Opusculum
Fair Cousin, thy page
is small to encage
the thoughts which engage
the mind of a sage,
such as I am;
'Twere in teaspoon to take
the whole Genevese lake,
or a lap-dog to make
the white Elephant sac-
-red in Siam.
Yet inadequate though
to the terms strange and so-
-lemn that figure in po-
-lysyllabical row
in a treatise;
Still, true words and plain,
of the heart, not the brain,
in affectionate strain,
this book to contain
very meet is.
So I promise to be
a good Cousin to thee,
and to keep safe the se-
-cret I heard, although e-
-v'ry one know it;
With a lyrical air
my kind thoughts I would dare,
and offer whate'er
beseems the news, were
I a poet.
poem by John Henry Newman
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Related quotes
Take Back the Virgin Page
Written on Returning a Blank Book
Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.
Thoughts come, as pure as light
Pure as even you require;
But, oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.
Yet let me keep the book:
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair
To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.
Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;
Fancy may trace some line,
Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.
And as, o'er ocean far,
Seamen their records keep,
Led by some hidden star
Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write
Tell through what storms I stray --
You still the unseen light,
Guiding my way.
poem by Thomas Moore
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I have a cousin named....
I have a cousin named tru,
Who is always more excited than you,
He jumps an dhe bounces,
in so many houses,
I have a cousin named tru,
Who might belong in a zoo,
He moos and he poos,
while on the news.
I have a cousin named tru,
Who will try o say boo,
when you come out the lou.
I have a cousin named tru,
Who probably won't say goo,
Because he's ay older than two,
Whose name is not sue.
I cousin named tru...
I love you tru!
My Thoughts
Thought in the eyes,
The ears.
Thought in mind,
The brain,
Thought in heart,
The soul.
Great thought is great
when it becomes great deeds.
With my thoughts within
Building my world within
Learning with thought;
Is great learning wisdom.
Learning without thought,
Is opportunity lost.
Thought for others
Thought for God
Thought for good
Thought for God’s blessing
Thoughts teach me,
Thoughts educate me,
Thoughts clarify me,
Thoughts enlighten me.
Thoughts make me wise
Thoughts make me patience
Thoughts make me trust others
Thoughts make me clam.
Thoughts before act
Is smart and wise
Act before thoughts
Is stupid and foolish
That’s my thoughts
They make thinking clear
They make belief deepen
They make confidence high.
In thoughts, my world
In my world, make my thoughts.
In thoughts, my words
In my words, make my speech
It’s my thoughts count
Counting my thoughts
To endless counting thoughts
Thinking the thoughts endlessly
My thoughts and thoughts again.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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Prayer
I ASK good things that I detest,
With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
But hear my prayer.
I say ill things I would not say -
Things unaware:
Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,
And not my prayer.
My heart is evil in Thy sight:
My good thoughts flee:
O Lord, I cannot wish aright -
Wish Thou for me.
O bend my words and acts to Thee,
However ill,
That I, whate'er I say or be,
May serve Thee still.
O let my thoughts abide in Thee
Lest I should fall:
Show me Thyself in all I see,
Thou Lord of all.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Chinese Takeaway - for David with thanks
The ancient sage, beset with too many thoughts
for one human lifetime,
chooses carefully the place to sit
beside the lake,
under the even more ancient twisted pine
with the view of distant cliffs
where the stork’s cry echoes;
gathers his thoughts.
Out of mercy,
the breeze gently ruffles the surface
of the lake;
the sage, reminded by the ripples
of the stillness of the lake,
smiles from a mind that’s now the lake
reflecting the blueness of the sky;
reflects, beyond the blue,
the space in which immortals live.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Cousin Robert
O COUSIN Robert, far away
Among the lands of gold,
How many years since we two met?--
You would not like it told.
O cousin Robert, buried deep
Amid your bags of gold--
I thought I saw you yesternight
Just as you were of old.
You own whole leagues--I half a rood
Behind my cottage door;
You have your lacs of gold rupees,
And I my children four;
Your tall barques dot the dangerous seas,
My 'ship's come home'--to rest
Safe anchored from the storms of life
Upon one faithful breast.
And it would cause no start or sigh,
Nor thought of doubt or blame,
If I should teach our little son
His cousin Robert's name.--
That name, however wide it rings,
I oft think, when alone,
I rather would have seen it graved
Upon a churchyard stone--
Upon the white sunshining stone
Where cousin Alick lies:
Ah, sometimes, woe to him that lives!
Happy is he that dies!
O Robert, Robert, many a tear--
Though not the tears of old--
Drops, thinking of your face last night
Your hand's remembered fold;
A young man's face, so like, so like
Our mothers' faces fair:
A young man's hand, so firm to clasp,
So resolute to dare.
I thought you good--I wished you great;
You were my hope, my pride:
To know you good, to make you great
I once had happy died.
To tear the plague-spot from your heart,
Place honor on your brow,
See old age come in crownèd peace--
I almost would die now!
Would give--all that's now mine to give--
To have you sitting there,
The cousin Robert of my youth--
Though beggar'd, with gray hair.
O Robert, Robert, some that live
Are dead, long ere they are old;
Better the pure heart of our youth
Than palaces of gold;
Better the blind faith of our youth
Than doubt, which all truth braves;
Better to mourn, God's children dear,
Than laugh, the Devil's slaves.
O Robert, Robert, life is sweet,
And love is boundless gain:
Yet if I mind of you, my heart
Is stabbed with sudden pain:
And as in peace this Christmas eve
I close our quiet doors,
And kiss 'good-night' on sleeping heads--
Such bonnie curls,--like yours:
I fall upon my bended knees
With sobs that choke each word;--
'On those who err and are deceived
Have mercy, O good Lord!'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Electric Train Set
The electric train set
Was laid out upstairs
in a large room
in your cousin’s house.
It compared unfairly
with your own
hand wound train set
at home, shut up in a box.
Your cousin pushed buttons
and the train and carriages
raced around
the long winding track
as you both looked on,
each with your own
deep down thoughts
and boyish dreams.
No labour involved,
no fingers needed
to wind the train,
no small circle
of metal track
as yours had at home,
but a room spread of track
in wider circle
from here, there and back.
You eyed your cousin’s train set
with a mixture
of envy and awe
as you watched it
race speedily around the floor.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Writer
From where comes that burning spark
That lights a lantern in the dark,
And from its shadowed prison frees
The story, as the mind it sees.
The thoughts released from darkness then
To form their words before the pen;
These words that come from deep within
Upon the page their freedom win.
And where was just an empty plain
A line is writ and writ again
Of maidens fair and heroes bold,
Until the story all is told.
And there the words - before his eyes
The tale upon the pages lies.
Now in the wider world it lives;
To thoughts, the words, the writer gives.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Cousin Randy
Muir-Trujillo-
He'd disappear for years, then one day he would just show
Dad would buy him shows (shoes?), give him $50 and he'd go
He talked about the good old days of war in Vietnam
Did two tours of duty with his new love heroin
You knew he'd be covicted before he was ever tried
Did his time in Chino, then Folsom and Wayside
But every day was prison, molested as a kid
Abused by his stepfather, hard to believe the things he did
We call him Cousin Randy
Couldn't get up in the morning, couldn't get to sleep at night
Swore the room was full of Demons, but nothin' was in our sight
No one was safe when Randy came out to play
He would leave you for dead and then just walk away
We call him Cousin Randy
One time while at Grandma's, it was getting kind of late
Randy stayed outside 'cause his odor was so great
He walked out the door and I told him "good night"
He charged me, grabbed my neck and he started squeezing tight
Dad and Jim and Grandpa jumped on to his back
He screamed "What's so good about it" before he let up his attack
The neck day, while we were swimming, he tried to drown my sister
Laughing as she struggled, then he pulled her up and kissed her
We call him Cousin Randy. To us, he's just Cousin Randy
song performed by by Infectious Grooves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rise, Oh My Soul, With Thy Desires To Heaven
1. Rise, oh my Soul, with thy desires to Heaven,
And with Divinest contemplation, use
Thy time, where times eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse:
But down in darkness let them lie,
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
2. And thou, my Soul, inspir'd with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye,
That holy Cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour, and thy sin did die:
For in that Sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.
3. To thee (O Jesu) I direct my eye,
To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees:
To thee my self, my self and all I give;
To thee I die, to thee I only live.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Jojo
The red angel,
The white angel,
The blue angel,
The black angel,
It is a very long time that we've heard from you people;
But, where is Jojo my cousin?
The windows of heaven were opened to rain for forty days,
And forty nights without seeing you my cousin;
But two by two they went into the ark.
Oh Jojo where are you?
Like the cold and the heat and the winter and the summer,
You are gone for many days and we are yet to see you again.
Of the seed time and the harvest time,
Jojo my cousin where are you?
Try to tell us your where about when you read this message.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hymn
Rise, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, when time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die.
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!
For in the sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life treasure.
To Thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,
To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees;
To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice;
To Thee my thoughts, who thoughts only see;
To Thee myself, myself and all I give;
To Thee I die, to Thee I only live.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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The sentence of love...
Many thoughts live inside my head,
Yet quite often they go unsaid.
So many thoughts that were not spoken,
Were they merely just a token? ...
Were the thoughts that meant the most,
The ones I never got round to post?
Have I missed the chance to save us all?
I think the chances must be small...
For if those thoughts meant so much,
We should find a way to stay in touch.
Thought understands feelings in a way,
That mere words could never convey...
And just because these words go unsaid,
Does not mean to life that they are dead.
For special words have meaning so true,
The words I'm thinking of are 'I love you...'
So although the words I don't often say,
May not be heard each and every day.
When the sentence of love my head does start,
You shall live forever in my heart...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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The Sound Of Poetry!
God keeps a library up above
And there records Man’s thoughts on love!
The best are gentle, like a dove,
And warm and tender, like a glove...
I’ve heard that angels gather near,
Each time a writer sheds a tear...
Above his shoulders, thus to peer,
To read the words his heart holds dear!
Lord, let me write with this in mind!
Please stir my heart until I find
New thoughts with wisdom underlined
And God-blessed visions, pure and kind...
Resplendent rhythms set in rhyme!
Lyrical lines, like steps to climb!
Exquisite thoughts compressed in time!
Together, evermore sublime!
Let sacred souls find ecstasy
In Christian verse of Cavalry!
Lord, bid me write... yet hear my plea...
God bless the sound of poetry!
poem by Denis Martindale
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My Spine is Thy Flute!
I adore you,
Not thy adornments,
my heart loves thee,
And not thy attributes,
o, master poet,
The power of your words, when words flow from poet,
thy powerful mind behind his
thoughts, Stopping the storms,
When you steer the ship,
over high waves,
I am not afraid of tidal waves,
Lightning and thunders,
Sleeping under your wings, O master poet,
without uttering a word, ,
Without writing a line,
but make poets sing and joyfully
write,
I love you thee, When you hold my hands,
No fear of fall,
Even if I fall, fall only safe into
your soft and gentle lap! My spine is thy flute,
Thou blow through Chakras,
AUM in different pitch and rich
tone,
My life dances to your tune,
For strains of trifles and for temporal pains immune!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Honesty Looses
Honesty looses battle
As we lack strong metal
Mind and body quietly differ
One may reject and another may accept offer
Person caught at the gate is thief
So not caught, there is relief
The happiness and joy is for brief
There after follows agony and grief
No one is safe not even country
All resources may be cornered and people may go hungry
How an elephant is killed for ivory?
Where as it is unwanted and unnecessary!
Body longs for all luxury style
It may not had for meanwhile
So there is short cut to avail
Many succeed but mostly fail
Yes, we are all in safe hands
No enemy and all friends
Only bleak future and tragic end
Greedy eyes with sick mind
Pray almighty for sage passage
Miss not if there is good message
Write something new on good page
Content with whatever you have and not burn with rage
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Our Soldier Cousin
Glide, river, gently to the sea;
Sing dirges low and tender;
Bear partings oft breathed near to thee,
By patriot truth-defenders;
Waft soothing murmurs from thy shores,
To hearts so fondly loving;
One sigh for us, who, more and more,
Grieve for a soldier cousin.
Glow, campfires, with your glittering gleam,
On hill, in covert valley,
While dim the flickering taper beams,
Upon his pallet lowly.
Dread fever dried his young life's fount,
Yet reason came at even;
He spoke of home, then upward mounts
His soul - that soldier cousin's.
'Twas this he said - to them now dear,
These words, so so fitly spoken -
'Tell father, mother, sister, there,
My hold on life's most broken;
Yes, dear ones, only brother lone,
Weep not - but live for Heaven;
I'm happy now - meet me at home'.
Thus died our soldier cousin.
Ah! noble cousin, on that morn,
When 'cross the Rappahannock,
So noiseless fled those warrior forms,
Hid by thy brave band's banner,
Did'st think so soon thy weary feet,
This river'd cross to Heaven.
While angels covered thy retreat,
Safe over - soldier cousin?
To think we were at home with thee,
But six short months agone,
And as thy sister pressed the keys,
We all joined in the song!
But now thou'rt gone! - o'er ruined joys,
Like call of the Muezzin,
Echo brings back our manly voice,
Our noble soldier cousin.
Now, as the lone ones in thy home,
Surround the hearth at even,
And calmly close the sacred tome,
And raise the song to Heaven,
They pause and sigh, and tear drops fall,
For no more thou art coming,
To kneel in prayer with the loved all,
At home - dear soldier cousin.
Yet though they miss thee through long hours,
Faith fills the vacant chair,
Points upward to the heavenly bowers,
And sweetly saith 'He's there!'
Ah, yes, 'he's there!' His Christian heart
Would heed his country's bidding;
He's done the patriot hero's part -
God loves our soldier cousin!
There's cheer in this, too, mourning ones,
We know our Christian cousin,
When ranked with freedom's noble sons,
Was bannered sure for Heaven.
Then weep no more; press back the tears,
Save for the fond hearts riven,
Who mourns their dead mid hope and fear,
But 'at home' is our soldier cousin.
You Die Cousin And They Are Not There
Today cousin is the day you die
Your wife is in Japan and your kids are out there
In the care of your mother
Your sister has despised you
Your brother does not bother anymore
Now that you are nobody, with no money
With nothing to make you look like
A gentleman
Everyone has deserted you cousin
What have you done?
When once you were alive
When once you can offer them everything
Your kids their education
Your wife a house, a car
Your sister and brother your money and attention
You were so important then
Times have changed
You are down and fettered
In alcohol you drown yourself to forget
Finally what you wished has been granted
Death, you wish for death
Goodbye cousin, the stories are always long
There is no time to tell
There is no use to reveal
The great heart you still have
The generosity that was
The love that you have that was always greater
Than they all keep for themselves
I know,
Your final rest and your silence
You shall now make the final justification
To the Great Lord, the Ultimate Reason
Why you never build a home?
You, on this lonely tomb
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Refresh...Meant
Lemon's cousin whose refreshing taste
I nvites to voyage far from rainy skies,
M ocks dark thoughts sterile, wrangles with which 'wise'
E mploy their days - Time's juice soon run to waste.
L emon's cousin in the spectrum placed
I ntelligence attracts - chromatic ties
M ix yellow, blue, to shine, it dark defies,
E xciting all imaginations graced.
L eaking stimulation bright green based,
I deas flow freely, heal the heart that ties
M agic, music, fielding bright surprise
E ncouraging this sonnet swift embraced.
LI ght's waveband shines upon the written page
ME ans to enchant, lends life to any stage...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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0396 The Almost Unknown Language
I like to think that
there's a language
which is unspoken, unwritten
except
on rare occasions when a poet
puts two words together or
sometimes even
a whole line
which haunts the reader
beyond sense, even
beyond understanding and
beyond beauty as perceived and
beyond truth as previously revealed
but good beyond hope and yet
not beyond a shiver of delight and
the poet has heard it
in the space between the thoughts
in the space between the words
in the silence between the thoughts
in the silence between the words
and somewhere very wonderful
two beings we've never seen
look at each other
and smile
poem by Michael Shepherd
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