The Saint And The Monk
Saint Peter at the gate of Heaven displayed
The tools and terrors of his awful trade;
The key, the frown as pitiless as night,
That slays intending trespassers at sight,
And, at his side in easy reach, the curled
Interrogation points all ready to be hurled.
Straight up the shining cloudway (it so chanced
No others were about) a soul advanced
A fat, orbicular and jolly soul
With laughter-lines upon each rosy jowl-
A monk so prepossessing that the saint
Admired him, breathless, until weak and faint,
Forgot his frown and all his questions too,
Forgoing even the customary 'Who?'
Threw wide the gate and, with a friendly grin,
Said, ''Tis a very humble home, but pray walk in.'
The soul smiled pleasantly. 'Excuse me, please
Who's in there?' By insensible degrees
The impudence dispelled the saint's esteem,
As growing snores annihilate a dream.
The frown began to blacken on his brow,
His hand to reach for 'Whence?' and 'Why?' and 'How?'
'O, no offense, I hope,' the soul explained;
'I'm rather-well, particular. I've strained
A point in coming here at all; 'tis said
That Susan Anthony (I hear she's dead
At last) and all her followers are here.
As company, they'd be-confess it-rather queer.'
The saint replied, his rising anger past:
'What can I do?-the law is hard-and-fast,
Albeit unwritten and on earth unknown-
An oral order issued from the Throne.
By but one sin has Woman e'er incurred
God's wrath. To accuse Them Loud of that would be absurd.'
That friar sighed, but, calling up a smile,
Said, slowly turning on his heel the while:
'Farewell, my friend. Put up the chain and bar
I'm going, so please you, where the pretty women are.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
St. Peter At The Golden Gate
St. Peter at the Golden Gate
Explained, for me it’s much too late
That Heaven’s gate, without a doubt
Was built right there to keep me out
It’s common knowledge, I’m no Saint
But a real bad guy, I surely ain’t
Heaven knows, I’ve done some wrong
But it doesn’t mean I don’t belong
I know I’m not the most devout
But pray, St. Peter, don’t fence me out
I promise I won’t cause chagrin
To those in Heaven, all fenced in
I’ll run a casino for all to enjoy
I’ll run it as pure as an altar boy
And dear St. Peter, I give you this pledge
At Heaven’s casino, I’ll give you an edge
So you see, St. Peter, Heaven can’t wait
What’s needed in Heaven, is me, your soul mate
Do what you can to unlock the key
So together we’ll be, St. Peter and me…
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Two Husbands
Unpenitent, I grieve to state,
Two good men stood by heaven's gate,
Saint Peter coming to await.
The stopped the Keeper of the Keys,
Saying: "What suppliants are these,
Who wait me not on bended knees?
"To get my heavenly Okay
A man should have been used to pray,
Or suffered in some grievous way."
"Oh I have suffered," cried the first.
"Of wives I had the wicked worst,
Who made my life a plague accurst.
"Such martyrdom no tongue can tell;
In mercy's name it is not well
To doom me to another hell."
Saint Peter said: "I comprehend;
But tribulations have their end.
The gate is open, - go my friend."
Then said the second: "What of me?
More I deserve to pass than he,
For I've been wedded twice, you see."
Saint Peter looked at him a while,
And then he answered with a smile:
"Your application I will file.
"Yet twice in double yoke you've driven . . .
Though sinners with our Saints we leaven,
We don't take IMBECILES in heaven."
poem by Robert William Service
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Mr. Sheets
The Devil stood before the gate
Of Heaven. He had a single mate:
Behind him, in his shadow, slunk
Clay Sheets in a perspiring funk.
'Saint Peter, see this season ticket,'
Said Satan; 'pray undo the wicket.'
The sleepy Saint threw slight regard
Upon the proffered bit of card,
Signed by some clerical dead-beats:
'Admit the bearer and Clay Sheets.'
Peter expanded all his eyes:
''Clay Sheets?'-well, I'll be damned!' he cries.
'Our couches are of golden cloud;
Nothing of earth is here allowed.
I'll let you in,' he added, shedding
On Nick a smile-'but not your bedding.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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One Of The Redeemed
Saint Peter, standing at the Gate, beheld
A soul whose body Death had lately felled.
A pleasant soul as ever was, he seemed:
His step was joyous and his visage beamed.
'Good morning, Peter.' There was just a touch
Of foreign accent, but not overmuch.
The Saint bent gravely, like a stately tree,
And said: 'You have the advantage, sir, of me.'
'Renan of Paris,' said the immortal part
'A master of the literary art.
'I'm somewhat famous, too, I grieve to tell,
As controversialist and infidel.'
'That's of no consequence,' the Saint replied,
'Why, I myself my Master once denied.
'No one up here cares anything for that.
But is there nothing you were always at?
'It seems to me you were accused one day
Of _something_-what it was I can't just say.'
'Quite likely,' said the other; 'but I swear
My life was irreproachable and fair.'
Just then a soul appeared upon the wall,
Singing a hymn as loud as he could bawl.
About his head a golden halo gleamed,
As well befitted one of the redeemed.
A harp he bore and vigorously thumbed,
Strumming he sang, and, singing, ever strummed.
His countenance, suffused with holy pride,
Glowed like a pumpkin with a light inside.
'Ah! that's the chap,' said Peter, 'who declares:
'Renan's a rake and drunkard-smokes and swears.'
'Yes, that's the fellow-he's a preacher-came
From San Francisco. Mansfield was his name.'
'Do you believe him?' said Renan. 'Great Scott!
Believe? Believe the blackguard? Of course _not!
'Just walk right in and make yourself at home.
And if he pecks at you I'll cut his comb.
'He's only here because the Devil swore
He wouldn't have him, for the smile he wore.'
Resting his eyes one moment on that proof
Of saving grace, the Frenchman turned aloof,
And stepping down from cloud to cloud, said he:
'Thank you, monsieur,-I'll see if he'll have _me_.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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In Saint Gabriel's Wings
In saint gabriel's wings I fly over living waters
And all over the mountains all the way to the blue sky above
The people here on earth
Yes with Saint's Gabriel I will be in Heaven tomorrow
And I will enter the gate of heaven
And in God's above I will be because now I am dead
So don't look for me on the earth because I am not there
I am now resting in heaven forever
I shall cry in heaven
And my tears will run down from heaven
Also my spirit will be in heaven
My body is the only thing that will remain on the planet earth
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Unwritten Soul
Unwritten soul
Is my kind of man
Or is he a woman
Unwritten will never tell
When i'm feeling down
Unable to stop the frown
I think of unwritten
And the smiles
The soul gave to me
I'm your friend
I'm your brother
I will always respect you
For the smiles
And the poetry
You gave to me
I send this
With my love my friend
To thank you for the smile
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Unsaintly
Two saints on a long journey
Towards some unknown destiny
On their way met a pretty houri
At the riverside of Kaveri
She prayed them humbly
“Oh! Hermits holy! Can you take me
To the other side of Kaveri”
The younger saint said with fury
“Don’t you see oh lady?
We are saints! Don’t touch thy body!
But the older saint said kindly
“Oh! Young lady
Climb my shoulders! I’ll carry”
Crossed the river all the three
The girl left the company
Saints resumed their odyssey
After a long walk silently
Burst out the young saint wildly
“You have done something unsaintly
How could you carry that lady? ”
The older saint smiled and said coolly
“I left her at the banks of Kaveri
Do you still carry her in mind heavily? ”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Saint Dominics Preview
Shammy [chamois] cleaning all the windows,
Singing songs about edith piafs soul.
And I hear blue strains of no regredior
Across the street from cathedral notre dame.
Meanwhile back in san francisco
Were trying hard to make this whole thing blend,
As we sit upon this jagged
Storey block, with you my friend.
And its a long way to buffalo.
Its a long way to belfast city too.
And Im hoping the choice wont blow the hoist
cos this town, they bit off more than they can chew.
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview
All the orange boxes are scattered.
We get to safeways supermarket in the rain.
And everybody feels so determined
Not to feel anyone elses pain.
(you know that) no ones making no commitments
To anybody but themselves,
Hidin behind closed doorways,
Tryin to get outside, outside of empty shells
And for every cross-cuttin country corner,
For every hank williams railroad train that cried,
And all the chains, badges, flags and emblems
And every strain on every brain and every eye (? )
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview.
And the restaurant tables are completely covered.
The record company has paid out for the wine.
You got everything in the world you ever wanted
Right about now your face should wear a smile.
Thats the way it all should happen
When youre in, when youre in the state youre in;
Youve got your pen and notebook ready,
I think its about time, time for us to begin.
And were over in a 52nd street apartment,
Socializing with the whino few,
Just to be hip and get wet with the jet set.
But theyre flying too high to see my point of view.
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
As we gaze out on, as we gaze out on
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview
Saint dominics preview.
See them freedom marching,
Out on the street, freedom marching.
Saint dominics preview.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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07-18-09** Irish Love
I know I shouldn't of
But I smiled yesterday
When one of my friends
Told me a joke
'Two Irish guys
Are sitting in a pub.'
How many times have I heard
One start out like this
'One guy says to the other,
My wife's a saint
Just a pure saint
My hand to God.'
The other replies,
'Your're lucky
Mine, bless her soul,
Is stiill alive.'
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Sonnet: The Pure-drest Souls, Go To Heaven
What use is an Angelic face within
A heart of self-conceit, revenge and scorn?
What use is Saint-like man with soul of sin,
Who harbors long in mind for he’s forlorn?
Let face and eyes reflect the heart of man;
With time, the mask remains, by habit glued;
Allow the mind to run amok, we can?
Let soul with virtues, good deeds be imbued.
For Heav'n receives souls that are not defiled;
In camouflage, none can get past the gate;
Beware,0 man, like rubbish, sins get piled;
The more they stay, bad habits can't abate.
Relentless sinners can't reach God's Abode;
As Heaven has its own soul's strict dress-code.
poem by John Celes
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Heaven
Everynight I go to sleep, youre there baby inside my head
Whats the secret that you keep
Its not fair baby, I toss in bed
One night I had the strangest dream
Dreamt I made love to you
You better believe it, it felt so real
Spent the night in the sea of love
Its crazy the attraction that I feel, now baby
It hit like a heart attack, I feel in my soul
But the trains running off the track and I cant get control
Sleepwalking in the house of love
I heard saint peter was calling
As I was making love to you
Dreamed that Id died and gone to heaven
I woke up in your arms
Dreamed that I died and gone to heaven
Nothing now will ever be the same
Saint peter call me back again
Take me there baby, you got me good
I want to hear his choir of angels sing
I say a prayer baby, I knock on wood
That every night I wake up restless from the heat
You got to believe I never had such a physical dream baby
Its built on sacred ground, your image in my head
So I lay my body down on the alter of my bed
I wait in the house of love and hope for sleep to come calling
So Ill be making love to you
Dreamed that Id died and gone to heaven
I woke up in your arms
Dreamed that I died and gone to heaven
Nothing now will ever be the same
Dreamed Id died and gone to heaven
Dreamed my life was through
Dreamed Id died and gone to heaven, woke in love with you
It hit like a heart attack, it came from out of nowhere
But the trains running off the track on a fragile wing and a prayer
Sleepwalking in the house of love I heard saint peter was calling
As I was making love to you
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accepted
Charles Shortridge once to St. Peter came.
'Down!' cried the saint with his face aflame;
''Tis writ that every hardy liar
Shall dwell forever and ever in fire!'
'That's what I said the night that I died,'
The sinner, turning away, replied.
'What! _you_ said that?' cried the saint-'what! what!
_You_ said 'twas so writ? Then, faith, 'tis _not!_
I'm a devil at quoting, but I begin
To fail in my memory. Pray walk in.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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One And One Are Two
The trumpet sounded and the dead
Came forth from earth and ocean,
And Pickering arose and sped
Aloft with wobbling motion.
'What makes him fly lop-sided?' cried
A soul of the elected.
'One ear was wax,' a rogue replied,
'And isn't resurrected.'
Below him on the pitted plain,
By his abandoned hollow,
His hair and teeth tried all in vain
The rest of him to follow.
Saint Peter, seeing him ascend,
Came forward to the wicket,
And said: 'My mutilated friend,
I'll thank you for your ticket.'
'The _Call_,' said Pickering, his hand
To reach the latch extended.
Said Peter, affable and bland:
'The free-list is suspended
'What claim have you that's valid here?'
That ancient vilifier
Reflected; then, with look austere,
Replied: 'I am a liar.'
Said Peter: 'That is simple, neat
And candid Anglo-Saxon,
But-well, come in, and take a seat
Up there by Colonel Jackson.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Middle Path
The road to Hell is wide and traveled well,
With timbrels, gay, and trumpets blowing loud,
And souls won't know, if when, and how they fell,
Such that roasting, their bodies walk still proud:
But gate of Heaven opens but a slit,
Admitting few who, hardly, might squeeze in,
While Satan looks, and ready with his spit,
In case the Keeper overlooks a sin:
Might we do well, threading the middle path?
Not being vain, nor be too much a saint,
To deserve not the Devil's fiery wrath,
Yet short of being heart without a taint:
.....I hope, when Fate would finally decide,
.....I'm not despised by friends from either side.
.
.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Anagram
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
There's a snake coming out of the darkness
Parade from paradise
End the need for eden
Chase the dreams of merchandise
There is tic and toc in atomic
Leaders make a deal
The cosmic is largely comic
A con they couldn't conceal
There is no safe seat at the feast
Take your best stab at the beast
The night is turning thin
The saint is turning to sin
Raise the art to resistance
Danger dare to be grand
Pride reduced to humble pie
Diamonds down to sand
Take heart from earth and weather
The brightness of new birth
Take heart from the harvest
Shave the harvest from the earth
Reasoning is partly insane
Image just an eyeless game
The night is turning thin
The saint is turning to sin
Miracles will have their claimers
More will bow to rome
He and she are in the house
But there's only me at home
Rose is a rose of splendor
Posed to respond in the end
Lonely things like nights,
I find, end finer with a friend
I hear in the rate of her heart
A tear in the heat of the art
The night turns thin
The saint turns to sin
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smile Or Frown
Pairs of opposites
Half of them parasites
In the lives of mortals
Invading their portals!
Smile and frown one such
World of difference so much!
Smile attracts, Frown repels
Smile wins, Frown loses
Smile befriends, Frown alienates
Smile infuses love, Frown injects hatred
Smile encourages, Frown deserts
Smile strengthens, Frown weakens
Smile carries, Frown throws off
Humans alone can control
And conquer to play their role!
Sport the smile
Bid adieu to frown
Make others happy
Feel really merry!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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Down To Earth
Hope to see a strangers face
Calling out loud, come and embrace
Lull me to sleep, prolong my dreams
Hoping to find a strangers fate
Down to the summer seas
Down in a strangers hand
Holding my dream
I feel like a saint falling down to earth
I feel like an anger falling down
We dont understand her ways
We dont understand her days
I feel like a common man hanging around
Hope to find a strangers trace
Calling out loud, trapped in a maze
Give me a key and rescue me
Longing to read a strangers hand
Drown in the summer seas
Drown near a strange land
Cling to a dream
I feel like a saint falling down to earth
I feel like an anger falling down
We dont understand her ways
We dont understand her days
song performed by by Xymox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Saint Nick
Oooooooo
Merry christmas saint nick
Christmas comes this time each year
Oooooooo oooooooo
Well, way up north where the air gets cold
Theres a tale about christmas that youve all been told
And a real famous cat all dressed up in red
And he spends the whole year workin out on his sled
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Just a little bobsled we call it old saint nick
But shell walk a toboggan with a four speed stick
Shes candy-apple red with a ski for a wheel
And when santa hits the gas, man, just watch her peel
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Run run reindeer
Run run reindeer
Whoaa
Run run reindeer
Run run reindeer
He dont miss no one
And haulin through the snow at a frightenin speed
With a half a dozen deer with rudy to lead
Hes gotta wear his goggles cause the snow really flies
And hes cruisin every pad with a little surprise
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Its the little saint nick
Ooooo, little saint nick
Ahhhhhh
Oooooooo
Merry christmas saint nick
Christmas comes this time each year
Ahhhhhh
Oooooooo
Merry christmas saint nick
Christmas comes this time each year
Ahhhhhh
Oooooooo
Merry christmas saint nick
Christmas comes this time each year
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Saintly friend who describes his first visit to a strange Whore!
'I am new to the trade
Very first day like a rehearsal.
And I promise you
Being a Virgin!
These scars on thighs
My cruel drunkard Stepfather
Burnt with his cigarette butts.
I am a runaway girl
And not yet twenty believe me! '
I was awake the whole night
Chatting with her.
She was surprised in the morning
When I paid her.
'Why did you give me money for nothing?
I am so sorry as I won't be a Virgin anymore
On your next visit my dearly Saint! '
It's like a dream my friend
And I was really floating.
Obviously a restless night
A soul dancing in candle-light.
*[ 'When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloomed'
'And the soul turning to thee
O Vast and well-veiled death
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee
Over the tree tops I float thee a song
Over the rising and sinking waves
Over the myriad fields and the prairies wide.']
-Walt Whitman
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Judgment Day
Saint Peter stood, at Heaven's gate,
All souls claims to adjudicate
Saying to some souls, 'Enter in!'
'Go to Hell,' to others, 'you are steeped in sin.'
When up from earth, with a great hubbub,
Came all the members of the Tuscarora Club.
The angel Gabriel, peering out,
Said, 'What, the devil, is this noise about?'
'Gabe,' said Peter, 'There's always lots of noise,
At any get-together of the Tuscarora boys -
Those are anglers and they all tell lies
About the trout that got away, their fierceness and their size -
They want to enter Heaven, for our brooks are full of trout,
But I won't have any liars, and I'll keep the whole gang out;
No liars enter Heaven, and I'll most distinctly tell
The whole danged Tuscarora Club, it has to go to Hell.'
Then, at a little distance from the precious pearly gate,
The Tuscarora fellows paused to talk and cogitate;
One Barr said this, one Barr said that, McAlpin had his say,
But foxy Charley Roberts said, 'This is the only way -
'You'd best leave this to me,' he said. 'Just let me handle Pete
and in a trice we'll be inside upon the golden street;
I'll show him that he's one of us, because he used to be,
Himself, a brother fisher, in the Sea of Gallilee-
And I move you, Mr. President, we make the poor old dub
An honorary member of the Tuscarora Club.'
'Agreed! Agreed!' the members cried, but Manny Barr said, 'Wait!
Amend it thus 'PROVIDED - That he didn't fish with bait.''
Saint Peter saw them coming but his face was hard and stern,
He had formed his resolution from which he would not turn,
Not even Roberts' palaver would ever change him so
He'd send the Tuscarorans anywhere, but down below.
But now upon his countenance there came a look of pain,
He stepped from foot to foot, and then from foot to foot again:
He hailed a new-come resident, who near the portal stood,
A goodly Christian gentleman, whose name was Hubert Wood.
He said to him, 'Come here, my friend, and tend awhile this gate-
Just take my place for half an hour - I've got to urinate.'
With that Saint Peter hustled off. The gate-keeper pro tem
Observed the Tuscarorans and he waved his hand at them.
'Come in! come in!' he shouted, for he was an angler, too,
And he knew that anglers, as a whole, were earth's most harmless crew.
So all the Tuscarorans got to heaven, thanks to Wood,
And the Secretary's last report says, 'Fishing there is good.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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