The Palace and the Hut XXIX
Part One
As night fell and the light glittered in the great house, the servants stood at the massive door awaiting the coming of the guests; and upon their velvet garments shown golden buttons.
The magnificent carriages drew into the palace park and the nobles entered, dressed in gorgeous raiment and decorated with jewels. The instruments filled the air with pleasant melodies while the dignitaries danced to the soothing music.
At midnight the finest and most palatable foods were served on a beautiful table embellished with all kinds of the rarest flowers. The feasters dined and drank abundantly, until the sequence of the wine began to play its part. At dawn the throng dispersed boisterously, after spending a long night of intoxication and gluttony which hurried their worn bodies into their deep beds with unnatural sleep.
Part Two
At eventide, a man attired in the dress of heavy work stood before the door of his small house and knocked at the door. As it opened, he entered and greeted the occupants in a cheerful manner, and then sat between his children who were playing at the fireplace. In a short time, his wife had the meal prepared and they sat at a wooden table consuming their food. After eating they gathered around the oil lamp and talked of the day's events. When the early night had lapsed, all stood silently and surrendered themselves to the King of Slumber with a song of praise and a prayer of gratitude on their lips.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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The Boy Who Came Down from the Cross
He stood beside his father before tumbling into a deep pit.
A split second later a volley of shots were fired.
His father fell with the others into the abyss, shot dead.
But sixteen year old Zvi Michalowski was alive.
It was a pitch dark night when he climbed out of the pit.
He was naked and his body covered with blood.
He heard the Lithuanian executioners singing, laughing,
Celebrating the shooting of the Jews.
They were all drunk by now.
As Hitler’s armies were advancing on Moscow
The murderers arrived with an Einsatzgruppen unit.
They entered Eishyshok, an old Jewish town in south Lithuania,
On September 25 of 1941. On the same day and the next
The paramilitary SS units massacred about 5,000 Jews
From Eishyshok and adjacent villages.
Zvi Michalowski knew the place like the palm of his hand.
He passed the Jewish cemetery beyond which Polish and
Lithuanian families lived. He knocked on the door of the first house.
A peasant opened the door. In his hand he held a lamp
With a Star of David, which he looted from a Jewish home.
‘Let me in, please’, the boy implored. The man raised the lamp
And looked at the blood covered naked body of the boy.
‘Jew, go back to the grave that you came from! ’ he said
And he shut the door in his face.
Zvi Michalowski knocked on many doors on that night
But nobody wanted to take him in. In his wanderings he arrived
In a wooded area. He knew the old widow who lived in the house
And knocked on the door. She was shocked to see the boy.
She held a burning piece of wood in her hand and spurned him.
He stood there nevertheless. She cursed him, sending him away
With angry words. When he did not move she threatened him
With the fiery wood she had in her hand.
But the boy refused to go away. ‘I am your Lord, Jesus Christ,
Who came down from the cross’, he told her. ‘Now look at me,
Look at the blood of my body, the pain the suffering of the innocent.
Please, let me in’.
Shaking all over, the old woman began to pray.
She fell on her knees at the bloodstained feet of the boy.
Then she slowly rose to her feet, opened the door and let him in.
‘Oh, my dear God, oh my dear God, oh my dear God’,
She kept repeating her prayer, crossing herself each time.
The boy asked the woman not to tell anyone about his visit.
She asked him to bless her family and her, which he promptly did.
She gave him food and clothes and prepared for him a warm bath.
He stayed in her house for three days and three nights.
When Zvi Michalowski left the house he was dressed as a farmer
And carried a food supply for a week. Soon he reached
The nearby forest and went into hiding. He survived the war
Fighting the Nazis as a partisan.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Three Knocks
WHEN the owl that scared the mouse
Fluffed his feathers and sat still,
And the night around was chill,
On the door of yonder house
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
While the owl, aloof and drear
Yellow-eyed his vigil kept,
Down the breeze a crying crept,
And it seemed to tell of fear —
Fear and care —
It was Life that entered there!
When the owl had greyer grown
By a score of years and more,
On the selfsame cedar door
Of yon house that stands alone,
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Yet, though many gracious flowers
Wreathed the house from floor to roof,
In his shadowed haunt aloof
Staring sat he through the hours,
Unaware
It was Love that entered there!
When the owl had passed away,
And the mouse, no more afraid,
In the tree-glooms frisked and played,
On that door at end of day
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Once and twice that knock had come,
Once for Life, and once for Love;
Towards the night the shadows move,
And the land lies still and dumb
Everywhere —
It is Death that enters there!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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A Table For Two!
Flash of dream overcome me
as I took slumber one night
I saw a romantic setting
lies a set of table for two
A bouquet of red roses
decorate at the center
where a bottle of red wine
completes the table for two
I saw you entered the haven
dressed in rainbow colored suit
your face so pretty with a smile
as we kissed at the table for two
Mesmerized by your countenance
I was filled with romantic stance
as we danced to the tune of love
such so divine at the table for two
Awaken at height of joy
I am filled with inspiration
as today it becomes a reality
a table for two on Valentines day
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Play Children Play
I came home late one night,
In my door stood my daughter-in-law,
Park your car, I have something to tell you,
As I entered the door, she said, "Mother left today."
Play children play, your mother left today.
There is no where for a writer to start,
When his wife leaves and breaks her children's heart,
When she walked out, she never said good by,
No one has ever known why.
Play children play, today your Mother went away.
Many things we planned to do that day,
For no reason she just walked away,
Twenty years has past and gone,
Some how we took care of our home,
You children have married, but still alone.
Play children play, for the day your Mother went away.
poem by Kenneth McKinley Davis
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 3)
As the door opened, he could see
the room was filled with people.
They looked at him as he entered
everyone smiled saying good evening.
He was ushered to the top of the table
and seated beside a beautiful young woman.
Her smile radiated the room
with light and warmth.
“Hello, you must be Lord Charles
my husband to be.
I am Princess Juliet.”
Her voice flowed through him
like a river of tranquillity.
At first, he was not sure
just what to say to her.
He stumbled over his words
and it made her laugh.
Suddenly he was at ease
and it seemed they were
the only two in the room
and when he looked around,
they were the only two
everyone else had disappeared.
As they chatted he felt at home,
a home he could only have wished for.
They ate and talked
and when they had finished
the food and the dishes disappeared.
Suddenly as if by magic,
an orchestra began playing.
They got up and danced
and danced and danced
into the late evening.
They then took a stroll
into the garden in the moonlight,
walking arm in arm.
They stopped briefly,
where he stole a kiss.
As he awoke the next morning,
he could not remember much
of the night before
only that he had met his princess
and had a wonderful time.
“I am your clothes for today.”
He looked around as the clothes
suddenly threw themselves at him
and suddenly he was dressed.
“I see you are ready M’ Lord.”
“Ready for what? ”
“Your wedding M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man
down the stairs
and out into the courtyard
where a carriage pulled by six white horses
stood waited for him.
He stopped and looked around
apart from the crowds of people
white doves danced
pirouettes in the sky.
They looked golden
as the sun painted them
with its warming rays.
Flags and pennants of different colours
hung out from everywhere.
From the Cathedral, church bells filled the air
as the carriage moved slowly
along the cobble stone streets
lined with people either side.
He sat and waved at them
through the window of the carriage
as the procession passed.
Within a few minutes,
they arrived at the great city Cathedral.
As he stepped from the carriage,
there seemed a party atmosphere everywhere.
Entering the Cathedral
the serine voices of the choir
rose up to the rafters
as the Cathedral bells
could be heard across the hamlets.
The pews were filled
from front to back.
He stood at the alter
waiting for his bride to be.
He felt that this must be all a dream
and in a moment, he would awake
back to the harsh realities of his life.
Then the organ announced of the brides arrival.
To be concluded
18-19 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Romantic Nights
Dim lights, soft music, sun setting
a table set for two by the patio
a white cloth drapes the table
a single red rose, two wine glasses
a bottle of the finest wines
love Ballads on the radio
beautiful you dress so elegant
a sexy red dress made of silk
lovely long leg, finished with red high heels
long wavy hair, gorgeous eyes, Beautiful smile
heaven sent a sexy gorgeous you, makes my heart melt
gently I reach for your hand and swing you tightly to me
a romantic dance under the sun to our song
kissing you and whispering sweet loving
being with you makes the world go round
every night is a romantic night with you
every sunset make a beautiful background
with you dancing and swaying to the music
makes me desire and want you more
Everyday is so picture perfect with you.
you make every night a Romantic Night
poem by Michael Peterson
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The House
For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.
The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.
The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.
The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Perfidy
Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.
The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.
The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.
Two brown ponies trotting slowly
Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
While the city stars so dim and holy
Drew nearer to search through the streets.
A hastening car swept shameful past,
I saw her hid in the shadow,
I saw her step to the curb, and fast
Run to the silent door, where last
I had stood with my hand uplifted.
She clung to the door in her haste to enter,
Entered, and quickly cast
It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Behind The Door
With trembling hand,
I knocked upon the door,
which someone had sent me to.
They told me a new life
awaits me there.
I reached out
and knocked on the door
not knowing when it opened
exactly what I’d find.
My heart beat faster,
almost racing from my chest.
I could hear footsteps
coming from within.
My hand trembled even more
as the footsteps headed towards the door.
I stood there in anticipations
as the door begins to open wide.
So far, I have not told you
who will be coming to the door.
Will it be a long lost sibling,
a future love, or even God?
I will have to let you decide,
because being a nervous person.
The suspense was killing me,
so I ran and hid, and never saw
who was it answering the door.
poem by David Harris
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The Poor Decorative Platoons
We were there even before
The first guest arrived
We were not, of course, the host
We were colourful
Attractive to most of the guests
Children looked at us with awe
Even some senior guests
Talked to the host in praise of us
The hall got filled with guest
Young, old, men, women and children
A videographer capturing all happenings
A photographer creating a capsule of stills
A lot noise around
We were witnessing gossips,
Romantic glances,
Secret affectionate exchanges,
Fiery arguments,
Friendly approach for new business deals,
Discussion on weather, politics and so on
But we were never a part of these
But silently watching all these
With a bang came the occasion for celebration
All gathered around
Wished the couple on their
Fiftieth wedding anniversary
Some youngsters fell at the feet of the couple
Seeking their blessings
Some shook hands with the couple
Some greeted them with gifts
And some with bouquets
Some read out a citation
Some sang while some others danced
We were just watching
Time came for dinning
Some held glasses with drinks of their choices
Some turning more confident after intoxication
Some men venturing making fun of ladies of their liking
Some happy with a cup of soup
All were busy with their plates
Some mothers feeding their reluctant kids
Some continuing the discussions while eating
Some being gentle consumers
Some devouring with less pleasant gestures
Videographer and photographer covering all these
Aroma of the food items filled the hall
Function nearing an end
Guests leaving one after another
Hosts thanking each personally for their presence
All left the hall
Switching off lights, fans and air conditioners
Minding not our being left out in dark and suffocation
Dawned and entered a new set of workers
For a new celebration
'Clear all these' was an instruction for a supervisor
All on a sudden
We were pulled down
And thrown into a large dust bin
Some of us were blown out by a strong wind
And we were in the middle of the road
Each passing vehicle making us air borne
With its accompanying flush of wind
No one to take pity on us
The poor decorative platoons
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
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Knock, Knock
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And twice He knocked then stayed.
It was my choice, I could ignore
And that's why I delayed.
He walked away.
I watched Him leave
Then got on with my life,
To sin like others who deceive
And cause all sorts of strife
Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And I watched Him inside.
I knew He knew my every flaw,
Not one could be denied.
I stood my ground, He left again.
I let Him walk away.
I struggled every now and then
With fears of Judgment Day.
My bank account looked mighty fine
As fifteen years passed by.
To think that all that cash was mine.
How come my soul felt dry?
Lord Jesus stood there at my door,
With fear I turned the key.
And simply stared at Christ with awe.
You see, He died for me.
Lord Jesus entered as my friend,
Yet also set me straight.
My useless life came to an end,
God's love to celebrate.
I sighed I'd made Him wait so long.
Those years I can't restore.
I tell you this, you can't go wrong
If you open the door.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Coming Home For Christmas
Mrs Merryweather put coal on the fire,
while outside through the frosted windows
the snow was beginning to fall.
Christmas was only days away,
though the air raid sirens wailed daily,
they could not spoil the promise of Christmas.
Life just had to go on.
The coupons she had saved
would help them really celebrate.
It was going to be a Christmas
they were all going to remember.
She looked at the mantelpiece;
pride masked itself across her face
as she gazes at the photograph of her son.
Dressed in his uniform the photo stood pride of place.
He would be coming home for Christmas.
He had written to say he had leave this year.
It would be the first time the whole family
had sat around the table
to share a Christmas meal in years.
Ever since the war had started,
there had always been
at least one vacant chair there,
but not this Christmas of 1944.
Some maybe late in arriving,
but that did not matter a little bit.
The family, her family
were all coming home for Christmas Day.
The day before Christmas,
they slowly began to arrive.
One by one, she greeted them,
and then sat them around the fireplace
to be warmed by the coal fire’s glow.
They gathered toasting bread with a long fork,
singing popular songs
along with a radio show.
The thriftiness with the coupons
had bought a bounty store.
Everyone relaxed by the radio
as the hours crept slowly by.
Yawns began to appear
as one by one sleep captured everyone.
Mrs Merryweather was the last one to bed.
She waited for the knock on the door.
The knock that never came.
He was probably held up somewhere she thought.
He would be home for Christmas.
She knew it as he always kept his word.
Outside the moonlight danced on the falling snow,
blanketing all the footprints
that were out there.
Christmas morning came to greet them;
the snow lay thick on the ground.
Everyone felt so happy,
only Mrs Merryweather wore a frown.
Then came a knock on the door.
Upon answering it,
she took no notice
of the lack of footprints along the path.
Everyone’s face was filled with smile.
The person who stood there
was Mrs Merryweather’s son,
who had come home for Christmas
just as he had promised he would.
He told them all that unfortunately
he could only stay until sundown.
That his orders were that
then he had to go back.
The day was filled with merriment
and joyous celebration for all.
The day passed all too quickly
and sundown soon approached.
He said goodnight and goodbye
to everyone and wished them all well.
Mrs Merry weather, her smile transfixed.
She thanked God for his glorious gift
of having all her family around her
deep within the midst of war.
A few days passed when two letters arrived.
Both were postmarked before Christmas.
One was from her son saying how much
he looked forward to coming home.
The second was from the ministry
to inform her that her son had been killed
in action fours days before Christmas.
How could that be she questioned.
He had come home
and spent Christmas day with them.
Her son had indeed been killed
in the theatre of war on the day they said.
The mystery of his coming home for Christmas
is a mystery that remains today.
poem by David Harris
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 2)
The great gates of the castle opened
and slowly he walked forward
not sure what to expect.
Cheers rang out as he entered
trumpets blared a fanfare.
He stopped to take it all in,
everywhere he looked
people waved and smiled
as he moved slowly
across the large courtyard
and through the throngs of people
and into the castle itself.
“If you will follow me M’ Lord.”
A tall smartly dressed man said.
He followed the tall man
across the marble floor.
The man stopped by a door.
He opened it to reveal
a long table filled with food.
“We suspected you may be hungry,
please enter and help yourself.”
He had never seen so much food.
He entered, sat, and noticed he was alone.
“Eat as much as you like M’ Lord,
it is all for you.” The tall man said,
and then disappeared.
Not wishing to be greedy
he took a small portion of the food
and when he had eaten enough.
The tall man suddenly appeared again.
“A drink M’ Lord.” He said
and placed a glass in front of him
and filled it with water.
As he raised the glass to his lips and drank,
the tall man appeared again
“Your room is ready M’ Lord.”
He nodded and yawned
then followed the tall man
to what would be his room.
“I’ll wake you in time for supper M’ Lord.”
He climbed onto the large bed
wondering what was happening.
“Why do you look so worried laddie? ”
“Mr Owl where did you come from? ”
“The window was open
so I came to see how you were.”
“I am puzzled Mr Owl.”
“In what way laddie? ”
“Everyone is so kind to me
and I feel I don’t deserve it.”
“Oh poppycock! ” The owl replied.
“But I don’t deserve it.”
“Laddie, everyone deserves kindness
no matter who they are.”
“I am cursed by the witches curse.”
“Rubbish, there is no curse
and there are no witches,
but all will be explained later.”
“How much Later? ”
“When the time is right.
Now you must rest before supper.”
He nodded and rested back.
It was the first time
he ever slept on a pillow.
“Wake up! Wake up!
You will be late for supper.”
He opened his eyes
and looked around
to see who was talking.
He blinked as a set of clothes
walked over to him and said:
“We are what you are wearing
for supper tonight.”
“Clothes do not talk! ”
“Ah, but we do and so do we.”
All the clothes then danced
around the room.
Standing he looked amazed
and somewhat in disbelief
as the clothes flung themselves
at him and dressed him.
Once they had finished
he looked in the mirror at his reflection,
he looked like a prince.
The tall man suddenly appeared and announced.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,
you must come along now.
There is no time to waste M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man down the stairs
to the dinning room door.
To be continued.
17-18 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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While Waiting for the Boys
You lay your bike
against the fence
and headed towards
the farmhouse
but Monica came out
of the house
and stood in front
of the door
where you going
with the boys?
she asked
the cinema
you replied
what are you going to see?
Kissing Cousins
going to see what?
it's a new film
by Elvis in it
you said
looking beyond her
towards the house
I'd like to come too
she said
will they let you?
they might
if you say I can
that's up to your mother
you said
but if you said
you'd like me
to come along
I'm sure she'd let me
she stood gazing at you
her arms folded waiting
another time maybe
you said
why another time
why not now?
I'm 17 you're just 14
don't think your parents'd
be keen on me
taking you out just yet
what do they know
she muttered
the door of the house
opened and her mother
came out of the door
hope you're not
bothering Benedict
she said
the boys will be out
in a moment
she said
turning to you
and giving Monica
a stern stare
ok
you said
I'll wait
by my bike
Monica pouted her lips
and followed you
as you walked
to your bike
in you come
young lady
don't want you pestering
the boys' friend when
they come calling
and so Monica turned away
following her mother
another daydream falling.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Awakining
The long Awakening
My first wife’s house was very small. She wouldn’t let me sleep
In her bed, said I could sleep in her bathtub.
In the night I woke up, thought I was in a coffin, got up,
opened the bathroom window and saw the moon washed sea.
I have seen the same sea from many portholes always enchanting,
And my cabin was a pool of stillness.
Walked out of sleeping house, by the steps, my old dog,
I patted its head it wagged tail, but refused to come with me.
Under a lamppost, in a circle of light, I stood waiting for a bus
I knew would never come.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Spook
Last night I dreamed that I was come again
Unto the house where my beloved dwells
After long years of wandering and pain.
And I stood out beneath the drenching rain
And all the street was bare, and black with night,
But in my true love's house was warmth and light.
Yet I could not draw near nor enter in,
And long I wondered if some secret sin
Or old, unhappy anger held me fast;
Till suddenly it came into my head
That I was killed long since and lying dead-
Only a homeless wraith that way had passed.
So thus I found my true love's house again
And stood unseen amid the winter night
And the lamp burned within, a rosy light,
And the wet street was shining in the rain.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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The Guests
One by one, the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The open-hearted many
The broken-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going
And no one knows why the wine is flowing
Oh love I need you
I need you
I need you
I need you
Oh . . . I need you now
And those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
And welcome, welcome cries a voice
Let all my guests come in.
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And all go stumbling through that house
In lonely secrecy
Saying do reveal yourself
Or why has thou forsaken me?
And no one knows where the night is going ...
All at once the torches flare
The inner door flies open
One by one they enter there
In every style of passion
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And here they take their sweet repast
While house and grounds dissolve
And one by one the guests are cast
Beyond the garden wall
And no one knows where the night is going ...
Those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
Those who earnestly are lost
Are lost and lost again
And no one knows where the night is going ...
One by the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The broken-hearted many
The open-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going ...
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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