Saint Peter
Now, I think there is a likeness 'twixt St Peter's life and mine
For he did a lot of trampin' long ago in Palestine
He was 'union' when the workers first began to organize
And I'm glad that old St Peter keeps the gate of Paradise
When the ancient agitator and his brothers carried swags
I've no doubt he very often tramped with empty tucker-bags
And I'm glad he's Heaven's picket, for I hate explainin' things
And he'll think a union ticket just as good as Whitely King's
When I reach the great head-station -which is somewhere 'off the track'
I won't want to talk with angels who have never been out back
They might bother me with offers of a banjo meanin' well
And a pair of wings to fly with, when I only want a spell
I'll just ask for old St Peter, and I think, when he appears
I will only have to tell him that I carried swag for years
'I've been on the track,' I'll tell him, 'an' I done the best I could'
And he'll understand me better than the other angels would
He won't try to get a chorus out of lungs that's worn to rags
Or to graft the wings on shoulders that is stiff with humpin' swags
But I'll rest about the station where the work-bell never rings
Till they blow the final trumpet and the Great Judge sees to things.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Outback
The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
The publican's words were short and few,
and the publican's looks were black --
And the time had come, as the shearer knew, to carry his swag Out Back.
For time means tucker, and tramp you must,
where the scrubs and plains are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the dust and heat -- when summer is on the track --
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet,
they carry their swags Out Back.
He tramped away from the shanty there, when the days were long and hot,
With never a soul to know or care if he died on the track or not.
The poor of the city have friends in woe, no matter how much they lack,
But only God and the swagmen know how a poor man fares Out Back.
He begged his way on the parched Paroo and the Warrego tracks once more,
And lived like a dog, as the swagmen do, till the Western stations shore;
But men were many, and sheds were full, for work in the town was slack --
The traveller never got hands in wool,
though he tramped for a year Out Back.
In stifling noons when his back was wrung
by its load, and the air seemed dead,
And the water warmed in the bag that hung to his aching arm like lead,
Or in times of flood, when plains were seas,
and the scrubs were cold and black,
He ploughed in mud to his trembling knees, and paid for his sins Out Back.
He blamed himself in the year `Too Late' --
in the heaviest hours of life --
'Twas little he dreamed that a shearing-mate had care of his home and wife;
There are times when wrongs from your kindred come,
and treacherous tongues attack --
When a man is better away from home, and dead to the world, Out Back.
And dirty and careless and old he wore, as his lamp of hope grew dim;
He tramped for years till the swag he bore seemed part of himself to him.
As a bullock drags in the sandy ruts, he followed the dreary track,
With never a thought but to reach the huts when the sun went down Out Back.
It chanced one day, when the north wind blew
in his face like a furnace-breath,
He left the track for a tank he knew -- 'twas a short-cut to his death;
For the bed of the tank was hard and dry, and crossed with many a crack,
And, oh! it's a terrible thing to die of thirst in the scrub Out Back.
A drover came, but the fringe of law was eastward many a mile;
He never reported the thing he saw, for it was not worth his while.
The tanks are full and the grass is high in the mulga off the track,
Where the bleaching bones of a white man lie
by his mouldering swag Out Back.
For time means tucker, and tramp they must,
where the plains and scrubs are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the flies and heat the men of the outside track
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet
must carry their swags Out Back.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Out Back
The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
The publican's words were short and few,
and the publican's looks were black --
And the time had come, as the shearer knew, to carry his swag Out Back.
For time means tucker, and tramp you must,
where the scrubs and plains are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the dust and heat -- when summer is on the track --
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet,
they carry their swags Out Back.
He tramped away from the shanty there, when the days were long and hot,
With never a soul to know or care if he died on the track or not.
The poor of the city have friends in woe, no matter how much they lack,
But only God and the swagmen know how a poor man fares Out Back.
He begged his way on the parched Paroo and the Warrego tracks once more,
And lived like a dog, as the swagmen do, till the Western stations shore;
But men were many, and sheds were full, for work in the town was slack --
The traveller never got hands in wool,
though he tramped for a year Out Back.
In stifling noons when his back was wrung
by its load, and the air seemed dead,
And the water warmed in the bag that hung to his aching arm like lead,
Or in times of flood, when plains were seas,
and the scrubs were cold and black,
He ploughed in mud to his trembling knees, and paid for his sins Out Back.
He blamed himself in the year `Too Late' --
in the heaviest hours of life --
'Twas little he dreamed that a shearing-mate had care of his home and wife;
There are times when wrongs from your kindred come,
and treacherous tongues attack --
When a man is better away from home, and dead to the world, Out Back.
And dirty and careless and old he wore, as his lamp of hope grew dim;
He tramped for years till the swag he bore seemed part of himself to him.
As a bullock drags in the sandy ruts, he followed the dreary track,
With never a thought but to reach the huts when the sun went down Out Back.
It chanced one day, when the north wind blew
in his face like a furnace-breath,
He left the track for a tank he knew -- 'twas a short-cut to his death;
For the bed of the tank was hard and dry, and crossed with many a crack,
And, oh! it's a terrible thing to die of thirst in the scrub Out Back.
A drover came, but the fringe of law was eastward many a mile;
He never reported the thing he saw, for it was not worth his while.
The tanks are full and the grass is high in the mulga off the track,
Where the bleaching bones of a white man lie
by his mouldering swag Out Back.
For time means tucker, and tramp they must,
where the plains and scrubs are wide,
With seldom a track that a man can trust, or a mountain peak to guide;
All day long in the flies and heat the men of the outside track
With stinted stomachs and blistered feet
must carry their swags Out Back.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
St. Peter At The Golden Gate
St. Peter at the Golden Gate
Explained, for me it’s much too late
That Heaven’s gate, without a doubt
Was built right there to keep me out
It’s common knowledge, I’m no Saint
But a real bad guy, I surely ain’t
Heaven knows, I’ve done some wrong
But it doesn’t mean I don’t belong
I know I’m not the most devout
But pray, St. Peter, don’t fence me out
I promise I won’t cause chagrin
To those in Heaven, all fenced in
I’ll run a casino for all to enjoy
I’ll run it as pure as an altar boy
And dear St. Peter, I give you this pledge
At Heaven’s casino, I’ll give you an edge
So you see, St. Peter, Heaven can’t wait
What’s needed in Heaven, is me, your soul mate
Do what you can to unlock the key
So together we’ll be, St. Peter and me…
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back To Paradise
Grab your coat, honey, grab your hat
This train is leaving and it ain't comin' back
Don't need a ticket, can't you understand
You're on your way to the promised land.
It's overdue but now the time is right, yeah
It's up to you to make it real, so take me,
Take me back to paradise
(oooh)
Take me back to paradise
(oooh)
Old Saint Peter at the pearly gate
said hurry up boy or you're gonna be late
Take your mind off your worries for a moment or two
You gotta rock to the rhythm, it ain't hard to do
Cause what you see I know you're gonna like, yeah
It's up to you to make it real, so take me,
Take me back paradise, paradise
(oooh yeah)
Take me back to paradise, paradise
(oooh)
SOLO
When its out of reach it's just another beach in another town
You get your feet back on the ground
You worked all your life you ain't satisfied with a thing you've found
When will you realize it'll come around?
Pack your bags, baby, get your things
You never know what tomorrow brings
Mind your step and watch what you say
Before you know you'll be on your way
It's overdue but now the time is right, yeah
It's up to you to make it real, so take me,
Take me back to paradise, paradise
(oooh)
Take me back to paradise, paradise
(oooh)
Take me back to paradise, paradise
(oooh)
Won't you take me back to paradise, paradise
(oooh)
Take me back to paradise
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
After All
Cher and Peter Cetera
Peter Cetera:
Well here we are again
I guess it must be fate
We've tried it on our own
But deep inside we've known
We'd be back to set things straight
Cher:
I still remember when
Your kiss was so brand new
Every memory repeats
Every step I take retreats
Every journey always brings me back to you
CHORUS Cher and Peter Cetera:
After all the stops and starts
We keep coming back to these two hearts
Two angels who've been rescued from the fall
After All that we've been through
It all comes down to me and you
I guess It's meant to be
Forever you and me
song performed by by Cher from Heart Of Stone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wing Of Love
(myles goodwyn)
Published by goody two tunes, inc. - bmi
I don't want to go downtown
I don't wanna move, don't wanna stay this way
Missin' you the way i do (missin' you the way i do)
Wishin' you were here, wish i could be with you
Maybe i should call you, i don't know
There's something you should, and it doesn't show
I don't wanna start again (i don't wanna start again)
But i can't forget the way things might have been, mmm
I'd like to see you once more if i could
But chances are my chances aren't too good
The wings of love have carried her away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
Maybe i should go outside (maybe i should go outside)
I hear the weather's warm, no need to stay inside
And maybe i'll forget this morning's news
It means as much to me as it does to you
The wings of love have carried you away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
I know things won't change, you've said goodbye
But i can lose this feelin' if i try
The wings of love have carried you away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wings Of Love
(myles goodwyn)
Published by goody two tunes, inc. - bmi
I dont want to go downtown
I dont wanna move, dont wanna stay this way
Missin you the way I do (missin you the way I do)
Wishin you were here, wish I could be with you
Maybe I should call you, I dont know
Theres something you should, and it doesnt show
I dont wanna start again (I dont wanna start again)
But I cant forget the way things might have been, mmm
Id like to see you once more if I could
But chances are my chances arent too good
The wings of love have carried her away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
Maybe I should go outside (maybe I should go outside)
I hear the weathers warm, no need to stay inside
And maybe Ill forget this mornings news
It means as much to me as it does to you
The wings of love have carried you away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
I know things wont change, youve said goodbye
But I can lose this feelin if I try
The wings of love have carried you away
The door of fate is closed, the angels sang
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Train To Heaven
(4/10/12)
It was a long wait - but soon they would
Be at that gate.
The train that would take him to heaven
To join all his family and friends
Where a new life would begin and never end.
A life where there is nothing but beauty and peace
And the heart would find relief.
The conductor showing you everything in your past life
Some bad - a lot nice.
Of people you touched along the way
And of things they had to say.
everybody when they pass away
Boards this train on a given day.
This train makes three stops
As strange as it may seem
Heaven, hell, and purgatory
"Sounds like a familiar story"!
Purgatory being the place of things
In your past life - you must face.
But you are on the "7th ave. express."
Cause you passed all the tests.
You had a heart which was pure as gold
And all the angels have been told.
All these other passengers that are on this train with you
Have gone through the same things too.
All of you had came to this "times square station"
Because you had found your salvation.
They gathered together like fallen needles from a pine tree
Multitudes of souls that were finally free.
At the gate you will be greeted by SAINT PETER
Who will show you the way to all your family and friends
And this joy will never end.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If Walls Could Talk
(bobby miller)
Well, if things could talk then Im sure youd hear
A lot of things to make you cry my dear
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
Aint you glad [glad]
Glad that things dont talk
Now, if shoes could tell where theyve been
When you say youve been visiting a friend
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
He-he-hey, aint you glad [aint you glad]
But aint you glad [glad]
Glad that shoes dont talk
Now, if doors could tell whos turned the knob
When hes away out on his job
If cars could tell whos been inside
And whos been taking you out for a ride
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
But aint you glad [glad]
Glad that cars dont talk
In a world of trouble Id be
If things ever told on me
My whole life would be through
cause Im guilty, how about you ?
If things ever talk that way
Aint no telling what they might say
Aint you glad [aint you glad]
Oh, aint you glad [aint you glad]
Aint you glad [glad]
Glad that things dont talk
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When We Dance
If he loved you
Like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I'd move town
I'd change my name
When he watches you
When he counts to buy your soul
On your hand his golden rings
Like he owns a bird that sings
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
The priest has said my soul's salvation
Is in the balance of the angels
And underneath the wheels of passion
I keep the faith in my fashion
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
I'm still in love with you
[I'm gonna find a place to live
Give you all I've got to give]
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
If I could break down these walls
And shout my name at heaven's gate
I'd take these hands
And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate
Cathedrals are broken
Heaven's no longer above
And hellfire's a promise away
I'd still be saying
I'm still in love
He won't love you
Like I love you
He won't care for you this way
He'll mistreat you if you stay
Come and live with me
We'll have children of our own
I would love you more than life
If you'll come and be my wife
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
When we dance, angels will run and hide their wings
I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you more than life
If you will only be my wife
I'm gonna love you night and day
I'm gonna try in every way
[I had a dream last night
I dreamt you were by my side
Walking with me baby
My heart was filled with pride
I had a dream last night]
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
5. 15 The Angels Have Gone
5:15
Im changing trains
This little town
Let me down
This foreign rain
Brings me down
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
No ticket
Im jumping tracks
Im changing towns
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
5:15
All of my life
Angels have gone
Im changing trains
Angels like them
Thin on the ground
All of my life
All legs and wings
Strange sandy eyes
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
Cold station
All of my life
Forever Im out here forever
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad of the Rousabout
A Rouseabout of rouseabouts, from any land—or none—
I bear a nick-name of the bush, and I’m—a woman’s son;
I came from where I camp’d last night, and, at the day-dawn glow,
I rub the darkness from my eyes, roll up my swag, and go.
Some take the track for bitter pride, some for no pride at all—
(But—to us all the world is wide when driven to the wall)
Some take the track for gain in life, some take the track for loss—
And some of us take up the swag as Christ took up the Cross.
Some take the track for faith in men—some take the track for doubt—
Some flee a squalid home to work their own salvation out.
Some dared not see a mother’s tears nor meet a father’s face—
Born of good Christian families some leap, head-long, from Grace.
Oh we are men who fought and rose, or fell from many grades;
Some born to lie, and some to pray, we’re men of many trades;
We’re men whose fathers were and are of high and low degree—
The sea was open to us and we sailed across the sea.
And—were our quarrels wrong or just?—has no place in my song—
We seared our souls in puzzling as to what was right or wrong;
We judge not and we are not judged—’tis our philosophy—
There’s something wrong with every ship that sails upon the sea.
From shearing shed to shearing shed we tramp to make a cheque—
Jack Cornstalk and the ne’er-do-weel—the tar-boy and the wreck.
We learn the worth of man to man—and this we learn too well—
The shanty and the shearing shed are warmer spots in hell!
I’ve humped my swag to Bawley Plain, and further out and on;
I’ve boiled my billy by the Gulf, and boiled it by the Swan—
I’ve thirsted in dry lignum swamps, and thirsted on the sand,
And eked the fire with camel dung in Never-Never Land.
I know the track from Spencer’s Gulf and north of Cooper’s Creek—
Where falls the half-caste to the strong, ‘black velvet’ to the weak—
(From gold-top Flossie in the Strand to half-caste and the gin—
If they had brains, poor animals! we’d teach them how to sin.)
I’ve tramped, and camped, and ‘shore’ and drunk with many mates Out Back—
And every one to me is Jack because the first was Jack—
A ‘lifer’ sneaked from jail at home—the ‘straightest’ mate I met—
A ‘ratty’ Russian Nihilist—a British Baronet!
I know the tucker tracks that feed—or leave one in the lurch—
The ‘Burgoo’ (Presbyterian) track—the ‘Murphy’ (Roman Church)—
But more the man, and not the track, so much as it appears,
For ‘battling’ is a trade to learn, and I’ve served seven years.
We’re haunted by the past at times—and this is very bad,
And so we drink till horrors come, lest, sober, we go mad—
So much is lost Out Back, so much of hell is realised—
A man might skin himself alive and no one be surprised.
A rouseabout of rouseabouts, above—beneath regard,
I know how soft is this old world, and I have learnt, how hard—
A rouseabout of rouseabouts—I know what men can feel,
I’ve seen the tears from hard eyes slip as drops from polished steel.
I learned what college had to teach, and in the school of men
By camp-fires I have learned, or, say, unlearned it all again;
But this I’ve learned, that truth is strong, and if a man go straight
He’ll live to see his enemy struck down by time and fate!
We hold him true who’s true to one however false he be
(There’s something wrong with every ship that lies beside the quay);
We lend and borrow, laugh and joke, and when the past is drowned,
We sit upon our swags and smoke and watch the world go round.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Heaven
Everynight I go to sleep, youre there baby inside my head
Whats the secret that you keep
Its not fair baby, I toss in bed
One night I had the strangest dream
Dreamt I made love to you
You better believe it, it felt so real
Spent the night in the sea of love
Its crazy the attraction that I feel, now baby
It hit like a heart attack, I feel in my soul
But the trains running off the track and I cant get control
Sleepwalking in the house of love
I heard saint peter was calling
As I was making love to you
Dreamed that Id died and gone to heaven
I woke up in your arms
Dreamed that I died and gone to heaven
Nothing now will ever be the same
Saint peter call me back again
Take me there baby, you got me good
I want to hear his choir of angels sing
I say a prayer baby, I knock on wood
That every night I wake up restless from the heat
You got to believe I never had such a physical dream baby
Its built on sacred ground, your image in my head
So I lay my body down on the alter of my bed
I wait in the house of love and hope for sleep to come calling
So Ill be making love to you
Dreamed that Id died and gone to heaven
I woke up in your arms
Dreamed that I died and gone to heaven
Nothing now will ever be the same
Dreamed Id died and gone to heaven
Dreamed my life was through
Dreamed Id died and gone to heaven, woke in love with you
It hit like a heart attack, it came from out of nowhere
But the trains running off the track on a fragile wing and a prayer
Sleepwalking in the house of love I heard saint peter was calling
As I was making love to you
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
It Came Upon Midnight Clear (Babys In Black)
===============================
It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
===============================
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace on the earth, good will to men,
From heaven's all-gracious King."
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds
The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The tidings which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
O ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Inside Heaven Gate
I CLOSE MY EYES FOR THE FINAL TIME
LETTING MY MIND GO FREE
BECAUSE CLOUDS OF FOG SURROUNDING ME
AS I CONTINUE MY JOURNEY TO HEAVEN GATE
THROUGH A SMOKE FILL SKY OF ANGELS
FLYING AROUND
WITH THERE GLITTERING WINGS
AND THERE FRIENDLY HELLO
FLYING UP AND DOWN AND ALL AROUND
AS I MAKE MY WAY TO HEAVEN GATE
WITH MY SPIRITS THAT CAUGHT UP TO ME
AND MY PRAYERS THAT GOT ANSWER AT MY SIDE
ALONG WITH THE STARS THAT I HAVE WISH UPON
TO SEE MY LOVE ONES AGAIN
HAVE NOW COME TRUE
BECAUSE THERE GIVING ME A CHEER
SAYING GLAD YOUR HERE
INSIDE HEAVEN GATE,
poem by Bruce Martone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One And One Are Two
The trumpet sounded and the dead
Came forth from earth and ocean,
And Pickering arose and sped
Aloft with wobbling motion.
'What makes him fly lop-sided?' cried
A soul of the elected.
'One ear was wax,' a rogue replied,
'And isn't resurrected.'
Below him on the pitted plain,
By his abandoned hollow,
His hair and teeth tried all in vain
The rest of him to follow.
Saint Peter, seeing him ascend,
Came forward to the wicket,
And said: 'My mutilated friend,
I'll thank you for your ticket.'
'The _Call_,' said Pickering, his hand
To reach the latch extended.
Said Peter, affable and bland:
'The free-list is suspended
'What claim have you that's valid here?'
That ancient vilifier
Reflected; then, with look austere,
Replied: 'I am a liar.'
Said Peter: 'That is simple, neat
And candid Anglo-Saxon,
But-well, come in, and take a seat
Up there by Colonel Jackson.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Spirit Of A Sponge
I dreamed one night that Stephen Massett died,
And for admission up at Heaven applied.
'Who are you?' asked St. Peter. Massett said:
'Jeems Pipes, of Pipesville.' Peter bowed his head,
Opened the gates and said: 'I'm glad to know you,
And wish we'd something better, sir, to show you.'
'Don't mention it,' said Stephen, looking bland,
And was about to enter, hat in hand,
When from a cloud below such fumes arose
As tickled tenderly his conscious nose.
He paused, replaced his hat upon his head,
Turned back and to the saintly warden said,
O'er his already sprouting wings: 'I swear
I smell some broiling going on down there!'
So Massett's paunch, attracted by the smell,
Followed his nose and found a place in Hell.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Weeping angels
Down from heaven
to show the way to paradise
for the newly dead
the angels weep
So young
so innocent
so senseless
the angels weep
Eyes down
wings at there sides
words not exchanged
the angels weep
32 new angels
no need to earn there wings
like jesus they died for other peoples sins
in heaven they will weep
In heaven they will be called apon
to one day escort the new to paradise
and they will
With eyes down
wings at there sides
and tears in there eyes
weeping forever
God bless all who lost there lives today
and there familys
America loves you
and your scarfice will not be forgotten
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Angels
Like God’s body
The angel is cluster of tiniest particles
Clinging together because of gravity
They are like a dot to God’s body in size.
The angels who have two pairs of wings
Are under Sidratul Muntaha Tree in paradise
And are circling around God’s Throne
The angels who have four pairs of wings
Are the Sufra angels and angels of God’s court
All other angels have three pairs of wings
Angels are something like the super-strings
They can take almost any form and size
Angels can eat and drink but they do not do that
Angels have life partner as well but they do not enjoy sex
Angels are so tiny they can use the density of sky to fly
Usually the chief four angels carry God’s Throne
But on doomsday eight angels will carry it.
N.B.: Sidratul Muntaha Tree is a thorny tree of Ferdous Paradise (near God’s Center Point) under which many angels are just bowing and prostrating in awe. Sufra angels are translating text of Laohay Mahfuz (God’s Manuscript)
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Since Then
I met Jack Ellis in town to-day --
Jack Ellis -- my old mate, Jack --
Ten years ago, from the Castlereagh,
We carried our swags together away
To the Never-Again, Out Back.
But times have altered since those old days,
And the times have changed the men.
Ah, well! there's little to blame or praise --
Jack Ellis and I have tramped long ways
On different tracks since then.
His hat was battered, his coat was green,
The toes of his boots were through,
But the pride was his! It was I felt mean --
I wished that my collar was not so clean,
Nor the clothes I wore so new.
He saw me first, and he knew 'twas I --
The holiday swell he met.
Why have we no faith in each other? Ah, why? --
He made as though he would pass me by,
For he thought that I might forget.
He ought to have known me better than that,
By the tracks we tramped far out --
The sweltering scrub and the blazing flat,
When the heat came down through each old felt hat
In the hell-born western drought.
The cheques we made and the shanty sprees,
The camps in the great blind scrub,
The long wet tramps when the plains were seas,
And the oracles worked in days like these
For rum and tobacco and grub.
Could I forget how we struck `the same
Old tale' in the nearer West,
When the first great test of our friendship came --
But -- well, there's little to praise or blame
If our mateship stood the test.
`Heads!' he laughed (but his face was stern) --
`Tails!' and a friendly oath;
We loved her fair, we had much to learn --
And each was stabbed to the heart in turn
By the girl who -- loved us both.
Or the last day lost on the lignum plain,
When I staggered, half-blind, half-dead,
With a burning throat and a tortured brain;
And the tank when we came to the track again
Was seventeen miles ahead.
Then life seemed finished -- then death began
As down in the dust I sank,
But he stuck to his mate as a bushman can,
Till I heard him saying, `Bear up, old man!'
In the shade by the mulga tank.
. . . . .
He took my hand in a distant way
(I thought how we parted last),
And we seemed like men who have nought to say
And who meet -- `Good-day', and who part -- `Good-day',
Who never have shared the past.
I asked him in for a drink with me --
Jack Ellis -- my old mate, Jack --
But his manner no longer was careless and free,
He followed, but not with the grin that he
Wore always in days Out Back.
I tried to live in the past once more --
Or the present and past combine,
But the days between I could not ignore --
I couldn't help notice the clothes he wore,
And he couldn't but notice mine.
He placed his glass on the polished bar,
And he wouldn't fill up again;
For he is prouder than most men are --
Jack Ellis and I have tramped too far
On different tracks since then.
He said that he had a mate to meet,
And `I'll see you again,' said he,
Then he hurried away through the crowded street
And the rattle of buses and scrape of feet
Seemed suddenly loud to me.
And I almost wished that the time were come
When less will be left to Fate --
When boys will start on the track from home
With equal chances, and no old chum
Have more or less than his mate.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!