I end up like i start out just cryin' my heart out
He don't love me like i love him nobody could
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Like alonely weeping willow lost in the wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
And the things i tell my pillow no woman should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Tho folks with good intentions tell me to save my tears
I'm glad i'm mad about him i can't live without him
Lord above me make him love me the way he should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Original lyric
The poets say that all who love are blind
But i'm in love and i know what time it is!
The good book says "go seek and ye shall find"
Well, i have sought and my what a climb it is!
My life is just like the weather
It changes with the hours
When he's near i'm fair and warmer
When he's gone i'm cloudy with showers;
In emotion, like the ocean it's either sink or swim
When a woman loves a man like i love him.
Never treats me sweet and gentle the way he should;
I got it bad and that ain't good!
My poor heart is sentimental not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
But when the weekend's over and monday rolls aroun'
I end up like i start out just cryin' my heart out
He don't love me like i love him nobody could
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Like alonely weeping willow lost in the wood
I got it bad and that ain't good!
And the things i tell my pillow no woman should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
Tho folks with good intentions tell me to save my tears
I'm glad i'm mad about him i can't live without him
Lord above me make him love me the way he should
I got it bad and that ain't good!
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leticia II
Of the horned owl,
Of the little owl,
Of the fisher owl,
Of the screech owl,
Of the white owl,
Of the desert owl;
But, do not hold back the wages of a hired man overnight!
Of the large lizard,
Of the monitor lizard,
Of the sand lizard;
And like the spreading of mildew in a home!
But, the blood of the tresspass offering is now seen around;
Because, the life of the flesh is in the blood.
Do not eat blood oh my sweet Leticia! !
And learn from the old paths always in this life;
For, the truth is always the truth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Got It Bad
Never treats me sweet and gentle
The way he should
'cause i got it bad, and that ain't good
My poor heart is sentimental
Not made of wood
I got it bad, and that ain't good
But when the weekend's over
And monday rolls around
My man and me,
We pray some,
We gin some
And sin some
He don't love me
Like i love him
Nobody could
I got it bad, and that ain't good
Now folks with good intentions
Tell me to save my tears
I'm glad i'm mad about him
I can't live without him
Lord above me,
Make him love me
The way he should
Like a lonesome weeping willow
Lost in the wood
The way i hug my pillow
No woman should
Because i got it bad, and that ain't good
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lie
Wake up now or you’ll miss the boat.
As you are sleeping, he’s slitting your throat.
His joy is watching your slow painful death.
He cannot wait ‘til your final breath.
He’ll distract you with things, that you know are not right.
He’ll strengthen his grip as he squeezes you tight.
As you lose everything that you once held so dear.
And he’ll fill your heart with hurt, pain and fear.
You’re so blinded as you walk far down Satan’s path.
One day you will fall when you feel the Lord’s wrath.
There’s a price you will pay, once you’ve see what you’ve done.
And you’ll see it wasn’t worth what you once thought was fun.
You seek cold, hard cash, hot sex, and pure greed.
Satan convinces that’s all that you need.
As the money is now, not what’s hard and what’s cold.
It’s your heart and your soul and it’s for what it’s been sold.
And the sex that’s so hot and it fills your desire.
Hell’s also real hot, you’re consumed by this fire.
All the words that they use to describe all these sins.
Is what it does to your soul and you lose, Satan wins.
The truth of this all is so easy to see.
I know this is true, Satan at one time had me.
I cannot believe that I once was so blind.
But when your surrounded by lies, the truth you can't find.
But don’t take my advice, you will learn for yourself.
As you put this advice away on a shelf.
And when you look back, you’ll see this was true.
Once you’ve lost everything that was so dear to you.
The lies that you live and the people you hurt.
Is draining all that is good from your dirt.
One day nothing will grow from your dead, cracked, parched soil.
He will laugh as your soul feels his pain and turmoil.
As your life blood is drained and he’s emptied your soul.
You will know you have been under Satan’s control.
So for you I will pray to my Father who saves.
That your souls can be freed from Satan’s deep and dark graves.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Prayer For a New Mother
The things she knew, let her forget again-
The voices in the sky, the fear, the cold,
The gaping shepherds, and the queer old men
Piling their clumsy gifts of foreign gold.
Let her have laughter with her little one;
Teach her the endless, tuneless songs to sing,
Grant her her right to whisper to her son
The foolish names one dare not call a king.
Keep from her dreams the rumble of a crowd,
The smell of rough-cut wood, the trail of red,
The thick and chilly whiteness of the shroud
That wraps the strange new body of the dead.
Ah, let her go, kind Lord, where mothers go
And boast his pretty words and ways, and plan
The proud and happy years that they shall know
Together, when her son is grown a man.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Proud Pagan
Sky clad we dance the circle round.
Sing hymns of praise to Mother Moon.
The sacred grove was filled with sound
as we gave thanks for good fortune.
We harm no one, this is our law
but rather helped all whom we could.
We are well versed in herbal lore.
because Goddess ruled that we should,
The Christians came and tried by force
to make us change our allegiance
With dire penalties of course
if we refused obedience.
We quickly learnt how to deceive
the foreign priests, seem to obey.
But secretly we still believe
and worship in the age old way.
The Christians may rule the land
but can’t command our loyalty.
We know they do not understand.
They will not change us easily.
The old religion did not die
although the Christians thought it would.
The Goddess’ symbol in the sky
made certain that it never could..
So we still worshipped secretly
Still sky clad danced beneath the moon.
Pretending Christianity
but dancing to an older tune.
Although this happened long ago
The goddess rules us still today.
Deep in their hearts the faithful know.
The old way is a better way.
Today we worship openly
as we have every right to do.
Protected constitutionally
we need not hide from public view.
We face no persecution
except from fundamentalists.
Bigots of all religions,
who show that hatred still persists.
We do our best to do no harm
to anyone in any way.
Though some still view us with alarm
This is still true I’m sad to say.
I am a pagan proud to be.
A family tradition
I try to follow faithfully
the laws of my religion.
14-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If God Is Real
What religion is God does anyone know,
We worship so many as they all come and go,
New ones will appear every other day,
Are they right or wrong who is to say.
We have Christians and Muslims, Jehovah's and Jews,
Buddhists and Mormons there's Sikhs and Hindus,
There are thousands of others too numerous to mention,
What is it Gods have that attracts our attention.
Every religion will try to lay claim,
Their God is supreme, while the others are lame,
When they war with each other for each person they kill,
Be it sister or brother they'll claim it's Gods will.
How can they say this are these Gods raving mad,
To create mayhem and murder is really quite sad,
Genocide is something no God would allow,
Peace and forgiveness is what the Lord would endow.
The fact of the matter is are any of us right,
We really don't know as our God's out of sight,
Do they have a gender are they female or male,
Will we ever discover that Holy Grail.
What colour are these Gods who have us under their spell,
We all claim he / she's ours yet none of us can tell,
As God's never been seen how can we be sure,
Ours is the right one which one is pure.
We won't get to meet until the day we die,
Only then will we know if God's truth or a lie,
Faith from within is what will keep us strong,
If we stay honest and true we won't go far wrong.
Religion to some is their reason for living,
To abuse that trust is so unforgiving,
Gods don't need money so where does it go,
Funding lavish lifestyles for those in the know.
To some Gods an industry, money comes easy,
Using this to make cash is really quite queasy,
But the day will come when they'll meet their maker,
Their God will distinguish the real from the faker.
The problem with humans is where there's money to be made,
They'll use any avenue they don't care who's betrayed.
If you've abused Gods trust there will be no appeal,
When you expire you'll find out,
‘' If God Is Real ‘'
Poor Skeleton Steps Out
Poor skeleton steps out,
Dressed up in bad blood,
Bad brains, bad thoughts, and others deeds.
Poor skeleton no doubt,
One of these days,
You can cast aside your human, be free.
When the cities run with blood,
And you drink our health in mud,
All flesh be gone.
Save your dry and joyous shout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Sprung from his life sentence,
Deep inside some muscle mask.
Poor skeleton devout,
Propping up truck drivers,
Filmstars, thieves or queens, your brave task.
When technology is rust,
And you write your book in dust,
All flesh be gone.
Cant buy tickets from a tout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Liberated from sex organs,
And brown, black, white skin.
Poor skeleton you lout,
Dont you think that we might,
Like to have been asked to join in?
For good skeletons are we,
And were dying to be free,
All flesh be gone.
I will scream or sulk and pout,
Until my poor skeleton steps out.
Better watch out, here comes bony boy.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Workbox
See, here's the workbox, little wife,
That I made of polished oak.'
He was a joiner, of village life;
She came of borough folk.
He holds the present up to her
As with a smile she nears
And answers to the profferer,
''Twill last all my sewing years!'
'I warrant it will. And longer too.
'Tis a scantling that I got
Off poor John Wayward's coffin, who
Died of they knew not what.
'The shingled pattern that seems to cease
Against your box's rim
Continues right on in the piece
That's underground with him.
'And while I worked it made me think
Of timber's varied doom;
One inch where people eat and drink,
The next inch in a tomb.
'But why do you look so white, my dear,
And turn aside your face?
You knew not that good lad, I fear,
Though he came from your native place?'
'How could I know that good young man,
Though he came from my native town,
When he must have left there earlier than
I was a woman grown?'
'Ah, no. I should have understood!
It shocked you that I gave
To you one end of a piece of wood
Whose other is in a grave?'
'Don't, dear, despise my intellect,
Mere accidental things
Of that sort never have effect
On my imaginings.'
Yet still her lips were limp and wan,
Her face still held aside,
As if she had known not only John,
But known of what he died.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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