Crosses We Bare
Some days seem longer than others,
depending on how many crosses
we have to bare.
Each of us has a cross to carry,
for guilt, we call our own.
When the crosses get heavy,
days seem to linger with out end.
We feel at times,
no one can help us
with the crosses that we bare,
but there is always someone.
They walk beside us everyday,
a simple prayer of forgiving,
and he will help us on our way.
We can tell him all our sorrows,
our guilt’s and woes to be.
He always listens to us
as he walks with us each day.
We all know his name,
and how to speak to him,
if the crosses that we carry,
ever get to weighty to bare.
poem by David Harris
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In Long Rows
Millions and millions of crosses
standing in long rows.
Standing as a testament
of man’s inhumanity to man.
Their ages range low to high,
all casualties of a war
in which they answered
their counties call.
Their kin are long dead now,
but the crosses all bare a name
of someone who had they lived
might have gained fame
in another game.
However, here they lie
where the pretty flowers grow
after giving up their life
for their country.
Some are remembered
even to this day
for their acts of courage
others knew so well.
The others are just names
carved in memorials somewhere
as falling in a battle on a foreign soil.
All of them had a life
men, women and child alike.
A life they should have lived
and lived it to the full.
Now all they remain
is names on crosses
standing in long rows.
22 January 2008
This is for all those whose lives have been stolen in wars throughout the centuries.
poem by David Harris
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From ‘The Cross’
Who can blot out the Cross, which th’instrument
Of God, dew’d on me in the Sacrament?
Who can deny me power, and liberty
To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be?
Swim, and at every stroke, thou art thy Cross;
The Mast and yard make one, where seas do toss;
Look down, thou spiest out Crosses in small things;
Look up, thou seest birds rais’d on crossed wings;
All the Globes frame, and spheres, is nothing else
But the Meridians crossing Parallels.
Material Crosses then, good physic bee,
But yet spiritual have chief dignity.
These for extracted chemic medicine serve,
And cure much better, and as well preserve;
Then are you your own physic, or need none,
When Still’d, or purg’d by tribulation.
For when that Cross ungrudg’d, unto you sticks,
Then are you to your self, a Crucifix.
As perchance, Carvers do not faces make,
But that away, which hid them there, do take;
Let Crosses, so, take what hid Christ in thee,
And be his image, or not his, but he.
poem by John Donne
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Pay The Piper
There comes a time
when all of us must pay
the piper so they say.
Pay for all the wrongs
credited to our life,
pay for all the things
we should have done,
but never got around to do.
Pay for any hurt we’ve caused
when came to call
and we never did respond.
No one is ever perfect,
we’ve all got our crosses
that we have to bare.
So when it comes to paying
the piper so they say.
I guess we’ll all have to pay.
21 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Magic Of The Moment
She walks down a street
in Central London
on the sunny side of course
and is dumbfounded by the fact
that it is raining on the other side of the street.
It falls into her mind as if it were a dream
but a dream that's real.
She crosses over and holds out her hand.
Raindrops collect on her palm.
She crosses over again and watches them evaporate
on her outstretched hand.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Crosses Burning
black-eyed poverty,
angry negativity,
sanity or vanity,
aint nobody free...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of want,
crosses burning.
hate me, hate yourself,
liberty on the shelf,
worthless unless it sells,
drawing water from the well...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of need,
crosses burning.
black and white bleeding red,
cant feed the poor, raise the dead,
drinking water laced with lead,
nooses hung around our heads...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of hurt,
crosses burning.
children sold into slavery,
homeless tents, misery,
wars without victory,
governed by plutocracy...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of sorrow,
crosses burning.
microwave Jesus, tattered flags,
boys come home in body bags,
buildings crumble, bridges sag,
numbered souls without a tag...
still the wheels of life
keep on turning;
in the land of lies,
crosses burning.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Killing In The Name
Killing in the name of!
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Some of those that were forces are the same that bore crosses
Huh!
Killing in the name of!
Killing in the name of
And now you do what they told ya (11 times)
But now you do what they told ya
Well now you do what they told ya
Those who died are justified
song performed by by Rage Against The Machine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New Crucifixions
They bring new crosses of dark wood
And begin to crucify our three brothers.
Three nails on each,
Just three shrieks from each mouth and
Three small tear drops falling apart.
Three minutes of crucifixion melt out
The sky remains white,
The sun fades not,
And the curtains of the shrines tear not.
Lamentations cease and three days of agony await.
But no resurrections ever afterwards!
Across the streams of innocence
A floating raft emerges now
And time writes its lyric of salvation
Across the sky of expectations once more!
Will these crosses become firewood once?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Jesus’ Cross
The Holy Cross beckons
To follow Jesus Christ;
The source of strength and joy
To souls, for Lord athirst!
The Holy Cross guides us
To walk upon His steps;
The Son of God had died
To save mankind from sins.
The Holy Cross reminds
To place our trust in God;
Jesus resurrected
To annul man from rod.
The Holy Cross signals
That life has crosses, woes;
Yet, we must tread fearless;
Engages God, our foes!
The Holy Cross goads us
To carry each one’s cross;
Our war with satan’s won,
By Jesus, without loss!
The Holy Cross renews
Our ties with Jesus Lord;
He will come in glory
To judge mankind by Word!
poem by John Celes
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The star Bethlehem born
The stardust spreading the beautiful night
The star Bethlehem being most sublime
Is being shot again and again
Broken hearted crosses we cross
Broken hearted crosses we count
Like beads of starry nights
Asleep unawake still crossing
The rivers of the first step stone
You think you could have died of shame
(The last line inspired by Franz Kafka 'Process')
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Your Stronger Than He Ever Was
When you’re down
And you think you can’t
Get back up without him
Think of your friend
Your family
The ones that love you the most
if you think you need him
To carry on with your burdens
bare in mind we are here
To help carry you to higher ground
if you think you can’t live without
Him who lays waste to your heart
bare in mind we love you
With all our hearts
And will protect you from harm
should you feel down and out
With the misery he causes to your heart
bare in mind we your family
Will be there to mend your broken heart
once you know you can live without him
He who tears the life from your soul
bare in mind we your family
Will be there to bring back
To your home your own living soul
bare in mind we will give back to you
Strength to carry on and make you strong
and when you learn to be strong
When you learn to move on
we smile with pride knowing
You’re stronger than he ever was
poem by Kaila George
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Who made these laws? That's what I want to know. So that's why I wear two crosses now. I call it double cross. I believe in God-not religion.
White Crosses
Well I packed all of my things into this blanket
To call this year to earn coyotes fill
Kiss my wife and kids goodbye choke back the quiver in my breath
And took my first steps into this corridor of death
If Im lucky I will make it to a drain
With 500 of my brothers, I would share the strain
Of standing in this boxcar praying for rain
Its the only the way we will quench our thirst
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
If we make it past the border, we will scatter
Vanish just like smoke in autumn wind
I will run until my color will not matter
Hopin I can find some work or possibly a friend
There are others who have made it here
They will show me how to find a job and a place to lay my head
And I cannot be concerned with dreams of my children
For there are 5 others in line for my bed
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses
Growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses
We are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
I will gladly pick your peaches or clean your hotel rooms
I will do the jobs American wont do
With cell phones to their heads and $700 dollar shoes
I will risk my life cause its all I have to lose
Let the devil in the mountains promise me a ride
Found an 18 wheeler and put all of us inside
And just outside of victory, 19 of us died
None of our bodies hit the floor
And so my wife she still wonders when Im coming home
The riches that I promised her for leaving her alone
I said I would send her all that I could save
But I ended up in California in an unknown grave
[Chorus:]
In these gardens of white crosses growing in the California sand
In these gardens of white crosses we are the children of poverty trying to a make a stand
[repeat]
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My November Guest
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise
poem by Robert Frost
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I Will Rise Again
I walk through the wilderness,
with sandals on my feet,
a crown of thorns around my head,
one-person helps with the cross that I carry.
Crowds follow my progress,
women weep at my feet.
I go to meet my father,
somewhere out there.
The crosses stand tall,
victims scream out with pain.
I am laid on my back,
my arms pulled open wide.
The nails penetrate my palms.
I feel no pain,
my feet are then nailed,
and still there is no pain.
The cross is hoisted up,
for all to see.
I look down at those,
all gathered there.
A spear bites my side,
but I do not die.
Stillness enshrouds everyone,
as silence falls all around.
My fate is sealed,
but I will rise again.
Men will dine with me,
just one more time.
My name will be remembered,
for eons to come.
They will call me by many names,
because I am God’s son.
poem by David Harris
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The Cross
Two fallen twigs when kept across
Can form a cross;
Two blades of grass just put cris-cross
Becomes a cross.
Two fingers placed atop the next
Looks like a cross;
A wire-mesh has umpteen crosses,
Like stars the sky across.
The cross is symbol of Christians;
The cross is pride of all baptized;
The cross instills love of Jesus;
The cross is feared by all devils!
The cross is sign of faith in God;
The cross means sacrifice like Christ;
The cross reminds of victory over death;
Carry your cross and follow Christ.
The cross can save the worst sinner;
The cross is sign of after-life;
The cross means Christ is Son of God!
The cross leads always to heaven.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-30-2009
poem by John Celes
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A Sheaf Of Snakes Used Heretofore To Be My Seal, The Crest Of Our Poor Family
ADOPTED in God's family and so
Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go.
The Cross—my seal at baptism—spread below
Does, by that form, into an Anchor grow.
Crosses grow Anchors ; bear, as thou shouldest do
Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.
But He that makes our Crosses Anchors thus,
Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.
Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ;
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old.
The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ;
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And, as he rounds the earth to murder sure,
My death he is, but on the Cross, my cure.
Crucify nature then, and then implore
All grace from Him, crucified there before ;
Then all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown ;
This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
Under that little seal great gifts I send,
Works, and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend.
And may that saint which rides in our great seal,
To you who bear his name,* great bounties deal !
poem by John Donne
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Sonnet: Life’s Crosses
The little crosses coming in life’s way
Sometimes appear heavier than we carry;
We trudge and struggle forward, come what may;
Our weak spirit, the Lord, tries to query!
The Cross that Jesus carried years ago
Reminds our burden is a trivial one;
Christ suffered, died for mankind’s sins and so,
Devils, from men, are always on the run.
The grace of God instils a hope anew;
The walk with God is easier than before;
But reach heaven, not many can but few;
The road is narrow and so is its door!
Yet, all can make it if you well repent;
So, every year, the Lord gives us a Lent!
poem by John Celes
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Crosses Burning # 2
Native America tragedy,
cant escape the curse of history,
poverty has its remedies,
none of which are good.
crystal meth and crack cocaine,
Devil drives that old train,
cant fix the hole or ease the pain,
and wouldnt if it could...
still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of illusions,
crosses burning.
small town heroes falling,
the ghosts of freedom calling,
yet the truth is quite appalling,
pawns in the game.
Wall Street ghouls in trench coats,
tax incentives, life boats,
dont know which way the wind blows,
numbers without a name.
still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of manipulation,
crosses burning.
cant tell the truth from a lie,
you live and work and then you die,
cant take it with you if you try,
lost inside a maze.
redemption or salvation,
the train has left the station
for a greedy soulless nation,
who profits and who pays?
still the wheel of life
keeps on turning;
in the land of denial,
crosses burning.
addicted to foreign oil,
incursions on foreign soils,
enough to make your blood boil,
when enough is enough.
while children starve and women die,
paint the picture but you cant hide,
your hands are bloody, you cant deny...
stop, in the name of love!
still the wheel of life
keeps on turning,
in the land of promise,
crosses burning.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sonnet: On Being a Christian
Like Christ’s, a Christian 's life will have to be;
Like Him, he'll carry crosses all his life;
He'll live amidst a world of treachery;
His love of God gets reinforced by strife.
Like Christ, the world will unfairly treat him;
And punish him for 'crimes' which he ne'er did;
His woes and foes will make his life so grim;
Nevertheless, they will fail in their bid.
For Holy Spirit guides each Christian!
Against devils, evils, misdeeds and sin;
He walks boldly in the road to Heaven;
On earth and Heaven, the 'Xian will win.
A Christian's life tho' difficult is best;
And Christ will help him pass the final test.
poem by John Celes
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Spackling
While there are many roads
I have traveled
and random ones
where I had no control;
who I travel with
is one decision
I did have some say with.
Even as I have been swept
ahead unpredictability
I have held your hand
with which to steady myself with.
So much of life
I now realize
is not the road you take
but who you travel with.
And you my love
have
through
tumult and stickering
held my hand tight
and always
loved me
sometimes more
that I was able
to muster
for myself.
So if my courage faltered
you spackled on what
was needed
and did so so expertly
I most of the time
believed
it came from me
not you
my lover.
And isn't that the real test of love
not knowing
what came from me
and what came from you
so intertwined
are the souls? ;
one crosses over to be me
and mine crosses over to be you.
Soul Love:
indistinguishable.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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