To Sir Henry Goodyere
WHO makes the last a pattern for next year,
Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads ;
Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear,
And makes his life but like a pair of beads.
A palace, when 'tis that which it should be,
Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays ;
But he which dwells there is not so ; for he
Strives to surge upward, and his fortune raise.
So had your body her morning, hath her noon,
And shall not better ; her next change is night ;
But her fair, larger guest, to whom sun and moon
Are sparks, and short-lived, claims another right.
The noble soul by age grows lustier ;
Her appetite and her digestion mend.
We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her
With women's milk, and pap, unto the end.
Provide you manlier diet. You have seen
All libraries, which are schools, camps, and courts ;
But ask your garners if you have not been
In harvest too indulgent to your sports.
Would you redeem it ? then yourself transplant
Awhile from hence. Perchance outlandish ground
Bears no more wit than ours ; but yet more scant
Are those diversions there, which here abound.
To be a stranger hath that benefit,
We can beginnings, but not habits choke.
Go—whither ? hence. You get, if you forget ;
New faults, till they prescribe to us, are smoke.
Our soul, whose country's heaven, and God her Father,
Into this world, corruption's sink, is sent ;
Yet so much in her travel she doth gather,
That she returns home wiser than she went.
It pays you well, if it teach you to spare,
And make you ashamed to make your hawks' praise yours,
Which when herself she lessens in the air,
You then first say, that high enough she towers.
However, keep the lively taste you hold
Of God ; love Him as now, but fear Him more ;
And in your afternoons think what you told
And promised Him, at morning prayer before.
Let falsehood like a discord anger you,
Else not be froward. But why do I touch
Things of which none is in your practice new ?
And fables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much.
But thus I make you keep your promise, sir,
Riding I had you, though you still stay'd there ;
And in these thoughts, although you never stir,
You came with me to Mitcham, and are here.
poem by John Donne
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Exile
I heard it in my sleep
A voice more dead than old
I thought Id known the fear
But then it touched my soul and said:
You will pray for me
Bow your head to me.
It came for me at night
And took me dream by dream
To where everything is dark
And no-one hears you scream
Took everything I loved
And turned love into pain
It said Im the prophecy
And Ill make you believe in me.
Sacrifice for me
Be humility.
It said:
Ill make everyone pay
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forget
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forgive
Ill make everyone pay.
And so it comes to this
Death or eternity?
Or would you like to pay
For all humanity?
Do you believe in faith?
Than choose. heaven or hell or me?
A shadow on the sane
The final treachery of god.
You will kneel for me
Lose your eyes for me.
Betray the world for me
Burn your soul for me.
It said:
Ill make everyone pay
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forget
Ill make everyone pay
Some things you cant forgive
Ill make everyone pay.
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man
My God, I heard this day,
That none doth build a stately habitation,
But he that means to dwell therein.
What house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, than is Man? to whose creation
All things are in decay.
For Man is ev'ry thing,
And more:
He is a tree, yet bears no fruit;
A beast, yet is, or should be more:
Reason and speech we only bring.
Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute,
They go upon the score.
Man is all symmetry,
Full of proportions, one limb to another,
And all to all the world besides:
Each part may call the farthest brother:
For head with foot hath private amity,
And both with moons and tides.
Nothing hath got so far,
But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey.
His eyes dismount the highest star:
He is in little all the sphere.
Herbs gladly cure our flesh; because that they
Find their acquaintance there.
For us the winds do blow,
The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow.
Nothing we see, but means our good,
As our delight, or as our treasure:
The whole is, either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
The stars have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;
Music and light attend our head.
All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind
In their ascent and cause.
Each thing is full of duty:
Waters united are our navigation;
Distinguished, our habitation;
Below, our drink; above, our meat;
Both are our cleanliness.
Hath one such beauty?
Then how are all things neat?
More servants wait on Man,
Than he'll take notice of: in ev'ry path
He treads down that which doth befriend him,
When sickness makes him pale and wan.
Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.
Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a palace built; O dwell in it,
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit;
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
And both thy servants be.
poem by George Herbert
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Happiness
Can you tell me what I like to hear
all the things that bring to my ear
joyous thoughts, pleasing words
that makes me feel like everything's right
within my world that I hold dear?
Can I close ny eyes and never see
all the things that bring to me
painful scenes, hurtful sights
that makes me feel like everything's wrong
within my world that's dimmed the lights?
Can I breathe in all the sweet aromas
of all the things to remind me where home is.
Pine and cedar, salty sea air
that makes me feel like there is nowhere
within my world that brings such bliss?
If I can hear the things I love
and I can always stay above
all the things that make me sad
and I can inhale the scents I've had
within my world to remind me of
my inner self?
Then happiness is mine.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Kid Things
What's there that makes you want to be lonely
What's there to keep you sitting at home
He'd always say no no no as if he wanted you to be hungry
well the same things you're missing
could get you into something else
Better leave when to stay is only
nothing but being alone
what I wanted you to know
is Kid things
seemed like nothing at all
kid things
make it better than it was
Kid things
seemed like nothing at all
but kid things
make it better than it was
hey what you got that makes you want to be lonely
hey what you got that makes it a better way to be
she said No no no i can't get any love and it's a sunday.
I said oh yeah what makes you think I wanted it that way.
cause one or two more smiles from you and
i don't need anything else.
what I wanted you to know
is kid things
seemed like nothing at all
kid things
make it better than it was
we're just kids
we spend all night on the phone
it's a kid thing
but i sleep better when i'm not alone
what i want right now
is just some more
gimme more..
Hey what you think
is you're not getting any younger
What i know is that you're not really very old
i know you wanna say No no no
it feels much better in the summer
well if it isn't warm where you're sittin'
then kitten come on in out of the cold
Cause all I know is when I'm with you
well I don't need anything else.
what I wanted you to know
is Kid things
seemed like nothing at all
and kid things
make it better than it was
We're just kids...
we spend all night on the phone
It's a kid thing..
so i sleep better
when i'm not alone
Kid things
seemed like nothing at all
kid things
make it better than it was
We're just kids...
Just like driving a car...
it's a kid thing
and the further out the closer in you are
song performed by by Counting Crows
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Time Time
Cause time cant make things better
Cause time cant make things right
Cause time cant change are past
I’ll keep holding on, Being strong, for you
I’ll keep being strong, seeing through, for you
Cause time cant make things better
Cause time cant make things right
Cause with time you never know better
Cause time cant make a change
Cause with time we cant complain
I’ll hold on to you with all the time in the world
If time could give that time back with you again
Oh how id be true to you
oh how id hold you in my arms
But time cant make things better
Cause time cant make things right
Say id hold you from now in till forever tonight
Yah tonight
But cant make things better
No time cant make things right
If with time we only knew better and make it right
Cause time we cant change
But time cant make things better
Cause time cant make things right
Say id hold you from now in till forever tonight
Yah tonight
But cant make things better
No time cant make things right
If with time we only knew better and make it right
Cause time we cant change
Cause with time we cant complain
I’ll hold to you forever
I’ll make it seem better
I’LL keep holding on being strong for you
Ill keep holding on seeing through for you
And I’ll hold you in my arms
Will dance under the moon
Baby I promise you will be together real soon
I got time on my hands Time on my hand
I give it all away to see you again
Just to see you again
In the futures of time
Time time
poem by Sammy S. Quence
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The Description Of Tyburn
I Have heard sundry men oft times dispute
Of trees, that in one year will twice bear fruit.
But if a man note Tyburn, 'will appear,
That that's a tree that bears twelve times a year.
I muse it should so fruitful be, for why
I understand the root of it is dry,
It bears no leaf, no bloom, or no bud,
The rain that makes it fructify is blood.
I further note, the fruit which it produces,
Doth seldom serve for profitable uses:
Except the skillful Surgeons industry
Do make Dissection of Anatomy.
It blooms, buds, and bears, all three together,
And in one hour, doth live, and die, and wither.
Like Sodom Apples, they are in conceit,
For touched, they turn to dust and ashes straight.
Besides I find this tree hath never been
Like other fruit trees, walled or hedged in,
But in the highway standing many a year,
It never yet was robbed, as I could hear.
The reason is apparent to our eyes,
That what it bears, are dead commodities:
And yet sometimes (such grace to it is given)
The dying fruit is well prepared for heaven,
And many times a man may gather thence
Remorse, devotion, and true penitence.
And from that tree, I think more fools ascend
To that Celestial joy, which shall never end:
I say, more fools from thence to heaven do come,
Than from all Churchyards throughout Christendom.
The reason is, the bodies are all dead,
And all the fools to joy or woe are fled.
Perhaps a week, a day, or two, or three,
Before they in the Churchyards buried be.
But at this Tree, in twinkling of an eye,
The soul and body part immediately,
There death the fatal parting blow doth strike,
And in Churchyards is seldom seen the like.
Besides, they are assistant with the alms
Of peoples charitable prayers, and Psalms,
Which are the wings that lift the hov'ring spirit,
By faith, through grace, true glory to inherit.
Concerning this dead fruit, I noted it,
Instead of paste it's put into a pit,
And laid up carefully in any place,
Yet worm-eaten it grows in little space.
My understanding can by no means frame,
To give this Tyburn fruit a fitter name,
Than Medlers, for I find that great and small,
(To my capacity) are Medlers all.
Some say they are Choked pears, and some again
Do call them Hearty Chokes, but 'tis most plain,
It is a kind of Medler it doth bear,
Or else I think it never would come there.
Moreover where it grows, I find it true,
It often turns the Herb of grace to Rue.
Amongst all Pot-herbs growing on the ground,
Time is the least respected, I have found,
And most abused, and therefore one shall see
No branch or bud of it grow near this Tree:
For 'tis occasion of man's greatest crime,
To turn the use, into abuse, of Time.
When passions are let loose without a bridle,
Then precious Time is turned to Love and Idle:
And that's the chiefest reason I can show,
Why fruit so often doth on Tyburn grow.
There are inferior Gallows which bear
(According to the season) twice a year:
And there's a kind of watrish Tree at Wapping,
Whereas Sea-thieves or Pirates are catched napping:
But Tyburn doth deserve before them all
The title and addition capital,
Of Arch or great Grand Gallows of our Land,
Whilst all the rest like ragged Lackeys stand;
It hath (like Luna) full, and change, and quarters,
It (like a Merchant) monthly trucks and barters;
But all the other Gallows are fit,
Like Chapman, or poor Peddlers onto it.
Thus Jails and Jailers being here explained,
How both are good, and for good use ordained:
All sorts of Hanging which I could surmise,
I likewise have described before your eyes;
And further having showed what Tyburn is,
With many more inferior Gallows,
My pen from paper with this Prayer doth part,
God bless all people from their sins depart.
poem by John Taylor
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Man's Medley
Hark, how the birds do sing,
and woods do ring.
All creatures have their joy: and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter, than in present, is.
To this life things of sense
Make their pretense:
In th'other Angels have a right by birth:
Man ties them both alone,
And makes them one,
With th'one hand touching heav'n, with th'other earth.
In soul he mounts and flies,
In flesh he dies.
He wears a stuff whose thread is coarse and round,
But trimm'd with curious lace
And should take place
After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.
Not that he may not here
Taste of the cheer,
But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head,
So must he sip and think
Of better drink
He may attain to, after he is dead.
But as his joys are double,
So is his trouble.
He hath two winters, other things but one:
Both frosts and thoughts do nip,
And bite his lip;
And he of all things fears two deaths alone.
Yet ev'n the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,
Could he but take them right, and in their ways.
Happy is he, whose heart
Hath found the art
To turn his double pains to double praise.
poem by George Herbert
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Fie, Pleasure, Fie!
1 Fie pleasure, fie! thou cloyest me with delight,
2 Thou fill'st my mouth with sweetmeats overmuch;
3 I wallow still in joy both day and night:
4 I deem, I dream, I do, I taste, I touch,
5 No thing but all that smells of perfect bliss;
6 Fie pleasure, fie! I cannot like of this.
7 To taste (sometimes) a bait of bitter gall,
8 To drink a draught of so{'u}r ale (some season)
9 To eat brown bread with homely hands in hall,
10 Doth much increase men's appetites, by reason,
11 And makes the sweet more sugar'd that ensues,
12 Since minds of men do still seek after news.
13 The pamper'd horse is seldom seen in breath,
14 Whose manger makes his grace (oftimes) to melt;
15 The crammed fowl comes quickly to his death;
16 Such colds they catch in hottest haps that swelt;
17 And I (much like) in pleasure scawled still,
18 Do fear to starve although I feed my fill.
19 It might suffice that Love hath built his bower
20 Between my lady's lively shining eyes;
21 It were enough that beauty's fading flower
22 Grows ever fresh with her in heavenly wise;
23 It had been well that she were fair of face,
24 And yet not rob all other dames of grace.
25 To muse in mind, how wise, how fair, how good,
26 How brave, how frank, how courteous, and how true
27 My lady is, doth but inflame my blood
28 With humours such as bid my health adieu;
29 Since hap always when it is clomb on high,
30 Doth fall full low, though erst it reach'd the sky.
31 Lo, pleasure, lo! lo thus I lead a life
32 That laughs for joy, and trembleth oft for dread;
33 Thy pangs are such as call for change's knife
34 To cut the twist, or else to stretch the thread,
35 Which holds yfeer the bundle of my bliss:
36 Fie, pleasure, fie! I dare not trust to this.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Sonnet L: Beauty, Sweet Love
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew
Whose short refresh upon the tender green
Cheers for a time but till the Sun doth show,
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been.
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish;
Short is the glory of the blushing Rose,
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish
Yet which at length thou must be forc'd to lose.
When thou surcharg'd with burden of thy years
Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth,
When Time hath made a passport for thy fears,
Dated in age the Kalends of our death--
But, ah, no more: this hath been often told,
And women grieve to think they must be old.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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The Garden Of Adonis
(The Garden of Life in Spenser's 'Faerie Queene.')
IT is no fabled garden in the skies,
But bloometh here— this is no world of death;
And nothing that once liveth, ever dies,
And naught that breathes can ever cease to breathe,
And naught that bloometh ever withereth.
The gods can ne'er take back their gifts from men,
They gave us life,— they cannot take again.
Who hath known Death, and who hath seen his face?
On what high mountain have ye met with him?
Within what lowest valley is there trace
Of his feared footsteps? in what forest dim,
In what great city, in what lonely ways?
Nay, there is no such god, but one called Change,
And all he does is beautiful and strange.
It is but Change that lays our darlings low,
And, though we doubt and fear, forsakes them not.
Where red lips smiled do sweetest roses blow,
And star-flowers bloom above the lovely spot
Where gleamed the eyes, with blue forget-me-not.
And through the grasses runs the same wave there
We knew of old within the golden hair.
Dig in the earth— ye shall not surely find
Death or death's semblance; only roots of flowers,
And all fair, goodly things there live enshrined,
With the foundations of the glad green bowers,
Through which the sunshine comes in golden showers.
And all the blossoms that this earth enwreathe,
Are for assurance that there is no death.
O mother, raise thy tear-bathed lids again:
Thy child died not, he only liveth more—
His soul is in the sunshine and the rain,
His life is in the waters and the shore,
He is around thee all the wide world o'er;
The daisy thou hast plucked smiles back at thee,
Because it doth again its mother see.
What noble deed that ever lived, is dead,
Or yet hath lost its power to inspire
Courage in hearts that sicken, and to shed
New faith and hope when hands and footsteps tire,
And make sad, downcast eyes look upward higher?
Yea, all men see and know it, whence it came;
It purifies them like a burning flame.
And dreams? What dreams were ever lost and gone,
But wandering in strange lands we found again?
When least we think of these dear birdlings flown,
We find that bright and fresh they still remain.
The garden of all life is round us then;
And he is blind who doth not know and see,
And praise the gods for immortality.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Anger fills my heart and soul
Anger fills my heart and soul
Anger takes a mighty toll
Anger lessens but can never leave
Anger you hope to never receive,
Anger stays forever within
Anger acts with the might of all sin
Anger is deadly to all around
Anger gets mad at the thought of sound
Anger is the thoughts in my head
Anger that’s mine all should dread
Anger for me is different from you
Anger you see tells me what to do
Anger will sit and whisper in my ear
Anger he sits and tells me all that you fear,
Anger…
He is here
He’s here to stay
Anger is the hole
In which we lay
Anger is
And Anger will
Always be with us
He is in me, and he is in you
He can make you do
What he wants you to
Anger will make you
Make you cry
Anger can make you
Want to die
Anger can make you
Go insane
Anger….. ... A blood filled rain
No more anger
No more…..
Walk to the bright light
Shinning through that door…
Not knowing what’s in store
But even then
Anger lives on
But you… nevermore
poem by Jacob Hill
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Prepare the world for the pleasure of being fair
Many a people do not live
They are just alive
It is not, believe, not a lie
But as true as the blue sky
Not that they can’t try
They are always lost in a cry
Over spilt milk and fry
Their enthusiasm in thoughts dry
Never take that this does mean
That they are weak and mean
They are as strong and clean
As each one in any clan
Make them understand and feel that
My things are mine
And they are like a mine
Unexplored and a lot remain
To be discovered and made fine
And that
My things are much more
Than what surface above the floor
Rigorous search brings them to the fore
As exercise only makes you sweat more
Teach them how to be assertive
Help them become sensitive
Quite sure, they grow positive
Productive and thus effective
The ultimate is to make everyone share
The things, they think, are rare
And only for them, and to prepare
The world enjoy the pleasure of being fair
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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In The Dark
Make me fumble
Make me fall
Make my heart stop and start
To tremble uncontrollably
Let my eyes see fear make desire
Keep those who long apart
Forbid the kiss
And leave us innocent
Of the things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
Make me remember
Make me forget
Make my mind unable
To force the body to do its will
Let it be right for belief and denial
To share a space in the heart and leave us only to imagine
About the things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
Make me pretend
Make me expect
Things can go and come to pass
Without trial or tribulation
Let this life space and time
Leave my body with permanent marks
Faded scars and lines
But not a single impression
Of the things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
Let me be tempted
Let me be torn
But make my thoughts pure and not
Morally corrupt in form
Let us sleep tonight
Let innocence lie in our dreams and secret hearts
With burning desire
A need to know and do
The things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
The things some do in the dark
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Greeting
Good morning, Life--and all
Things glad and beautiful.
My pockets nothing hold,
But he that owns the gold,
The Sun, is my great friend--
His spending has no end.
Hail to the morning sky,
Which bright clouds measure high;
Hail to you birds whose throats
Would number leaves by notes;
Hail to you shady bowers,
And you green field of flowers.
Hail to you women fair,
That make a show so rare
In cloth as white as milk--
Be't calico or silk:
Good morning, Life--and all
Things glad and beautiful.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Echoes Of Love's House
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live
“Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give.”
Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:
“Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come.”
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:
“Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee.”
Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:
“Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain.”
Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!
“Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!”
Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,
“Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest.”
And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:
“And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?”
Ah! I praise thee, Love, for utter joyance won!
“And is my praise nought worth for all my life undone?”
poem by William Morris
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Make You Stay
I should have heard you talkin'
Now I'm a dead man walking
I should have paid more mind
To the little things, the little things
Why is love so complicated
Maybe that's the we made it
Just tell me you won't go
Say it isn't so
Like on the radio
And if I could I'd write that song for you
(Chorus)
If a song could make you cry
If a song could make you say goodbye
Could it change you mind
If a song could make you stay
It's a backward chain reaction
It's a lack of satisfaction
That makes our love breakdown
To the little things, the little things
Gone 180 degrees
Come back to me
Just tell me you won't go
Say it isn't so
Like on the radio
And if I could I'd write that song for you
(Repeat Chorus)
If a song could make you cry
If a song could make you say goodbye
Could it change you mind
If a song could make you stay
If a song could break you down
Then a song could turn our love around
Can you hear that sound
If a song can make you stay
If a song could make you cry
If a song could make you say goodbye
Could it change you mind
If a song could make you stay
If a song could break you down
Then a song could turn our love around
Can you hear that sound
If a song can make you stay
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Depression Hurts
depression hurts the most when you lose one that was near.
it hurts even more when you live in nothing but fear.
you sit there running threw all the bad thoughts in your mind.
its hard to forget it all and leave it behind.
the days start to get worse as you hide away,
you scream at them because they didn't stay.
it gets hard to breath and to stay around.
you walk around looking sad and staring at the ground.
people say things that make things go down hill.
then you go and hide and just sit still.
the pain grows more and more.
it leaves your body, heart, and soul so damn sore.
why does depression have to hurt and make you feel so far.
life is like one big scare.
depression rips you apart
it rips away your heart.
depression hurts the most when you lose one that was near.
it hurts even more when you live in nothing but fear.
you sit there running threw all the bad thoughts in your mind.
its hard to forget it all and leave it behind.
poem by Brandon Kosiarski
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The Spring
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile; only my love doth lour;
Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
Under a sycamore, and all things keep
Time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes, in her heart January.
poem by Thomas Carew
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chidren Of Abraham
Our Father is the father of all fathers.
Our Father is Abraham’s Father.
Our Father is John’s Father.
Our Father is Joseph’s Father.
Our Father is Jesus’ Father.
Our Father is Paul’s Father.
Jesus would thank our Father for placing the secrets of heaven inside children.
I can be 20 and you can be 105.
We all are nothing but children in Gods perfect eyes.
Children symbolizes no worries,
Matthew Ch 6 v.25-34.
Children symbolizes love,
Matthew Ch5 v.43-48.
Children becomes the salt of the world,
Matthew Ch 5 v.13.
The salt is what makes the world taste good.
The salt are us the children of Abraham,
John,
Joseph,
Paul,
Jesus,
And the children of the Father of all fathers.
Jesus loves the youth so much.
Matthew Ch 19 v.14 Jesus said “the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these”,
Meaning the children.
Matthew Ch 18 v.3” I tell you the truth,
Unless you change and become like children,
You will never enter the kingdom of heaven”.
Are we not children in the Fathers eyes?
Did the Father of all fathers not tell Jesus these things,
John Ch8 v.40?
Do we fall and make mistakes as little children?
Dose a good parent forgives their child after a child apologizes to them?
Dose a child builds in growth when the child cries and stops?
Dose discipline corrects the child when the child shows out?
Many would say “I pay the bills,
Therefore I am grown”,
But dose our Father God pay the bills still or is it the ones who claims their grown?
To the ones who claim their grown of course you put childish things away and you think as an adult,
But I ask you before the world dies and becomes consumed by the dark are you still a child at heart?
Matthew Ch18 v.3,
Children of Abraham please take heed.
Before Jesus returns and awaken all who are sleep.
Pleases realize and see that we all are children.
I may pay bills and work 24/7 with a complete high school education,
But still I teach those who are younger then me about the mercy of Jesus.
By playing video games and watching wrestling and cartoons on television with them.
The children by me already loves our Father Gods poetry.
Me being by their side talking and listing to them makes them smile.
I teach them what I know and I let them know that there’s nothing they can’t ask me about.
I enjoy laughing with them the kids as well,
Because I too am nothing but a child.
poem by Raff Rafael
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Ode to Master Anthony Stafford, to Hasten him into the Country
1 Come, spur away!
2 I have no patience for a longer stay;
3 But must go down,
4 And leave the chargeable noise of this great town.
5 I will the country see,
6 Where old simplicity,
7 Though hid in gray,
8 Doth look more gay
9 Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad.
10 Farewell, you city-wits that are
11 Almost at civil war;
12 'Tis time that I grow wise, when all the world grows mad.
13 More of my days
14 I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise;
15 Or to make sport
16 For some slight puny of the Inns of Court.
17 Then, worthy Stafford, say,
18 How shall we spend the day?
19 With what delights
20 Shorten the nights?
21 When from this tumult we are got secure,
22 Where mirth with all her freedom goes,
23 Yet shall no finger lose;
24 Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure.
25 There from the tree
26 We'll cherries pluck; and pick the strawberry;
27 And every day
28 Go see the wholesome country girls make hay,
29 Whose brown hath lovelier grace
30 Than any painted face
31 That I do know
32 Hyde Park can show.
33 Where I had rather gain a kiss, than meet
34 (Though some of them in greater state
35 Might court my love with plate)
36 The beauties of the Cheap, and wives of Lombard Street.
37 But think upon
38 Some other pleasures; these to me are none.
39 Why do I prate
40 Of women, that are things against my fate?
41 I never mean to wed,
42 That torture to my bed:
43 My Muse is she
44 My Love shall be.
45 Let clowns get wealth, and heirs; when I am gone,
46 And the great bugbear, grisly Death,
47 Shall take this idle breath,
48 If I a poem leave, that poem is my son.
49 Of this, no more;
50 We'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store.
51 No fruit shall 'scape
52 Our palates, from the damson to the grape.
53 Then, full, we'll seek a shade,
54 And hear what music's made:
55 How Philomel
56 Her tale doth tell;
57 And how the other birds do fill the quire;
58 The thrush and blackbird lend their throats,
59 Warbling melodious notes;
60 We will all sports enjoy, which others but desire.
61 Ours is the sky,
62 Where at what fowl we please our hawk shall fly;
63 Nor will we spare
64 To hunt the crafty fox, or timorous hare;
65 But let our hounds run loose
66 In any ground they'll choose;
67 The buck shall fall,
68 The stag, and all.
69 Our pleasures must from their own warrants be,
70 For to my Muse, if not to me,
71 I'm sure all game is free;
72 Heaven, earth, are all but parts of her great royalty.
73 And when we mean
74 To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then,
75 And drink by stealth
76 A cup or two to noble Berkeley's health:
77 I'll take my pipe and try
78 The Phrygian melody,
79 Which he that hears,
80 Lets through his ears
81 A madness to distemper all the brain.
82 Then I another pipe will take
83 And Doric music make,
84 To civilize with graver notes our wits again.
poem by Thomas Randolph
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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