Chinese Box
For years, the 'Muse of the Heavenly Gates'
Had stood in the shade of a country lane,
Quietly tending its residents there,
The old, the feeble, the stark insane.
The blurb said, here was a heaven on earth
For the old to pass their declining years,
It said they lived in a quiet content,
The truth was actually quite the reverse.
For Matron Margaret Parker-Lang was
A nun, expelled from the Carmelites,
'Too much of the world', they said of her,
When caught indulging in base delights.
The years had hardened, had turned her hair
An iron grey, and her eyes were cold,
She only smiled when the visitors came
To pay the fees for their aged, in gold.
She didn't encourage their visits, though:
'It's hard, you see, and they get upset,
Best to remember them how they were,
Their memories fade, then they forget.'
Few would revisit the Heavenly Gates,
They left them safe in the nurse's care,
Who drugged the residents every night
So none could complain of their treatment there.
They gathered them all in a stupor, sat
In rows, in front of a giant screen,
Then played them movies in black and white
'Til half the residents there could scream.
The food was bland and inedible,
So soon they wasted to skin and bone,
And those who thought to protest would find
They'd confiscated their telephone.
The visiting Locum, Doctor Zourk,
Had quite a collection of things antique,
Whenever he'd visit a prospect's home,
They'd be committed, within the week.
Then he and the Matron would take their pick
Of anything there that took the eye,
If anyone later complained, they'd say:
'He'd put it out for the rubbish guy! '
But once in 'The Muse of the Heavenly Gates'
The trap would spring, the shades come down,
They'd flourish the papers and help him sign
His house and his title deeds to them.
Again, when his mind was wandering
The Matron would sit, and hold his hand:
'Organ donation, that's the thing,
If you could help, that would be grand! '
I was away in China, when
My father went to the Heavenly Gates,
A note from the Matron said, 'He's fine!
Our lawyers will help him to sort his estate.'
I must have been deaf to the warning bells,
My mind was focused, I let it be,
I never once thought of the Chinese Box
That I'd taken home on a previous leave.
I'd happened on it in a Curio Shop
In the winding back streets of Xi'an,
I'd never quite managed to puzzle it out
And finally left the old box at home.
I knew it was ancient, marked and scored,
With a funny old Chinese symbol too,
The Chinese owner had bowed and smiled
When I asked what the box could really do.
It came as a shock when my father died,
We'd not been together for quite a spell,
By the time that I got back home again,
They'd taken his organs, eyes as well.
Unknown to me, he had signed a form
That I knew he'd not in the world have done,
To give them the right to his organs, once
He had passed away, and his race was run.
I was angry then, but I went on home
And braced myself for another shock,
Things were missing, a Chinese screen
And my beautiful, ancient Chinese Box.
My back was up, my suspicions rife
I sought out the Matron then, to talk,
But found her dead on the slab back there,
Dismembered by locum, Doctor Zourk.
He'd taken some of her organs out,
They sat in the open fridge nearby,
But then she coughed, and she sat up straight,
Let out a horrible, piercing cry.
The doctor staggered and ran from the room
Like a sprinter, racing right out of the blocks,
'Watch for that old antique, ' she hissed,
'The dragon that came in the Chinese Box! '
She was breathing for barely a minute more
As she fell back onto the blood-soaked deck,
But what she managed to whisper there
Made the hairs rise up on the back of my neck,
She'd solved the puzzle and opened the box
When the drawer slid out with a sudden bang,
For what had jumped out and bitten her then
Was the Dragon of Emperor Qin Shi Huang.
The dragon's venom had paralyzed her,
So Zourk had thought she was good and dead,
He'd wanted the Box for himself, you see,
But she had raided our house, instead.
He thought he could sell her organs then,
And pick up the box as a plus, as well,
Collectors become more fanatical when
On that short sharp road to a personal hell!
The Box sits there by the mantelpiece
Wherever I travel, or think to roam,
I've travelled on back to China, so
The Dragon will feel that it's safe at home.
I heard that the Doctor is doing time
For the gruesome murder of Matron Lang,
Thank God - I haven't been introduced
To the Dragon of Emperor Qin Shi Huang.
25 October 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Stark
All matter and existence
build from the concept of quark
Stark
Everything you need for life
Fits on one Arc
Stark
A misty graveyard with just
the song of the Lark
Stark
The raving madness that takes hold
and makes you bark
Stark
The cutting bluntness
of a succinct remark
Stark
Barren, the searing desert.
I fight the urge to disembark
Stark
A broken mind, in the shade
of depression, so dark
Stark
A winters morn alone
on a bench in an empty park
Stark
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Make Your Own Book!
On blurb dot com I read of how
You could make your own book
With text and photos, added POW
To fashion your own look
At first, I sat there mesmerised
And all new thoughts conceived
I sat there, somewhat google eyed
At what could be achieved
On blurb dot com what could I do?
What wonders could I make?
What landscapes, seascapes, points-of-view?
I asked, for goodness sake
My brilliant brain began to whirr!
The blood was spinning round!
Then startling themes began to stir
With visions to astound
On blurb dot com I made my book
And what a book it was
I plead with you to take a look
Because, because, because
Because I think it's beautiful
Exquisite, cute, sublime
I think that blurb is wonderful
That's why I penned this rhyme
poem by Denis Martindale
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Piper At The Gates Of Dawn
Piper at the gates of dawn
The coolness of the riverbank, and the whispering of the reeds
Daybreak is not so very far away
Enchanted and spellbound, in the silence they lingered
And rowed the boat as the light grew steadily strong
And the birds were silent, as they listened for the heavenly music
And the river played the song
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The song dream happened and the cloven hoofed piper
Played in that holy ground where they felt the awe and wonder
And they all were unafraid of the great God pan
And the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
When the vision vanished they heard a choir of birds singing
In the heavenly silence between the trance and the reeds
And they stood upon the lawn and listened to the silence
Of the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
Its the wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
The wind in the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gates to Heaven
The gates to heaven
is wide open...
For me to walk
through it.
The gates are
made out of gold...
I can’t wait until
I walk through...
The gates of heaven.
Oh how much I
want to see
God...
But the gates: are
the gates to Heaven..
poem by Lisa Parks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Insane
Somebody told me it was over
Nobody told me where it began
No one believes in you
I understand
Like a blind man
Whos lost his way
No one hears a word
Of what you say
I forgive you
Would you do the same
I would believe you
If only youd be true
I would believe if it were true
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane insane
I dont know where youve been looking
I think its only in your mind
Its tied so tight inside of you
All the thoughts unkind
I would believe you
If only youd be true
I would believe if it were true
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane
Insane
I would believe you
If only youd be true
Im getting older
And I cant escape time
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same for me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane
Cause everybody wants to be a winner
Nobody wants to lose their game
Its the same or me
Its the same for you
Its insane insane insane insane insane
Insane insane insane insane insane insane
Insane
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here We Are In The Years
Now that the holidays have come
They can relax and watch the sun
Rise above all of the beautiful things
Theyve done.
Go to the country take the dog
Look at the sky without the smog
See the world laugh at the farmers feeding hogs
Eat hot dogs.
What a pity
That the people from the city
Cant relate to the slower things
That the country brings.
Time itself is bought and sold.
The spreading fear of growing old
Contains a thousand foolish games
That we play.
While people planning trips to stars
Allow another boulevard to claim
A quiet country lane
Its insane.
So the subtle face is a loser
This time around.
Here we are in the years
Where the showman shifts the gears
Lives become careers
Children cry in fear
Let us out of here!
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When God Opens Heaven's Gates
When God opens Heaven's gates
As we cross that gulf so wide,
The arms of Jesus open
As our soul will there abide.
When God opens heaven's gates
We'll see beauty all around,
Our loved ones, too, will greet us,
As we leave this earth behind.
When God opens Heaven's gates
There'll be singing angels there,
The awesome peace and joyfulness
Will permeate the air.
As God opens Heaven's gates
And His Light takes place of day,
Jesus welcomes us forever
As the ones who found "The Way."
poem by Gloria Davis Walker
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Brogan's Lane
There's a crack in the city—down that sharp street
In couples, and armed, tramp rozzers on beat.
Like a joss, silhouetted across the pane,
A Chinese face watches down Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
A reeling moon blinks over Brogan’s Lane.
Flash Fred, when he dives on a red lot, sneaks thro’
To moscow the swag with a Polaky Jew.
Tho’ rooked by old Shylock, he needn’t complain,
The melting pot bubbles in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
Rats pinch from their cobbers down Brogan’s Lane.
And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay
And drives to the races and laughs at the play;
Till one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain,
A body is perished in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
There’s only one turn to the long last lane.
With opium dens, sly cribs, bones and rags,
’Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women and vags.
They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain,
But there’ll come a stretch at the end of the lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
The river and morgue shadow Brogan’s Lane.
poem by Louis Esson
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Stark (5,3,1 structure for Gulsher: -)
All matter that existence here
constructed of quark?
Stark
Everything you need for life
Fits one arc?
Stark
A misty graveyard with only
Song of Lark
Stark
Raving madness that takes hold
Makes you bark
Stark
Cutting bluntness of succinct remark
Stalks like shark
Stark
Barron, the searing hot desert
Must not disembark
Stark
Broken mind, shades
under depression
So very dark
Stark
Winters morn sitting on bench
In empty park
Stark
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memory Lane
People ask me What you doin' son
You're gonna drive yourself insane
You'll never find the sunshine
When you're followin' the rain
Seems like I'd take a new road
After all these years
But I wind up on the same old trail of tears
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'into you
I hate the way I loved you
But my mind keeps goin' back
My train of thought just won't get off
That same old worn out track
It's an every night occasion me and your memory meet
On that endless lonely street of broken dreams
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'/Into you
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'/Into you
Here she comes now
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
Lord
song performed by by Tim McGraw from Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Wondering
I am wondering
I am thinking about age and the might of death
As the gates of heaven have opened today. Crawling
On the floor of the heavens, babies once adults
On this world, share spaces with heavenly people,
Heavenly people, heavenly people;
How is the bravery shown?
Due to bravery and courage
The Goliath fell with the slingshot,
And David is found in the heavens
With gigantic angels of gleaming purity.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Speak Quietly
Speak more quietly
Because one could hear us well
The world is not ready for your tender words
The world is not ready for us
They would quiet simply say that we are insane
Speak more quietly, but still speak
Of the insane love, of the strong love
That we passionately share
Born out of your tender care
Because one could surprise us well
You know very well
The world would never understand
That in our hearts
We found that thing
Which the world refused to give us
Speak quietly love
I'll hold u close to my heart
The era of our love would start
We are in a world of our own
Sharing the love, which no-one have ever known
Brother Walfrid Stands by Parkhead's Gates
The Celtic songs filled heaven's sky
and we marched along the Gallowgate
Joined by comrades, brothers and sisters,
As Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.
The Celtic passion is such devotion,
Heritage, culture and our faith,
Our father’s father bore the tradition,
While Brother Walfrid stood by Parkhead's gates.
In the Garngad, from the parish of St.Roch’s,
Ireland’s sons and daughters would pray,
From the Royston Road, we would find our spiritual home
As Brother Walfrid’s soul welcomed us through Parkhead’s gates.
Our Irish inheritance we will cradle,
With the Glasgow Celtic, we will celebrate,
On the Holy Ground will play heroes & legends,
Blessed by Brother Walfrid who stands by Parkhead's gates.
The green and white drapes over our heart
As we are educated on the Celtic way,
And as we gather within Celtic Park,
Brother Walfrid stands by Parkhead’s gates.
Nov’17th 2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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My Progeny Destined To Lie In Heaven's Womb
My progeny destined to lie in heaven's womb
Never to be born, myths of one's mind
Hidden from earth, from her dirt filled tomb
Safe in heaven with seraphs of heavenly kind
Veiled by heavenly white,
Playing on a star
Ablaze with celestial light,
Loving all from afar
My progeny seest, mine heavenly love
And knowest mine heart, mine heart alone
Laid in the womb of heaven beyond and above
To heaven's delight, there thou art only known
To heaven, to heaven, O! To heavenly only be born
Never on earth, wert souls are left forlorn…..
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Walking Tall
It was not so long ago
I stood on a mountaintop,
close to the gates of heaven.
That I could almost reach it
by stretching out my hand.
A sense of serenity
seemed to surround and engulf me.
I heard voices of old friends
who had passed away,
all of them calling me.
Then my God spoke to me
as I stood there
with heaven not that far away.
Son, it’s not your time
yet to be called to me.
Live your life
with love and piety,
continue with what you do
and that will lead you
to the path to me.
I stood in silence
for a few minutes more.
I climbed down from that mountain
and my life was filled
with peace and serenity.
Today I walk tall
my mind is satisfied
with my life I lead
and all the things I do
thanks to my God in heaven.
I start each day with a smile
hoping it encourages others
to do the same.
Because I know now what awaits me
when my life is finally through.
30 October 2011
poem by David Harris
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Results Ridiculous
("Humourists have amused themselves by translating famous sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous would have been obtained if somebody had re-written a passage from 'Paradise Lost' as a rondeau." --George Soule in the New Republic)
"PARADISE LOST"
Sing, Heavenly Muse, in lines that flow
More smoothly than the wandering Po,
Of man's descending from the height
Of Heaven itself, the blue, the bright,
To Hell's unutterable throe.
Of sin original and the woe
That fell upon us here below
From man's pomonic primal bite--
Sing, Heavenly Muse!
Of summer sun, of winter snow, Of future days, of long ago,
Of morning and "the shades of night,"
Of woman, "my ever new delight,"
Go to it, Muse, and put us Joe--
Sing, Heavenly Muse!
* * * * *
"THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER"
THE wedding guest sat on a stone,
He could not chose but hear
The mariner. They were there alone.
The wedding guest sat on a stone.
"I'll read you something of my own,"
Declared that mariner.
The wedding guest sat on a stone--
He could not chose but hear.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)
We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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Democracy
To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.
The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.
Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.
Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.
poem by Satish Verma
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My Door Is A Lamp
One day You ask: What are you up to?
- I work for lattices
And concoct doors for lamps.
The door to heaven will be split,
My doors shall turn into gates
Encircling my heaven of Old.
Radiation picks up from Hell,
Heaven closes its gates,
And my doors open and shut
To let Me only enter
My heaven and Paradise.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Not In My Backyard
The local residents are all up in arms,
Worried that their town may lose its charm.
With hundreds of new houses, they are faced,
But plans to oppose them, are firmly in place.
Developers have been granted planning permission,
But now, residents are all busy signing a petition.
Faced with losing their precious fields of green,
The local residents are obviously not at all keen.
Worried about the thriving woods and animals,
To oppose the plans, there's been many a call.
By the new plans, will be very greatly affected,
The Great Crested Newt, which is protected.
The proposed plans have been on display
At the local community centre, for many a day.
The new development will obscure the view,
But the developers have argued this isn't true.
Meetings have been held, and the discussions
Have focused upon the possible repercussions.
The council argue that there's a need for progression,
But this has been met by the angry locals' aggression.
The area has remained untouched for many years;
That the new estate will spoil it, there are now fears.
The residents just want to be left to live in peace,
And for all this sudden madness just to cease.
The residents want the developers to see the light,
And hope that they will end up winning the fight.
The locals wish the developers would go away,
But the chances are, that they are here to stay.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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