Elegy on a Brazilian Bug
I was warlord
of ten thousand
which multiplied by two
upon my word
whenever sand
ticked nanosecond through.
I was the Word
to a viral band
dividing yet anew,
where’er I stirred
in gut or gland,
spread grief – to each his due.
Card-coded cord,
D.N.A. band,
bound by genetic glue;
a hidden horde,
on every hand
mutating molecu.
As victims soared
some out of hand
perceived the risk that grew,
the threat explored, -
migration banned, -
strategic overview.
My rule was awed
by chain and strand,
primaeval soup and stew;
perverted curd
bad blood would brand, -
a death-mask was my brew.
In prayer implored
strong man, unmanned
with fear, and women too;
to dust restored
the pale, the tanned,
who died ere dawn dried dew.
So, silent s[c]ored
the brave, the bland,
pauper, patrician too;
those loved, adored,
the poor, the grand, -
God to his bosom drew.
With one accord
the fever fanned,
interring not a few;
until we heard
from a foreign land
of a feared French Institut.
Jet engines purred,
saw Concorde land,
descending from the blue;
the silver bird
God’s globe had spanned
with gamma-globulu.
France had prepared
Brazil’s demand –
her government well knew,
for they were scared,
could scarce withstand
the queues where sickness grew.
To germ, absurd,
to Man, ‘twas grand,
both bug and bitten knew
while men murmured
San Paolo’s sand
would test their techniques true.
Drugs undeterred,
injections canned,
from man to man they flew,
vaccines record
where their errand,
ten million jabs to do.
My genes had erred,
Merieux well planned,
they struck my stock so true!
Chromosomes blurred,
nor token stand
we could not make – adieu!
(24 June 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
In Flew ENZA
WHO had not erred,
its warnings stand,
world governments well knew
sick trick preferred -
few understand -
my species' hops on cue.
Immune award
men must demand
alerts, surveillance too,
coherent chord,
strong words not bland,
sought global overview.
Some ranted, roared,
some risks ignored
in/on_ward health askew,
converge toward
win/win reward
new antibody clue.
Drugs undeterred,
injections canned,
from man to man we flew,
ants may record
Man by the board
like flies dropped, captain, crew.
Genes undeterred,
knocked men deadpanned,
few safe from my stock true;
chromosomes blurred,
nor token stand
so few shall make, 'tis true.
I'm core warlord
of ten thousand
which multiplies by two
upon my word
whenever sand
ticks nanosecond through.
I am true Word
to a viral band
dividing yet anew;
where’er I stirred
in gut or gland,
grief spreads – to each his due.
Few could afford -
swift I expand -
to hesitate while blew
changed winds which bore
diseases and
continue case review.
Infection poured
woe flowed, errand
contagious hullabaloo,
touched sceptre, sword,
none could disband
pandemic's subtle screw.
Card-coded cord,
D.N.A. band,
bound by genetic glue;
a hidden horde,
on every hand
mutating molecu.
As victims soared
some out of hand
perceived the risk that grew,
dire threat explored, -
migration banned -
strategic overview.
My rule stays awed
by chain and strand,
primaeval soup and stew;
perverted curd
bad blood would brand, -
mix death-mask task flask brew.
In prayer implored
strong man, unmanned
with fear, and women too;
to dust restored
stark pale, dark tanned,
some die ere dawn dries dew.
So, silent scored
brave, coward, bland,
pauper, patrician too;
those loved, adored,
the poor, the grand, -
God to his bosom drew.
With one accord
swine fever fanned,
interring not a few;
alarm men heard
in every land
coeval with 'tishoo!
Most, overawed,
saw deaths expand,
from dumb to high I.Q.
mankind deplored
that out of hand
my epidemic grew.
From cats which purred,
to pig sties spanned,
I came from out the blue;
begun with bird,
mutated, grew,
zapped gamma-globulu.
World unprepared
for high demand
of vaccin tamiflu,
for all stay scared;
who can withstand
the queues where sickness slew?
To Man absurd,
to germ ‘tis grand,
bug bear, bare bitten knew,
victims concurred
life's drops like sand
to waste went with adieu!
WHO World Health Organization robi03_1899_robi03_0000 WXX_JNZ
(28 August 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Land, Ho!
I know ’tis but a loom of land,
Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice,
I know I cannot hear His voice
Upon the shore, nor see Him stand;
Yet is it land, ho! land.
The land! the land! the lovely land!
‘Far off,’ dost say? Far off—ah, blessèd home!
Farewell! farewell! thou salt sea-foam!
Ah, keel upon the silver sand—
Land, ho! land.
You cannot see the land, my land,
You cannot see, and yet the land is there—
My land, my land, through murky air—
I did not say ’twas close at hand—
But—land, ho! land.
Dost hear the bells of my sweet land,
Dost hear the kine, dost hear the merry birds?
No voice, ’tis true, no spoken words,
No tongue that thou may’st understand—
Yet is it land, ho! land.
It’s clad in purple mist, my land,
In regal robe it is apparellèd,
A crown is set upon its head,
And on its breast a golden band—
Land, ho! land.
Dost wonder that I long for land?
My land is not a land as others are—
Upon its crest there beams a star,
And lilies grow upon the strand—
Land, ho! land.
Give me the helm! there is the land!
Ha! lusty mariners, she takes the breeze!
And what my spirit sees it sees—
Leap, bark, as leaps the thunderbrand—
Land, ho! land.
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rock 'N' Roll Band
If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
We'd travel all over the land.
We'd play and we'd sing and wear spangly things.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
And we were up there on the stand,
The people would here us and love us and cheer us.
Hurray for that rock 'n' roll band.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band,
Then we'd have a million fans.
We'd giggle and laugh and sign autographs,
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
The people would all kiss our hands.
We'd be millionaires and have extra long hair,
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
But we ain't no rock 'n' roll band,
We're just seven kids in the sand.
With homemade guitars and pails and jars
And drums of potato chip cans.
Just seven kids in the sand.
Talk'n and waven' our hands.
And dreamin' and thinkin' oh wouldn't it be grand,
If we were a rock 'n' roll band.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Elusive New Zoo Gnu
They had a new gnu at the Zoo
And nobody knew.
Tho' the keeper, they say, had a clue;
And that's probably true,
Since he knew a new gnu was due,
And well he knew, too,
That the mother would hide it from view,
As a natural gnu
Will do.
For the instinct, innate in the gnu,
Known only to few
Is to hide a new gnu lest it rue
What ill-doers do.
Why should nature, we wonder, imbue
A beast like a gnu
With such caution? This fact, hitherto,
Few knew to be true.
Did you?
But they've found it at last at rhe Zoo -
Such a shy little gnu,
White of tail and the coat that it grew
Of indefinite hue.
And now, I suppose, a long queue
Will be waiting to view
This nice little new Zoo gnu.
Such sights ever drew
Quite a crew.
But who knew the new gnu at the Zoo
For the first day or two?
Who guessed where 'twas hidden, and who,
As new rumors flew,
Ever thought, ever dreamed ever drew
Some vague hint, or grew
Suspicious? Where was he? Who knew?
Not the crane, not the white cockatoo
Who ejaculates, 'How do you do?'
Not the apes all emblazoned in blue,
Not the owl with his dreary 'Too-woo!'
Nor tapir, nor tiger who slew
His prey 'mid the ginat bamboo
Once, back of Bengal, in Kooloo;
Not elephant, not kangaroo,
None knew; none knew;
Not aman, not a beast in the Zoo
From its hub to its furthrest purlieu . . .
But the new gnu knew.
Too true!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
39
Words and music by brian may
in the year of thirty-nine
Assembled here the volunteers
In the days when lands were few
Here the ship sailed out into the blue and sunny morn
The sweetest sight ever seen
And the night followed day
And the story tellers say
That the score brave souls inside
For many a lonely day
Sailed across the milky seas
Never looked back never feared never cried
Dont you hear my call
Though youre many years away
Dont you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day Ill take your hand
In the land that our grand-children knew
in the year of thirty-nine
Came a ship from the blue
The volunteers came home that day
And they bring good news
Of a world so newly born
Though their hearts so heavily weigh
For the earth is old and grey
Little darlin well away
But my love this cannot be
Oh so many years have gone
Though Im older than a year
Your mothers eyes from your eyes cry to me
Dont you hear my call
Though youre many years away
Dont you hear me calling you
Write your letters in the sand
For the day Ill take your hand
In the land that our grand-children knew
Dont you hear my call
Though youre many years away
Dont you hear me calling you
All your letters in the sand
Cannot heal me like your hand
For my life still ahead pity me
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Story
He loved her and he was untrue—
Untrue he was, let loved her still;
For out of nether darkness drew
The winds that lashed his wandering will.
She lived in joy all unaware,
In pain and joy his children bore,
While hidden spectres of despair
Drove him to love her more and more.
And when she knew the truth at last,
Suddenly she grew still and strange.
Her rag of haggard youth was cast
Upon the evil winds of change.
She heard, and could not understand;
She paled, and could not bloom again.
So bland death took her by the hand,
Looked in her eyes and made all plain,
Yes, wise death taught her all, and so,
Smiling once more, she kissed and passed.
And he, caught in life's overthrow,
Faced love and death alone at last.
At last, made strong by love and death,
He gave her truth for truth, and knew
Now she had won his perfect faith.
Dying, she doomed him to be true.
poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Golden Silence
I told her I loved her and begged but a word,
One dear little word, that would be
For me by all odds the most sweet ever heard,
But never a word said she!
I raged at her then, and I said she was cold;
I swore she was nothing to me;
I prayed her the cause of her silence unfold,
But never a word said she!
I covered with kisses her delicate hand,
But she only glanced down where the sea
Low murmured in ripples of love on the sand,
And never a word said she!
I cast her hand from me with rage unsuppressed,
And she turned her blue eyes up to me
And smiled as she laid her fair head on my breast;
'What need of a word?' asked she.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Then and Now
"Build me a nation," said the Lord.
The distant nations heard the word,
Build me a nation true and strong,
Bar out the old world's hate and wrong;
For men had traced with blood and tears
The trail of weary wasting years,
And torn and bleeding martyrs trod
Through fire and torture up to God.
While in the hollow of his hand
God hid the secret of our land,
Men warred against their fiercest foes,
And kingdoms fell and empires rose,
Till, weary of the old world strife,
Men sought for broader, freer life,
And plunged into the ocean's foam
To find another, better home.
And, like a vision fair and bright
The new world broke upon their sight.
Men grasped the prize, grew proud and strong,
And cursed the land with crime and wrong.
The Indian stood despoiled of lands,
The Negro bound with servile bands,
Oppressed through weary years of toil,
His blood and tears bedewed the soil.
Then God arose in dreadful wrath,
And judgment streamed around his path;
His hand the captive's fetters broke,
His lightnings shattered every yoke.
As Israel through the Red sea trod,
Led by the mighty hand of God,
They passed to freedom through a flood,
Whose every wave and surge was blood.
And slavery, with its crime and shame,
Went down in wrath and blood and flame
The land was billowed-o'er with graves
Where men had lived and died as slaves.
Four and thirty years -- what change since
then!
Beings once chattles now are men;
Over the gloom of slavery's night,
Has flashed the dawn of freedom's light.
To-day no mother with anguish wild
Kneels and implores that her darling child
Shall not be torn from her bleeding heart,
With its quivering tendrils rent apart.
The father may soothe his child to sleep,
And watch his slumbers calm and deep.
No tyrant's tread will disturb his rest
Where freedom dwells as a welcome guest.
His walls may be bare of pictured grace,
His fireside the lowliest place;
But the wife and children sheltered there
Are his to defend and guard with care.
Where haughty tyrants once bore rule
Are ballot-box and public school.
The old slave-pen of former days
Gives place to fanes of prayer and praise.
To-night we would bring our meed of praise
To noble friends of darker days;
The men and women crowned with light,
The true and tried in our gloomy night.
To Lundy, whose heart was early stirred
To speak for freedom an earnest word;
To Garrison, valiant, true and strong,
Whose face was as flint against our wrong.
And Phillips, the peerless, grand and brave,
A tower of strength to the outcast slave.
Earth has no marble too pure and white
To enrol his name in golden light.
Our Douglass, too, with his massive brain,
Who plead our cause with his broken chain,
And helped to hurl from his bloody seat
The curse that writhed and died at his feet.
And Governor Andrew, who, looking back,
Saw none he despised, though poor and black;
And Harriet Beecher, whose glowing pen
Corroded the chains of fettered men.
To-night with greenest laurels we'll crown
North Elba's grave where sleeps John Brown,
Who made the gallows an altar high,
And showed how a brave old man could die.
And Lincoln, our martyred President,
Who returned to his God with chains he had rent.*
And Sumner, amid death's icy chill,
Leaving to Hoar his Civil Rights Bill.
And let us remember old underground,
With all her passengers northward bound,
The train that ran till it ceased to pay,
With all her dividends given away.
Nor let it be said that we have forgot
The women who stood with Lucretia Mott;
Nor her who to the world was known
By the simple name of Lucy stone.
A tribute unto a host of others
Who knew that men though black were brothers,
Who battled against our nation's sin,
Whose graves are thick whose ranks are thin.
Oh, people chastened in the fire,
To nobler, grander things aspire;
In the new era of your life,
Bring love for hate, and peace for strife;
Upon your hearts this vow record
That ye will build unto the Lord
A nobler future, true and grand,
To strengthen, crown and bless the land.
A higher freedom ye may gain
Than that which comes from a riven chain;
Freedom your native land to bless
With peace, and love and righteousness,
As dreams that are past, a tale all told,
Are the days when men were bought and sold;
Now God be praised from sea to sea,
Our flag floats o'er a country free.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wonders of Music
Yes, a great deal of wholesome wonders music does to the land.
Our very dear hearts it touches with its warm loving hand.
Of its drawing power, the nature is incredibly grand.
Us with a lot of sweet, tender love as well, music does brand.
Us it affects to act in such great ways that are unplanned.
Ways that go on are what the love of music has planned.
Our very dear lives to live in each and every love’s strand.
A unifying force so great, us all music makes to stand
On the solid rock, unlike those who do fall from the soft sand.
The blazing flames of the vast glory of sweet love, music fanned.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song of the Sailor Boy
Cheer up, cheer up, my mother dear!
Ah! Why do you sit and weep?
Do you think that he who guards me here,
Forsakes me on the deep?
Let hope and faith light up your glance,
When you see our ship set sail;
Look, look at her now, and see her dance;
Oh! Why do you turn so pale?
There's an English flag, and an English crew;
So, mother, be proud of your boy in blue.
Ah! Wonder not that, next to thee,
I love the galloping wave;
'Tis the first of coursers, bold and free -
And fit to carry the brave.
It may bear me on to a dark lee-shore,
To sink with a gallant band;
But early or late - here's a heart for my fate,
Let it come on the sea or the land.
The storm and the battle shall find me true,
So, mother, be proud of your boy in blue.
And if the breakers kill our ship,
And your boy goes down in the foam,
Be sure the last breath on his lip
Was a prayer for those at home.
But come, cheer up! methinks I heard
A voice in the anchor chain,
That whispered, like a fairy bird,
'The Ship will come again.'
God bless thee, mother, adieu, adieu!
But never weep for your boy in blue.
poem by Eliza Cook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Land
A gentle hand guides us through this land.
That holds such bounties and such tragic ends.
Take this hand and you'll find a joy, gloriously grand.
Ignore it though and you'll end up buried in the sand.
There are many glories in this story.
Although at times it seems quite horrid.
At least we can say it's never boring.
Many pratfalls are in your way.
Take this hand you'll rule the day.
Never feeling skies of gray.
Unless you wander the other way.
Then blackness strikes and bleakness spikes.
Tortured by such ghastly likes.
Cannot be imagined in their heights.
Depravity, misery and savage spite.
Eat you up you'll feel no light.
So take this hand to guide you through the land.
You need it to be strengthened for the plan.
It leads you to rewards so grand.
poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song Of The Silent Land. (From The German Of Salis)
Into the Silent Land!
Ah! who shall lead us thither?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land!
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!
O Land! O Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our faith allotted,
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
Into the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At Last You Departed
Oh! Friend for you supported my hand,
My deserted heart became a fairy-land.
I accompanied and went along with you,
Covering the distances on the hot sand.
I felt your presence like rosy fragrance,
Your subtle touch made my soul grand.
I adored you in the temple of my heart,
And placed you where deities did stand.
Ah! At last you departed like a dream,
Breaking the bond and linking strand.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We want land! [Noi vrem pământ!]
Without a shelter, hungry, blue,
You put a burden on my back
And spat me and enchained my neck,
I was a dog for you.
Upstart boyar, maybe you planned
To satisfy the hell's demand
To be your dogs, we are in chains,
Suffer the burdens and the pains
And pull the yoke, obey the reins,
But we want land!
A loaf of bread from yesterday
If see with us, you want it bad,
You send to war our dearest lad
And take the girls away.
You curse what's holy, you command,
What's mercy you can't understand!
And our children starve to death
We pity them and lose our breath,
But we could get a little strength
If we had land.
Even the graveyard you reclaim,
You make it field, we pull the plow,
And all the bones are scattered now,
An awful shame!
These are our bones, we can't withstand
For you don't seem to understand
You take us out when the wind raves,
You pull the dead from the deep graves,
Oh, for their sake our heart now craves
A plot of land!
We wish to have, like any guy,
A tomb where bones will stay all piled
To know that they won't be defiled
The day we die.
For our children there will stand
Shedding their tears on the gray sand,
Not knowing where our body lies,
They'll look around, they'll strain their eyes;
As Christians, each of us now cries
We want some land!
To pray, we don't have time a lot,
For our lives belong to you,
We have a soul that's good and true,
Which you forgot!
You made a vow raising your hand
Not to allow us to withstand;
To beat us when we cry and wail
And if we run, throw us in jail,
Shot us with bullets if assail
To grab some land.
Into the ground, you know it's true,
You have your wheat. We have our tears
And mothers, sisters, brothers, dears;
Away with you!
This land is holy, understand,
It's our cradle, tomb at hand;
We've guarded it with our blood
And very often, like a flood,
Our tears have flown over the mud,
So we want land!
We have no strength, we've lost our words,
But we don't want to beg again,
Yet, you keep causing us much pain
Cruel fleeting lords!
May God be gracious when we crave
Your blood, to spill it like a wave!
When we don't want to stand aside
When hunger leaves us with no pride
Christs if you were, you couldn't hide
Even in grave!
poem by George CoÅŸbuc, translated by Octavian CocoÅŸ
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Marjorie’s Wooing
THE corn was yellow upon the cliffs,
The fluttering grass was green to see,
The waves were blue as the sky above,
And the sun it was shining merrily.
'Marjorie, Marjorie! do you love me,
Faithfully, truly as I love you?'
The little lass reddened, and whitened, and smiled,
And answered him with her clear eyes of blue.
'Marjorie, you are but gentle and young;
I am too old and too rough for you.'
The little lass, trustfully giving her hand,
Answered, 'I love you, faithful and true.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, when shall we wed?'
'As soon as you will it,—to-morrow, to-day.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if you knew all,
Would you still say me the words that you say?'
'If I knew all?' said the little lass,
'I know you are Kenneth, the brave and strong;
I know that I love, and that you are good:
I will know it e'er, and have known it long.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
I fled from prison to come to you;
I stabbed a man all for jealous love;
I am not noble, nor good, nor true?'
'Kenneth, your eyes would belie your words,'
Boldly and bravely the lass replied.
'Why should God fill them with love and truth,
And your heart with cruelty, hate, and pride?'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I loved many ere I loved you?'
'Ere you had seen me,' Marjorie said,
' How could you know I was loving and true?'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I was outcast on land and on sea?'
'All the more reason,' the little maid said,
' Why you should ever be loved by me.'
'Marjorie, Marjorie, if I should say
That I was noble, and titled, and grand;
Lord of the woods, and the castle, and park,
Lord of the acres of corn o'er the land?'
Dropping a courtesy, the little lass said,
'Still should I love you and ever be true;
But if you found me too lowly and poor,
I should bid farewell and go die for you.'
'Marjorie, darling, I tell you then,
This is the truth, and the land is mine,
And the castle, the park, and the vessel far off,
And whatever is mine, is thine, dear, thine!'
poem by Emma Lazarus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's Grand
It's grand to be a squatter
And sit upon a post,
And watch your little ewes and lambs
A-giving up the ghost.
It's grand to be a "cockie"
With wife and kids to keep,
And find an all-wise Providence
Has mustered all your sheep.
It's grand to be a Western man,
With shovel in your hand,
To dig your little homestead out
From underneath the sand.
It's grand to be a shearer
Along the Darling-side,
And pluck the wool from stinking sheep
That some days since have died.
It's grand to be a rabbit
And breed till all is blue,
And then to die in heaps because
There's nothing left to chew.
It's grand to be a Minister
And travel like a swell,
And tell the Central District folk
To go to -- Inverell.
It's grand to be a socialist
And lead the bold array
That marches to prosperity
At seven bob a day.
It's grand to be unemployed
And lie in the Domain,
And wake up every second day --
And go to sleep again.
It's grand to borrow English tin
To pay for wharves and docks
And then to find it isn't in
The little money-box.
It's grand to be a democrat
And toady to the mob,
For fear that if you told the truth
They'd hunt you from your job.
It's grand to be a lot of things
In this fair Southern land,
But if the Lord would send us rain,
That would, indeed, be grand!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Persuit
There's not a thing I would not do
To stay here next to you
Hand in hand, through and through
Submerged in love so true
The story of our love anew
Each morning waking with the dew
Sometimes I try but can't astrue
How much I hope to mean to you
I'd sail the world to Timbuktu
Cross the Nile by canoe
Anything to be with you
Each day and night I would persue
You're better than all else I knew
I cast my cares, my heart then flew
No looking back for my love grew
My darling, I would die for you
Why choose to be 'who'
When you can be 'two'
I'm stuck here like glue
Forever with you
(And I'm so glad I am)
poem by Brandon McConnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dream
Believe me, this was true last night,
Tho' it is false to-day.
-- A.M.F. Robinson.
A fair dream to my chamber flew:
Such a crowd of folk that stirred,
Jested, fluttered; only you,
You alone of all that band,
Calm and silent, spake no word.
Only once you neared my place,
And your hand one moment's space
Sought the fingers of my hand;
Your eyes flashed to mine; I knew
All was well between us two.
* * * * *
On from dream to dream I past,
But the first sweet vision cast
Mystic radiance o'er the last.
* * * * *
When I woke the pale night lay
Still, expectant of the day;
All about the chamber hung
Tender shade of twilight gloom;
The fair dream hovered round me, clung
To my thought like faint perfume:--
Like sweet odours, such as cling
To the void flask, which erst encloses
Attar of rose; or the pale string
Of amber which has lain with roses.
The God Of Victory!
With a broken heart still beating,
While brothers bled and died,
A young boy prayed unceasing
With tears no more he cried...
With parents gone, alone, he knelt,
In hiding, no-one near
And yet with all the faith he felt,
In hopes that God would hear...
The shadow of the sun moved long
As dawn and noon passed by,
His body weak, yet faith grew strong,
As if it couldn't die...
Then, suddenly, he heard God's voice,
'Your prayer is heard, My son...
And answered if you make the choice
For what must yet be done...'
The boy replied, 'Explain it, Lord,
Reveal the future years! '
God said, 'Think not of years yet stored,
But every day that nears...
I am the God of Victory,
The King of Conquests, too,
The Author of Man's History,
Creating all things new...'
The boy's heart warmed with flames of fire,
His face like burning gold,
The emblems of the Lord's desire,
His message to be told...
Thus all who saw the boy asked why
And he revealed God's Word...
And faithful souls let out a sigh
As prophecies were heard...
The boy preached here, the boy preached there,
The Bible in his hand,
With parables beyond compare
Across the blood-stained land...
And thoughts of vengeance faded fast
And prayers outpoured like wine...
And gently peace was spread at last,
Anointed and divine...
His generation knew such peace,
The land was richly blessed,
They say God's wonders never cease,
Forgiveness proves the test...
Will we forgive? Will we share love?
Or will we cling to hate?
The God of Victory knows above...
I ask, 'Is it too late? '
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Custers Blues
Well you look just like general custer
On the day of his last stand
Heading up into the black hills
Glorious and grand
I saw it by your side
A map in your hand
Heading up into the rain
Singing this land is your land
Now Ive seen your dust a-rising
And Ive seen your numbers swell
Ive seen you crossing the badlands
And Ive heard your captains yell
Ive watched you when youre sleeping
Ive seen you filling up your can
Thinking as you work
That this land is your land
But now youre bursting into my country
Youre messing up my fields
Youre playing games with my holy places
Youre tearing the earth with your wheels
Right now your star is ascending
And your head is bursting with pride
But I wonder if custer was still singing
this land is my land when he died
Was he still singing this is my land when he died
Was he singing that its my land when he died
Was he singing when he died
Was he singing when he died
Was he singing its my land when he died
When he died...
Was he singing when he died
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!