William Blake
THIS is the place. Even here the dauntless soul,
The unflinching hand, wrought on; till in that nook,
As on that very bed, his life partook
New birth, and passed. Yon river's dusky shoal,
Whereto the close-built coiling lanes unroll,
Faced his work-window, whence his eyes would stare,
Thought-wandering, unto nought that met them there,
But to the unfettered irreversible goal.
This cupboard, Holy of Holies, held the cloud
Of his soul writ and limned; this other one,
His true wife's charge, full oft to their abode
Yielded for daily bread the martyr's stone,
Ere yet their food might be that Bread alone,
The words now home-speech of the mouth of God.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Related quotes
Dispossessed
this heart sees no hope!
eyes see no water to drink
eyes see no food to eat
eyes owning poverty die daily
die daily deemed dead millions!
lips parch taste no relief water
stomach shrinks tastes no food
eyes cloud see no compassion
misericorde starvation is the mercy stroke!
share surplus resources?
share surplus life food?
or waste surplus drive up prices?
stiletto needle wealth controls markets!
this soul thirsts
this soul hungers
still no place is found
still no place within world to reside!
death abides death abides?
soul cry soul cry soul cry out to heaven?
starvation plea mounts up appeals to throne in heaven?
the poor are always with us condemning indifference!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Food, Clothing, Money, Shelter, and...
Food, clothing, money and shelter
I have them all
Why is this heaviness in life
Why is it to be hauled?
Food, clothing, money and shelter
are all requirements of my body
While pursuing all these material necessities
I forgot to feed my soul.
An engine needs fuel to be propelled
Soul needs a goal
Without goal the life is empty
Goal makes the life whole.
No goal means no life
Worry and fear cloud the soul
To live life to the fullest
I need to have something in the morning
to wake up for.
poem by Anshul Gupta
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Jesus, Thou Divine Companion
Jesus, Thou divine Companion,
By Thy lowly human birth
Thou hast come to join the workers,
Burden bearers of the earth.
Thou, the Carpenter of Nazareth,
Toiling for Thy daily food,
By Thy patience and Thy courage,
Thou hast taught us toil is good.
They who tread the path of labor
Follow where Thy feet have trod;
They who work without complaining
Do the holy will of God.
Thou, the Peace that passeth knowledge,
Dwellest in the daily strife;
Thou, the Bread of heaven, broken
In the sacrament of life.
Every task, however simple,
Sets the soul that does it free;
Every deed of love and kindness
Done to man is done to Thee.
Jesus, Thou divine Companion,
Help us all to do our best;
Bless in our daily labor,
Lead us to the Sabbath rest.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Poetry as bread - In the spirit of Rumi 28
Poetry is like bread – daily bread,
like ‘Irish’ soda bread, best eaten on its day:
In the bakery of the heart and mind,
the baker’s woken early before dawn,
refreshed and clear of purpose, full of the day’s promise;
brings air to flour, moulds and shapes;
as the sun rises, so the bread.
Here it is, warm from the heart,
smell it – this is the smell of goodness, isn’t it?
Touch it, both crisp and soft by turns;
taste its goodness, beauty, truth, its very being;
this is not yesterday’s bread, with which you toy
while waiting between courses, your head’s straying mind
in a thousand other places; this is here and now;
coming warm from the heart; eat it with your heart;
this is the heart’s nourishment; tomorrow it may serve
tomorrow’s mind; today, it is your daily bread,
your nourishment – this poem, warm from heart to heart.
And when you've eaten it - the bread has disappeared -
only your satisfaction remains, beyond all sense;
as these words, already staling on the page,
exposed to all the wanderings of the mind;
only the love that they were made with, still remains;
this, is your daily bread.
[from a metaphor in Rumi's writings]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Marked with D.
When the chilled dough of his flesh went in an oven
not unlike those he fuelled all his life,
I thought of his cataracts ablaze with Heaven
and radiant with the sight of his dead wife,
light streaming from his mouth to shape her name,
'not Florence and not Flo but always Florrie.'
I thought how his cold tongue burst into flame
but only literally, which makes me sorry,
sorry for his sake there's no Heaven to reach.
I get it all from Earth my daily bread
but he hungered for release from mortal speech
that kept him down, the tongue that weighed like lead.
poem by Tony Harrison
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Sacrifice for a loaf of bread..... (...for all those who lost their life starving for food....)
My mom used to have me close and tight over her waist
and for the whole day we used to be under sun's face
I don't know why mom keep on knocking at car door's on the road
besides most of the people from inside stare at her and scold
few threw one or two small round shaped metals (coins) on the road
with a sign of relief mom grabs it without getting bored
Often she kisses me and wipes my sweat using her torn cloth
but she never care's for her sweat though she was burning hot
whenever someone grabs mom's hand with a cruel smile
I don know why she scold's them back and runs with tear filled eyes
she feeds me with a loaf of bread thinking am hungry whenever i cry
but in real I cry for her.. cos she always just drinks water and letting herself dry
At night I sleep with tears rolling down..thinking why she cares me much
for which her heart breathe says I am the only one she got this close and tight
when her fingers run on my back I can feel day by day its getting rough
her tenderness had gone cos of house works
making me stand before a broken mirror she used to say I am cute
when she hugs me I can feel she has gone too skinny and my heart goes to mute
used to cry thinking I couldn't help my mom, cos I am a kid for now
and I still don't know why even God did'n answer my prayers till now
I just shared my words with you cos today is the last day in my life
with tears I gonna end up my life on my mothers chest
atleast then she can have my daily loaf of bread
though it pains me when I think, I am going to miss her for ever
as a kid I don't know another way to make her free from starve for ever
Am going to sleep forever on my mother for now
please don't inform my mom..........guess she's too tired cos
I see her sleeping without motion from morning till now........
(...poor kid she dosn't know..her mom had already sacrificed her life for her...)
- - - - - for all those who lost their life starving for food
poem by Sebastine Humaemo
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Farewell
Farewell, my sweet lady, I bid you adieu.
Like yesterday's sunset you've passed from my view.
You said I'd forget you, how could I, my dear?
My love has been buried, my heart was its bier.
My memory will hold you as flower and book;
Pressed petals in pages from love's garden nook.
And when I grow older, as all of us must,
I'll reach through the past, through mind's rubble and dust,
To draw to the foreground your vision, my light,
To hold in my mind's eye your womanly sight.
Tumultulus din, oh, hellhoundings of thought!
What void in my reason has loneliness wrought? !
I grieve by your headstone completely undone,
My living is over before it's begun.
Think not of the dark side, see only her face;
Think only her bright side, her passion, her grace.
And, when I grow older and nothing remains,
When I have no purpose, when nothing pertains,
I'll sit by the fireside, my thoughts in the flame,
Reliving your beauty, reciting your name.
Your spirit of love will rekindle my soul
And, I like a feather well neigh to my goal,
Unfettered by grief and this mouldering frame,
Will rise on the breath of my Lord to reclaim,
Our spiritual youth and the years that were lost.
I wait for the day that the threshold is crossed.
When there on the banks of the river of life,
I'll find you again, my sweet lover, my wife.
Farewell, my dear lady, 'till our rendezvous.
A long, and the last, and a saddened adeiu.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Epitaph. (On a Commonplace Person Who Died in Bed)
THIS is the end of him, here he lies:
The dust in his throat, the worm in his eyes,
The mould in his mouth, the turf on his breast;
This is the end of him, this is best.
He will never lie on his couch awake,
Wide-eyed, tearless, till dim daybreak.
Never again will he smile and smile
When his heart is breaking all the while.
He will never stretch out his hands in vain
Groping and groping--never again.
Never ask for bread, get a stone instead,
Never pretend that the stone is bread.
Never sway and sway 'twixt the false and true,
Weighing and noting the long hours through.
Never ache and ache with chok'd-up sighs;
This is the end of him, here he lies.
Our Daily Bread
"Give me my daily bread.
It seems so odd,
When all is done and said,
This plea to God.
To pray for cake might be
The thing to do;
But bread, it seems to me,
Is just our due.
"Give me my daily toil,"
I ought to say -
(If from life's cursed coil
I'd time to pray.)
Give me my daily sweat,
My body sore,
So that bread I may get
To toil for more.
"Give me my daily breath,"
Through half a sob,
Until untimely death
Shall end my job.
A crust for my award,
I cry in dread:
"Grant unto me. Oh Lord,
My daily bread!"
poem by Robert William Service
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The Earth
I would lie low, the ground on which men tread,
Swept by Thy spirit like the wind of heaven;
An earth where gushing springs and corn for bread,
By me at every season should be given;
Yet not the water or the bread that now
Supplies their tables with its daily food,
But thou wouldst give me fruit for every bough,
Such as Thou givest me, and call'st it good;
And water from the stream of life should flow,
By every dwelling that thy love has built,
Whose taste the ransomed of thy Son shall know,
Whose robes are washed from every stain of guilt;
And men would own it was thy hand that blest,
And from my bosom find a surer rest.
poem by Jones Very
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXVIII
THE SAME CONTINUED
Again Love left you. With appealing eyes
You watched him go, and lips apart to speak.
He left you, and once more the sun did rise
And the sun set, and week trod close on week
And month on month, till you had reached the goal
Of forty years, and life's full waters grew
To bitterness and flooded all your soul,
Making you loathe old things and pine for new.
And you into the wilderness had fled,
And in your desolation loud did cry,
``Oh for a hand to turn these stones to bread!''
Then in your ear Love whispered scornfully,
``Thou too, poor fool, thou, even thou,'' he said,
``Shalt taste thy little honey ere thou die.''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Burning Bush
All the widows watch
Through all window sills
Hair raisin in every room
Up the street come a walkin chill
An you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side
See my tears good father
Will they wash it away
All my dirt from your holy feet
No I dont believe it works that way
cause you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side
I seen you in the river
Before God an man
Held by the holy hand of winter
Brought low by winters holy hand
Yes my sister girl
I know that it is true
You see me with the lords eye girl
An you see right through
An you ask for nothin
Is there somethin behind my eyes
I can look good I swear
When the spirit blows
All ore an all through yeah
My wretched bones
An you ask for nothin
cept to be by my side love
I seen you in the river
Before God an man
Held by the holy hand of winter
Brought low by winters holy hand
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Death Comes?
There is a place after life;
There is a home after death;
There is a life after life on earth,
And that is the Abode of God
Called Heaven!
It’s a place of joy alone;
It’s a place devoid of sorrows;
It’s a place that’s free from pain and sin;
It’s a place that’s very pure;
It’s a place where sufferings are unknown;
It’s a place of everlasting joy;
It’s a place of commune with God-
Eternity is its name!
Death gives rest to souls that depart;
Death gives reprieve from earthly woes;
Death is the only way to God’s Abode;
Death heralds the resurrection of souls!
When death comes, why should we fear?
Death is the one way to Heaven;
But when it comes, our soul must be prepared,
And if that is done, why bother?
Miracles can be wrought by God;
Prayers can bring miracles through;
Yet, a sea of fervent appeals from souls,
May not keep back a single soul
For a time longer than
What God has pre-destined!
Because, God knows each heart;
God knows each soul;
God knows our sufferings,
And the ideal time to deliver
All.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-2-2005
poem by John Celes
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A Picture Of Greed
on one hand
he carries a
big loaf of bread
on the other
he carries a
basket
of the same
loaf of bread
on his head
is another
basket of
the same loaf
of bread
a little child
spreads his
hands for
a loaf of bread
then he speeds
his way
as he bites
a loaf of
bread in
his mouth
the little child
follows him
and there he
is closing the
door of his
house all
made of bread
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Stare In The Mirror
i stare in the mirror
streams rolling down my face
holding a razor blade ever so close
trying to figure out if this is the time to go
i stare in the mirror
thinking to myslef
is this what life is suppose to be all about?
what ever happened to true love
stand by each other no matter what
i thought i found my soul mate
i chased her away with my brutal words
i stare in the mirror
frown in disgust
who have i become?
were has everyone gone?
regrets are seeping down my back
pain is oozing through my heart
my tears have created a puddle
in which i can see myself
i stare in the mirror
remebering better times
we thought we were soul mates
we had the marks to prove it
if i close my eyes i can see ur face
i can even sometimes feel u in my arms
these r all that i have left with, fading memories of the past
ur heart has since hardened
u have moved on and left me in the past
i stare in the mirror
i have no fear
i can feel all the hate coming off u
i cut myself to feel ur pain
hoping i can understand
at the same time relizing that i may never know
i stare in the mirror
i dont have any fears
my tears roll down my face
all the regrets all the appolgizes cant seam change anything
i have no one to blame
im full of shame
i wish i could of bin the man beside u
i stare in the mirror
look deep into my own eyes
i can see the pain that is inside me
all the failures
all the disapointments
this is just icing on the cake
blood splatters on the mirror
i dont have any fears
god will probally denie me
im ready to go
bottle of whiskey is at the bottom
theres no point
all ur hate has soaked into me
im dissapointed in myself
i have no will to go on
i cant hold my head up high
im lieing on the ground
covered in blood
holding a picture in my hand
smiling for the first time
i slit the other wirst.............
i stare at my body
as i float above it
my life passes before me
i relize
i wasted my life
time would would of healed my soul
i copped out ran away
left anyone who cared behind
now i float in endless darkness
i was right god did denie me......
poem by Jessie Davies
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Love
A life was mine full of the close concern
Of many-voiced affairs. The world sped fast;
Behind me, ever rolled a pregnant past.
A present came equipped with lore to learn.
Art, science, letters, in their turn,
Each one allured me with its treasures vast;
And I staked all for wisdom, till at last
Thou cam'st and taught my soul anew to yearn.
I had not dreamed that I could turn away
From all that men with brush and pen had wrought;
But ever since that memorable day
When to my heart the truth of love was brought,
I have been wholly yielded to its sway,
And had no room for any other thought.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Face In The Mirror
Time passes by
And the years fade into the distance
I look into the mirror and see a young boy
Full of hope and potential
A few moments later I stare again at my reflection
And I see a young teenager
Enthusiastic and full of life
Tasting love for the first time
Preparing to step into adulthood
Ready to take on the responsibilities that adulthood brings
I stare again at the mirror
My past lives reflected back at me
I see a young adult
Taking his first steps in the world
Learning how to interact and build a future
Hoping to find a partner to share his life with
Again I look into the mirror
This time the adult is older
Just turned thirty
The stress lines are starting to appear
Hope has faded to cynicism
The relationships have all ended badly
A breakdown is just around the corner
As I look into the mirror
I see a sad young man on a mental ward
Trying to come to terms with the pressures of life
The figure looks lost and forlorn
Will he put the pieces back together again?
Another glance at the mirror
This time the figure is nearly forty
There is a distant look in his eyes
Dreaming of what might have been
There is an attitude of acceptance and resignation
Life is a hard battle and sometimes you lose
Just living out the remaining years
Another glance at the mirror
This time the figure appears much older
The adult is now an old man of sixty-five
There is a look of fear in his eyes
His family have passed on and he is all alone
Only distant relatives remain and they were never close
The fear is of what lies ahead
Pain and suffering and death
As I look again in the mirror
I see a grave and a gravestone
Only two or three people at the funeral service
A sad end to a life
And as he gasped his last breath
Fear was still close at hand
What faced him after death?
Would his soul face damnation
For wasting the gift of life?
The gates of heaven would be slammed shut in his face
soul without a home too afraid to enter into hell
A soul endlessly searching for redemption but time has run out
A never-ending period of purgatory
A tormented soul without hope of redemption
As I look into the mirror I see my true self
Tears roll down my cheeks
I have seen my fate and it frightens me
Please guide me towards the path of salvation
poem by Jojo ismail
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Last Sunset
The old man staring out a frosted window.
Watching life his go by.
Wondering what could have been.
Had he only tried.
Things could have been so different.
He thinks with such regret.
His end is coming closer.
This is his last sunset.
He thinks of the love that he lost.
And how he let her go.
If he could turn back the hands of time,
His love for her he'd show.
Success it was his idol.
Money, work and fame.
His work's what he took serious.
His life was but a game.
A game he played against the odds.
He thought that he would win.
But money wasn't everything.
Much to his chagrin.
He remembered a story he heard one day,
About a man named Christ.
And all the lives this man had changed.
And changed without a price.
Their lives were complete and full of peace.
And all their dreams came true.
Not with money, work and fame.
But with how their spirits grew.
The old man knowing his end was near.
Called out to The One.
“Help me know just what I missed”
He cried out to God's son.
The man with tears now in his eyes.
Looked up to heaven above.
And felt a hand upon his arm.
That filled the man with love.
And then a hug, a warm embrace.
He held the man so tight.
He vowed to not let that man go.
Alone into the night.
The man he spoke to Jesus.
And repented all his sin.
Jesus spoke with a gentle voice,
“I know just where you've been.”
“That's why I came to save you,
and I hung upon my cross.
Even though your end is near.
Son, you're no longer lost.”
The man he then closed his eyes.
With a smile upon his face.
Knowing the home going to,
Was a much more loving place.
The Savior then he took his hand,
And led the old man's soul.
To an eternity full of peace.
From a life with no control.
The old man now young and looking down.
Wondering why did he wait,
To feel the joy that Jesus brought.
But at least it wasn't too late.
The Father will come running.
To his children when they cry.
For you only have one life to live.
So don't wait until your last goodbye.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Life's Mighty Flood
WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life--
All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,
For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!
One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,
The Beloved's presence alone they have sought--
Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,
Heart and soul would sink to the common lot--
All things are nought!
Like an empty cup is the fate of each,
That each must fill from Life's mighty flood;
Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,
If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;
Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought
By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see
That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee
All then were nought!
The span of thy life is as five little days,
Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;
Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,
For Time's self is nought and the dial's face.
On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short
Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass
While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass
Ere all is nought!
Consider the rose that breaks into flower,
Neither repines though she fade and die--
The powers of the world endure for an hour,
But nought shall remain of their majesty.
Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought
That virtue was easy and recompense yours;
From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors
The way is nought
What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,
Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,
Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?
Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.
Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,
But bearing a stained or an honoured name,
The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame--
All things are nought!
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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The best things in life are nearest Breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of right just before you. Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things in life.
quote by Robert Louis Stephenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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