Laziness
'Idleness is the Enemy of the Soul'
Said St. Benedict.
He was a godly man.
A hard day's graft makes a good disciple!
Personally I'm a Heathen,
I lie in bed till noon
And worship the Bone Idol!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Related quotes
Saying the unspeakable
Such as President Obama
may not say it; but I
who am nobody, may speak it:
the God of many names and One
does not wish division;
you and I (there are no others?)
do not wish division;
who makes division?
Why do all seek an ‘enemy’?
The dispossessed invent an enemy
on whom to blame their plight;
the rich invent an enemy
to excuse their greed;
those who worship God under one name
make enemy of those who worship God
under another name;
even those who worship God under the same name
make sects in order to invent an enemy;
is it because it is easier
to make an enemy than a friend?
is it easier to fear
than to love?
is it easier to hate
than to love?
is it easier to count to two
than think of three or one?
do we feel more powerful
if we have an enemy?
and now we fire at enemies
invisible beyond the horizon..
are enemies more attractive
to our life than friends?
Tell me, poets, tell me, sages;
tell me, saints; oh tell me God;
tell me, arithmeticians:
when division multiplies
our enemies, why do we
so love division?
The God of many names and One
makes division in Himself
with love and without hate;
you and I (there are no others?)
love each other all the more
in the sameness of our differences;
does human kind
now hate itself so much?
who thinks division, loves division?
makes an enemy of otherness?
forgets that God is One?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Disciple
He that hath a Gospel
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly--
Body, soul and mind--
Though he go to Calvary
Daily for its gain--
It is His Disciple
Shall make his labour vain.
He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own--
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone--
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days--
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.
It is His Disciple
(Ere Those Bones are dust )
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust--
Amplify distinctions,
Rationalize the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same.
It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now--
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more....
He that hath a Gospel
Whereby Heaven is won
( Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya's dreaming son ),
Many swords shall pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His Own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Enemy Of All
A father is the enemy
When he left unpaid debts
A foolish son is the enemy of
His parents
A beautiful wife is the enemy of
Her husband
A mother with loose character
Is the enemy of her children
A greedy corrupt and notorious king
Is the enemy of the country men
O friend, remember
If you are not doing any good deeds
Beneficial to others you are the enemy
Of your soul and enemy of you
As you are destroying yourself
As your same soul is there in the body of all.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Song of the Strange Ascetic
If I had been a heathen,
I'd have praised the purple vine,
My slaves should dig the vineyards,
And I would drink the wine;
But Higgins is a heathen,
And his slaves grow lean and grey,
That he may drink some tepid milk
Exactly twice a day.
If I had been a heathen,
I'd have crowned Neaera's curls,
And filled my life with love affairs,
My house with dancing girls;
But Higgins is a heathen,
And to lecture rooms is forced,
Where his aunts, who are not married,
Demand to be divorced.
If I had been a heathen,
I'd have sent my armies forth,
And dragged behind my chariots
The Chieftains of the North;
But Higgins is a heathen,
And he drives the dreary quill,
To lend the poor that funny cash
That makes them poorer still.
If I had been a heathen,
I'd have piled my pyre on high,
And in a great red whirlwind
Gone roaring to the sky;
But Higgins is a heathen,
And a richer man than I:
And they put him in an oven,
Just as if he were a pie.
Now who that runs can read it,
The riddle that I write,
Of why this poor old sinner
Should sin without delight;
But I, I cannot read it
(Although I run and run),
Of them that do not have the faith,
And will not have the fun.
poem by G.K. Chesterton (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Salutations Salutations Salutations
Silent like the idol in the temple
Silently are they watching amidst sounds
No one knows that that idol
Keeps watching people and their minds.
Alike are they too sincerely observing
The people and their occurances
To put in a compendium of writing
To register the prevailing events
For so many so many years in history.
Good or bad, pleasant or dirty
Everything written, memory to memory refreshed
To cause an effect over the later masses
With an impact of don't from bad
'Do do' from good, so always
Themselves being good-hearted polite
With scholarly look shining with a halo
Ardent and sheen. God! Godly elite
To be declared as my 'Saraswati' and their Apollo.
Poets, ! Salutations! Salutations! Salutations!
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Hexagram
Paint the streets in white!
Death is the standard
Breach for a complex prize!
I think it's sweet of you
And your parents are proud...
But I would expect it from anyone
Now to protect life's indigenous sound!
Worship! Play, Play x 3
Worship! Play! Worship! Play
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play x 3
Worship! Play! Worship! Worship!
How the streets they swell!
While the animals make their way through the crowds!
If you keep listening you can hear it for miles...
God, I trust everyone quicker with every faint smile!
Worship! Play, Play x 4
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play x 4
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play
Worship! Worship! Worship!
And the crowd goes wild!
And the camera makes you seasick!
God it's so sweet of you and I know you're proud
And the car bomb hits quick click, faint smile!
It's the same sound... it's the same, same... sound....
And the crowd goes wild!
And the camera makes you seasick!
God it's so sweet of you and you know I'm proud
And the car bomb tick ticks with the same sound!
Its the same sound! With the same sound...
Hexagram...
song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song of the Strange Ascetic
If I had been a Heathen,
I'd have praised the purple vine,
My slaves should dig the vineyards,
And I would drink the wine.
But Higgins is a Heathen,
And his slaves grow lean and grey,
That he may drink some tepid milk
Exactly twice a day.
If I had been a Heathen,
I'd have crowned Neaera's curls,
And filled my life with love affairs,
My house with dancing girls;
But Higgins is a Heathen,
And to lecture rooms is forced,
Where his aunts, who are not married,
Demand to be divorced.
If I had been a Heathen,
I'd have sent my armies forth,
And dragged behind my chariots
The Chieftains of the North.
But Higgins is a Heathen,
And he drives the dreary quill,
To lend the poor that funny cash
That makes them poorer still.
If I had been a Heathen,
I'd have piled my pyre on high,
And in a great red whirlwind
Gone roaring to the sky;
But Higgins is a Heathen,
And a richer man than I:
And they put him in an oven,
Just as if he were a pie.
Now who that runs can read it,
The riddle that I write,
Of why this poor old sinner,
Should sin without delight-
But I, I cannot read it
(Although I run and run),
Of them that do not have the faith,
And will not have the fun.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suedehead
Why do you come here ?
And why, why do you hang around ?
I'm so sorry, oh ...
I'm so sorry, oh, oh ...
Why do you come here
When you know it makes things hard for me ?
When you know, oh
Why do you come ?
Why do you telephone ? ahur...
And why, why send me silly notes ?
I'm so sorry
I'm so sorry, oh ...
Why do you come here
When you know it makes things hard for me ?
When you know, oh
Why do you come ?
It was because
Everything that i did
I wrote it down
On the wall
You had to sneak into my room
'just' to read my diary
"oh, it was just to see, just to see"
(all the things you knew i'd written about you...)
And oh so many illustrations
Oh, but
I'm so very sickened
Oh, i am so sickened now
Still, it was a good lay, good lay
It was a good lay, good lay
It was a good lay, good lay
Ah ...
Still, it was a good lay, good lay
It was a good lay, good lay
It was a good lay, good lay
A good lay, ah ...
Oh, it was a good lay
It was a good lay
It was a good lay
Oh, it was a good lay
Good lay, good lay
Oh
Oh, it was a good lay, good lay
Oh, it was a good lay, good lay
It was a good lay, good lay
Good lay, oh
Thankyou.
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Given The Dog A Bone
She take you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
Oh, shes blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry
Oh, shes using her head again
Shes using her head
Oh, shes using her head again
Chorus:
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Yeow
Shes no mona lisa
No, shes no playboy star
But shell send you to heaven
Then explode you to mars
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head again
Shes using her head
Using her head again
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head
Chorus
Lets go
Oooh, oh, oh, oh
She got the power of union
Yeah, she only hits when its hot
And if she likes what youre doing
Yeah, shell give you alot
(given everything she got)
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a given a dog
Givin a dog
Givin a dog
Ooooh
Im just a givin a dog a bone
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The right to private property meant at the same time the right and duty to be personally concerned about your own well-being, to be personally concerned about your family's income, to be personally concerned about your future. This is hard work.
quote by Mikhail Khodorkovsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Good
Even before she held you tight to her
and murmured softly, isn’t that just good? —
before you learned to hear, and speak, and spell
and comprehend the concept of the Good –
your soul already hungered for the Good it loves,
never to be quenched in its desire;
as your beloved cat, who in the day
manipulates affection, but at night
becomes a ruthless predator to feed its catness;
so your clever, cunning, hungry, godly soul;
even when your adolescent heart falls flat
at beauty’s vision in a human form
soul whispers (unattended to) : now here’s the truth:
that even beauty’s borrowed and must be refreshed..
so soul may take a lifetime, till the mind
whose aid it seeks to find itself the Good
arrives; and sighs a lifetime’s sigh; and rests;
and soul, which knows no failure, place, or time,
shines out to prove it never went away;
nor shall, nor can; her elsewhere light, our day.
*
[From Plotinus, Ennead VI 7,31,17-31]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Heavenly Mood
A mood has played my mind for the last year. It struggles, the mind has struggled, due to concerns over mood. I obsessed the mind and gifted my soul. It is intelligent soul, and intellectual might, that consists of thoughts and learning. Wisdom is so so superior, and that is a secret. My worship is all I worship for the betterment of my long life, and my menacing enemy shall retract and die. Dying is an act of knowing when to live, and in which heaven you shall be placed. Today is the ready day, the way to meet your maker.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By strech of limb or stir of lid, --
An independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The Poem Is A Prison, An Idol
THE POEM IS A PRISON, AN IDOL
The poem is a prison an idol
I worship and must escape -
No more poems
Let the story be told another way.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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ALZHEIMER'S ZONG(for my old pal Al)
'The soul bone's
connected to the heart bone! '
'The heart bone's
connected to the mind bone! '
'The mind bone's
connected to the bone bone! '
'The bone bone's
connected to the thought bone! '
'The Thought bone's
connected to the Time bone! '
'The Time bone's
connected to the memory bone! '
'The memory bone's...'
'The memory bones...'
'... memory's bones...'
'Now where have all
the words
...gone! '
*******
I used to look after someone with Alzheimer's and she used to sing this over and over and chuckle to herself until the wordsand she gradually faded away and there was no enough memory and wit to sustain the song or her any longer.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Mathematics
I've really done enough of sums,
I've done so very many,
That now instead of doing sum
I'd rather not do any.
I've toiled until my fingers are
With writing out of joint;
And even now of Decimals
I cannot see the point.
Subtraction to my weary mind
Brings nothing but distraction,
And vulgar and improper I
Consider every fraction.
"Practice makes perfect," so they say.
It may be true. The fact is
That I unhappily am not
Yet perfect in my Practice.
Discount is counted troublesome
By my unlearned pate;
For cubic root I entertain
A strongly rooted hate.
The heathen worship stocks and stones;
My pious soul it shocks
To be instructed thus to take
An Interest in Stocks.
Of Algebra I fear I have
A very vague impression;
I study hard, but fail to make
Harmonical Progression.
In Euclid too I always climb
The Asses' Bridge with pain;
A superficies to me
Is anything but plane.
"Apply yourself," my master said,
When I my woes confided,
"And, when you multiply, bestow
Attention undivided."
Oh, if one master tries so hard
Tyrannical to be,
How out of all Proportion I
Should find a Rule of Three.
poem by Arthur Clement Hilton
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What Does Poetry Mean To Me
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a poem
Good poetry is a rhapsody
That makes my spirit roam
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from an ode
Good poetry is the world to me
It is the mother lode
What does poetry mean to me
What do I get from a verse
Good poetry makes my soul soar free
And lifts the darkest curse
What does poetry mean to me
A sorry sonofabitch
Good poetry grabs me by the balls
And makes my life seem rich
What does poetry mean to me
An ageing U3Aer
Good poetry takes me back to youth
To when I was a player
What does poetry mean to me
A frustrated would-be bard
Good poetry trips not off my pen
It’s far too blooming hard
Take A Friend
Words and music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Well, Im lookin at you
And Im wondrin what youre gonna do
Looks like you got no friends
No one to stick with you till the end
Take yourself a friend
Keep em till the end
Whether woman or man
It makes you feel so good
So good
Yes, you think youre all right,
And now youre lonely evry night
Well, you need a friend
Someone on whom you can always depend
Take yourself a friend
Keep em till the end
Whether woman or man
It makes you feel so good
So good
Yes, you need some advice
Well, let me put it to you nice
I said you need a friend
Someone wholl stick with you to the end
Take yourself a friend
Keep em till the end
Whether woman or man
It makes you feel so good
So good
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overcame the Enemy
I look at my past and see
Fear was my one true enemy
Living life behind a veil
Finding all the decisions where made for me
Some where good and others not so
There are some the make me proud
These are ones where the enemy was
I overcame the enemy of fear
Acting only as I wanted to
Taking the ruff road
Making my self stronger
Placing fear behind me
Not knowing what was near
Finding that conquering fear
That overcoming fear makes my pride
And when you have pride it makes you
HAPPY!
poem by Stephen Mueller
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The True Disciple (For Hune)
the true disciple,
wearing the robes of doubt...
dividing the atoms of the soul,
searching for fibers that connect.
exploring universes of question,
whetted by the blade of truth;
to immerse in 'i and thou'...
crossing the final desert
to the promised land!
the true disciple,
follows his own footsteps!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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