God and man
Although God may be known,
apart from the way we do
in worlds, planets unknown
even if we do not mean to,
we judge Him as we find Him in our own
but He knows us from our design, the plan,
knows everything that is thrown
in to a mere body, mind and soul, into man
but more intimately He knows every thought,
sees every single deed
whether good or bad, sought or unsought
and if we live to a creed or however we proceed
but who can tell me why we are born
into a world that is torn apart, into a place of scorn?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Open
Here there is nothing but open,
Nothing but pure space,
Nothing but a void of unknown.
In this place the only thing that exists in the mind,
Is what is made true through the spirit,
And actions made by the body.
In a world so empty and cold,
There is nothing to live for,
Yet at the same time nothing to die for.
Here, you just are,
You do not live or die or believe,
You just are.
It’s unimaginable to the worlds that surround,
A figment of a child’s imagination, maybe.
Abandoned over the years.
Maybe this place is the creation of a tired author,
Who has nothing to write, only characters without purpose,
No ideas left to create a solid world.
A lonely widow, perhaps,
With no one to please or be with,
Only an empty house filled with empty memories.
Or even a retired soldier,
Not wanting to live through the pain and dreams,
Creating a world so empty, so predictable, nothing could go wrong.
A mother who has lost their child,
Who goes from day to day following suit,
Wishing it was them instead of their baby who left the world.
The blackness of this world is unlike any other,
A simple world that is pure impurities,
Simple complexity.
Like the worlds we make for ourselves to escape to,
When our own reality becomes more than we can handle, less than we expect,
A world we can slip off to silently screaming.
A bright place of darkness,
A never ending end to what we live everyday,
A single lie that we live with as if it were true.
A world that is everything and nothing,
Completely incomplete,
Written and unwritten.
Open.
By: Bethany Maxwell
(c) September 29,2010
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The God Who Waits
The old men in the olden days,
Who thought and worked in simple ways,
Believed in God and sought His praise.
They looked to God in daily need,
He shone in simple, homely deed;
They prayed to Him to raise their seed.
He sowed on mountain side and weald,
He steered the plough across the field,
He garnered in their harvest yield.
And if He gave them barren sod,
Or smote them with His lightning rod,
They yielded humbly to their God.
They searched the record of their days
To find and mend their evil ways,
Which made the wrath of God to blaze.
And if no evil they could find,
They did not say, 'Our God is blind,'
'God's will be done,' they said, resigned.
So played the old their humble part,
And lived in peace of soul and heart,
Without pretence of Reason's art.
But we have lost their simple creed
Of simple aim and simple need,
Of simple thought and simple deed.
Their creed has crumbled as their dust,
We do not yield their God as just,
Now question holds the place of trust.
Faith blossomed like the Holy Rod,
So grew the old men's faith in God.
We cannot tread the path they trod.
We were not born to anchored creed
That measures good and evil deed -
A guide to those who guidance need.
The God the old men hearkened to
We left, and in our image drew
And fashioned out a God anew.
That iron God, who still unfed,
Sits throned with lips that dribble red
Among the sacrificial dead.
Belching their flames between the bars,
Our fires sweep out like scimitars
Across the Eden of the stars.
And souls are sold and souls are bought,
And souls in hellish tortures wrought
To feed the mighty juggernaut.
The dripping wheels go roaring by
And crush and kill us where we lie
Blaspheming God with our last cry.
Man's cry to man the heaven fills;
We hear not in our marts and mills
The silent voices of the hills
The message of the breathing clay,
Calling us through the night and day
To come away, to come away!
For though old creeds, had we the will,
We cannot, lacking faith, fulfil,
The God above all creed waits still.
For still beyond the city gate,
The fallow fields eternal wait
For us to drive our furrow straight.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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Two Different Worlds
I know this girl, shes always on my mind
She lives in her world and I live in mine
I should forget about her and Ive tried
Lord knows Ive tried
But I want to know her, and heres the other side
Ive got someone waiting for me every night
Shes the only one Ive ever loved
And its been that way for the longest time
Shes the one that makes my world go right
And it tears me in two because I know where Ill be tonight
I think she knows it
I think she knows
Two different worlds, two different worlds
One that belongs to me, one could be wrong for me
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Oh, two different worlds
Is she that different or is it the thrill of someone new
Strung out on her, I need her love
I need it bad, and I know, I know its true
Im the one that lies awake alone
I know, shes the one that makes me stray from home
And I know it
Yeah, I know it
Two different worlds, two different worlds
One that I may regret, one that I cant forget
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Oh, always two different worlds
No, I cant explain this emptiness
No, I know I cant go on like this
Two different worlds, two different worlds
Two different worlds
I live in two different worlds
One that I may regret, one that I wont forget
Two different worlds
But I cant live in both, I know
One world I must let go
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Thought Comes First
A thought comes before
the act we do.
If the thought is absent
the act will be through.
To presume to know
the outcome of fate
is to fool yourself
while you sit and wait.
And all the while
the deed you devise
can create your hell
if it is unwise.
So always think
before you proceed
or you may live to rue
the devious deed.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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What Would It Be?
Now what were the words of Jesus,
And what would He pause and say,
If we were to meet in home or street,
The Lord of the world to-day?
Oh, I think He would pause and say:
'Go on with your chosen labour;
Speak only good of your neighbour;
Widen your farms, and lay down your arms,
Or dig up the soil with each sabre.'
Now what were the answer of Jesus
If we should ask for a creed,
To carry us straight to the wonderful gate
When soul from body is freed?
Oh, I think He would give us this creed:
'Praise God whatever betide you;
Cast joy on the lives beside you;
Better the earth, by growing in worth,
With love as the law to guide you.'
Now what were the answer of Jesus
If we should ask Him to tell
Of the last great goal of the homing soul
Where each of us hopes to dwell?
Oh, I think it is this He would tell:
'The soul is the builder-then wake it;
The mind is the kingdom-then take it;
And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought,
For heaven will be what you make it.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Fair Go Of Anyone We Should Not Deny
Those who judge people by their colour or their creed or their race
The spirit of the fair go could never embrace
But eventually the reality they have to face
That in the twenty first century for their sort of thinking there isn't a place.
Of what I say here to all races apply
A fair go of anyone we should not deny
Those who are prejudiced towards others in their ways are small
Long live the great beauty in a fair go for all.
As we know prejudice and racism is only based on ignorance and fear
And of such negative stuff I don't wish to read of or hear
Their thinking is out of touch and it would seem fair to say
That it is out of place in the World of today.
One fact in black, brown and white and facts never lie
Is that we are mere mortals and born to die
And whoever you are you deserve a fair go
And may happiness and luck in your life you do know
poem by Francis Duggan
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When My Time Comes
when my time comes
i welcome time
when i die
i welcome death
like a long lost friend
of mine
when i am born again
like what they always do
babies
we start our life with a
big cry again
don't you see these
occurences in your skin
birth rebirth
don't you see how
culture comes in all
things and lives in
cycles
from fly to
butterfly
from turtle
to myrtle
doves
from cell to
you
from a mere thought
to enlightenment
from a touch of my finger
to the fire of
your soul
from the atom
to the the big bang
of the universal explosion
choose belief
have faith in the undertakings
of the stars and planets
in the sparkles of your
mind
everything comes and goes
and entwines and
climbs
ladder to ladder
cloud to cloud
space to space
unknown to known to unknown
have
and not have
none and full
you do not understand them
now
until one night when you
gaze to the heavens
and see the distance
between you and them
and then you close your eyes
and all of them are
just right within you
brothers and sisters
and kin and parents and
ancestors
one big world
in the most intimate moment
of this and that
i, will, choose, rebirths
a thousand times
i, will, choose, pain.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bridge
The bridge I walk every morning plays games with my fantasies-
The water that runs beneath could be some magical ocean-
Leading to a place unknown-
When I look upwards towards the sky
My imagination carries me to some distant island in the heavens
Where I can be myself and there is nobody there to
Plan my life or to rule my thoughts-
To live my life as I please has always been my fondest dream-
And if only this bridge I walk every morning
Would take me to that place of my utmost reverie-
Spring shall arrive in less than two days- I can think of tales in books about
The arrival of spring- longer days to come, and
The awakening of the supernatural- although
Sad to say that this bridge I walk everyday
Takes me to the same familiar place-
Though I can find beauty in blossoming crocuses, daffodils and forsythia,
I find myself living in the same world, place and time- though
In my thoughts I live in another realm,
And travel across a different bridge that shall take me to that kingdom in the sky-
There I can live with the saints and angels everybody speaks of, in this place where I
Become my own person and can just be myself-
With no one present to control my destiny-
The bridge I walk every morning takes me to a place I have deemed as
Nowhere land- although I do not intimately know the people there
I see them every day passing by, knowing
That they are none but ordinary beings
With ordinary thoughts and minds-
I have built a bridge inside of the territory of my mind
That leads me towards my own magical “land of oz”-
And that is where I live every time I find myself in solitude-
Inside of a world unreal to all but very real to me- until that time of day when
I must return to civilization and reality- here I tell myself
I shall die one day and cross that bridge of my fantasies and
Become a saint or an angel myself looking down from the heavens
Upon this world where I once lived and can now laugh and sigh happily- because
Nobody shall ever control my thoughts again –
I have won my battle against veracity- good dreams are known to be
The essence of everyone’s bliss and I have left all of my nightmares behind-
Happy to call myself a dreamer as I have crossed that bridge from
Past to present and then journeyed to a future free from fear and apprehension-
And I have become free to know there will never be any turning back…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Selfishness
Search history, my boy, and see
What petty selfishness has done.
Find if you can one victory
That little minds have ever won.
There is no record there to read
Of men who fought for self alone,
No instance of a single deed
Splendor they may proudly own.
Through all life's story you will find
The miser—with his hoarded gold—
A hermit, dreary and unkind,
An outcast from the human fold.
Men hold him up to view with scorn,
A creature by his wealth enslaved,
A spirit craven and forlorn,
Doomed by the money he has saved.
No man was ever truly great
Who sought to serve himself alone,
Who put himself above the state,
Above the friends about him thrown.
No man was ever truly glad
Who risked his joy on hoarded pelf,
And gave of nothing that he had
Through fear of needing it himself.
For selfishness is wintry cold,
And bitter are its joys at last,
The very charms it tries to hold,
With woes are quickly overcast.
And only he shall gladly live,
And bravely die when God shall call,
Who gathers but that he may give,
And with his fellows shares his all.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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On Looking into a Cot
For you and you alone,
Creation has somehow come about..
for a moment, held its breath
and then, breathed you,
to demonstrate its awesome powers.
For you and you alone,
worlds have collided: not
the planets and the stars
in their graceful distances
(though some say, even they colluded) –
but worlds of cause and mind and body;
for you and you alone,
miracles have become commonplace.
For you and you alone,
the gods invented blue:
painted the windows of your soul
which have yet to focus,
with a blue so delicate yet bright,
so here and yet so far;
eyes that just now for a moment opened,
remained unimpressed,
closed into a smile
at what you still remember deep inside;
For you and you alone,
a lifetime’s been prepared
(some say you wrote the first draft of the script..)
but right now, you and we
live only in the present; may you
live always in that..
For you and you alone, all one,
Love is.
Love that made the world, sustains it; the
infinite electricity of your mother’s touch,
your father’s sheer delight;
for you and you alone, Love is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Yes We Are Brothers
YES WE are brothers
we come from one gene from one
body and we are born in the same house
where we all live
we admit our umbilical cords were tied
on the same beam of the old house
where papa and mama died
time is unforgiving and strange feelings
are giving us miles and miles of mountains of
series of distances of hills where we can no longer see each other eye to eye
with honesty
and longing
yes we are brothers but like the rest of the brothers of the world
our worlds are torn apart
ripped by our very own hands
and we have become rugs and tiny pieces of papers
shred and thrown away from shut windows of our
sinking worlds
yes we are brothers by blood
but in spirit no more
now we are strangers not knowing anymore our real names
not able to trace our roots
somehow we end this strife
by closing our separate doors
our hands are knives
our minds explosives
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre
742
Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre—
Without Design
Or Order, or Apparent Action—
Maintain—
The Sun—upon a Morning meets them—
The Wind—
No nearer Neighbor—have they—
But God—
The Acre gives them—Place—
They—Him—Attention of Passer by—
Of Shadow, or of Squirrel, haply—
Or Boy—
What Deed is Theirs unto the General Nature—
What Plan
They severally—retard—or further—
Unknown—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Twist 5
he lives in two worlds
he has one body, his hands
break when he changes places
his heart is tough
his mind always finds
two explanations
two worlds never reconcile
it is this
neither nor situation
whatever his eyes see
are beautiful
his hands cannot touch any one
when he touches it
there is death
somehow for all those years
there must be a compromise between
water and oil
and so he lives in two worlds
every morning he rises to live
at night
he sleeps to die
and it has been happening
since then
in the house everyone like to love
him
in one condition that there must only be
one world
and so every hour he lives in fear
every minute
but like a dog he learns the tricks
he is young
two worlds live within him
one body one imagination
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Which Comes First
when two people get married
is it a marriage of Body and Mind?
or is it a marriage of Heart and Soul?
and which one comes first?
SOMETHING TO PONDER!
what did i feel when i proposed?
my Body: told me that i ached for
the joining together, and sexual fulfillment.
my Mind: told me that i wanted to be
with her for the rest of my life.
my Heart: felt empty without her.
my Soul: soared to the highest height
to see all that could be given and achieved.
when i first saw you my Heart stood still
like on a roller coaster going down
and feeling the thrill.
and as that thrill rose, my Soul climbed high above
to show me this beautiful love.
this love so strong that it consumed my Body and Mind.
that it took me to 'the end of time'.
so for me which came first, as you can
plainly see, Heart and Soul was the one for me.
i give you my Heart- and all it contains
for without you, my life will never be the same.
i give you my Soul-for that is the other part
that i have to give
for without a Soul we can not live.
i give you my Mind- for your love to control
for it protects my Heart and Soul.
i give you my Body-
which is an empty shell
for without your love, i'm in living hell.
these are the four parts of this mere man
and i give it to you, for that's my plan.
i would take the human sufferings of
torture, pain and defeat
as long as i know your love i'll keep.
'YOU ARE LIFE' and all that it holds
Body, Mind, Heart and Soul.
take me as you would a breath of air
and my life with you i will share.
I THINK THE ANSWER THAT I HAVE GIVEN
SHOWS THAT LIFE IS WORTH LIVING.
poem by Louis Rams
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Undiscovered Soul
R.sambora
She was standing at the station
Small town suitcase in her hand
There were dreams she found inside her
That no one cared to understand
She never talks about her childhood
So much past to leave behind
Shes so scared to go
But still she says goodbye.
When you walk that road
You walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
In the great unknown.
Born and raised in poverty
Daddy died when he was young
All the fears that raged inside him
His spirit need to overcome
Each day he tears down the reflection
Of who he used to be
And with a little luck
Hell rise eventually.
When you walk that road
When you walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
The great unknown.
Solo
In the search of our salvation
Relentlessly we climb
Just looking for a reason
In creations grand design
If patience is a virtue
Then let us humbly begin
Well be here waiting
til our ship comes sailing in.
When you walk that road
We walk alone
Just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
When you only hope
Is to find a home
Youre just an undiscovered soul
In the great unknown
The great unknown
The great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
And undiscovered soul.
Searching for the road
Looking for a home
In the great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
An undiscovered soul
Searching for a home
Looking for a road
In the great unknown
Dont want to walk through life
An undiscovered soul
Patience, virtue, identify, soul
song performed by by Bon Jovi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Thought I Cannot Complete
The thought I cannot complete,
This is the thought I cannot complete,
The thought of the life I lead,
The thought of the wonderful world I live in.
Thinking am I worth living in this precious world which we destroy for our survival,
Are we born to rule on this earth or are we born to serve on this earth.
Are we born to control the nature we cannot conserve, is this really the free world they claim to be, are we yet understanding the meaning of life.
This is the thought I cannot complete,
They say the brain is intellectual yet others believe money is power and so we claim to live in the free world we cannot afford.
I used to think religion is an individual belief though now I got caught in the world where i'm forced to believe even the fabricate religion yet I stand none credulous.
Does resurrection exist nor heaven and hell we told we will reach according to our good and evil deeds, or will I perish so the young soul shall be born,
This are the thoughts I cannot complete.
poem by Sefofane Shabalala
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Brephos
Although it is easy for one to think, it is not always easy for one to write
Not all thoughts can be expressed into words, nor should they. Rousseau said in his solitary walks or was it his confessions? That his most beautiful thoughts died in him as quick as he thought them and how he at the time wished he had a pen in hand to write them all down. Those thoughts are dead, but perhaps those same thoughts are born in others written down somewhere in all of infinite time. Some thoughts like some lives are not meant to be born. The seed of this thought, watered by my serene tears, germinates in my soul as I write this letter. Still I can't find the words to express its beauty, its paradox, its mystery. The seed germinates but no plant is born, no flower blooms. For every child that isn't born, for every thought trapped in the moral order nature's thought; the ineffable, the unborn, the unknown, I hope one day you find expression and tell the world what you are and what beauty really is—To eloquence that never speaks, to thought that never thinks, to life that never lives, in my heart you speak, think and live.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The scar of an old wound
It foretells a heavy rain and a drizzle peeps through the shattered window,
A notion pushes me to step into the market place
And have a sip, a cheap glass of wine.
It's torn my coat but never mind,
Who looks or sees?
I am in old age now.
It's cold when I go to the street
And the boredom is more than that.
There a couple goes embracing in the drizzle under one umbrella.
Remember I too have been to that stage,
Yes, I could remember that well.
It's torn my coat but never mind
Who looks or sees?
I am in old age now.
Wine gives warmth to the body
Yet mind could be warmed?
I do not need wine anymore
And I'll be back to my shack.
* One of my native favorite classical songs 'I am in old age now' sung by the Maestro Pandith W.D. Amaradeva
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Invita Minerva
Not of desire alone is music born,
Not till the Muse wills is our passion crowned;
Unsought she comes; if sought, but seldom found,
Repaying thus our longing with her scorn.
Hence is it poets often are forlorn,
In super-subtle chains of silence bound,
And mid the crowds that compass them around
Still dwell in isolation night and morn,
With knitted brow and cheek all passion-pale
Showing the baffled purpose of the mind.
Hence is it I, that find no prayers avail
To move my Lyric mistress to be kind,
Have stolen away into this leafy dale
Drawn by the flutings of the silvery wind.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Loser that I am
I was never a winner yet i was always a loner felt lost a thought in my head of this and a thought of that some thoughts good and some thought bad whats really good in this place in this time many unknown anomalies like a blocked path no way around and no way back a distant future as far as the farthest galaxy my mind perplexed and my body stressed my heart feels fractured as it gets shattered into many pieces many bad choices and choices never made for the right reason in desperation sounds of disapointment in anyones mind and what seems like everyones dark clouds lay yonder over horizon storm clouds begin it rains lightining lights my eyes brgiht flashes my body gets soaked my soul feels torn asunder i hear the loud banging of thunder shattering the heavens itself silence broken ill never finish first and always feel dead last ill never win anyones respect or any womans heart nomatter how nice or sweet i try to be i was never good looking yet i was never rich and always poor should i feel pain or dead inside and deprived of any pride im no ones hero i cant even save myself so a zero i will be and always feel lik there are those that feel most safest in the light and then there are those that feel most safest in the darkness which do i feel most safer in i will never know because thats the loser ive become.
poem by Dorian Suchelle
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