The Legend Glorified
'I deem that God is not disquieted'--
This in a mighty poet's rhymes I read;
And blazoned so forever doth abide
Within my soul the legend glorified.
Though awful tempests thunder overhead,
I deem that God is not disquieted,--
The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure
Through storm and darkness of a way secure.
Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears
The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears,
I deem that God is not disquieted;
Against all stresses am I clothed and fed.
Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath,
My feet dip down into the tides of death,
Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said,
I deem that God is not disquieted.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.
They deem me mad for I will not sell my days for gold; I deem them mad for they think my days have a price.
quote by Kahlil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hanging On A Star
Why leave me hanging on a star
When you deem me so high
When you deem me so high
When you deem me so high.
And why leave me sailing in a sea
When you hear me so clear
When you hear me so clear
When you hear me so clear.
And why leave me hanging on a star
When you deem me so high
When you deem me so high
When you deem me so high.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet's Soul
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
I read the poet's inner world.
Pulse beats louder, then duller,
And all my doubts are just hurled.
The sadness sometimes a kiss cover,
Then suddenly curled at my feet,
Giving the whole body a heat,
The warmth of a true lover.
Fever passes through nervous points,
Chill runs through the whole body,
I read the poet's souls in the poems,
And feel that the soul is haughty.
I delve into the words and their nature,
Understanding destroys the walls,
Now I would like to capture
The main idea and the poems calls.
I read and my joy is in full swing,
My own soul gets the wings,
I am ready to fly with the singer,
Like me the poet is a swinger.
I am with that one who dared
To plunge into the holy spring naked,
I am with that one who shared
An inspiration and was not faked.
I read the poet's souls in the poems.
But do I read the souls of reality or dream?
Let's deem that no one here and there lies,
And the law of poetry is always precise.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 4th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Waiting for love
As the heart panteth
After the water brooks
And as the fish
Is always caught by the hook
So my soul panteth after thee
My soul thirsteth for thee
Thou art my love
My true love
When shall i come
And appear before my love
My tears has been my meat
For i cant stand the heat
Whiles they continue to say unto me
Where is your love
When i remember all these things
I pour out my soul in me
For love flew with me
Like a white dove
Why art thou cast down
Oh my soul
Why art thou disquieted in me
Oh my soul
Hope, do not have fear
Wait patiently for her
For she will appear
By; matt ancient
poem by Matt Ancient
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On The Syren-Shore
These clouds ominous,
hath in my eyes become lustrous,
as the lightning flashes
and the earth it dashes
to pieces.
The thunder shalt boom
and be the harbinger of doom
as the Syren-Shore sings
and its music becomes terrifying.
Hearken to the music of the waves,
who long did save,
my heart from Sorrow's Grave.
To the Gates of Nocturne I go,
as my soul shall howling flow,
to the hypnagogic world of dreams,
where the nightingales stream,
and the moonlight falls,
like sweet rain, refreshing the Halls,
of my disquieted mind.
Consumed by dysphoric dreams,
my end is ever near it seems.
But know that I will reach the Gate of the Ascents
and leave the Valley of the Iridescents.
So, to the Endymion of the Incomplete, I re-sing to you:
Let the Echoes of Foggy Nights find repose in your head,
and the Death of a Minstrel be upon you.
poem by Soren Valentine
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A Quiet Mind
When all is done and said,
In the end thus shall you find,
He most of all doth bathe in bliss
That hath a quiet mind:
And, clear from worldly cares,
To deem can be content,
The sweetest time in all his life
In thinking to be spent.
The body subject is
To fickle Fortune's power,
And to a million of mishaps
Is casual every hour;
And death in time doth change
It to a clod of clay;
Whereas the mind, which is divine,
Runs never to decay.
Companion none is like
Unto the mind alone;
For many have been harmed by speech,
Through thinking few or none.
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
But makes not thought to cease;
And he speaks best, that hath the skill
When for to hold his peace.
Our wealth leaves us at death;
Our kinsmen at the grave;
But virtues of the mind unto
The heavens with us we have.
Wherefore, for virtue's sake,
I can be well content,
The sweetest time in all my life
To deem in thinking spent.
poem by Thomas Vaux
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Just How Hysterical Are You?
I love the renovations made to your home.
I see you have rid yourself of some furnishings.
I never noticed 'that' window there before.
Why do you have it roped off?
'Have you noticed the sign hanging above it? '
CLARITY?
'Yes.
Exactly.
It's off limits.
And only those I deem in their right minds,
Are authorize to go beyond that rope.
To share the vision with me.'
Oh!
How clever.
May I take a look?
'Only those I deem in their right minds,
Are authorize to go beyond that rope.
To share the vision with me.'
I find that hysterical.
'Your secret is safe with me.
However...
Only those I deem in their right minds,
Are authorize to go beyond that rope.
To share the vision with me.'
Okay.
I get the message.
Well...
When will I get an opportunity,
To see what you find so precious.?
'Just how hysterical are you? '
Stop it.
You're scaring me.
'When I discovered 'clarity'...
It was the most frightening thing,
I ever thought I'd see.
I use to fear it myself!
Now...
I keep it as a shrine in my home.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To a Republican Friend
God knows it, I am with you. If to prize
Those virtues, priz'd and practis'd by too few,
But priz'd, but lov'd, but eminent in you,
Man's fundamental life: if to despise
The barren optimistic sophistries
Of comfortable moles, whom what they do
Teaches the limit of the just and true--
And for such doing have no need of eyes:
If sadness at teh long heart-wasting show
Wherein earth's great ones are disquieted:
If thoughts, not idle, while before me flow
The armies of the homeless and unfed:--
If these are yours, if this is what you are,
Then am I yours, and what you feel, I share.
poem by Matthew Arnold from sonn (1849)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Faith in Destiny
Forever shall I be there, willing to hold you in my arms,
I’d never do you any harm girl, for it is beyond me to do so,
But think not of me sinking within the waters of my own embrace
For faith in Destiny shall keep me afloat yet know that my affection
Is willing to coat you in the most profound of loves,
For romance breathes within this soul of mine and seeks another
With which to share it’s time. Forever would I be willing to hold
You, throughout the cold of winter, throughout our growing old
But only when you deem the time is right, for the mysteries
You perceived within my eyes are open to you if you will just
Join me one moment in naked embrace; I’ll open up the skies of
My love for you and we may swim an emotion deep beyond the horizon.
poem by David Lacey
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Pointless To Make Attempts WITH Common Sense
Is a power taken,
The same as a power given?
And how much power,
Does a power that has been taken have...
If those that did not give it,
Deem it as useless?
And if those who deem a power taken,
As being useless...
How powerful can that power remain?
And over what or whom,
Does one with useless power...
Have it kept in their minds believed?
It is pointless to make attempts,
WITH common sense...
To anyone who has money,
That money hoarded has no power at all.
It is only when it is distributed,
That the power of it is most effective.
One's greed,
Eventually defeats a blinded perception.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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How Did You Get Past The Guards
Whatever you deem,
At the time...
Is important,
To you.
Let whatever it is at that time,
Be important.
That's the same way I feel about my time,
You take for granted...
Whenever you feel okay,
To dropp by unexpectedly...
To make your time,
The time I am not feeling.
Whatever you deem,
At the time...
Is important,
To you.
Let whatever it is at that time,
Be important.
But do not think for one moment,
My time...
Is not important to me.
And not a second of it do I plan to share!
Or...
Will be convinced that I should.
You are on the East side of this rainbow.
How did you get past the guards?
I keep telling them,
No visitors.
You...
Must have been annoying them for too long!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Let Me Believe
Let me believe you, love, or let me die!
If on your faith I may not rest secure,—
Beyond all chance of peradventure sure,—
Trusting your half-avowals sweet and shy,
As trusts the lark the pallid, dawn-lit sky,—
Then would I rather in some grave obscure
Repose forlorn, than, living on, endure
A question each dear transport to belie!
It is a pain to thirst and do without,
A pain to suffer what we deem unjust,
To win a joy—and lay it in the dust;
But there's a fiercer pain,—the pain of doubt:
From other griefs Death sets the spirit free;
Doubt steals the light from immortality!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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An Old French Poet
When in your sober mood my body have ye laid
In sight and sound of things beloved, woodland and stream,
And the green turf has hidden the poor bones ye deem
No more a close companion with those rhymes we made;
Then, if some bird should pipe, or breezes stir the glade,
Thinking them for the while my voice, so let them seem
A fading message from the misty shores of dream,
Or wheresoever, following Death, my feet have strayed.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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If There Is Something More (Wreathed Quatrains) (In Answer To Edgar Allan Poe)
If all we are, see or may deem to be
is free like drops of sand on the beach
and in each there is no constancy
in fancy for something more we reach,
what we teach are trifle roles that are set
even if we have met, we are just on a stage
where we wage just on chance a mere bet,
where what we get, destiny gives with rage
in every age we are just actors in a dream,
like a stream where happiness is swept away
and every day nothing is as it seem
even if we deem, nothing is set to stay;
be that as it may, we know how life is,
we enjoy a kiss and passionate feelings
we are healing in happy human bliss,
more than this we are not away reeling;
even in the sting of life we are safe,
even in if grave situations does insist,
we do persist against the decimating wave,
oblivion's rave, we do in God's hand exist.
[Reference: 'A dream within a dream' by Edgar Allan Poe.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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To Poets…
Write about what you hear n’ see
Without malice or prevarication
Altho acts may deem you anomaly
Perhaps a target for brutalization
Persevere!
Strive only for the naked facts
As, truth shall justify your soul
Matters not how subjects react
Veracity shall make you whole
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Thou whose spell can raise the dead
I
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
"King, behold the phantom seer!"
Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in the fixed eye:
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like cavern'd winds the hollow acccents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.
II
"Why is my sleep disquieted?
"Who is he that calls the dead?
"Is it thou, Oh King? Behold
"Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
"Such are mine; and such shall be
"Thine, to-morrow, when with me:
"Ere the coming day is done,
"Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
"Fare thee well, but for a day,
"Then we mix our mouldering clay.
"Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
"Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
"And the falchion by thy side,
"To thy heart, thy hand shall guide:
"Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
"Son and sire, the house of Saul!"
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Where Darkness Grows
First thy Tempest impaled thine body
And sliced thy most angry brow
Shard's of glass created blown crystal
And Bitter Winds chastise each vow
Unprincipled Deciple of Circumstance
Purveryor of Broken Bleak Dreams
Covetous by the legion's of Prodigal's
Denatured are thy slicing of screams
Enabler of thy diabolical
Cutting curt and obscene
Crusified and nailed bleeding
In realms that only thine deem
Proclaimer of all that 'tis decadent
Where Weeping Willows faintly grow
Your Tempest 'tis thy Shadow forever
Where they river Styx eternal doth flows
Remembering always
Especially now at Easter
The darker other side
That plays way too big
A part in the World
poem by Theodora Onken
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Retalliation
The works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed!
When little more than boy in age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage:
But now seem worthier to be styled
For ignorance, almost a child.
poem by William Cowper
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The Cliffs
They sing of the grandeur of cliffs inland,
But the cliffs of the ocean are truly grand;
And I long to wander and dream and doubt
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out and out.
To the northward far as the eye can reach
Are sandhill, boulder, and sandy beach;
But southward rises the track for me,
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out to sea.
Friends may be gone in the morning fair,
But the cliffs by the ocean are always there;
Lovers may leave when the wind is chill,
But the cliffs by the ocean are steadfast still.
They watch the sea and they ward the land,
And they warn the ships from the treacherous sand;
And I sadly think in the twilight hour
What I might have been had I known my power.
Where the smoke-cloud blurs and the white sails fill,
They point the ships to keep seaward still;
And I think—Ah, me!—and I think—Ah, me!
Of the wreck I’d saved had I kept to sea.
Oh! the cliffs are old and the cliffs are sad,
And they know me sane, while men deem me mad.
Oh! the cliffs are firm and the cliffs are strong,
And they know me right, while men deem me wrong.
And I sometimes think in the dawning gray,
I am old as they, I am old as they;
And I think, I think that in field and town
My spirit shall live till the cliffs come down.
poem by Henry Lawson
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