By A Person Of Quality.
Remote from Strife, from urban Throngs, and Noise.
Here dwells my Soul amidst domestic Joys:
No ratling Coaches serious Thoughts annoy;
Nor busy prating Fools my Peace destroy:
Wrapt up in all the Sweets of rural Ease,
My great Creator's Works my Senses please.
The Mind, in peaceful Solitude, has Room
To range in Thought, and ramble far from home,
Others may court the Joys which Princes give,
Whilst I, in sacred Silence, truly live.
poem by Mary Barber
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O Good Solitude
It is hard to pay tribute
To the silence here and peace
The mind fresh and fair
The heart, soul so clear
O great solitude thanks
To recollect the flowery moments
And touch the face of dreams
We can bring joys to this world
When we sit side by side, hands in hands
O great solitude! so cute you seam
And the burden of griefs
We throw away the dust of mind
The spirit remains so kind
For hours we can whisper
For long we can stay together
There is no one to part us
Let us feel together
The next century will remember me
When it touches your soft empty hands
poem by Abdul Sattar
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The Challenge Of The Day
on a rush you step outside the room
without a window
thick drapes
sealing you away from the noise of the world
solitude and silence
your treasures
as soon as you open the door
the heavy rains and traffic greet you
with a challenge
'this is the real world, come out! '
there is no place to hide
there are always places to go
and faces to deal with
amidst the crowd find the solitude and the silence
from within your soul
your heart must know and your mind must adopt
lest you shall be one of those carried by the flood of meaningless existence
out there
cold and dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Mournful One Am I
A mournful one am I, above whose head
A day of perfect bliss hath never past;
Whatever joys my soul have ravished,
Soon was the radiance of those joys o'ercast.
And none can show me that substantial pleasure
Which will not pass away like bloom from flowers;
Therefore, no more my heart such joys shall treasure,
Nor pine for fading sweets and fleeting hours.
poem by Walther von der Vogelweide
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Sonnet: A Prayer to God
Amidst all chaos Lord, bring order God;
Amidst the darkness Lord, show me Thine light;
Amidst the atheism, give me Thine word;
Amidst my weakness show, Thine divine might.
Amidst life’s sultriness Lord, give me breeze;
Amidst the mire Lord, could Thou me pull?
Amidst life’s stresses Lord, give me mind’s peace;
Amidst the storms of life, give me a lull.
Amidst my despair Lord, give me new hope;
Amidst my temptations, God, let me win;
Amidst life’s hilly tracts, show me a slope;
Amidst my struggles Lord, let me not sin.
Amidst my foes and woes, show me haven;
Amidst my worldliness, give me Heaven.
7-27-2002 by Dr John Celes
Dedicated to all my siblings, who shared my
Joys and woes, in life on earth
poem by John Celes
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To A Lady
O! had my Fate been join'd with thine,
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.
To thee, these early faults I owe,
To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
'Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.
For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
Bestow'd by thee upon another.
Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.
Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
Attempts, alas! to find in many.
Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.
Yet all this giddy waste of years,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons' fears,
These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures---
If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd:---
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flush'd,
But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.
Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
For Nature seem'd to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr'd deceit,---
For then it beat but to adore thee.
But, now, I seek for other joys---
To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
I conquer half my Bosom's sadness.
Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavor;
And fiends might pity what I feel---
To know that thou art lost for ever.
Love Faithful In The Absence Of The Beloved
In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys,
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise;
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow,
Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now;
Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see,
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me.
In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still;
And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will;
I have no cause—an object all divine,
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine;
Yet pity me, great God! forlorn, alone,
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone.
poem by William Cowper
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Who and what I am no one really knows
Who and what I am no one really knows
and the things in my mind
at times like a tornado blows
for a place of escape to find
into a world of bewildered noise
where my esteem and memories are lost
in a place without comfort or joys
where in shattered pieces my words are tossed
where even a whole religion spreads gossip and lies
while I try to walk with the creator God
they try to destroy my integrity, my humanity dies,
and friendless on uncharted ways I have to trod
while my own loved ones know me not,
do not even comprehend the thoughts that I have got.
[Reference: “I am – yet what I am none cares or knows” by John Clare.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Deep In The Middle Of The Night And Beyond
deep in the middle of the night
and even beyond
this darkness
in my solitude
below the stars and the
full moon
i sit in the form of the lotus-god
praying
there is this silence
contained in the circles
of divinity
this is the throne of the ear
the bed of the mind
this bridge
between God and Myself
the strong silence amidst
all the noise
the glitter
amidst this cacophony
of a tarnished
silver
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Life of Man
The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Is that creator in you?
Let their sun rise to them from our west,
Let the doubtful ignorance be cleared as the mist,
Let the program on every chip be our tips,
Let our people wake up in pleasant hand shake.
The old civilizations and new world in Pacific Ocean,
The same old genes of first generation peaceful human,
The chart of nomenclature with variant faith, dream and color,
under the great grand name of Human, the creator.
The creator of the fire for the food,
The creator of tools for the growth,
The creator of mechanics for the transport,
The creator of electricity for the comfort,
The creator of magnificent diodes,
The creator of tiny humble chips,
The creator of laptop and internet,
The creator of wars based on faith,
The creator of ignorance,
To destroy all these intelligence.
Let the creator of peace in you evolve,
to teach the destroyers who revolve,
to reach those hearts that tremble,
Let us have the peace that triumphs.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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What Is There
a worm inside the home
of its hollows
at night it sings and i can hear
its joys of
home and family
a bird rests on a twig of a tree
it sleeps beside the
quarter moon
the leaves are calm
respectful of the
silence
inside the room
i contemplate on this
perfection: nature in harmony
with the self
there is joy
indescribable
there is sorrow shared
in our solitude
there is this silence that
respects the earth
like the stars
in perpetual twinkle
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lend Me Silence
Lend me silence
The noise is drowning me
Making my heart unheard
Making my spirit inaudible
Silence is peace
Silence is joy
Give me silence
Give me peace
Noise is polluting
I long to hear
My breath
And whisper
Lend me silence
Lend me peace
My soul is yearning
For solace
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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D1
despite the noise outside
the exhilaration of the crowd
somehow we manage to remain
as intact
parts of the whole
rejoicing in our silence amidst
the noise of the world
the clumsiness of our outlooks
vis-a-vis the
ineptness of the system
well, what do we really look for?
this is just a short journey
we keep it crisp like a newly fried
fish chip
savoring the taste of our salt
passing time
watching the passage of others
our joys
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rocking lullaby! !
A lullaby as silence sings
Back and fourth the soul swings
Caressing and with gentle embrace
A lullaby as silence plays
Away from its mortal shell
Within its realm the soul dwells
By rocking moves as silence beats
In calmness the soul exists
Silence sings its lullaby
With wings of joy the soul flies
Senses and reason to bring close
In lullaby silence rocks
Reasoning mind senses listen
Real becomes the world within
Need of the flesh the soul’s demand
To intersect as one to stand
Calm serene and soft lullaby
Knot our being to entwine
poem by Fasika Ayalew
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I Wish You: Peace!
You will ever need your peace
It's what will give your life ease
Then a life with it gets a good treat
It has value nothing dares to beat
To me, He whispers sweet peace
It brings my soul a great ease
Many people are seeking for riches
As it can put food in those dishes
It can settle some of your wishes
It can put clothes on your back
It can bring you fame in a big stock
But this it seemed to have lacked
Since it made some people blocked
The beauty of having sweet peace
To me, He whispers sweet peace
And my soul finds a great ease
There is peace in Christ for all
He will give to those that'll call....
It's better than silver and gold
So, whether you are young or old
Your soul will need to be at ease
Then seek the PRINCE of PEACE
To me, He whispers sweet peace
And my soul finds immense peace
I wish you: Peace!
poem by Clarence Prince
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Ode to Indolence
Ah! why for ever on the wing
Persists my wearied soul to roam?
Why, ever cheated, strives to bring
Or pleasure or contentment home?
Thus the poor bird, that draws his name
From Paradise's honour'd groves,
Careless fatigues his little frame,
Nor finds the resting-place he loves.
Lo! on the rural mossy bed
My limbs with careless ease reclined;
Ah, gentle Sloth! indulgent spread
The same soft bandage o'er my mind.
For why should lingering thought invade,
Yet every worldly prospect cloy?
Lend me, soft Sloth! thy friendly aid,
And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.
Lov'st thou yon calm and silent flood,
That never ebbs, that never flows;
Protected by the circling wood
From each tempestuous wind that blows?
An altar on its bank shall rise,
Where oft thy votary shall be found;
What time pale Autumn lulls the skies,
And sickening verdure fades around.
Ye busy Race! ye factious Train!
That haunt ambition's guilty shrine;
No more perplex the world in vain,
But offer here your vows with mine.
And thou, puissant Queen! be kind:
If e'er I shared thy balmy power,
If e'er I sway'd my active mind
To weave for thee the rural bower;
Dissolve in sleep each anxious care;
Each unavailing sigh remove;
And only let me wake to share
The sweets of friendship and of love.
poem by William Shenstone
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Our Childrens Legacy - This Ruined Earth
In that dreamlike state we call living
We give in to desires of the flesh
We take without thought, without giving
until there is nothing left
We destroy all the land round about us
We'll destroy the balance of life
Barren wastes will lie deserted
Whilst we still cause trouble and strife
We have no thoughts of the future
Our childrens legacy, a barren land
So pollute and destroy, build and bomb
leave no green land, just atomic sand
Tear down the trees, concrete it over
after all, WE won't be around that long.
January 1988
poem by Penni Currie
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Love Increased By Suffering
'I love the Lord,' is still the strain
This heart delights to sing:
But I reply--your thoughts are vain,
Perhaps 'tis no such thing.
Before the power of love divine
Creation fades away;
Till only God is seen to shine
In all that we survey.
In gulfs of awful night we find
The God of our desires;
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.
Flames of encircling love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through;
'Tis filled with sacred joy, yet pressed
With sacred sorrow too.
Ah love! my heart is in the right--
Amidst a thousand woes,
To thee, its ever new delight,
And all its peace it owes.
Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move;
The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.
Nor exile I nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great;
I find a Saviour every where,
His grace in every state.
Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
Exclude his quickening beams;
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,
And dwell on heavenly themes.
There sorrow, for his sake, is found
A joy beyond compare;
There no presumptuous thoughts abound,
No pride can enter there.
A Saviour doubles all my joys,
And sweetens all my pains,
His strength in my defence employs,
Consoles me and sustains.
I fear no ill, resent no wrong;
Nor feel a passion move,
When malice whets her slanderous tongue;
Such patience is in love.
poem by William Cowper
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Bitter and Sweet
Kindle, Saviour, in my heart,
A flame of love divine;
Hear, for mine I trust thou art,
And sure I would be thine;
If my soul has felt thy grace,
If to me thy name is known;
Why should trifles fill the place
Due to thyself alone?
'Tis a strange mysterious life
I live from day to day;
Light and darkness, peace and strife,
Bear an alternate sway:
When I think the battle won,
I have to fight it o'er again;
When I say I'm overthrown,
Relief I soon obtain.
Often at the mercy-seat,
While calling on thy name,
Swarms of evil thoughts I meet,
Which fill my soul with shame.
Agitated in my mind,
Like a feather in the air,
Can I thus a blessing find?
My soul, can this be pray'r?
But when Christ, my Lord and Friend,
Is pleas'd to show his pow'r
All at once my troubles end,
And I've a golden hour;
Then I see his smiling face,
Feel the pledge of joys to come:
Often, Lord, repeat this grace
Till thou shalt call me home.
poem by John Newton
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A Hymn to Contentment
Lovely, lasting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human-kind!
Heavenly-born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the sky
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek, contented head;
What happy region dost thou please
To make the seat of calms and ease!
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Increasing Avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd.
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Through rocks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daisies open, rivers run,
And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise.
Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood,
And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they wav'd:
It seem'd, as all the quiet place
Confess'd the presence of the Grace.
When thus she spoke-'Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still,
Know God-and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then ev'ry Grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.'
Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat,
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy!
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vision, praise, and pray'r;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song;
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of nature, sing.
The sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.
Go search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes;
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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