Sonnet- The World Today(4)
Behold a beggar playing sad a tune!
By heart, on his own poor, old harmonium;
Though blind, he seems to be in God’s commune;
Alas! is this the new millennium?
Behold a lady working by hand-loom;
A widow poor, she has a female child!
Victim of consumption that spread to womb;
That turns all hearts of sympathy so wild.
Behold the handicapped who jobs the lathe!
With fore-limbs lost by accident, the smiles;
’Tis hard and dangerous; his sweat does bathe;
In dignity he lives and walks home miles.
And lo, the whole some man in car complains,
And curses all while driving drunk through lanes!
poem by John Celes
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Son Of Perdition
Behold the stars that shine above and on the beast newborn.
Behold the man who knows not love, just bitterness and scorn.
Behold the man of ill repute - his smiles that gleam and gleam.
Behold the man behind the suit - his hatred is extreme.
Behold the answers that he shares, his miracles and gifts.
Behold the economic scares and problems that he lifts.
Behold the dark tools of his trade, his sorceries and spells.
Behold the blasphemies displayed as if from poisoned wells.
Behold the leaders in his thrall, the slaves and armies, too.
Behold the devils at his call and what he made them do.
Behold the billions he controlled like puppets on their strings.
Behold the billions in his fold and kings his underlings.
Behold the horns upon his head to match his demon heart.
Behold the souls that he misled, the lives he tore apart.
Behold what God will send to Hell! Unsaved! No remission!
Behold what prophecies foretell... Lost son of perdition...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Behold
I get it done
behold plenitude
focused
behold joy
behold greatness of god
behold wonderful life
behold charisma
behold
poem by Johnny Walks
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I Will Branch Out
Behold the man who is the seed,
Behold the woman who is the bud,
Behold the child who is the fruit,
And, behold the muse of love which has now become the branch!
For, we can now see the benefit of true love.
I will branch out from my place to touch your heart with my love,
For if there is no loser in a game, there will be no winner in this life;
So, just give me cold water to quench my thirst.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet -Blessed are the Poor on Earth
Let discontented men, learn from the poor,
Who smile despite the anguish in their hearts;
Hard-working all their lives for bread, succor;
Yet, struggling always to improve their lots.
No job is mean but honesty matters;
The vagaries of life tease them so much;
And scarcely clothed, that too in such tatters;
They wait with patience for God's magic touch.
Yet, all the while, their faces wear big smiles;
Their hearts are moved by beggar's cries for alms;
Barefoot in Rain or Sun, they walk the miles;
Their hearts are soft but roughened are their palms.
The Gates of Heaven are open to them;
Their poverty becomes their diadem.
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: Blessed Are The Poor On Earth
Let discontented men, learn from the poor,
Who smile despite the anguish in their hearts;
Hard-working all their lives for bread, succor;
Yet, struggling always to improve their lots.
No job is mean but honesty matters;
The vagaries of life tease them so much;
And scarcely clothed, that too in such tatters,
They wait with patience for God's magic touch.
Yet, all the while, their faces wear big smiles;
Their hearts are moved by beggar's cries for alms;
Barefoot in Rain or Sun, they walk the miles;
Their hearts are soft but roughened are their palms.
The Gates of Heaven are open to them;
Their poverty becomes their diadem.
6-14-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
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Villanelle
Come hither, child, and rest,
This is the end of day,
Behold the weary West!
Sleep rounds with equal zest
Man's toil and children's play,
Come hither, child, and rest.
My white bird, seek thy nest,
Thy drooping head down lay,
Behold the weary West!
Now eve is manifest
And homeward lies our way,
Behold the weary West!
Tired flower! upon my breast
I would wear thee alway,
Come hither, child, and rest -
Behold the weary West!
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Villanelle Of Sunset
Come hither, child, and rest,
This is the end of day,
Behold the weary West!
Sleep rounds with equal zest
Man's toil and children's play,
Come hither, child, and rest.
My white bird, seek thy nest,
Thy drooping head down lay,
Behold the weary West!
Now eve is manifest
And homeward lies our way,
Behold the weary West!
Tired flower! upon my breast
I would wear thee alway,
Come hither, child, and rest -
Behold the weary West!
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Lo And Behold
I pulled out for San Anton',
I never felt so good.
My woman said she'd meet me there
And of course, I knew she would.
The coachman, he hit me for my hook
And he asked me my name.
I give it to him right away,
Then I hung my head in shame.
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I come into Pittsburgh
At six-thirty flat.
I found myself a vacant seat
An' I put down my hat.
"What's the matter, Molly, dear,
What's the matter with your mound?"
"What's it to ya, Moby Dick?
This is chicken town!"
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
I bought my girl
A herd of moose,
One she could call her own.
Well, she came out the very next day
To see where they had flown.
I'm goin' down to Tennessee,
Get me a truck 'r somethin'.
Gonna save my money and rip it up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
Now, I come in on a ferris wheel
An' boys, I sure was slick.
I come in like a ton of bricks,
Laid a few tricks on 'em.
Goin' back to Pittsburgh,
Count up to thirty,
Round that horn and ride that herd,
Gonna thread up!
Lo and behold! Lo and behold!
Lookin' for my lo and behold,
Get me outa here, my dear man!
song performed by by Bob Dylan, music by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wise One
Behold him! Bold, resilient,
The biggest of them all...
The wise one called the elephant
Who deafens with his call!
Behold the ears that span an arm,
The trunk that's like a snake...
The way he walks with gentle calm,
Yet swims across a lake!
Behold the tusks that help him fight,
As he defends the herd...
The twinkling eyes that grant him sight,
To see when danger stirred!
Behold the skin that hides his bones,
Like wrinkled leather slits...
The twisting tongue the wise one owns,
As in his mouth it sits!
Behold the awesome majesty,
This giant God has made!
His loss would be a travesty,
If hunted and betrayed!
Behold the challenge Man must face,
To keep each wise one safe...
For none of us can yet replace
The life that God once gave...
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Wise One'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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The New World Order
Behold the world, this Earth, our home,
This marble and its moon
And how they've got all space to roam
Yet dance a preset tune...
Are we the same? Like puppets here?
Manipulated minds?
Who bears the blame for Mankind's fear
Which daily twists and binds?
Behold the times in which we live,
The super-rich and poor,
The Christian saints who seek to give
While populations soar...
Consider countries one-by-one,
Resources dwindling fast
And nothing new under the sun
That's truly meant to last...
Behold the future times ahead,
The days and nights unknown,
The feeling that each nation's led
Into some Twilight Zone...
Like slaves not given chance to think,
Just puppets on a string,
Left in the quicksand, there to sink,
No rescue rope to cling...
Behold the common man that's left,
Now bankrupt and forlorn
And watch his countenance bereft,
When confidence is torn...
And count the riches, if you dare,
You'll see they've disappeared
And in the time that you've all stared,
More treasures have been cleared...
Behold the news, both good and bad,
It's worse, much worse, my friend,
For Man has lost the joy he had
And senses it's the end...
While banks hold sway, the world will grieve
For prices rise and rise
And with high prices freedoms leave,
So please don't feign surprise...
Behold the callous crimes remain,
The New World Order rules
With no point strolling Memory Lane,
That folly's just for fools...
If not for love, the world is lost,
No pardon on its way
And Antichrist will pay the cost,
Beholding Judgment Day...
Denis Martindale, copyright, December 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Behold the Glory of God's Creation
Behold the rocks atop the mountain stand,
And only fall when they should, when God wants!
Behold the waterfall, a beauteous sight,
That ne'er runs dry, despite the sun, failed rains!
Behold the melting glaciers, snow-clad peaks,
Bespeak the glory of the Creator;
Behold the rivulets merge into sea
To keep the salinity constantly!
Behold the school of fish that swim afree,
And dart and turn and glide within the sea;
Behold the birds that fly, both young and old,
At heights their wings are meant to carry them!
Behold the glory of God's creation -
A perfect spectacle for human eyes!
The proof of divine love for all mankind,
Unfathomable, everlasting lies!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 18-07-12
poem by John Celes
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Behold The Sea
Behold the sea, the mighty restless sea!
Behold the strand of battered rock and sand!
The endless fight between the sea and man!
Behold the sea!
Through wind and storm the foaming breakers roar
What of the man who waits upon the shore?
What of the man you hold forevermore?
Behold the sea!
Rolling along in the starlight
Restless, plentiful and strong
Rolling along in the moonlight
Surf and spray shining in the sun
Behold the sea, the mighty restless sea!
Behold the strand of battered rock and sand!
The endless fight between the sea and man!
Behold the sea!
poem by Jerry Caldwell
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Behold
Like morning's first light,
like the stars in the night
my love is a sight
to behold.
Like the heat of the sun,
like the rivers that run
My love is the one
I behold.
Like a delicate wine,
like crystal so fine
I'm glad you are mine
to behold.
Like your smile of delight,
like you looked in bridal white
you still are my sight
to behold.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Birth of A Feeling
There was a great storm in my mind,
I heard the thunder pounding in my heart,
Even lightning struck through my nerves,
The condition senseless and unusual,
The vibrations so intense and vivid,
My heart so determined and focused,
The muscles pulling and stretching,
My heart was in a labour room,
The birth of a feeling
I saw you and I liked you,
My sight impregnated my heart,
The world longed to witness the day,
Behold the day has came,
My heart in a state of shock,
Holding in its hand a feeling,
Behold let the day be remembered
The birth of a feeling
In an unexpected labour room,
With an unexpected general populacy,
For an unexpected pure lady,
A feeling was born, for her
Should the feeling die a young one,
Or should it reach adulthood,
It is a question of faith, yes
Spare her the good news,
Or keep the feeling a secret,
For how long will i hide the feeling,
For the birth I alone knows,
Yet the death we dont expect
I am falling for you,
Yet falling without you,
In the womb still I was not sure,
The doubts of a child in the womb,
I skipped my period and I knew,
Yes I was pregnant with a feeling for you,
Celebrate this birthday with me,
The birth of a feeling
You may never be the parent,
But the child is for you,
Adopt it maybe, or abandon it maybe,
It shall so mightly grow and grow,
Oh beautiful feeling of mine,
I celebrate, the birth of a feeling
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Siberian Majesty
Behold the special majesty,
It's truly quite sublime!
The tiger has such dignity
It lasts the test of time!
For like a giant, he surveys
The land in his domain,
Such that his sovereign will outweighs,
Come sunshine or come rain...
Behold the special self-control,
As he strides to and fro,
As if there lives a gentle soul,
As on a stroll would go...
Yet he has skills and courage, too,
Against the foes he finds,
Enough to say, 'I'm warning you...
Or watch me change your minds! '
Behold the special royal stance
That uncrowned kings possess,
With strength and wisdom to enhance
And grant their sweet caress...
Of all God's creatures, he's first class!
He's the cream of the cream...
While years may come, each one to pass,
Each month, he stands supreme...
poem by Denis Martindale
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The Emigrant Mother
ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;
The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,
In friendship she to me would often tell.
This Lady, dwelling upon British ground,
Where she was childless, daily would repair
To a poor neighbouring cottage; as I found,
For sake of a young Child whose home was there.
Once having seen her clasp with fond embrace
This Child, I chanted to myself a lay,
Endeavouring, in our English tongue, to trace
Such things as she unto the Babe might say:
And thus, from what I heard and knew, or guessed,
My song the workings of her heart expressed.
I
'Dear Babe, thou daughter of another,
One moment let me be thy mother!
An infant's face and looks are thine,
And sure a mother's heart is mine:
Thy own dear mother's far away,
At labour in the harvest field:
Thy little sister is at play;--
What warmth, what comfort would it yield
To my poor heart, if thou wouldst be
One little hour a child to me!
II
'Across the waters I am come,
And I have left a babe at home:
A long, long way of land and sea!
Come to me--I'm no enemy:
I am the same who at thy side
Sate yesterday, and made a nest
For thee, sweet Baby!--thou hast tried,
Thou know'st the pillow of my breast;
Good, good art thou:--alas! to me
Far more than I can be to thee.
III
'Here, little Darling, dost thou lie;
An infant thou, a mother I!
Mine wilt thou be, thou hast no fears;
Mine art thou--spite of these my tears.
Alas! before I left the spot,
My baby and its dwelling-place;
The nurse said to me, 'Tears should not
Be shed upon an infant's face,
It was unlucky'--no, no, no;
No truth is in them who say so!
IV
'My own dear Little-one will sigh,
Sweet Babe! and they will let him die.
'He pines,' they'll say, 'it is his doom,
And you may see his hour is come.'
Oh! had he but thy cheerful smiles,
Limbs stout as thine, and lips as gay,
Thy looks, thy cunning, and thy wiles,
And countenance like a summer's day,
They would have hopes of him;--and then
I should behold his face again!
V
''Tis gone--like dreams that we forget;
There was a smile or two--yet--yet
I can remember them, I see
The smiles, worth all the world to me.
Dear Baby! I must lay thee down;
Thou troublest me with strange alarms;
Smiles hast thou, bright ones of thy own;
I cannot keep thee in my arms;
For they confound me;--where--where is
That last, that sweetest smile of his?
VI
'Oh! how I love thee!--we will stay
Together here this one half day.
My sister's child, who bears my name,
From France to sheltering England came;
She with her mother crossed the sea;
The babe and mother near me dwell:
Yet does my yearning heart to thee
Turn rather, though I love her well:
Rest, little Stranger, rest thee here!
Never was any child more dear!
VII
'--I cannot help it; ill intent
I've none, my pretty Innocent!
I weep--I know they do thee wrong,
These tears---and my poor idle tongue.
Oh, what a kiss was that! my cheek
How cold it is! but thou art good;
Thine eyes are on me--they would speak,
I think, to help me if they could.
Blessings upon that soft, warm face,
My heart again is in its place!
VIII
'While thou art mine, my little Love,
This cannot be a sorrowful grove;
Contentment, hope, and mother's glee,
I seem to find them all in thee:
Here's grass to play with, here are flowers;
I'll call thee by my darling's name;
Thou hast, I think, a look of ours,
Thy features seem to me the same;
His little sister thou shalt be;
And, when once more my home I see,
I'll tell him many tales of Thee.'
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Beggar
Encouraged by thy word
Of promise to the poor;
Behold, a beggar, Lord,
Waits at thy mercy's door!
No hand, no heart, O Lord, but thine,
Can help or pity wants like mine.
The beggar's usual plea
Relief from men to gain,
If offered unto thee,
I know thou would'st disdain:
And pleas which move thy gracious ear,
Are such as men would scorn to hear.
I have no right to say
That though I now am poor,
Yet once there was a day
When I possessed more:
Thou know'st that from my very birth,
I've been the poorest wretch on earth.
Nor can I dare profess,
As beggars often do,
Though great is my distress,
My wants have been but few:
If thou shouldst leave my soul to starve,
It would be what I well deserve.
'Twere folly to pretend
I never begged before;
Or if thou now befriend,
I'll trouble thee no more:
Thou often hast relieved my pain,
And often I must come again.
Though crumbs are much too good
For such a dog as I;
No less than children's food
My soul can satisfy:
O do not frown and bid me go,
I must have all thou canst bestow.
poem by John Newton
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Jesus Born On This Day
Today a child is born on earth
Today a child is born on earth
Today the glory of God
Shines everywhere
For all the world
[Chorus:]
Oh Jesus born on this day
He is our light and salvation
Oh Jesus born on this day
He is the King of all nations
Behold the Lamb of God has come
Behold the Lamb of God has come
Behold the Savior is born
Sing of His love
To everyone
[Chorus]
Today our hearts rejoice in him
Today our hearts rejoice in him
Today the light of His birth
Fills us with hope
And brings peace on earth
[Chorus]
Today a child is born on earth
Today a child is born on earth
He is light
song performed by by Mariah Carey from Merry Christmas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art Above Nature: To Julia
When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head;
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew
The top, and the top-gallant too;
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I.
Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility;
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so--
I must confess, mine eye and heart
Dotes less on nature than on art.
poem by Robert Herrick
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By The Fireside : Resignation
There is no flock, however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,
But has one vacant chair!
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!
Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead,--the child of our affection,--
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,
That cannot be at rest,--
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We may not wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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