Glory
Will I with you find content
in small little things
at times in happy imaginings
or must discontent
find a way into our lives until they are spent?
There are butterflies, bees and birds on small little wings
the calls of doves, of plovers, of even sparrows in the evenings
and fireflies that are sometimes present
and in all these things there is some beauty
a kind of natural grace
that changes life from what it was before
while they flutter, are roaming free
in open space upon open space
are displaying glory forevermore
[Reference: “The Glory” by Edward Thomas.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Fowls Flying In The Air
Methinks I see a sight most excellent,
All sorts of birds fly in the firmament:
Some great, some small, all of a divers kind,
Mine eye affecting, pleasant to my mind.
Look how they tumble in the wholesome air,
Above the world of worldlings, and their care.
And as they divers are in bulk and hue,
So are they in their way of flying too.
So many birds, so many various things
Tumbling i' the element upon their wings.
Comparison.
These birds are emblems of those men that shall
Ere long possess the heavens, their all in all.
They are each of a diverse shape and kind,
To teach we of all nations there shall find.
They are some great, some little, as we see,
To show some great, some small, in glory be.
Their flying diversely, as we behold,
Do show saints' joys will there be manifold;
Some glide, some mount, some flutter, and some do,
In a mix'd way of flying, glory too.
And all to show each saint, to his content,
Shall roll and tumble in that firmament.
poem by John Bunyan
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The Glory
The glory of the beauty of the morning, -
The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;
The blackbird that has found it, and the dove
That tempts me on to something sweeter than love;
White clouds ranged even and fair as new-mown hay;
The heat, the stir, the sublime vacancy
Of sky and meadow and forest and my own heart: -
The glory invites me, yet it leaves me scorning
All I can ever do, all I can be,
Beside the lovely of motion, shape, and hue,
The happiness I fancy fit to dwell
In beauty's presence. Shall I now this day
Begin to seek as far as heaven, as hell,
Wisdom or strength to match this beauty, start
And tread the pale dust pitted with small dark drops,
In hope to find whatever it is I seek,
Hearkening to short-lived happy-seeming things
That we know naught of, in the hazel copse?
Or must I be content with discontent
As larks and swallows are perhaps with wings?
And shall I ask at the day's end once more
What beauty is, and what I can have meant
By happiness? And shall I let all go,
Glad, weary, or both? Or shall I perhaps know
That I was happy oft and oft before,
Awhile forgetting how I am fast pent,
How dreary-swift, with naught to travel to,
Is Time? I cannot bite the day to the core.
poem by Edward Thomas
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My Glory Is Not The Glory of God
MY GLORY IS NOT THE GLORY OF G-D
My glory is not the glory of G-d
I do not know what the glory of God is-
I do not know my own glory.
Glory glory glory
What’s glory?
We are small lost souls in a space and time so far beyond us
It is difficult to imagine
Even God knows how to deal with it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Awaiting On You All (Alan Freeman Show 1974)
You don't need no love, man
You don't need no bedpan
You don't need a heartened message to mess with your end
If you open up your heart
If you know what I mean
And you waited here so long
Well, that's a way for you to get me
Live, share in the wings of the Lord and you'll be free
The Lord lights the way and you know that you'll soon see
Share in the wings of the Lord and you'll be free
The Lord lights the way with all the glory to see
You don't need no passport
You don't need no visa
You don't need a daisy chain or anything before you can see Jesus
If you open up your heart
You can 'see' it right there
But if it opens too wide
Then you'll find your own hell
Live, share in the wings of the Lord and you'll be free
The Lord lights the way and you know that you'll soon see
Share in the wings of the Lord and you'll be free
The Lord lights the way with all the glory to see
You don't need no church house
You don't need no temple
You don't need no rosary beads or books if you wanna go there
If you open up your heart
If you know what I mean
Then you'll soon long to find that out that we're all free
Oh we're on bible number fifty one said the general order
And a stronger piece of english is the only thing that's followed by the
quota
The Lord lights the way with all the glory to see
But share in the wings of the Lord and you'll be free
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Birds Plunge Through Is Not The Intimate Space
What birds plunge through is not the intimate space,
in which you see all Forms intensified.
(In the Open, denied, you would lose yourself,
would disappear into that vastness.)
Space reaches from us and translates Things:
to become the very essence of a tree,
throw inner space around it, from that space
that lives in you. Encircle it with restraint.
It has no limits. For the first time, shaped
in your renouncing, it becomes fully tree.
Submitted and Translated by Gabriel Caffrey
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Beyond The Temporal Doors
I simply need to trust God's hand each day to guide me where I am.
I just need to wait upon The Lord, who alone opens and closes doors.
Friend, no one can fathom or understand God's Awesome Eternal plan.
Neither can I attempt to explain all that has been done in His name.
What seems to be little to me is far bigger in the light of eternity,
In my present place I am being molded for eternity by God's Grace.
When I complain I hear God say I am the potter you're just the clay,
As each day I'm molded by His Hand, into His Glorious Eternal Plan.
Temporal things aren't ours to gain as we focus on an Eternal Reign,
A future reign with Jesus forevermore, that's the ultimate open door.
Through a darkened glass we see now, hiding answers to why and how.
No eye has seen what's in store where former things will be no more.
Too Often I become discontent at the workplace where I've been sent,
When my heart becomes ambivalent, I like Christ must be benevolent.
For in God's Eternal Providence, He knows what He is doing with us.
And to be happy in Jesus I need to believe in God and to truly trust.
Christ uses lives for Eternal goals changing hearts and saving souls.
A Heavenly calling for all who believe, pointing people to Eternity.
I must remember beyond the door are people who need to know The Lord.
And if by Grace my Lord they see, God may open another door for me.
The empty evenings are the most difficult (in answer to Mandi Engelbrecht)
The empty evenings are the most difficult
when alone I write poems,
when I sometimes listen to Classic Fm
while I have got nothing to do,
the two old people
go to bed when darkness comes
and we say our prayers,
at times they insist
that I watch a religious DVD with them
and they talk about the news
and newspaper reports
but much too soon the evening is past
and the cocker spaniel
looks at me with her dark eyes
while the Persian cat goes outside to hunt,
and I read poems of some English friends
one after the other.
I am still searching for a job
which circles out wider,
almost away from me
while I spent my spare time
on what I can find in the library
on poetry of some great poets,
to teach myself techniques, methods, style,
and to find ideas
and it's as if the wide world
waits upon my new poems
and sometimes I mow the lawn,
and help here and there in the garden,
see the flock of sparrows,
weavers and doves coming near,
and I dare poems to repair my country,
my world, to tell people
who can make a difference
about the things happening here
and my days and nights are empty without you
but our relationship went to hell
by your own choice
and I have got a new mistress
whose name is poetry
and she is a whimsical lover
who serves others much better
before she visits me at night,
to share my pain, my sorrow and memories
and most of the time I try to know her better,
to know the rhythm, the methods of her existence,
to find that which makes her great
and one after the other my days pass,
while I wonder when things are going to change,
while I try day after day to survive
and I know that I cannot hold on to the past
and I know
that I can write almost any kind of poem
and still at times I wonder
what is happening far away in your world?
[Reference: "‘n dood gewone vrou" (an ordinary woman) by Mandi Engelbrecht.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Feeling lousy
Feeling lousy is seeing this lady laughing
She does her thing with confidence like she
Knows everything; what to do with this
Matter called
Everything,
She knows her place and claims it as hers,
She tells you, you are never like her doing so well
In fame,
Glory, and
Honor,
She has her circle of friends, a nice reliable computer
And an internet facility
To get her on top
On top of shape, on top of everything,
Yes, this everything,
Which she has control of,
And feeling so lousy, I wish how I can be like her,
This great woman of everything
But then, I wonder, I have my place, where she can never be,
This lowly place, this small space she detests,
This is mine, I am small,
This small place I have
Where she can never be
And I own this,
Enough for me,
I am happy.
And, oh well, I do not like everything,
Too big to handle and
I know
I would be unhappy by then.
I simply like myself being small.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Five
Feeling lousy is seeing this lady laughing
She does her thing with confidence like she
Knows everything; what to do with this
Matter called
Everything,
She knows her place and claims it as hers,
She tells you, you are never like her doing so well
In fame,
Glory, and
Honor,
She has her circle of friends, a nice reliable computer
And an internet facility
To get her on top
On top of shape, on top of everything,
Yes, this everything,
Which she has control of,
And feeling so lousy, I wish how I can be like her,
This great woman of everything
But then, I wonder, I have my place, where she can never be,
This lowly place, this small space she detests,
This is mine, I am small,
This small place I have
Where she can never be
And I own this,
Enough for me,
I am happy.
And, oh well, I do not like everything,
Too big to handle and
I know
I would be unhappy by then.
I simply like myself being small.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When We...
when we take our hands
out of our pockets,
and put them back on the plow...
things will change.
when we open our eyes
to the suffering of those
all around us...
we will begin to see ourselves.
when we open the doors
to our hearts and let
our spirits fly free...
we will find each other.
when we find each other,
we will find our selves...
and so find God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Tree (Rime Royal Sequence)
Sitting still in the cool welcoming shade
of a natural place where things do thrive
enjoying the peace the shadow has made
it adds to the sheer quality of life
and I wonder how it does survive?
Against the thick trunk I have set the spade;
nothing, no argument can persuade
me different, while I think of good things
which brings some old memories back to me
I hear a myriad of small birds that sing
as if this is how things have got to be,
I am happy, feel wonderment and glee,
a kind of serenity that comes unseen
as if this is how life had once been.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Life Is Full Of Pretty Things (Alfred Dorn Sonnet)
Life is full of pretty things and I wonder
why constantly we run to find something
when there is beauty at our very feet,
with a myriad of flowers falling under
the jacaranda trees that are blooming,
with tranquillity smelling somewhat sweet
when by nature we are already blessed
and it is as if we are possessed
in life to stumble and at times blunder
trying to find some new significance,
at times letting small things draw us sunder
from a smiling and cheerful type of glance
we are scared that something will plunder
the little joy that brings us some romance.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ghosts Of All The Past Mornings (Elfin Stanza Sonnet)
This day brings very sweet tranquillity
ghosts of other days, of some past morning
are present during this bright day in spring,
outside there is a kind of dignity
insects are buzzing up and down, are free
some are fluttering on a fragile wing,
you are dressed exceedingly lovely
while thousands of small birds do outside sing,
but this sunshine envelops everything
there is happiness in all that I see,
I have lived in times of real fighting
and have survived while you did love me,
our lives at times have been quite exciting
and every single day I see your beauty.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Hidden Possibility....
imagine
one tranquil day
when you can hear
ants moving
under your feet
you lay your body
on the grass
under the old tree
with many leaves
that look like
small fingers
of a baby
you have emptied
yourself of thoughts
you become one
big empty
basket
you are an open
cave
inviting restless vagabonds
to take
rest
one dark & cold night
at least for a certain
while
the days come
and go
and you feel like a river
passing by
leaves blown by the strong wind
far north
on some normal days
a hundred butterflies flutter
and hover
homing to you
migrant birds perch
upon your hair
imagine that
you are no longer you
but a wide door without a lock
an open window that welcomes the moon
an earth
sky
and infinite space
a universe in itself
stripped of
identity and
greed
now sleep, and inside this
chamber
close your eyes some more
time
you have become
a poem vested
in eternity
some call you an angel
someone will dare
calling you one of the gods
beside the gods
in the temple of heaven
what is important is that
you are at peace, happy,
engrossed in grace
so much blessing
pouring unto your heart
do not think about you
you can no longer do that
there is no you now
do not think of contempt
you have become more than what you are
you have flown above the earth
you have crossed the river of ire
and disbelief
this is
the hidden possibility
the truth that we now see.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Happy The Times Were
Happy the times were when we were free of our troubles
Happy the times were when we rode around in the car with the wind in our hair.
Dancing in the rain in the middle of the street
Running in the sprinklers at the football field at night
We were happy knowing that we weren't going anywhere
Who knew our fun would end sooner than we thought.
Winter came and all of our fun disappeared into the snow and dead leaves.
Happy the times were when everything was in our hands
But now things hang by a loose thread, not making any sense at all
Looking back at the small town with a couple of thousand to keep us company
Looking back as we drive away to the 'supposed' new great life
Happy the times were when we lived in the small town we loved so dear
Happy the times were when we had Sonora.
poem by Kamilla Davila
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Short Supply
Where are
The sunny days
The blue skies
The flowers for the children
The colors for their eyes?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are
All the sandy beaches
Fishes in the sea
Birds to sing for daybreak?
Where are all the trees?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are all the grassy hilltops
Clean air to breathe
Pure water to drink of
Beautiful sights to see?
Dont you see
Dont you see
All these things now days
Come in short supply
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Or therell be no more you
Therell be no more me
Therell be no more children
All we know will cease to be
Dont you see
Dont you see
The things of this earth
Keep us alive
Its time that we
Its time that we
Make a space in our hearts
And open our eyes
Where are the sunny days?
Blue skies
The flowers for the children
All the colors for their eyes
All the sandy beaches
Fishes in the sea
All the birds to sing for daybreak
Where are
Where are
Where are all the trees?
Dont you see
All these things they come in short supply
Its time that we
Make a space inside our hearts
And open our eyes
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Me Go
All I hear,
Are lies,
And all you hear,
Are excuses.
I try to break free,
To get somwhere,
Happy.
But you pull me back.
I want space,
I want to be free,
I want to be alone,
And I don't want you,
Anymore.
What don't you understand,
About that?
I need to be alone,
And I need some space.
You get so jealous,
You get so mad,
You hold me down,
You need to give me space.
I need to run free,
Not be in a cage.
I need to breath,
Fresh air.
Don't hold me down,
Just go away,
Leave me alone,
Let me free.
I can take care of myself,
I can do things on my own,
I don't need help,
With everything.
Give me space,
Give me freedom,
Let me breath,
And let me be.
What is so hard,
What is so bad,
What is so strong,
That you won't let me go.
Freedom,
Is what I want.
Fresh air,
Let me breath.
You might get pushed around,
But don't take it out,
On me.
Just let me go.
I said please enough times,
I said leave enough times.
What is hard to undersxtand,
That I just want to be,
Free...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Morning’s Glory
Dawn breaks the stranglehold
of a sleepy dusky night.
The sun peers above the eastern horizon
as morning begins to break into full glory.
Flowers open their petals wide
to allow the warmth inside;
birds leave their roosts
to wander the sky.
The morning’s glory soars
on delicate golden wings
as the early birds begin to sing.
Morning’s glory looks down on all
awakening with sleepy eyes,
preparing them to go
through a brand new day
that starts with the morning’s glory
and the sun shining bright.
9 December 2009
poem by David Harris
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Flying Without Wings
Everybody's looking for that something
One thing that makes it all complete
You find it in the strangest places
Places you never knew it could be
Some find it in the face of their children
Some find it in their lover's eyes
Who can deny the joy it brings
When you find that special thing
You're flying without wings
Some find it sharing every morning
Some in their solitary lives
You find it in the words of others
A simple line can make you laugh or cry
You find it in the deepest friendship
The kind you cherish all you life
And when you know how much that means
When you find that special thing
You're flying without wings
So impossible as it may seem
You've got to fight for every dream
'Cause who's to know
Which one you let go
Would have made you complete
Well for me it's waking up beside you
To watch the sunrise on your face
To know that I can say I love you
In any given time or place
It's little things that only I know
Those are the things that make you mine
And it's like flying without wings
'Cause you're my special thing
I'm flying without wings
And you're the place my life begins
And you'll be where it ends
I'm flying without wings
And that's the joy you bring
I'm flying without wings
song performed by by Westlife from Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Past the nonsense
Past the nonsense
I find you and you find me
and I wonder
why small things wants to scratch,
and you are
so deep in my heart.
Fear of getting sore again
now has to find another place,
since where I am with you
and where our relationship stands
is at a place that wants to go
much deeper.
For me you are the sun, the moon
and more than the big blue sky
hanging above us
and in every star
that rises blinking each night
I see something that tell
how wonderful it is
to know you.
Promise that I can get a kiss
from you tonight
and you make me already happy now
and the day
becomes open and wonderful to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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