The Juggler of God
Back in the age of faith
when most lived in homes of sod
There lived a humble man
They called the juggler of God.
He was just a simple juggler
He could not read or write.
He performed his simple tricks
for children’s laughter and delight.
In return for food and shelter-
for he had little use for gold-
He travelled from town to town
until he at last grew old.
When arthritis swelled his joints
He grew stooped, his fingers cold
When at last his gifts had failed him
He turned attention to his soul.
In the order of Saint Benedict
The kind Abbot gave him place
Though he barely knew the prayers
His simple mind was full of grace.
In the chapel of Our Lady
The Juggler prayed there in the Aisle
Bemoaning his inability
to entertain the holy child.
He felt warmth in his fingers
A quick release from pain
He reached into his leather sack
for the objects of his trade.
There before the altar
The brother juggled for the Lord
It was to be his last performance
with a heavenly reward.
Back in the age of faith
when most lived in homes of sod
There lived a humble man
They called the juggler of God.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Completing Cycles
The Juggler throws
his batons at the sun.
The sky throws them back again
like rain,
each and every one.
Surely by now he knows
what it is he’s gaining?
Come Mr. Juggler,
look at it from your point of view,
just how long has it been raining?
On you?
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I have lived
I have lived through being
Neruda's mermaid, feeling
Every cigarette burn.
I have lived through being
The African Princess,
Where the Prince turned
Back into a Lion.
I have lived through being
A ballerina, dancing gracefully
Upon the stage.
I have lived through trying
To be a poet, but frosted
Out not knowing rules.
I have travelled places
So beautiful, I still go
Back for more, no fool.
But best of all, I can say
I have lived,
Because of you.
poem by Harriet James
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Juggling Jerry
Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes:
By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage.
It's nigh my last above the daisies:
My next leaf'll be man's blank page.
Yes, my old girl! and it's no use crying:
Juggler, constable, king, must bow.
One that outjuggles all's been spying
Long to have me, and he has me now.
We've travelled times to this old common:
Often we've hung our pots in the gorse.
We've had a stirring life, old woman!
You, and I, and the old grey horse.
Races, and fairs, and royal occasions,
Found us coming to their call:
Now they'll miss us at our stations:
There's a Juggler outjuggles all!
Up goes the lark, as if all were jolly!
Over the duck-pond the willow shakes.
Easy to think that grieving's folly,
When the hand's firm as driven stakes!
Ay, when we're strong, and braced, and manful,
Life's a sweet fiddle: but we're a batch
Born to become the Great Juggler's han'ful:
Balls he shies up, and is safe to catch.
Here's where the lads of the village cricket:
I was a lad not wide from here:
Couldn't I whip off the bale from the wicket?
Like an old world those days appear!
Donkey, sheep, geese, and thatch'd ale-house--I know them!
They are old friends of my halts, and seem,
Somehow, as if kind thanks I owe them:
Juggling don't hinder the heart's esteem.
Juggling's no sin, for we must have victual:
Nature allows us to bait for the fool.
Holding one's own makes us juggle no little;
But, to increase it, hard juggling's the rule.
You that are sneering at my profession,
Haven't you juggled a vast amount?
There's the Prime Minister, in one Session,
Juggles more games than my sins'll count.
I've murdered insects with mock thunder:
Conscience, for that, in men don't quail.
I've made bread from the bump of wonder:
That's my business, and there's my tale.
Fashion and rank all praised the professor:
Ay! and I've had my smile from the Queen:
Bravo, Jerry! she meant: God bless her!
Ain't this a sermon on that scene?
I've studied men from my topsy-turvy
Close, and, I reckon, rather true.
Some are fine fellows: some, right scurvy:
Most, a dash between the two.
But it's a woman, old girl, that makes me
Think more kindly of the race:
And it's a woman, old girl, that shakes me
When the Great Juggler I must face.
We two were married, due and legal:
Honest we've lived since we've been one.
Lord! I could then jump like an eagle:
You danced bright as a bit o' the sun.
Birds in a May-bush we were! right merry!
All night we kiss'd, we juggled all day.
Joy was the heart of Juggling Jerry!
Now from his old girl he's juggled away.
It's past parsons to console us:
No, nor no doctor fetch for me:
I can die without my bolus;
Two of a trade, lass, never agree!
Parson and Doctor!--don't they love rarely
Fighting the devil in other men's fields!
Stand up yourself and match him fairly:
Then see how the rascal yields!
I, lass, have lived no gipsy, flaunting
Finery while his poor helpmate grubs:
Coin I've stored, and you won't be wanting:
You shan't beg from the troughs and tubs.
Nobly you've stuck to me, though in his kitchen
Many a Marquis would hail you Cook!
Palaces you could have ruled and grown rich in,
But your old Jerry you never forsook.
Hand up the chirper! ripe ale winks in it;
Let's have comfort and be at peace.
Once a stout draught made me light as a linnet.
Cheer up! the Lord must have his lease.
May be--for none see in that black hollow--
It's just a place where we're held in pawn,
And, when the Great Juggler makes as to swallow,
It's just the sword-trick--I ain't quite gone!
Yonder came smells of the gorse, so nutty,
Gold-like and warm: it's the prime of May.
Better than mortar, brick and putty
Is God's house on a blowing day.
Lean me more up the mound; now I feel it:
All the old heath-smells! Ain't it strange?
There's the world laughing, as if to conceal it,
But He's by us, juggling the change.
I mind it well, by the sea-beach lying,
Once--it's long gone--when two gulls we beheld,
Which, as the moon got up, were flying
Down a big wave that sparked and swell'd.
Crack, went a gun: one fell: the second
Wheeled round him twice, and was off for new luck:
There in the dark her white wing beckon'd:--
Drop me a kiss--I'm the bird dead-struck!
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lady Of The Light
You were always the faithful one
with a saviour in your heart
you had seen the light of the Lord
from the very start.
even in your darkest days
and the autumn of your life
you never lost faith in the Lord
lady of the light.
Now you have left this life
and in us a memory
but we all think of you
and how you used to be
you had been the special one
when you lived your life
with a special kind of love
lady of the light.
And when I look back on life
I often think of you
looking out your window
the way you used to do
watching children go off to school
in the morning light
smiling to the world outside
lady of the light.
Now you are there in Heaven
and back again once more
with those who you had loved
who had to go before
always forever the faithful one
when you lived your life
for you had seen the light of the Lord
lady of the light.
poem by Tim Kitchen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The God Who Waits
The old men in the olden days,
Who thought and worked in simple ways,
Believed in God and sought His praise.
They looked to God in daily need,
He shone in simple, homely deed;
They prayed to Him to raise their seed.
He sowed on mountain side and weald,
He steered the plough across the field,
He garnered in their harvest yield.
And if He gave them barren sod,
Or smote them with His lightning rod,
They yielded humbly to their God.
They searched the record of their days
To find and mend their evil ways,
Which made the wrath of God to blaze.
And if no evil they could find,
They did not say, 'Our God is blind,'
'God's will be done,' they said, resigned.
So played the old their humble part,
And lived in peace of soul and heart,
Without pretence of Reason's art.
But we have lost their simple creed
Of simple aim and simple need,
Of simple thought and simple deed.
Their creed has crumbled as their dust,
We do not yield their God as just,
Now question holds the place of trust.
Faith blossomed like the Holy Rod,
So grew the old men's faith in God.
We cannot tread the path they trod.
We were not born to anchored creed
That measures good and evil deed -
A guide to those who guidance need.
The God the old men hearkened to
We left, and in our image drew
And fashioned out a God anew.
That iron God, who still unfed,
Sits throned with lips that dribble red
Among the sacrificial dead.
Belching their flames between the bars,
Our fires sweep out like scimitars
Across the Eden of the stars.
And souls are sold and souls are bought,
And souls in hellish tortures wrought
To feed the mighty juggernaut.
The dripping wheels go roaring by
And crush and kill us where we lie
Blaspheming God with our last cry.
Man's cry to man the heaven fills;
We hear not in our marts and mills
The silent voices of the hills
The message of the breathing clay,
Calling us through the night and day
To come away, to come away!
For though old creeds, had we the will,
We cannot, lacking faith, fulfil,
The God above all creed waits still.
For still beyond the city gate,
The fallow fields eternal wait
For us to drive our furrow straight.
poem by Leslie Coulson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save
There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'
poem by Terry O'Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
These men of Faith
These men of Faith, these men of old,
Their lives they lived, they were so bold;
Trusting God, in the face of danger,
But their enemy, shunned them with anger.
We know of one great man, Daniel, was his name,
To Pray at the open window, he always did the same;
Then some jealous men, had him enter lions den,
For his faith in God, and On God he did depend.
Another man was Elijah, who helped so many,
And he had trouble with Jezebel, a life of jealousy;
Also king Ahab, and a wicked and evil king too,
But for their evil doing, they died, oh yes! It's true.
The next great man of Faith, was Enoch,
He lived and spoke only for the Lord God;
He was so very close, he did walk upright,
And God took Him home, he lived by Faith not sight.
One more man of Faith, I need to tell about,
Was Abraham, and to a new home he was sent out;
Also when his son Isaac, was to be offered to the Lord,
But a ram was supplied, his faith shone, it's in His Word.
These men are an example, and we should follow too,
Trust God in the face of Danger, Trust Him thru' and thru';
These men of God trusted and never gave into sin,
Because they loved God so much, He lived within.
poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Today I Had to Forgive Myself (My Life Is Meant to be Lived)
I saw something I had never seen before,
Once I looked beyond my own sorrows.
I lifted my head and saw an open door.
A light was shining through,
To show me tomorrow.
With promises I once wished,
But had not pursued.
I lived with a stagnation...
That came and overstayed,
A temporary reservation...
I made when feeling down,
And knocked out!
Drugged on self debasement.
Feeling nothing could replace...
This empty space within me.
And I knew then...
If I was to walk through that door,
Today I had to forgive myself...
And not let my burdens feel too welcomed.
As I had done countless times before.
Tossing my pain and self doubt about!
They could stay for as long as they wanted!
And entertain grief that came to visit.
But I had no intentions to remain with them,
Sustaining their attention or their comfort.
I kept deep within to repeat again and again.
A hollow search I felt had no end.
My life is meant to be lived.
Not to sit and forget to refresh my perceptions.
My life is meant to be lived.
And when I made up my mind,
I knew I would find...
A release of darkness that would diminish.
Once I allowed my guilt to deplenish,
I prepared to say goodbye to despair!
Knowing to leave that behind me to become fully aware...
My life is meant to be lived.
My life is meant to be lived.
My life...
Is meant to be lived.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fable XLII. The Juggler
A juggler long through all the town
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The devil at his fingers' ends.
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud:
'Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight!
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.'
Provoked, the juggler cried, “tis done.
In science I submit to none.'
Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turned to birds.
His little boxes change the grain:
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spreads, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his ivory eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.
Vice now stept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.
'This magic looking-glass,' she cries,
(There, hand it round) 'will charm your eyes.'
Each eager eye the sight desired,
And every man himself admired.
Next to a senator addressing:
'See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
Breathe on the bill.' Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanished, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.
A purse she to a thief exposed,
At once his ready fingers closed;
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled;
He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids ambition hold a wand;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows,
'Blow here;' and a churchwarden blows,
'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the boards she knocks,
And from all pockets fills her box.
She next a meagre rake address'd:
'This picture see; her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her.' With surprise,
His hand exposed a box of pills,
And a loud laugh proclaimed his ills.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
Take every shape, but charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.
The juggler now in grief of heart,
With this submission owned her art:
'Can I such matchless sleight withstand?
How practice hath improved your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long.'
Orleans
My sister was named Orleans
After the town where she was born,
Dear Orleans, my best friend,
A little girl with hazel eyes,
Dear Orleans, please don’t cry,
Hold my hand and stay with me,
And never say good bye.
My sister grew up beautiful
Like so many little girls do,
My sister Orleans, late one night,
Danced with a man named Lou.
Dear Orleans, please come home,
Mama and daddy and I
Are waiting here for you.
My sister never came home that night,
And daddy called the law,
Mama paced the floor till dawn
And wrung her hands till they were raw,
Dear Orleans, we waited till
The police came to our house
And told us what they saw.
My sister had been ravished bad
And left to die alone.
The man called Lou had fled the town
And by morning he was gone.
Dear Orleans, thank God you lived,
Though you’ll never be the same,
At least you’re safe at home.
My sister Orleans grew a life
Conceived through hate and fear;
We tried to hide it from the town
But soon it became clear.
Dear Orleans, hid her shame
As day by day she swelled
And the baby’s birth drew near.
My sister thrashed and cried in bed
On the day the sun was high;
She begged for mercy and release
Till we heard the infant cry
Dear Orleans, reached out for him
I wrapped him in a towel
And watched her baby die.
poem by Caroline Misner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Child's View Of God (A Pure And Simple Faith)
There is nothing so innocent as a child
With eyes closed and head bowed in prayer
With a pure and simple faith
He gives thanks to the God who created him
Not asking complicated questions
But seeing God in the wonders that abound each day
Knowing Jesus loves him
And that's enough for now
We all need to be like children
In our hearts
Finding Joy and wonder
In the flowers and the sun of God's creation
Trusting and believing in Jesus
With a pure and simple faith
Jesus came as a child
With all His innocence and wonder of life
As He grew He still had
The innocence and wonder of God's creation
He loved us and died for us
So that we could believe in Him
With a pure and simple faith
I Sowed for Sorrow
In my inner grove, I sowed for sorrow.
Oh, how it grew below my skies,
such marvelous sight in my eyes.
I lived for sorrow -
till it grew too large in my grove,
I wept;
and watered my sorrow with tears.
I sowed for sorrow till it lived
and grew so strong, so fine.
It lived to take away my life...
It lived and then I died.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hickory Phil
In the land where the eagle flies over the dollar bill
Way back when the liberty tree was new
In a town by the sea
lived a man named Hickory Phil
A poet of much renowned was he
With his lustful tales of life and love
And haunting sea chanteys
And a dirty little limerick to give his fans a thrill
One day a judge came to see Hickory Phil
In that town by the sea
” Phil, sit and listen to me”
Phil sat and gave an ear
In that town by the sea
You must give up your lusty tales of life and love
And instead pray to the Lord above
For if you do not then I fear
You will no longer live in this town by the sea
Old Phil a clever man was he
To the judge he turned to speak
In that town by the sea
And spoke something quite unique
Dear God on high above
Please tell me of the girl I love
Please answer this one simple request
about her soft breasts
That I just want to get hold of
©JPM 2/25/10
Shower Some Pity
Oh God and almighty, Shower some pity
There lies eternal and divine beauty
I feel and want to be part of every moment
Whether it memorable or sad movement
So wonderful world to live in with blessings
Courageous stand when comes for facing
Not loosing faith for single second
Even if life is simple writing on sand
Each and every moment makes me feel closer
I never felt that I was any time looser
You were my guiding spirit and force
I had to cut never a sorry or to feel curse
As human I need be part of every move
But belief and faith need not be proved
I shall stick to imposition of divine vision
That shall stand every time to remove the confusion
What can’t be had if has desired?
Your every effort is appreciated and admired
You are dear sons and daughters
It is his duty to send you with laughter
Love to live any situation
Believe in grace with its continuation
If that has to be lived with means to be lived
The path carved out for us is to be simply believed
You may look back at the end and evaluate
Your mind will be firm and will never fluctuate
It will be happiness that had been all the times
You might have erred and disbelieved sometimes
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hands With Prayers
Oh God and almighty, Shower some pity
There lies eternal and divine beauty
I feel and want to be part of every moment
Whether it memorable or sad movement
So wonderful world to live in with blessings
Courageous stand when comes for facing
Not loosing faith for single second
Even if life is simple writing on sand
Each and every moment makes me feel closer
I never felt that I was any time looser
You were my guiding spirit and force
I had to cut never a sorry or to feel curse
As human I need be part of every move
But belief and faith need not be proved
I shall stick to imposition of divine vision
That shall stand every time to remove the confusion
What can’t be had if has desired?
Your every effort is appreciated and admired
You are dear sons and daughters
It is his duty to send you with laughter
Love to live any situation
Believe in grace with its continuation
If that has to be lived with means to be lived
The path carved out for us is to be simply believed
You may look back at the end and evaluate
Your mind will be firm and will never fluctuate
It will be happiness that had been all the times
You might have erred and disbelieved sometimes
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Johnny McCarthy
He lived in a small house near the Town of Millstreet
At Inchaleigh close to the greyhound track
Some knew him as Johnny the old house painter
Whilst others simply called him Johnny Mac.
He was unmarried never fathered children
Which seems a pity as he'd have made a good dad
In his twilight years he walked his terrier Brandy
And Johnny said the best dog I have had.
He was a house painter and decorator
And he worked hard to earn his every bob
And those he worked for gave him more employment
For Johnny always did a tasty job.
Some people thought him to be a bit grumpy
But is there a perfect person anyway?
When hung over after a night out drinking
One can hardly feel too cheerful the next day.
He was an honest man Johnny McCarthy
A character of sorts in his own way
Since he last walked to Millstreet Town with his dog Brandy
On looking back it seems like yesterday.
Some knew him as Johnny the old house painter
Whilst others simply called him Johnny Mac
He lived at Inchaleigh close to the Town of Millstreet
In his small house close to the greyhound track
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thieves Like Us
Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dead Ones
Oh! you dead ones who never
Knew when their death came
And death, you who never say of
your coming,
Why did you lay your cold hands
On his soul
His soul that barely lived a decade
I know a life that have lived
A century
Why did you not travel that road
Why did you steal his soul?
At the prime of his youth,
When his services were needed,
You stole him away,
From his loved ones.
And now he is gone, gone forever
Gone to where no one knows.
But I kno my dear friend,
You are resting in our heavenly
Father's home.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Working At The Factory
All my life I've been a workin' man
When I was at school they said that's all you'll ever understand
No profession. I didn't figure in their plans
So they sent me down factory to be a workin' man
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Now I'm here seemingly free, but working at the factory.
The music came along and gave new life to me
And gave me hope back in 1983
The music came and set me free
From working at the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
It was just another factory
I made the music , thought that was mine
It made me free , but that was in another time
But then the corporations and the big combines
Turned musicians into factory workers on assembly lines.
All I lived for, All I lived for
All I lived for was to get out of the factory
We made the music to set ourselves free
From working at the factory.
All my life I've put in a working day
Now it's sign the contract. Get production on the way
Take the money, make the music pay
Working at the factory
All I lived for was to get out of the factory.
Never wanted to be like everybody else
But now there are so many like me sitting on the shelf
They sold us a dream but in reality
Was just another factory
Working at the factory.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Without Regret
Saddened memories,
I once held as property.
Who knew,
They would go...
When they grew,
Inside of me!
I now reflect,
Without regret.
I know now
Defeats I've met!
But who knew,
They would go...
When they grew,
Inside of me!
Those times
Stayed on my mind
For days at a time.
I used that to feed,
My own desperate needing.
I lived with anger and deceit!
I felt those feelings deep,
Within me!
Defeats I have met!
But who knew,
They would go...
When they grew,
Inside of me!
But...
Who knew,
They would go...
When they grew,
Inside of me!
Who knew,
Like I do now...
When they grew,
Somehow
They would go...
From inside of me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!