Living
To toil all day and lie worn-out at night;
To rise for all the years to slave and sleep,
And breed new broods to do no other thing
In toiling, bearing, breeding — life is this
To myriad men, too base for man or brute.
To serve for common duty, while the brain
Is hot with high desire to be distinct;
To fill the sand-grain place among the stones
That build the social wall in million sameness,
Is life by leave, and death by insignificance.
To live the morbid years, with dripping blood
Of sacrificial labor for a Thought;
To take the dearest hope and lay it down
Beneath the crushing wheels for love of Freedom;
To bear the sordid jeers of cant and trade,
And go on hewing for a far ideal, —
This were a life worth giving to a cause,
If cause be found so worth a martyr life.
But highest life of man, nor work nor sacrifice,
But utter seeing of the things that be!
To pass amid the hurrying crowds, and watch
The hungry race for things of vulgar use;
To mark the growth of baser lines in men;
To note the bending to a servile rule;
To know the natural discord called disease
That rots like rust the blood and souls of men;
To test the wisdoms and philosophies by touch
Of that which is immutable, being clear,
The beam God opens to the poet's brain;
To see with eyes of pity laboring souls
Strive upward to the Freedom and the Truth,
And still be backward dragged by fear and ignorance;
To see the beauty of the world, and hear
The rising harmony of growth, whose shade
Of undertone is harmonized decay;
To know that love is life — that blood is one
And rushes to the union — that the heart
Is like a cup athirst for wine of love;
Who sees and feels this meaning utterly,
The wrong of law, the right of man, the natural truth.
Partaking not of selfish aims, withholding not
The word that strengthens and the hand that helps:
Who waits and sympathizes with the pettiest life,
And loves all things, and reaches up to God
With thanks and blessing — He alone is living.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Letting Go
I rise from my death.
My old life is done.
My new life is hardship.
The old life was fun.
Gave it all away.
Not the things that I owned.
The old seeds of my life.
And the things I had sown.
My life was about me.
And the things I could get.
At the expense of another.
In my ways I was set.
I had to lose all I loved.
It was then I could see.
All that I had been.
And not all I could be.
I think of a Man.
And the truths that He’d taught.
He’s the meaning of love.
And love I was not.
Maybe love of myself.
And I got what I gave.
Not the freedom I sought.
But the life of a slave.
I was a slave to the system.
I was chained to the soil.
My spirit was dying.
As my blood it did boil.
Only anger, resentment.
And bitterness remained.
As my spirit lay dying.
I was going insane.
Expectations of others.
What could benefit me?
But my truth was a lie.
And His truth set me free.
If you want the gift of the promise.
Put your life on the cross.
Give your life for another.
And you’ll find what you lost.
Accept others as they are.
Just like God did with us.
Let their path be their choosing.
In the Lord put your trust.
The price has been paid.
For your debts in advance.
So true love you could know.
If you give Him a chance.
His live he gave up.
For you and for me.
Not for who we are now.
But for who we can be.
You are not what you think.
You are more than you know.
If you want to find out.
Then you have to let go.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
What Awaits
What awaits us after certain death,
nor I nor you nor any here may know;
some may prefer to hold the unthinking state;
knowing only, what shall be, shall be;
and yet, it may not harm to have a dream,
a hope, a thought in purity;
why, it may even smoothe our latter days -
not by some mental last narcotic drip,
but curled around the treasure of our heart;
resting in our dearest, dearest love;
for some, it will be family:
perhaps to know our parents as new friends;
to talk to them of all unspoken things
we never thought to ask of them in life,
to throw aside the separateness of things;
to love our selves in them as they loved us;
- or if it be that all was fear and hate,
to learn a way to pass through that to love;
or, watch perhaps, in some angelic way
over our children as they live their lives;
watch them in some wisdom quite uncritical,
encompass all their life with eyes of love;
yes, those things would be good; and surely not
what our Creator would not want for us?
So, noble-hearted philanthropes might wish
above all else, to guard the institutions which
they built so generously from their rich and loving lives;
to watch benignly as those institutions grow;
I have a passing fancy that, the relay race as run,
some glorious gift to pass, might be to hand:
and to some soul unborn, now waiting there
ready to run - reach out and smiling say,
here, take this I hold out in my hand –
to you, a seeming torch, or jewel beyond price,
a flower, or keepsake of a life of love –
take this, my treasure throughout all my life,
this is what I loved, and worked at, polished bright;
this is the jewel of my life.. Do with it, what you will;
know that the joy is in the passing on;
what else is there to offer, heart to heart?
* * *
meanwhile, I’ll treasure that high moment when
all change became the strange; the eternal, natural.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Poets, Love & A Good Poem
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
EVERY OTHER NIGHT
If it was left to me and my desire
I would seek satisfaction every other night.
I would enjoy your divine, God given love
And hold you forever close and tight.
Every other night would be Heavenly for me
Though I must respect and honor what you do and say.
My need for you is far greater than your need for me
As I patiently wait for our time of play.
I will always remain watchful, loving and caring
Not to hurt, destroy, mistrust, dissatisfy or offend.
Out of all God's blessings from Heaven to Earth
You're my greatest treasure, passion and friend.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom's 465 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
A Good Education Need Of The Hour!
Education decides about the future life and work for all;
Education only helps to develop one’s life and work here.
Mere education is not passport to get job but it’s for life;
Mere education helps not to face life situation or crisis;
Common sense, presence of mind, general knowledge do!
For everything education is the base in the modern world;
Education is for freedom, development and fulfilment in life;
Education helps intellectual mind to acquire true knowledge.
Knowledge only can give power, freedom and satisfaction;
Knowledge of love, truth gives freedom to attain perfection.
Dharma is justice to live righteous life according to one’s nature;
Religion is to say about truth of God, dharma and culture to all;
Education is to help develop one’s capacity with apt knowledge
To express talent using ideas of knowledge in duty to do things
Beneficial to oneself, society to achieve joyful fulfilment in life!
Now education does not serve such purpose but crams knowledge
Incomplete just to do specialised jobs only for material benefits.
Complete knowledge makes link of science, literature and culture;
This could satisfy body, mind, heart and soul to achieve completion;
Love and knowledge make perfect to attain joy, peace, satisfaction!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life
Life is precious
A gem on the sands of shores.
Though often treated as if it matters little.
Life is the beauty of the world.
As a rose, it blooms in season.
Hides in it the souls of all reasons.
Life is the sun it comes and then goes
Each life adds something new
Good or bad is what we make of it.
Life is worth living.
Sometimes worth dying for-
but never in life you throw away.
Each life must be treasured its very natural end.
copyright © 2012
poem by Godfrey Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God Is Love
God is Love, no more, no less...
Guiding Man to happiness...
Giving life and nourishment...
Sovereign rule and government...
Consider the flowers grown from seed,
None of these is known to bleed.
Yet animals that roam the Earth
Know a higher sense of worth...
To them, are granted eyes and ears,
Perhaps to see and hear for years...
Above these creatures Man exists,
Despite his evil, he persists...
Yet God is slow to anger, thus,
The Lord bestows some grace to us...
We live and move and have our being,
While the Lord is overseeing...
Neath the angels, Man is known,
And by the Word of God is shown -
Highways of Wisdom, Paths of Peace,
Eternal Truths that never cease
And Sacrificial Love in Christ -
Of all Mankind, He is the highest...
For on the Cross He gave His Blood
To serve as God's Almighty Flood
That cleanses sinners from their sins
Because Lord Jesus is God's Prince,
His Go-Between, His Holy Son,
Revered for all the good He's done -
In life, in death, in new life, too...
Christ died for sinners, me, and you!
Praise Him! For there's none else above
Who best portrays that God is Love...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Poet Tom & A Good Poem = 2012
GOD'S POET TOM
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
GOD'S POET TOM ZART
The Lord can close doors no man can open
And open doors no man can close.
It's up to us to prove our Heavenly worth
By our lifetime example of the path we chose.
Tom's 465 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
'To book Tom Zart for guest appearances, product, or services, contact Raymond L. LaPietra-Exclusive Personal Manager,913-681-7750 (office) , [email protected] (e-mail) , www.careerimages.com (website) ,8802 W.147th Terrace Overland Park, Kansas 66221.'
Was It All Worth It
Words and music by queen
What is there left for me to do in this life
Did I achieve what I had set in my sights
Am I a happy man or is this sinking sand
Was it all worth it was it all worth it
Yeah now hear my story let me tell you about it
We bought a drum kit blew my own trumpet
Played the circuit thought we were perfect
Was it all worth it
Giving all my heart and soul and staying up all night
Was it all worth it
Living breathing rocknroll a godforsaken life
Was it all worth it was it all worth it all these years
Put down our money without counting the cost
It didnt matter if we won if we lost
Yes we were vicious yes we could kill
Yes we were hungry yes we were brill
We served a purpose like a bloody circus
We were so dandy we love you madly
Was it all worth it
Living breathing rocknroll this godforsaken life
Was it all worth it was it all worth it
When the hurly burlys done
We went to bali saw God and dali
So mystic surrealistic
Was it all worth it yeah yeah
Giving all my heart and soul staying up all night
Was it all worth it
Living breathing rocknroll this never ending fight
Was it all worth it was it all worth it
Yes it was a worthwhile experience
It was worth it
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hungry Desire
Your eyes as black as night
You souls flame burns so bright
Your love for my life stops your embrace
Your blood the painful reminder of your race
I can hear your heart longing
The pain that comes with belonging
The beauty that caught my eye
Why does it make me cry?
The hunger that consumes you
Is the spark I see now renew
But know you want more than blood
Now what you need is love
So now you run so fast and far away
You hide to prevent the hunger taking sway
But the fangs need to be fed
And they desire something so darkly red
So you flee from love but what about my life
Because now I take my stand from this strife
I will not let you ever live alone
The thought of you leaving chills me to the bone
The simple wound left to bruise
However my life is what I would lose
To be held forever in your arms
At peace now you protect me from all harm
poem by Rebecca Pepper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love And Freedom!
Loveless life is like bird without wings;
Nation without freedom is big prison!
Love and freedom go together always;
Without love and freedom life is useless!
Love and knowledge are two eyes for all!
But without love and freedom no chance
There is for one to accomplish any wish
As interest and desire never leave one ever!
Love and knowledge only make one perfect
To enjoy real freedom in joy and peace ever!
Beauty is truth only when love is true there,
Where real freedom prevails as heart's desire!
Love, beauty and truth make one perfect
To enjoy real freedom in life of joy and peace!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Human Brain and Accidents
Each thought and act of man is born
Within the brain’s cortex neuron;
To do a thing right / wrong is one
Decided by inhibition.
When good prevails over those bad,
It makes a person always glad;
When evil functions turns one mad,
The outcome is so very sad.
God gives full freedom to do things
To paupers, subjects, queens and kings
Alike, and satisfaction springs
In minds and hearts of all earthlings!
The brain is vital-most organ,
And has to function through life-span;
The conscience is prime in man;
To use it always then, all can.
The bloodless brain is defunct one;
A brain-dead person’s life is gone;
To live like this, no one is born;
Yet, accidents make life forlorn!
Yes, accidents kill most persons;
Don’t take more risks; use common-sense;
Why worry much and make life tense?
Why spoil the eye’s God-given lense?
To live a vegetable life
Is detestable-most, a strife;
Why cut the thread of life by knife,
When natural deaths are almost rife?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 09-05-09
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mummy Wheat
LAID close to Death, these many thousand years,
In this small seed Life hid herself and smiled;
So well she hid, Death was at least beguiled,
Set free the grain--and lo! the sevenfold ears!
Warmed by the sun, wooed by the wind's soft word,
Under blue canopy they hold their state:
For this, ah, was it not worth while to wait
Through all the centuries of hope deferred?
What could they know who laid the seed with Death
Of this Divine fruition fixed and planned?
Love--since Life parts us--lend my hand your hand
And look with me into the eyes of faith.
For here between your hand and mine there lies
A little seed we trust to Death to keep
Through unimagined centuries of sleep
Until the day when Life shall bid it rise.
Our harvest waits us. Who knows where or how,
What worlds away, wrapped in what coil of pain?
But Life shall bid us pluck gold sevenfold grain
Grown from the love she bids us bury now.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Are a Poet
If you are a poet it means so much
as others souls you often touch.
Your own soul you cruelly cut
petting the others with your blood.
To be a poet means to sing of beauty
and it’s the main poet’s duty.
Rhyming the words to tell the truth
and it has to be quite smooth.
To be a poet means to burn with passion,
to treat the others grief with a compassion,
to love the others as yourself,
to hear the voice of kind elf.
To be a poet means to dream,
to tell the world a touching theme,
to speak sincerely and frankly
but not just rhyming poems blankly.
Rhyming words is not the main,
there’s no need to strain your brain.
If your heart has nothing to tell
rhymed words will look like hell.
To be a poet means to write
as if your blood gushes from vein,
to write the rhythm of living breath,
the rhythm of life that seethe.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
30/9 2010
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pilgrims
Who is your lady of love, O ye that pass
Singing? and is it for sorrow of that which was
That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing.
--Our lady of love by you is unbeholden;
For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we
That love, we know her more fair than anything.
--Is she a queen, having great gifts to give?
--Yea, these; that whoso hath seen her shall not live
Except he serve her sorrowing, with strange pain,
Travail and bloodshedding and bitterer tears;
And when she bids die he shall surely die.
And he shall leave all things under the sky
And go forth naked under sun and rain
And work and wait and watch out all his years.
--Hath she on earth no place of habitation?
--Age to age calling, nation answering nation,
Cries out, Where is she? and there is none to say;
For if she be not in the spirit of men,
For if in the inward soul she hath no place,
In vain they cry unto her, seeking her face,
In vain their mouths make much of her; for they
Cry with vain tongues, till the heart lives again.
--O ye that follow, and have ye no repentance?
For on your brows is written a mortal sentence,
An hieroglyph of sorrow, a fiery sign,
That in your lives ye shall not pause or rest,
Nor have the sure sweet common love, nor keep
Friends and safe days, nor joy of life nor sleep.
--These have we not, who have one thing, the divine
Face and clear eyes of faith and fruitful breast.
--And ye shall die before your thrones be won.
--Yea, and the changed world and the liberal sun
Shall move and shine without us, and we lie
Dead; but if she too move on earth and live,
But if the old world with all the old irons rent
Laugh and give thanks, shall we be not content?
Nay, we shall rather live, we shall not die,
Life being so little and death so good to give.
--And these men shall forget you.--Yea, but we
Shall be a part of the earth and the ancient sea,
And heaven-high air august, and awful fire,
And all things good; and no man's heart shall beat
But somewhat in it of our blood once shed
Shall quiver and quicken, as now in us the dead
Blood of men slain and the old same life's desire
Plants in their fiery footprints our fresh feet.
--But ye that might be clothed with all things pleasant,
Ye are foolish that put off the fair soft present,
That clothe yourselves with the cold future air;
When mother and father and tender sister and brother
And the old live love that was shall be as ye,
Dust, and no fruit of loving life shall be.
--She shall be yet who is more than all these were,
Than sister or wife or father unto us or mother.
--Is this worth life, is this, to win for wages?
Lo, the dead mouths of the awful grey-grown ages,
The venerable, in the past that is their prison,
In the outer darkness, in the unopening grave,
Laugh, knowing how many as ye now say have said,
How many, and all are fallen, are fallen and dead:
Shall ye dead rise, and these dead have not risen?
--Not we but she, who is tender and swift to save.
--Are ye not weary and faint not by the way,
Seeing night by night devoured of day by day,
Seeing hour by hour consumed in sleepless fire?
Sleepless: and ye too, when shall ye too sleep?
--We are weary in heart and head, in hands and feet,
And surely more than all things sleep were sweet,
Than all things save the inexorable desire
Which whoso knoweth shall neither faint nor weep.
--Is this so sweet that one were fain to follow?
Is this so sure where all men's hopes are hollow.
Even this your dream, that by much tribulation
Ye shall make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight?
--Nay, though our life were blind, our death were fruitless,
Not therefore were the whole world's high hope rootless;
But man to man, nation would turn to nation,
And the old life live, and the old great world be great.
--Pass on then and pass by us and let us be,
For what light think ye after life to see?
And if the world fare better will ye know?
And if man triumph who shall seek you and say?
--Enough of light is this for one life's span,
That all men born are mortal, but not man:
And we men bring death lives by night to sow,
That man may reap and eat and live by day.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazy
Some men enjoy the constant strife
Of days with work and worry rife,
But that is not my dream of life:
I think such men are crazy.
For me, a life with worries few,
A job of nothing much to do,
Just pelf enough to see me through:
I fear that I am lazy.
On winter mornings cold and drear,
When six o'clock alarms I hear,
'Tis then I love to shift my ear,
And hug my downy pillows.
When in the shade it's ninety-three,
No job in town looks good to me,
I'd rather loaf down by the sea,
And watch the foaming billows.
Some people think the world's a school,
Where labor is the only rule;
But I'll not make myself a mule,
And don't you ever doubt it.
I know that work may have its use,
But still I feel that's no excuse
For turning it into abuse;
What do you think about it?
Let others fume and sweat and boil,
And scratch and dig for golden spoil,
And live the life of work and toil,
Their lives to labor giving.
But what is gold when life is sped,
And life is short, as has been said,
And we are such a long time dead,
I'll spend my life in living.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eucharist
the last and perfect celebration of mankind
center in the breaking of bread; bless and thank
by Christ in the eve of his death
it is the ultimate and the final vow of self giving
of what the wisdom of salvation mean to man,
the gift of servitude is just a beginning to the
Calvary of life
the death that He freely accepted from the
Father's hand, a sacrifice of what meant to
share what you have in life, a will being of every
things of He who is bound to give of what all that
has given
a mighty of self-giving, a sacrificial lamb comes to
reveal thy heaven's home, a receptacle of all sin
whose blood will hold on the angry God, pacify by
His own blood and nail in the most brutal death in
human race
what wonder that He gives, when life flows in the
wounded chest, flows as it goes in the soil where
it rest, even the heaven's dark clouds witness the
lamb that give, wondered by million of angels
in the paradise it cease
the cross comes to gives us the true God, whose
father sudden the only begotten Son of God, it was
the moment that last through out eternity
Christ come in witness to the Father's love, a
love that beyond death, He lives with him for thy
Father everlasting love transcends beyond death,
through his death
as the Eucharist passion our hearts, the unity of the
Holy Spirit guide us to thy everlasting soul, it is by
taking Christ in the Eucharist He lives in us, leave
nothing to believe of what is taken, but live what is to
believe that Christ gives the life that afraid no death
and leads us to the Father in heaven
let our soul be lifted high to the most heavenly Father
and brings us to life Everlasting
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prometheus - Christ
LASHED to the planet, glaring at the sky,
An eagle at his heart—the Pagan Christ!
Why is it, Mystery? O, dumb Darkness, why
Have always men, with loving hearts themselves,
Made devils of their gods?
The whirling globe
Bears round man's sweating agony of blood,
That Might may gloat above impotent Pain!
Man's soul is dual—he is half a fiend,
And from himself he typifies Almighty.
O, poison-doubt, the answer holds no peace:
Man did not make himself a fiend, but God.
Between them, what? Prometheus stares
Through ether to the lurid eyes of Jove—
Between them, Darkness!
But the gods are dead-
Ay, Zeus is dead, and all the gods but Doubt,
And Doubt is brother devil to Despair!
What, then, for us? Better Prometheus' fate,
Who dared the gods, than insect unbelief—
Better Doubt's fitful flame than abject nothingness!
O, world around us, glory of the spheres!
God speaks in ordered harmony—behold!
Between us and the Darkness, clad in light,—
Between us and the curtain of the Vast,—two Forms,
And each is crowned eternally—and One
Is crowned with flowers and tender leaves and grass,
And smiles benignly; and the other One,
With sadly pitying eyes, is crowned with thorns:
O Nature, and O Christ, for men to love
And seek and live by—Thine the dual reign—
The health and hope and happiness of men!
Behold our faith and fruit!—
What demon laughs?
Behold our books, our schools, our states,
Where Christ and Nature are the daily word;
Behold our dealings between man and man,
Our laws for home, our treaties for abroad;
Behold our honor, honesty, and freedom,
And, last, our brotherhood! For we are born
In Christian times and ruled by Christian rules!
Bah! God is mild, or he would strike the world
As men should smite a liar on the mouth.
Shame on the falsehood! Let us tell the truth—
Nor Christ nor Nature rules, but Greed and Creed
And Caste and Cant and Craft and Ignorance.
Down to the dust with every decent face,
And whisper there the lies we daily live.
O, God forgive us! Nature never can;
For one is merciful, the other just.
Let us confess: by Nations first—our lines
Are writ in blood and rapine and revenge;
Conquest and pride have motive been and law—
Christ walks with us to hourly crucifixion!
As Men? Would God the better tale were here:
Atom as whole, corruption, shrewdness, self.
Freedom? A juggle—hundreds slave for one,—
That one is free, and boasts, and lo! the shame,
The hundreds at the wheel go boasting too.
Justice? The selfish only can succeed;
Success means power—did Christ mean it so?—
And power must be guarded by the law,
And preachers preach that law must be obeyed,
Ay, even when Right is ironed in the dock,
And Rapine sits in ermine on the bench!
Mercy? Behold it in the reeking slums
That grow like cancers from the palace wall;
Go hear it from the conquered—how their blood
Is weighed in drops, and purchased, blood for gold;
Go ask the toiling tenant why he paid
The landlord's rent and let his children starve;
Go find the thief, whose father was a thief,
And ask what Christian leech has cured his sin?
Honesty? Our law of life is Gain—
We must get gold or be accounted fools;
The lovable, the generous, must be crushed
And substituted by the hard and shrewd.
What is it, Christ, this thing called Christian life,
Where Christ is not, where ninety slave for ten,
And never own a flower save when they steal it,
And never hear a bird save when they cage it?
Is this the freedom of Thy truth? Ah, woe
For those who see a higher, nobler law
Than his, the Crucified, if this be so!
O, man's blind hope—Prometheus, thine the gift-
That bids him live when reason bids him die!
We cling to this, as sailors to a spar—
We see that this is Truth: that men are one,
Nor king nor slave among them save by law;
We see that law is crime, save God's sweet code
That laps the world in freedom: trees and men
And every life around us, days and seasons,
All for their natural order on the planet,
To live their lives, an hour, a hundred years,
Equal, content, and free—nor curse their souls
With trade's malign unrest, with books that breed
Disparity, contempt for those who cannot read;
With cities full of toil and sin and sorrow,
Climbing the devil-builded hill called Progress!
Prometheus, we reject thy gifts for Christ's!
Selfish and hard were thine; but His are sweet—
'Sell what thou hast and give it to the poor!'
Him we must follow to the great Commune,
Reading his book of Nature, growing wise
As planet-men, who own the earth, and pass;
Him we must follow till foul Cant and Caste
Die like disease, and Mankind, freed at last,
Tramples the complex life and laws and limits
That stand between all living things and Freedom!
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Written In Passion Blood
love is written in warm passion blood
life is written in lust stirring flow blood
union is written in rich soul merging blood
blood in all union gift birth children born
blood bled in surge birth new life
blood corrupted death end finale life
blood love warm pure pumps renewal
blood flesh pierced sword's blade
blood climatic performance act ends
blood in taste of virgin experience death
contradiction the birth of life the birth of death
music cosmic soars at moment of conception
a moment seals love passion or life rape ripped
life poem writ contains such complexity such depth
lucky are lines life focus love given in glad glee read
glad for startling insight thoughts reflections merry
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life is what you want it to be...
Life is what you want it to be…
Life is what you want it to be, no one can make your life only you.
Life can’t be what you want you have to earn it the way everyone does.
Life throws out things that you only can handle.
Life is the wind that blows through the summer cold nights.
Life is all the seasons through the year.
I am life you are life we all are life so don’t waist it now.
Think about our lives with screaming kids and nagging husbands,
We all think sometimes it’s a curse and most it’s a blessing but its life.
We all have thoughts about things that just don’t make since to us but its called life.
We all love life so why not live it we all love life so stick with it!
poem by Siara Ricioppo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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