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Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris

Dear Virgin Mary, far away,
Look down from Heaven while I pray.
Open your golden casement high,
And lean way out beyond the sky.
I am so little, it may be
A task for you to harken me.

O Lady Mary, I have bought
A candle, as the good priest taught.
I only had one penny, so
Old Goody Jenkins let it go.
It is a little bent, you see.
But Oh, be merciful to me!

I have not anything to give,
Yet I so long for him to live.
A year ago he sailed away
And not a word unto today.
I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall
But never does he come at all.

Other ships have entered port
Their voyages finished, long or short,
And other sailors have received
Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved.
My heart is bursting for his hail,
O Virgin, let me spy his sail.

~Hull down on the edge of a sun-soaked sea
Sparkle the bellying sails for me.
Taut to the push of a rousing wind
Shaking the sea till it foams behind,
The tightened rigging is shrill with the song:
'We are back again who were gone so long.'~

One afternoon I bumped my head.
I sat on a post and wished I were dead
Like father and mother, for no one cared
Whither I went or how I fared.
A man's voice said, 'My little lad,
Here's a bit of a toy to make you glad.'

Then I opened my eyes and saw him plain,
With his sleeves rolled up, and the dark blue stain
Of tattooed skin, where a flock of quail
Flew up to his shoulder and met the tail
Of a dragon curled, all pink and green,
Which sprawled on his back, when it was seen.

He held out his hand and gave to me
The most marvellous top which could ever be.
It had ivory eyes, and jet-black rings,
And a red stone carved into little wings,
All joined by a twisted golden line,
And set in the brown wood, even and fine.

Forgive me, Lady, I have not brought
My treasure to you as I ought,
But he said to keep it for his sake
And comfort myself with it, and take
Joy in its spinning, and so I do.
It couldn't mean quite the same to you.

Every day I met him there,
Where the fisher-nets dry in the sunny air.
He told me stories of courts and kings,
Of storms at sea, of lots of things.
The top he said was a sort of sign
That something in the big world was mine.

~Blue and white on a sun-shot ocean.
Against the horizon a glint in motion.
Full in the grasp of a shoving wind,
Trailing her bubbles of foam behind,
Singing and shouting to port she races,
A flying harp, with her sheets and braces.~

O Queen of Heaven, give me heed,
I am in very utmost need.
He loved me, he was all I had,
And when he came it made the sad
Thoughts disappear. This very day
Send his ship home to me I pray.

I'll be a priest, if you want it so,
I'll work till I have enough to go
And study Latin to say the prayers
On the rosary our old priest wears.
I wished to be a sailor too,
But I will give myself to you.

I'll never even spin my top,
But put it away in a box. I'll stop
Whistling the sailor-songs he taught.
I'll save my pennies till I have bought
A silver heart in the market square,
I've seen some beautiful, white ones there.

I'll give up all I want to do
And do whatever you tell me to.
Heavenly Lady, take away
All the games I like to play,
Take my life to fill the score,
Only bring him back once more!

~The poplars shiver and turn their leaves,
And the wind through the belfry moans and grieves.
The gray dust whirls in the market square,
And the silver hearts are covered with care
By thick tarpaulins. Once again
The bay is black under heavy rain.~

The Queen of Heaven has shut her door.
A little boy weeps and prays no more.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Forsaken

Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I am very weary. I have come
from a village miles away, all day I have been coming, and I ache for such
far roaming. I cannot walk as light as I used, and my thoughts grow confused.
I am heavier than I was. Mary Mother, you know the cause!

Beautiful Holy Lady, take my shame away from me! Let this fear
be only seeming, let it be that I am dreaming. For months I have hoped
it was so, now I am afraid I know. Lady, why should this be shame,
just because I haven't got his name. He loved me, yes, Lady, he did,
and he couldn't keep it hid. We meant to marry. Why did he die?

That day when they told me he had gone down in the avalanche, and could not
be found until the snow melted in Spring, I did nothing. I could not cry.
Why should he die? Why should he die and his child live? His little child
alive in me, for my comfort. No, Good God, for my misery! I cannot face
the shame, to be a mother, and not married, and the poor child to be reviled
for having no father. Merciful Mother, Holy Virgin, take away this sin I did.
Let the baby not be. Only take the stigma off of me!

I have told no one but you, Holy Mary. My mother would call me 'whore',
and spit upon me; the priest would have me repent, and have
the rest of my life spent in a convent. I am no whore, no bad woman,
he loved me, and we were to be married. I carried him always in my heart,
what did it matter if I gave him the least part of me too? You were a virgin,
Holy Mother, but you had a son, you know there are times when a woman
must give all. There is some call to give and hold back nothing.
I swear I obeyed God then, and this child who lives in me is the sign.
What am I saying? He is dead, my beautiful, strong man! I shall never
feel him caress me again. This is the only baby I shall have.
Oh, Holy Virgin, protect my baby! My little, helpless baby!

He will look like his father, and he will be as fast a runner and as good
a shot. Not that he shall be no scholar neither. He shall go to school
in winter, and learn to read and write, and my father will teach him to carve,
so that he can make the little horses, and cows, and chamois,
out of white wood. Oh, No! No! No! How can I think such things,
I am not good. My father will have nothing to do with my boy,
I shall be an outcast thing. Oh, Mother of our Lord God, be merciful,
take away my shame! Let my body be as it was before he came.
No little baby for me to keep underneath my heart for those long months.
To live for and to get comfort from. I cannot go home and tell my mother.
She is so hard and righteous. She never loved my father, and we were born
for duty, not for love. I cannot face it. Holy Mother, take my baby away!
Take away my little baby! I don't want it, I can't bear it!

And I shall have nothing, nothing! Just be known as a good girl.
Have other men want to marry me, whom I could not touch, after having known
my man. Known the length and breadth of his beautiful white body,
and the depth of his love, on the high Summer Alp, with the moon above,
and the pine-needles all shiny in the light of it. He is gone, my man,
I shall never hear him or feel him again, but I could not touch another.
I would rather lie under the snow with my own man in my arms!

So I shall live on and on. Just a good woman. With nothing to warm my heart
where he lay, and where he left his baby for me to care for. I shall not be
quite human, I think. Merely a stone-dead creature. They will respect me.
What do I care for respect! You didn't care for people's tongues
when you were carrying our Lord Jesus. God had my man give me my baby,
when He knew that He was going to take him away. His lips will comfort me,
his hands will soothe me. All day I will work at my lace-making,
and all night I will keep him warm by my side and pray the blessed Angels
to cover him with their wings. Dear Mother, what is it that sings?
I hear voices singing, and lovely silver trumpets through it all. They seem
just on the other side of the wall. Let me keep my baby, Holy Mother.
He is only a poor lace-maker's baby, with a stain upon him,
but give me strength to bring him up to be a man.

poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Special Prayer to the Blessed Mary Ever Virgin

Hail O Mary, full of grace!
Ev’r virgin with heav’nly gaze!
Mother of Christ and human race!
Bless’d lady with divine face!

Handmaiden of Son of God;
Woman who crushed the Serpent’s head;
Help of dying and those dead;
Favoured-most amongst kindred!

Virgin who bore Christ Jesus;
Have pity and pray for us;
Don our souls with Heaven’s dress;
Free us from all sins, trespass!

Mary with heart immaculate;
Succour to souls until date;
One who changes hell-bound state;
We pray, plead to better our fate!

Queen atop God’s mountain’s peak!
Perpetual aid of those who seek;
Mediatrix, miraculous, meek;
Strengthen minds, bodies, hearts weak!

Sorrowing heart that bears sorrows;
One who makes pleasant morrows;
Comfort of hearts pierced with arrows;
Better our lives and how world goes!

Mary with her Lamb of God;
Mother of the Saviour Lord;
‘Rosaried’ Virgin of Word;
Grant Peace to all souls and world!

Mary assumed into Heaven!
Give us health, relieve our pain;
Change to boon, our every bane;
Help us walk in Heaven’s lane!

poem by John Celes
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Murtagh The Cobbler

The harvest moon was shinin’
As Murtagh came from the fair,
And Oh! The scent of the new-mown hay
And the gorsebloom in the air.

The night wind lifted his shock of hair
With whisperings weird and low,
And sang in his lonely, aching heart
Till he could not choose but go.

Aside from the dusky highway
Down a haunted old boreen
To where a strange light flickered
In under the hollies green--

All night he spent in that fairy dell,
Till the red dawn stained the sky;
And he sold his soul to the fairy folk
For the gift of the seeing eye.

Now he dwells in the mountain cabin,
Silent and unafraid,
The cabin his Father left him,
With the tools of his cobbler’s trade.

He has no hope of Heaven,
He has no fear of Hell,
But he shrinks with a passing shiver
At the sound of the chapel bell.

Th stern young priest came storming,
Ah! ‘tis bitter and cross was he,
But Murtagh gazed with clouded eyes
At the far-off shining sea.

And the wise old priest came pleading
With his understanding eyes;
Ah! Non can know the heart of a man
Like a priest grown old and wise.

But the bitter word and the kind word
Went by on the whispering wind,
For Murtagh’s eyes were seeing
Things hid from all human kind.

Below at the village fireside
By the flickering turf-fires flame,
Prays a little blue-eyes girsha
Sickly and frail and lame.

Till the smoky air around her
Is vibrant with angels’ wings,
For the heart of the child is near to God
And akin to holy things.

She prays and prays for Murtagh,
Who has been her friend for so long,
Who fashioned her crutch of mountain ash
And cheered her with smile and song.

And I know that the Lord of Mercy
Will hark to her cry of pain;
And turn his steps from the erring path
And give Murtagh his soul again.

poem by Alice Guerin Crist
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sister Helen

"Why did you melt your waxen man
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You'll let me play, for you said I might."
"Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

"You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well."
"Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
O what is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day,
Sister Helen;
How like dead folk he has dropp'd away!"
"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What of the dead, between Hell and Heaven?)

"See, see, the sunken pile of wood,
Sister Helen,
Shines through the thinn'd wax red as blood!"
"Nay now, when look'd you yet on blood,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Now close your eyes, for they're sick and sore,
Sister Helen,
And I'll play without the gallery door."
"Aye, let me rest,--I'll lie on the floor,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What rest to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Here high up in the balcony,
Sister Helen,
The moon flies face to face with me."
"Aye, look and say whatever you see,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Outside it's merry in the wind's wake,
Sister Helen;
In the shaken trees the chill stars shake."
"Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

"I hear a horse-tread, and I see,
Sister Helen,
Three horsemen that ride terribly."
"Little brother, whence come the three,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar,
Sister Helen,
And one draws nigh, but two are afar."
"Look, look, do you know them who they are,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Who should they be, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white mane on the blast."
"The hour has come, has come at last,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He has made a sign and called Halloo!
Sister Helen,
And he says that he would speak with you."
"Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Why laughs she thus, between Hell and Heaven?)

"The wind is loud, but I hear him cry,
Sister Helen,
That Keith of Ewern's like to die."
"And he and thou, and thou and I,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Three days ago, on his marriage-morn,
Sister Helen,
He sicken'd, and lies since then forlorn."
"For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Three days and nights he has lain abed,
Sister Helen,
And he prays in torment to be dead."
"The thing may chance, if he have pray'd,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
If he have pray'd, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But he has not ceas'd to cry to-day,
Sister Helen,
That you should take your curse away."
"My prayer was heard,--he need but pray,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?)

"But he says, till you take back your ban,
Sister Helen,
His soul would pass, yet never can."
"Nay then, shall I slay a living man,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

"But he calls for ever on your name,
Sister Helen,
And says that he melts before a flame."
"My heart for his pleasure far'd the same,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white plume on the blast."
"The hour, the sweet hour I forecast,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)

"He stops to speak, and he stills his horse,
Sister Helen;
But his words are drown'd in the wind's course."
"Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,
Little brother!" .
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh he says that Keith of Ewern's cry,
Sister Helen,
Is ever to see you ere he die."
"In all that his soul sees, there am I
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He sends a ring and a broken coin,
Sister Helen,
And bids you mind the banks of Boyne."
"What else he broke will he ever join,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
No, never join'd, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He yields you these and craves full fain,
Sister Helen,
You pardon him in his mortal pain."
"What else he took will he give again,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He calls your name in an agony,
Sister Helen,
That even dead Love must weep to see."
"Hate, born of Love, is blind as he,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Love turn'd to hate, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white hair on the blast."
"The short short hour will soon be past,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He looks at me and he tries to speak,
Sister Helen,
But oh! his voice is sad and weak!"
"What here should the mighty Baron seek,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,
Sister Helen,
The body dies but the soul shall live."
"Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,
Sister Helen,
To save his dear son's soul alive."
"Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)

"He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
Sister Helen,
To go with him for the love of God!"
"The way is long to his son's abode,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!)

"A lady's here, by a dark steed brought,
Sister Helen,
So darkly clad, I saw her not."
"See her now or never see aught,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?)

"Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,
Sister Helen,
On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair."
"Blest hour of my power and her despair,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Hour blest and bann'd, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,
Sister Helen,
'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago."
"One morn for pride and three days for woe,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Her clasp'd hands stretch from her bending head,
Sister Helen;
With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed."
"What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What strain but death's, between Hell and Heaven?)

"She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,
Sister Helen,--
She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon."
"Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!)

"They've caught her to Westholm's saddle-bow,
Sister Helen,
And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow."
"Let it turn whiter than winter snow,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Woe-wither'd gold, between Hell and Heaven!)

"O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,
Sister Helen!
More loud than the vesper-chime it fell."
"No vesper-chime, but a dying knell,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
Sister Helen;
Is it in the sky or in the ground?"
"Say, have they turn'd their horses round,
Little brother?"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?)

"They have rais'd the old man from his knee,
Sister Helen,
And they ride in silence hastily."
"More fast the naked soul doth flee,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Flank to flank are the three steeds gone,
Sister Helen,
But the lady's dark steed goes alone."
"And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown,
Little brother."
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
Sister Helen,
And weary sad they look by the hill."
"But he and I are sadder still,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)

"See, see, the wax has dropp'd from its place,
Sister Helen,
And the flames are winning up apace!"
"Yet here they burn but for a space,
Little brother! "
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!)

"Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
Sister Helen?
Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?"
"A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
Little brother!"
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brandy

There's a port on a western bay
And it serves a hundred ships a day
Lonely sailors pass the time away
And talk about their homes
And there's a girl in this harbor town
And she works layin' whiskey down
They say "Brandy, fetch another round"
She serves them whiskey and wine
The sailors say "Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"Yeah your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
Brandy wears a braided chain
Made of finest silver from the North of Spain
A locket that bears the name
Of the man that Brandy loves
He came on a summer's day
Bringin' gifts from far away
But he made it clear he couldn't stay
No harbor was his home
The sailor said " Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
Yeah, Brandy used to watch his eyes
When he told his sailor stories
She could feel the ocean foam rise
She saw its ragin' glory
But he had always told the truth, lord, he was an honest man
And Brandy does her best to understand
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
At night when the bars close down
Brandy walks through a silent town
And loves a man who's not around
She still can hear him say
She hears him say " Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
"Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
FADE
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea

song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tattooed Man

He looked like a common sailor
As he wandered up from the port,
Carried his swag on his shoulder,
Wore a cap of the jaunty sort,
His eyes were livid and bloodshot,
Staring, under a tattooed brow,
And on his cheeks, a scatter of stars
As seen from an old ship's prow.

He stopped at the Mariners Arms
And bought a room on the upper floor,
Went out and stood on the balcony,
And stared on down at the square,
He'd left his shirt in the tiny room,
His torso, full in view,
There wasn't an inch of his sailor skin
Untouched by a bright tattoo.

His arms were covered in serpents
Writhing up, and under his chin,
His shoulders, Chinese Characters,
Of Ports, where he might have been,
His sides were covered in fungi
Found in tropical forest glades,
And down on his muscular midriff
The ubiquitous Queen of Spades.

And there on his chest in colours
Very subtle, and so refined,
There lay a naked woman
Baring all as she lay reclined,
Her lips were coloured in scarlet gloss
And pursed in a sensual pout,
Her eyes a searching, brilliant blue
That would find her lover out.

He turned away from the village square
And rested back on the rail,
So now the tattoos across his back
Could be seen... a Schooner's sail,
With storm-filled clouds and a rising swell
As the breakers slid on by,
And over the top, above it all
A piercing, staring eye!

For every passer-by that stared
The eye had stared them back,
Had stared right into the guilty soul
Where every sin was black!
And hairs rose up on the back of the neck,
And shivers ran down the spine,
As guilt drove men to the 'Man of War'
To drown their fears in wine!

And I... I came to the Mariners Arms
And I saw the tattoos there,
And the woman, bared on the sailor's chest
Made me quake and shake in fear,
For the face was unmistakable,
I had left her safe at home,
That face of lust was the woman I trust,
Was the wife I knew as Joan.

For days the sailor prowled the streets
And he peered through windows there,
But he never wore a shirt nor coat,
And he kept his torso bare,
The tattoos seemed to come to life
As he moved, they moved with him,
I saw the serpents flickering tongues
Reach out, and under his chin!

And from his back, the eye stared out
Made strong men weak and quail,
Their knees gave way as it stared them down
And they felt their courage fail,
Then Joan saw him in the market place,
And stood there, hypnotized,
As she stared at the face on the sailor's chest,
And he pierced her, with his eyes.

I saw her enter the Mariners Arms
And I tried to call her back,
But she walked like one in a crazy dream
And I heard her call him, 'Jack...'
They disappeared up the stairway,
Made their way to the upper floor,
I had raced to the top of the stairs when they
Went in, and locked the door.

Out in the street, the clouds rolled in
And the sea beat up on the shore,
The rain came down in a torrent,
Lightning flashed at the old Inn door,
Then he came out on the balcony,
Turned round, and showed his back,
Clung to the mast of the Schooner
There was a woman, dressed in black!

I followed the sailor down the street
In the wind and the pouring rain,
As lightning lit the storm on his back
And the woman screamed in pain,
But on his chest was an open space
And the eye had stared me down,
As he boarded a battered Schooner,
And then sailed away from the town!

24 August 2010

poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Indian Summer

Barry gibb/larry gatlin
You were a lady - like lady I was a boy running wild
The way that you used everything that God gave you
I gave you my heart like a child, one moment you took me to heaven
Took me back to earth and then before I woke up to the fact I was small you took me back to heaven again
And I remember the indian summer how you held me, how you loved me (loved me loved me)
The world may give me a million reasons but reasons dont make it wrong
Every lesson I learned has a price in return I was lost in my youth and to tell you the truth
I was empty and you filled me with a glow of love a loving loves may die
Just to hear you that sees me through, oh what Id give to re-live all the indian summers with you
So many hearts have been broken (dum dum dum dum-by do wah)
You had no trouble with mine like a fool I was there for the taking (but then)
It was only a matter of time you can lie in the sun with the warm wind blowing
Just knowing youve already paid but you cant live alone in an indian summer at 110 in the shade
And I remember (and I remember) the indian summer
How you held me in the moonlight
We were riding along on a silver dream never dreaming it off our head
And if Id known Id lose you the moment I found you Id love you all over again
Cos Im still empty (Im still empty) come fill me ( come fill me)
With a fire of love your flame will follow flame cos its all I want to do
Oh what Id give to re-live all the indian summers with you
Oh what Id give to re-live all the indian summers with you
Oh what Id give to re-live all the indian summers with you
Oh what Id give to re-live all the indian summers with you-oooooooooooooooooo

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raven

And as the raven flies she feels unwelcome
She's fallen out of her tree and caught on a limb of silver lining
Her wings uncertain oh but she's still flying
Yeah little Raven I see you there
Hold your head up now
I won't try and pull your feathers out I promise
Go on dry your eyes
You know that I've forgiven you and I'm sorry
And everything till now
It wasn't that bad really
Beautiful lady
Why don't you fly with me
We'll have a chat and a cup of tea
And a long lost need to see who's really there
And you'll finally be okay with me
And I'll hear your stories
That fill your sad eyes
When you had raven hair
Hold your high up high
I know that I've been ruthless
I've been ruthless
Go on dry your eyes
You know that I've forgiven you and I'm sorry
And everything till now
It wasn't that bad really
Beautiful lady
Go on dry your eyes
Hey you finally see me - hi
And I see you
And everything till now
It wasn't that bad really
Beautiful lady
Go on dry your eyes
You know that I've forgiven you and I'm sorry
And everything till now
It wasn't that bad really
Beautiful lady

song performed by by Lisa Marie Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Child and the Mariner

A dear old couple my grandparents were,
And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven
The lamb that Jesus petted when a child;
Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them
Death was a rainbow in Eternity,
That promised everlasting brightness soon.
An old seafaring man was he; a rough
Old man, but kind; and hairy, like the nut
Full of sweet milk. All day on shore he watched
The winds for sailors' wives, and told what ships
Enjoyed fair weather, and what ships had storms;
He watched the sky, and he could tell for sure
What afternoons would follow stormy morns,
If quiet nights would end wild afternoons.
He leapt away from scandal with a roar,
And if a whisper still possessed his mind,
He walked about and cursed it for a plague.
He took offence at Heaven when beggars passed,
And sternly called them back to give them help.
In this old captain's house I lived, and things
That house contained were in ships' cabins once:
Sea-shells and charts and pebbles, model ships;
Green weeds, dried fishes stuffed, and coral stalks;
Old wooden trunks with handles of spliced rope,
With copper saucers full of monies strange,
That seemed the savings of dead men, not touched
To keep them warm since their real owners died;
Strings of red beads, methought were dipped in blood,
And swinging lamps, as though the house might move;
An ivory lighthouse built on ivory rocks,
The bones of fishes and three bottled ships.
And many a thing was there which sailors make
In idle hours, when on long voyages,
Of marvellous patience, to no lovely end.
And on those charts I saw the small black dots
That were called islands, and I knew they had
Turtles and palms, and pirates' buried gold.
There came a stranger to my granddad's house,
The old man's nephew, a seafarer too;
A big, strong able man who could have walked
Twm Barlum's hill all clad in iron mail
So strong he could have made one man his club
To knock down others -- Henry was his name,
No other name was uttered by his kin.
And here he was, sooth illclad, but oh,
Thought I, what secrets of the sea are his!
This man knows coral islands in the sea,
And dusky girls heartbroken for white men;
More rich than Spain, when the Phoenicians shipped
Silver for common ballast, and they saw
Horses at silver mangers eating grain;
This man has seen the wind blow up a mermaid's hair
Which, like a golden serpent, reared and stretched
To feel the air away beyond her head.
He begged my pennies, which I gave with joy --
He will most certainly return some time
A self-made king of some new land, and rich.
Alas that he, the hero of my dreams,
Should be his people's scorn; for they had rose
To proud command of ships, whilst he had toiled
Before the mast for years, and well content;
Him they despised, and only Death could bring
A likeness in his face to show like them.
For he drank all his pay, nor went to sea
As long as ale was easy got on shore.
Now, in his last long voyage he had sailed
From Plymouth Sound to where sweet odours fan
The Cingalese at work, and then back home --
But came not near my kin till pay was spent.
He was not old, yet seemed so; for his face
Looked like the drowned man's in the morgue, when it
Has struck the wooden wharves and keels of ships.
And all his flesh was pricked with Indian ink,
His body marked as rare and delicate
As dead men struck by lightning under trees
And pictured with fine twigs and curlèd ferns;
Chains on his neck and anchors on his arms;
Rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrist;
And on his breast the Jane of Appledore
Was schooner rigged, and in full sail at sea.
He could not whisper with his strong hoarse voice,
No more than could a horse creep quietly;
He laughed to scorn the men that muffled close
For fear of wind, till all their neck was hid,
Like Indian corn wrapped up in long green leaves;
He knew no flowers but seaweeds brown and green,
He knew no birds but those that followed ships.
Full well he knew the water-world; he heard
A grander music there than we on land,
When organ shakes a church; swore he would make
The sea his home, though it was always roused
By such wild storms as never leave Cape Horn;
Happy to hear the tempest grunt and squeal
Like pigs heard dying in a slaughterhouse.
A true-born mariner, and this his hope --
His coffin would be what his cradle was,
A boat to drown in and be sunk at sea;
Salted and iced in Neptune's larder deep.
This man despised small coasters, fishing-smacks;
He scorned those sailors who at night and morn
Can see the coast, when in their little boats
They go a six days' voyage and are back
Home with their wives for every Sabbath day.
Much did he talk of tankards of old beer,
And bottled stuff he drank in other lands,
Which was a liquid fire like Hell to gulp,
But Paradise to sip.

And so he talked;
Nor did those people listen with more awe
To Lazurus -- whom they had seen stone dead --
Than did we urchins to that seaman's voice.
He many a tale of wonder told: of where,
At Argostoli, Cephalonia's sea
Ran over the earth's lip in heavy floods;
And then again of how the strange Chinese
Conversed much as our homely Blackbirds sing.
He told us how he sailed in one old ship
Near that volcano Martinique, whose power
Shook like dry leaves the whole Caribbean seas;
And made the sun set in a sea of fire
Which only half was his; and dust was thick
On deck, and stones were pelted at the mast.
Into my greedy ears such words that sleep
Stood at my pillow half the night perplexed.
He told how isles sprang up and sank again,
Between short voyages, to his amaze;
How they did come and go, and cheated charts;
Told how a crew was cursed when one man killed
A bird that perched upon a moving barque;
And how the sea's sharp needles, firm and strong,
Ripped open the bellies of big, iron ships;
Of mighty icebergs in the Northern seas,
That haunt the far hirizon like white ghosts.
He told of waves that lift a ship so high
That birds could pass from starboard unto port
Under her dripping keel.

Oh, it was sweet
To hear that seaman tell such wondrous tales:
How deep the sea in parts, that drownèd men
Must go a long way to their graves and sink
Day after day, and wander with the tides.
He spake of his own deeds; of how he sailed
One summer's night along the Bosphorus,
And he -- who knew no music like the wash
Of waves against a ship, or wind in shrouds --
Heard then the music on that woody shore
Of nightingales,and feared to leave the deck,
He thought 'twas sailing into Paradise.
To hear these stories all we urchins placed
Our pennies in that seaman's ready hand;
Until one morn he signed on for a long cruise,
And sailed away -- we never saw him more.
Could such a man sink in the sea unknown?
Nay, he had found a land with something rich,
That kept his eyes turned inland for his life.
'A damn bad sailor and a landshark too,
No good in port or out' -- my granddad said.

poem by William Henry Davies
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Serenade

THE western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Ægean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!

She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover's vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman's toy,
They never know the lover's pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.

O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady's lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?

No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine away! away!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!

poem by Oscar Wilde
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Magnificat

THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
God's gift to her, as you to me.

My baby dear, my little one,
The love that rocks this cradling breast
Is such as Mary gave her Son:
She was more honoured, not more blest.

He smiled as you smile: not more sweet
Than your eyes were those eyes of His,
And just such little hands and feet
As yours Our Lady used to kiss.

The world's desire that Mother bore:
She held a King upon her knee:
O King of all my world, and more
Than all the world's desire to me!

I thank God on the Christmas morn,
For He has given me all things good:
This body which a child has borne,
This breast, made holy for his food.

High in high heaven Our Lady's throne
Beside her Son's stands up apart:
I sit on heaven's steps alone
And hold my king against my heart.

Across dark depths she hears your cry;
She sees your smile, through worlds of blue
Who was a mother, even as I,
And loved her Child, as I love you.

And to her heart my babe is dear,
Because she bore the Babe Divine,
And all my soul to hers draws near,
And loves Him for the sake of mine!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Little Girl's Song

Do not mind my crying, Papa, I am not crying for pain.
Do not mind my shaking, Papa, I am not shaking with fear;
Tho' the wild wild wind is bideous to hear,
And I see the snow and the rain.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?

Somebody else that you love, Papa,
Somebody else that you dearly love
Is weary, like me, because you're away.
Sometimes I see her lips tremble and move,
And I seem to know what they're going to say;
And every day, and all the long day,
I long to cry, 'Oh Mamma, Mamma,
When will Papa come back again?'
But before I can say it I see the pain
Creeping up on her white white cheek,
As the sweet sad sunshine creeps up the white wall,
And then I am sorry, and fear to speak;
And slowly the pain goes out of her cheek,
As the sad sweet sunshine goes from the wall.
Oh, I wish I were grown up wise and tall,
That I might throw my arms round her neck
And say, 'Dear Mamma, oh, what is it all
That I see and see and do not see
In your white white face all the livelong day?'
But she hides her grief from a child like me.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?

Where were you going, Papa, Papa?
All this long while have you been on the sea?
When she looks as if she saw far away,
Is she thinking of you, and what does she see?
Are the white sails blowing,
And the blue men rowing,
And are you standing on the high deck
Where we saw you stand till the ship grew gray,
And we watched and watched till the ship was a speck,
And the dark came first to you, far away?
I wish I could see what she can see,
But she hides her grief from a child like me.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?

Don't you remember, Papa, Papa,
How we used to sit by the fire, all three,
And she told me tales while I sat on her knee,
And heard the winter winds roar down the street,
And knock like men at the window pane,
And the louder they roared, oh, it seemed more sweet
To be warm and warm as we used to be,
Sitting at night by the fire, all three?
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?

Papa, I like to sit by the fire;
Why does she sit far away in the cold?
If I had but somebody wise and old,
That every day I might cry and say,
'Is she changed, do you think, or do I forget?
Was she always as white as she is to-day?
Did she never carry her head up higher?'
Papa, Papa, if I could but know!
Do you think her voice was always so low?
Did I always see what I seem to see
When I wake up at night and her pillow is wet?
You used to say her hair it was gold-
It looks like silver to me.
But still she tells the same tale that she told,
She sings the same songs when I sit on her knee,
And the house goes on as it went long ago,
When we lived together, all three.
Sometimes my heart seems to sink, Papa,
And I feel as if I could be happy no more.
Is she changed, do you think, Papa,
Or did I dream she was brighter before?
She makes me remember my snowdrop, Papa,
That I forgot in thinking of you,
The sweetest snowdrop that ever I knew!
But I put it out of the sun and the rain:
It was green and white when I put it away,
It had one sweet bell and green leaves four;
It was green and white when I found it that day,
It had one pale bell and green leaves four,
But I was not glad of it any more.
Was it changed, do you think, Papa,
Or did I dream it was brighter before?

Do not mind my crying, Papa,
I am not crying for pain.
Do not mind my shaking, Papa,
I am not shaking for fear;
Tho' the wild wild wind is hideous to hear,
And I see the snow and the rain.
When will you come back again,
Papa, Papa?

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unwed Mothers Pain

she was so young and mistook infatuation for love
and to her boyfriend she gave herself freely.
to her shock and gloom -a child was in her womb.
she told her boyfriend of what she discovered.
to hear him say 'it must be from another'
i am too young to marry
this problem you'll have to carry.

her friends turned their backs in dismay
they did'nt know just what to say.
when she told her family-they responded coldly.
' why did you make this mistake-now its far too late.
love is not the opening of your thighs.
now you'll have to hide that baby which you carry inside.'

abandoned by friends and family, when they were needed most.
she kneeled and prayed to the FATHER, SON, AND HOLY GHOST.
she recalled the words which were told to her.
'abort or abandon'
is this what you have to say?
but! my child there is no other way!

in her heart she knew that it 'could not be'
that god wanted her to abandon this baby
so with determination she began to pack
she would go elsewhere-there was no turning back.

she knew that she did not have enough education
to do what she wanted to do.
but she promised this child that
'i'll make a life for me and you'

sitting at a bus stop-bags in her hand.
she met this woman all dressed in blue with soft tender eyes.
she told her -her story, and then began to cry.
this woman put her arm around her and said
'fret not my child-you can stay with me for a while.'
with hope in her heart-she went with this lady.

found a job and continued with school.
and promised herself that no one else would
take her for a fool.

nine months later she did give birth
to a baby girl with beautiful blue eyes, and her skin so white.
and above her head was a shining bright light.
so she named her after this woman who took her in.
i'll name you Mary with the beautiful white skin.

time went by quickly and graduate she did.
she gave this child the love that was always in her heart
and her career became a very big part.
she thanked God for this lady who gave her -her start.
this beautiful lady with a kind tender heart.

the years passed quickly and mary started to grow
more beautiful than you'll ever know'
she came home from work on a cold snowy day
to find that lady mary had passed away.
she honored this lady the best way she could.

by opening her home to unwed mothers and anyone
in despair'
and named this home 'marys lair'.
and now when she tells the story she says
'mother mary always dressed in blue
my doors are open because of you'

so always keep faith in your heart and mind.
God listens! it just takes time.

poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Marian Holy Rosary

A crown of roses for her head;
A rose-garland for heaven’s queen;
A heap of rose-petals for feet,
That’s what the Rosary’s about.

The queen of beauteous flowers –Rose,
Whose perfume tickles any nose!
What hues and sizes grow on earth!
Give them to Mary, full of mirth.

St. Dominic was first to get,
The rosary when he had met
Our Lady of the Rosary,
Lord Jesus Christ’s Mother Mary!

The string of beads stands for prayers –
A magic blend for all sayers;
Just pray with meaning, mind steadfast,
To get the mother’s blessings vast!

A lovely weapon against foes;
A contemplation ’midst our woes;
Reciting it, we earn graces,
And win life’s spiritual races.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-30-2009

poem by John Celes
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Song in Honor of BVM on Her Birthday (Sept.8th)

Baby Mary born today,
Of Joachim and of Anne;
Chosen by God long ago
To Mother Jesus Christ Lord.

Blessed Virgin Mary dear,
Who found favor in God’s heart;
Mediatrix for mankind;
Pray for us to earn God’s grace!

Holy Mary, God’s Mother;
Queen of heaven forever;
Pure of heart, immaculate
Conception who bore Jesus.

Hail O Mary, clad in grace;
Crushed the Serpent’s head and face!
Help me pray more rosaries
For the souls in purgatory.

Give us health of body, mind;
Help us keep soul in pure state;
Guide us lead a holy life;
And avoid sin and all strife!

Speak O Mary to Jesus;
Help us win against Satan;
Save us from the fire of hell;
Show the way to God’s abode.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-8-2009

poem by John Celes
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A Light In The Window

Rain and wind and candlelight
And let us pray a prayer to-night:
For every soul, since life is brief,
Little of trouble and less of grief.
And set a light at the windowpane,
To guide Love home through the night and rain.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And what shall we pray again to-night?
For every life, whose way is dim,
The grace of God and trust in Him.
A word, a song, till the tears be dried,
And Faith and Hope sit down beside.
Rain and wind and candlelight
And one last prayer to pray to-night:
For every heart in the dark and rain
To know its prayer is not in vain:
A door flung wide, and a face aglow
Love come back from the Long-Ago.
Then let the rain and the wind without
Threaten their worst and rave and shout:
For who will care, though the night is black
Love to his own has wandered back.
Has wandered back through the rain and night,
Led home again by her candle's light.

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Pilgrimage to Our Lady of Health, Vailankanni (A Thanks-giving Poem)

With hearts afilled with joy and awe,
We come to thank you, Mother dear;
For all the good things done so far,
Throughout the past, and present year!

O Queen of heaven, soul divine!
O Mary, Mother of Christ Lord!
You kept our family so fine,
Believing, living by the Word.

Do bless us in the future days,
And intercede to Jesus Christ;
Help us to live as per God's ways,
With purity of soul, as first.

O Lady of Miracles, Health!
Answer our prayers said all life;
Give us the grace and needed wealth
To tide over our earthly strife.

O Virgin who bore Jesus King!
Help us to fight the maligned foe!
Teach us to obey God and sing
A hymn of praise, thanksgiving, Oh!

O Vailankanni, born sin-free!
Help us to be holy like you;
And keep our soul heaven-ready,
By giving love to Jesus, due!

Pray for us, O Lady of Health!
Protect us from the devils' snare;
Prevent the tempter's attacks stealth;
Keep us under your loving care!

By Mrs. Mercy, Cathy, Diana and Dr.Celestine, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 15-09-2012

poem by John Celes
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To Mary In Summer

LAY your head here, Mary,
Lay your head here,
While the blown grass, Mary,
With timid voice and wary,
Sings in your ear:—
The grass which round us, Mary,
Shuts like a nest;
By your dear limbs, dear Mary,
Lighter than limbs of Faery,
Daintily press'd.
Back with it all though, Mary,
Back and aside;
The wind comes this way, Mary,
And here the trees are airy
And the skies are wide.
What do your eyes fear, Mary,
So grave and soft?
I love to see them, Mary,
In whimsical vagary
Lifted aloft.
Mary, Mary, Mary,
Laugh in my face:
You know now, my own Mary,
No eyes can laugh so rarely
Or grant such grace.
Your cheek is pale now, Mary,
And red, by turns.
Why should the hand be chary
Of that to give which, Mary,
The heart so yearns?
Give me your hand, ah Mary,
Give me your hand:
In city or in prairie
There is none kinder, Mary,
From land to land.
Your lips to my lips, Mary,
Your lips to mine:
High up in Hebe's dairy
No milk so sweet, my Mary,
On earth no wine.
Lay your head here, Mary,
Lay your head here;
While my heart now, Mary,
The pleasant tune to vary,
Beats in your ear.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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‘Happy Birthday! ' Dear Mary, Mother of Christ.

Blest is the virgin child who rose
To be, Christ's mother upon earth,
Although immaculate by birth,
And through her fiat, though God chose!

Blest is the womb that bore Jesus,
‘Immanuel' or ‘God with us! '
For although vexed in mind and heart,
Obeying God, she did her part!

Blest is the disciple of Christ,
Who made Him do miracles first;
And shared His agony till cross,
With sorrowful heart, by His loss!

Blest is the Eve who's Heaven's Queen,
With stars upon her crown for sheen,
Who intercedes for sinners all,
Who repent and obey God's call!

Blest is the Lady God-favoured;
To those who pray, she keeps her word;
Recite the rosary and see,
The world of men, transformed holy!

We wish you ‘Happy Birthday' Mother dear;
Heaven rejoicing today, let's all hear;
When we succumb to death, may you be near,
And preserve soul from mortal sin's great fear!

Dedicated lovingly to the Blessed Mary, ever Virgin!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-09-12

poem by John Celes
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A Ballad

With A Serious Conclusion

Crowd about me, little children--
Come and cluster 'round my knee
While I tell a little story
That happened once with me.

My father he had gone away
A-sailing on the foam,
Leaving me--the merest infant--
And my mother dear at home;

For my father was a sailor,
And he sailed the ocean o'er
For full five years ere yet again
He reached his native shore.

And I had grown up rugged
And healthy day by day,
Though I was but a puny babe
When father went away.

Poor mother she would kiss me
And look at me and sigh
So strangely, oft I wondered
And would ask the reason why.

And she would answer sadly,
Between her sobs and tears,--
'You look so like your father,
Far away so many years!'

And then she would caress me
And brush my hair away,
And tell me not to question,
But to run about my play.

Thus I went playing thoughtfully--
For that my mother said,--
'YOU LOOK SO LIKE YOUR FATHER!'
Kept ringing in my head.

So, ranging once the golden sands
That looked out on the sea,
I called aloud, 'My father dear,
Come back to ma and me!'

Then I saw a glancing shadow
On the sand, and heard the shriek
Of a sea-gull flying seaward,
And I heard a gruff voice speak:--

'Ay, ay, my little shipmate,
I thought I heard you hail;
Were you trumpeting that sea-gull,
Or do you see a sail?'

And as rough and gruff a sailor
As ever sailed the sea
Was standing near grotesquely
And leering dreadfully.

I replied, though I was frightened,
'It was my father dear
I was calling for across the sea--
I think he didn't hear.'

And then the sailor leered again
In such a frightful way,
And made so many faces
I was little loath to stay:

But he started fiercely toward me--
Then made a sudden halt
And roared, '_I_ think he heard you!'
And turned a somersault.

Then a wild fear overcame me,
And I flew off like the wind,
Shrieking 'MOTHER!'--and the sailor
Just a little way behind!

And then my mother heard me,
And I saw her shade her eyes,
Looking toward me from the doorway,
Transfixed with pale surprise

For a moment--then her features
Glowed with all their wonted charms
As the sailor overtook me,
And I fainted in her arms.

When I awoke to reason
I shuddered with affright
Till I felt my mother's presence
With a thrill of wild delight--

Till, amid a shower of kisses
Falling glad as summer rain,
A muffled thunder rumbled,--
'Is he coming 'round again?'

Then I shrieked and clung unto her,
While her features flushed and burned
As she told me it was father
From a foreign land returned.

. . . . . . .

I said--when I was calm again,
And thoughtfully once more
Had dwelt upon my mother's words
Of just the day before,--

'I DON'T look like my father,
As you told me yesterday--
I know I don't--or father
Would have run the other way.'

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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