Vale
So ends a life, lived to the full alway,
Thro' peace, thro' war, thro' honored peace again,
From youth unto the closing of his day
Lived simply. Yet a giant among men
Today steals quietly to seek his rest
As quietly he lived, yet none his peer.
In service of his land he gave his best
And, in simplicity, found greatness here.
Seeking no honour but his country's thanks,
No man among us won a place more high.
Comrade and leader where the myriad ranks
Stand now with bended heads as John goes by.
Ever a man, a soldier and a friend
In every heart some echo of the knell
That marks his passing throbs for this great end,
Saying in requiem, 'Pass, John, all is well.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Warrior King
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Lived for his whole reign thro'
The father and friend of his people,
Soldier and statesman, too.
When his armies rode to the carnage,
'Twas their King who rode at their hear
To battle as great Kings battled...
And Albert the King is dead.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Looking at doomed Louvain,
Wept for the plight of his people,
Grieved for his country's pain.
But the pride of a King upheld him;
The strength of a true King stayed,
And the love of a wise King triumphed
Thro' the travail, undismayed.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
After the red war's close,
Seeking no rest from his labors,
As a builder now arose;
Lending his life to service,
Turning to tasks anew,
Healing his country's war-wounds
Builder and comforter, too.
Albert, King of the Belgians,
Died as a Man would die,
Prone on earth's broad bosom,
Under the open sky.
To a swift and merciful passing,
Here went, at the end of his span,
A greater that King of his people
A wise and well-loved man.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sonnet: Whither Global Peace?
The world wants Peace and labours towards it;
Thro' dialogues and joint-efforts and talks;
Security of life's always at threat;
Despite the cost and progress in all walks.
But Peace at what cost, so phenomenal?
And global peace is transient thro' war,
Effects on earth are international,
As Death can be caused from a near-by star.
Some people get too Nobel Prize for Peace;
Fragile and maintained by the Gun's barrel;
with Terrorism now a new disease,
Eluding cure as Nations fall unwell.
How can the world go on without Peace?
And how exorbitant shall be its fees?
poem by John Celes
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Let's Power Our Wish
Let's power our wish thro' Sankara prophesy,
Divining sacred-self, killing ego malady.
Let's power our wish thro' Chanakya pledge,
Capturing the center, digging out edge.
Let's power our wish thro' Kabir tale,
Shaping up unity, splitting up let fail.
Let's power our wish thro' Gandhian path,
Eyeing on patience, ruling out spleen dirt.
Let's power our wish thro' Raman effect,
Opining on noesis, closing out ignorance defect.
Let's power our wish thro' Teresa style,
Dealing with generosity, banging greed by mile.
poem by Ramesh Anand
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Just A Simple Soldier
He was getting old and paunchy,
and his hair was falling fast,
As he sat around the Legion,
telling stories of his past.
Of a war that he had fought in,
and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies,
they were heroes, everyone.
And though sometimes to his neighbors
his tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened,
for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
for old Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer,
for a soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary,
very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
quietly going on his way,
And the world won't note his passing,
though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing
and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories,
from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier,
goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution,
to the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise,
and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow,
who in times of war and strife,
goes off to serve his country
and offers up his life?
The politicians stipend,
and the style in which he lives,
Are sometimes disproportionate,
to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier,
who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal,
and perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
for it is so long ago,
That our Bob's and Jim's and Johnny's,
went to battle, but we know.
It was not the politicians,
with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us this freedom,
that our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
with your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
with his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a soldier,
who has sworn to defend,
His home, his kin, and country,
and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier,
and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us,
we may need his type again.
For when countries are in conflict,
then we find the soldier's part,
Is to clean up all the troubles,
that politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor,
while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least lets give him homage,
at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline,
in the paper that might say,
'OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
FOR A SOLDIER DIED TODAY.'
poem by Summer Sandercox
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Our Brother John
He left Ireland in nineteen fifty two
Our brother John the man I barely knew
He was the eldest of the family
And the Homeland he was never more to see.
In life our brother John he journeyed far
He lived through peace time and he lived through war
In Korea with the Air Force of the U.S.A.
Far distant from the fields of Claraghatlea.
One of my sisters Mary wrote to me
She said our brother died with dignity
In death as in his life he showed his bravery
And at least now of his sufferings he's free.
Our brother John left two sons and a wife
And he worked hard all of his working life
Only in his sixties he seemed young to die
He was my hero when I was a boy.
From Millstreet thousands of sea miles away
Our brother John in a distant graveyard lay
And though I'd not seen him for more than thirty years
The news of his passing reduced me to tears.
He was the quiet man never spoke too loud
And of our brother John we felt so proud
In his death from his sufferings he found his release
And may he rest forevermore in peace.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Old Town Types No.1 - The Old Town
Fierce on the wheat-sown Mallee plain
The ruthless summer suns burned down,
And dust-storms, heralding the rain,
Swept thro' the street and on again
While tradesfolk cursed in the old white town.
Of sand and line-stone stoutly built,
She'd lived to prosper and to wilt,
Because, as all wiseacres knew,
'They went and brought the railway thro'.'
Deep-voiced, bewhiskered townsfolk these,
Remnant of pioneering days,
Full of high tales and memories
Of wild, rough work and wilder sprees,
When coach and teamster went their ways;
When men pushed out to newer land
And cash came easy to the hand
And went: The golden days men knew
'Before that put that railway thro'.'
Yet even in those days of stress -
Or seeming stress - the old town knew
Nothing of wnat or wretchedness;
For wealth was there and work to bless
All men who sought them work to do.
To me, a child in those far years,
Now as a time-dimmed dream appears
The olden life that once I knew
After the railway wandered thro'.
Like myths in some long-fabled tale -
Figures and scenes to conjure with
They seem. Yet 'spite the deepening veil,
Their memories grow never stales;
Big George, the lumper; Toll, the smith;
Long John, the snob - long have they slept
While suns burned down and dustorm swept
Across the Mallee plains they knew
Before men brought the railway thro'.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Soldier's King
None seemed to notice the man beside the road
He was just a raged soldier out there in the cold
But he seemed to have a purpose only known to him
As he walked along the streets that night through the town of Bethlahem.
In his head he held a memory of all the wars he'd known
In his hand he clutched a medal for the bravery he'd shown
And the weight of every battle he caried in his heart
But his eyes were clear and searching for a manger in the dark.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight.
He had marched for politicians, served under their command
And he fought for all the causes that he did not understand
But it was something deep inside him now that led him on his way
With a single star to guide him to were the baby lay.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight.
He stood before the Son of God, come to pay our debt
He smiled up at the soldier that the world would soon forget
So he held out his medal and said this for you I bring
There he swore aligiance to the newborn baby King.
Chorus:
Some are born to greatness, some are born to fall
Some are bound to be forgotten like they never lived at all
But we're all born to know Him and stand befor His light
Like the soldier who found his king tonight...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Shut Out Of Mine Own Heart
I am shut out of mine own heart
because my love is far from me,
nor in the wonders have I part
that fill its hidden empery:
the wildwood of adventurous thought
and lands of dawn my dream had won,
the riches out of Faery brought
are buried with our bridal sun.
And I am in a narrow place,
and all its little streets are cold,
because the absence of her face
has robb'd the sullen air of gold.
My home is in a broader day:
at times I catch it glistening
thro' the dull gate, a flower'd play
and odour of undying spring:
the long days that I lived alone,
sweet madness of the springs I miss'd,
are shed beyond, and thro' them blown
clear laughter, and my lips are kiss'd:
- and here, from mine own joy apart,
I wait the turning of the key: -
I am shut out of mine own heart
because my love is far from me
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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The Peace Of The Man And The Dragon
finally we have found peace,
the outcome of the war,
as we have seen greatness since,
as we have seen light and darkness,
the king welcomes us for a meeting,
we gave a great toast to peace to the lands,
and the lost honored in memory,
we have found the light,
as soon as we've seen the great light of peace,
our people have became the allies of peace,
we have seen our men attacked in the night,
for peace has prevailed for now.
poem by Nicholas Spandrel
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On A Treadmill
On a treadmill, designed by him, the one who fills our life with sin,
Making us too busy to seek God, while we agree and simply nod.
He is the enemy of the Cross, and wants to fill our life with dross,
As we go about another day, in that same old frenzied, busy way.
We may even be busy for Christ, but, too busy, comes at a price,
As the enemy then fills our life, through the busy with undue strife.
While today bleeds into tomorrow, which leads hearts into sorrow,
As his goal from the very start, is overwhelming a believer’s heart.
That treadmill which has no end, in essence, is the time we spend,
With at times no peace of mind, to be found within the daily grind.
Adding simply one more thing, more stress it only seems to bring,
All with no apparent end in sight, while we seek to do what’s right.
Just like Martha spent and frayed, with a heart that’s so dismayed,
Working her fingers to the bone, but, sad to say, she is not alone.
Feverishly working without peace, with burdens that do not cease,
Not at all like her sister Mary, who had lived her life rather contrary.
For Mary’s choice was the best, for living this life we need to rest,
Within our Savior’s loving hand, while we live in such a weary land,
Taking on His yoke which is light, as we learn to do all that is right,
Getting off the treadmill of life, and into the Peace of Jesus Christ.
(Copyright ©05/2008)
Life Alone
How does one justify a life lived alone
How does one love if they have never been shown
A life lived alone is a life lived in vain
A life lived alone has very little to gain
Why would anyone choose to live this way
Why would anyone choose to be alone everyday
Is it living alone a shy reality to blame
Is it living alone yet another of societys shame
I stand here alone with a tear in my eye
I stand here alone and wish to understand why.
'closing thought'
A singles life can have its moments of pleasure
But a family life is filled with memories to treasure
poem by Gordon Jerome
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A Soldiers Funeral
No splendid show of solemn funeral rite,
No stricken mourners following his bier,
No peal of organ reaching thro' his night,
Is rendered him whom now we bury here.
'Tis but a soldier stricken in the fight,
A youth who flung his passion into life,
Flung scorn at Death, fought true for Freedom's might,
Till Death did close his vision in the strife.
No splendid rite is here-yet lay him low,
Where the sweet brook doth babble by his side.
No splendour, yet we lay him tenderly
To rest, his requiem the artillery.
poem by John William Streets
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Country Doctors
The quiet country doctors
Of many a country town,
Whose lives are spent to service bent,
With scant hope of renown
Those sturdy country doctors,
That walk the healer's way,
At beck and call of one and all
That pain be smoothed away.
Those patient country doctors,
That journey day and night
By country roads to far abodes
To ease some sufferer's plight;
Thro' fire and flood and tempest
They make their pilgrimage
To bring release and healing peace,
The comforters of age.
Those modern country doctors,
They do not advertise;
Surcease they bring for suffering
And hope to pain-filled eyes.
These be their ends to be man's friends,
And so they shape and plan,
Divorced from greed to serve man's need,
And give their lives to man.
Those quiet country doctors,
Unsung, unknown to fame,
Refusing none what may be done
In skilful healing's name
Philosophers, friends, mentors,
Thro' pain and death and birth,
And who shall say that such as they
Are not salt of the earth?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The King [ I ]
AMONG the sons of Englishmen
Full many feel like real tears,
For, though he reigned but scarcely ten,
He bore the burden many years.
He lived the dead past doubly down,
He shamed, by manliness and truth,
The lies that beat about a crown,
And round a known man in his youth.
For he had lived as men have done
Since Adam’s time, to prove them true.
He proved it in his manhood’s prime,
And to the end, as strong men do.
And so he died, and, ever since,
And on through years the words shall ring:
“He lived a man, he lived a prince,
And died a gentleman and King.”
Unto the friends of his hot youth,
In his wise age, he still was true.
He showed, by steadfastness and truth,
What kings as well as men can do;
Till all was manlike or forgot,
Long years ere he found his release;
He made them loyal who were not,
He won respect, and kept the peace.
poem by Henry Lawson
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By Grace Are Ye Saved
In grace the holy God
Did full salvation plan,
Electing in His sovereign grace
To save rebellious man.
Refrain
By grace are ye saved thro’ faith,
Thro’ faith, thro’ faith,
Thro’ faith, and that not of yourselves;
Thro’ faith, and that not of yourselves;
Not of works, not of works,
Not of works, not of works,
Not of works, lest any man should boast;
It is the gift of God;
Not of works, lest any man should boast;
It is the gift of God, it is the gift of God,
It is the gift of God, it is the gift of God,
The gift of God.
This grace of God appears
In Jesus Christ His Son;
He, lifted on the cross of shame,
The grace of God makes known.
Refrain
To all who do believe
In God, thro’ Christ revealed
By grace, they full salvation have,
And “Sons of God” are sealed.
Refrain
poem by Daniel Webster Moody
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John Galsworthy
Not for vague honors, not for treacherous power
He lived and toiled thro' this, his earthy span;
But to uphold and cultivate the dower,
God-given, for enlightment of man,
Here was no tale of talents mis-applied,
But of gifts to the last hour multiplied.
Grave, kindly scrivener, moved to no swift wrath
By tyrannies or Greed's condoning pleas:
Pity was there for Vandal and for Goth
Clutching insensate at earth's vanities.
Pity was there, with truth and justice, when
He held his shining mirror up to men.
That they might see themselves; not as they seem
To smug content and sleek complacency
Lulled by the opiate of their false dream;
But as some wise, kind visitant might see
And weigh and, by wise standards, judge the worth
Of all the sad frailities of earth.
So he has lived; and so he lays him down
Leaving a picture with us at the end,
Not of some grim reformer's fretful frown;
But of a pitying, understanding friend.
And if, thro' him, this blundering world should gain
One mite in wisdom, life were not in vain.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Week-ends
I don't know what's come to the summer
In these dull and decadent years;
But a fellow grows glummer and glummer
As promise of autumn appears;
For there's not been a sign of a week-end of shine,
Or the sun on the sea all aglimmer.
And, as the weeks pass, wet and windy, alas,
Thin hope grows yet slimmer and slimmer.
Oh, the sad days, the mad days,
Of rain and wind and mud!
The week speeds by with the sun on high
To come a sickening thud.
When the slippery slosh of the gum golosh
On the soaked and sodden ground
Thro' the country lane sounds once again
When the week-end comes around.
When I go to the bush for a week-end
From a city aglow in the sun,
My holiday comes to a bleak end
Ere half a day's length has been run.
And I gaze thro' the pane at the splattering rain,
Forlorn thro' a profitless Sunday,
And come back to town with the sun pouring down
To smile on my labours on Monday.
Oh, the weekends, when pique ends
In grim and gaunt despair!
Hope wakes anew as all week thro'
The glass is pointing fair,
And fine and warm: but a lurking storm
Behind the high hills grows
To spread dismay each Saturday
And another week-end goes.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Hymn: Thou Hidden Love of God
Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathom'd no man knows,
I see from far thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose;
My heart is pain'd, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in thee.
Thy secret voice invites me still,
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove:
And fain I would: but tho' my will
Seem fix'd, yet wide my passions rove;
Yet hindrances strew all the way;
I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.
'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee;
Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see;
O when shall all my wand'rings end,
And all my steps to thee-ward tend!
Is there a thing beneath the sun
That strives with thee my heart to share?
Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,
The Lord of ev'ry motion there;
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in thee.
O hide this self from me, that I
No more, but Christ in me may live;
My vile affections crucify,
Nor let one darling lust survive;
In all things nothing may I see,
Nothing desire or seek but thee.
O Love, thy sov'reign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care:
Chase this self-will thro' all my heart,
Thro' all its latent mazes there:
Make me thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry!
Ah no! ne'er will I backward turn:
Thine wholly, thine alone I am!
Thrice happy he who views with scorn
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame;
O help that I may never move
From the blest footsteps of thy love!
Each moment draw from earth away
My heart that lowly waits thy call:
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
I am thy love, thy God, thy all!
To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.
poem by John Wesley
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Let Us Live
We've lived our whole life in fear
Let us live one moment in peace
Let us live please...
Give me some light
Give me some warmth
Give me another chance
I wanna grow up once again
I've hunched my back from my books weight
Bribe is something I've learned from my own dad
Either bring home 99% and get a game
Or a spank
Fitting in with the rest of the world
Burned away my whole childhood
My childhood is gone
Along with my youth
Now please let us live
One moment in peace
Please...
We've lived our whole life in fear
Let us live one moment in peace
Let us live please...
poem by Kiara Davar
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An Old Soldier
Friend, I have faced many a difficult battle,
Dangerous missions that required some backbone;
As a soldier, I have encountered hard times,
But this trip was the toughest one I had known.
My feet became heavy, but still I walked on,
Moving down the long hallway to where he lay;
This man was my best friend and fellow soldier,
But, I had received news, he would die today.
His room was now only a few feet away,
I became frozen, standing there at his door;
I had come to say goodbye to my comrade,
For after today, I would see him no more.
He was sitting up, as if waiting for me,
I noticed an old familiar smile on his face;
He said; “Soldier, I’m sure glad you came today,
For soon ole’ buddy, I’ll be leavin’ this place.
He said; “Now you know I don’t like hospitals,
There’s just too much sufferin’ n’ pain;
‘Sides, these places stir up many old memories,
Some I’ve been reliving again and again.”
“But, Soldier, I’ve got a brand new a’signment,
I’m goin’ t’ a land where there ain’t no wars;
A place where winds of peace are always blowin’,
It’s a long mission, away up b’yond the stars.”
“Yes sir, I’m ready, be gone in a short while,
But there’s a thing or two I’d like you to know.”
“You, Sir have always been my very best friend,
Sure gon’na miss our talks, and I’ve loved you so.”
As he spoke, a glow came upon his old face,
Like none that I had ever seen there before;
He said; “Listen up Soldier, I’m being called,
A messenger’s a’standin’ there at my door.”
I took his hand as he squeezed mine so tightly,
I swear, I have never seen him so at ease;
He turned and spoke up again, smiling widely,
“The Commanders’ waitin’, now I’ve got t’ leave! ”
And then, just like that, the old soldier was gone,
Then I felt his firm grip on my hand release;
I stood at full attention to salute him,
As I said; “So long dad, now go… rest in peace.”
poem by Loyd C. Taylor
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