Mystery Of Mysteries
BEFORE the abyss of the unanswering grave
Each mortal stands at last aloof, alone,
With his beloved one turned as deaf as stone,
However rebel love may storm and rave.
No will, however strong, avails to save
The wrecked identity knit to our own;
We may not hoard one treasured look or tone,
Dissolved in foam on Death's dissolving wave.
Is this the End? This handful of brown earth
For all releasing elements to take
And free for ever from the bonds of birth?
Or will true life from Life's disguises break,
Called to that vast confederacy of minds
Which casts all flesh as chaff to all the winds?
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A life on the ocean wave
A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest's roar!
Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; -
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We'll find far out on the sea.
The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!
poem by Epes Sargent
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Lonely Spider
The lonely spider reaches out
For what, you might ask?
If not to spin his web then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider calls out
For what, you might ask?
If not for his mate then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider waits
For what, you might ask?
If not for his food then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
'A spider doesn't have feelings! '
How should you know?
'A spider isn't that smart! '
That could be true.
'A spider can never have a real identity! '
And neither could you, or any of us
But we try to find one even if we're not looking
And thats our life... after which we die
What have we done with our life up until then?
Either we've thrown it away, gave it up, wrecked it, lived it up to the fullest, took it for granted, or got far in it.
We still had one.
It's up to us what we shall do with it
Just like the lonely spider
Who will probably just end up on the bottom of your shoe anyways
poem by Andreanna Atkins
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When God And I Sang Love Songs
In the beginning was the word and the word wanted me
words many words haunted my days haunted my nights
sleepless nights so tired so tired yet the word wanted me
wanting needing to sleep yet words drove me would not let me be
words lines of verse filling filling my mind time after absorbent time
poems born in the night night visions night words wanting born life
no choice no choice the word commands commanded servant soul writes
hot summer nights sped youth hair dusty blond skin beach burnt brown
wind kissed bronze naked skin sea carried surging soul safe in wave water
salt spray wave spray sea foam wave burst white foam birth born surging
sea surge ocean surge wind wide sea beach breaking over wild soul free
swimming beach sand river tides water pulse washing over through soul
riding out hard fast with death wave laughing life rhythms tide fast run
words nights of words stone dropping given in love to God life codes
biorhythms still life lost thirty minutes hours blink in deep meditations
diving into quest states mind soaring soaring
through vast layered sea deep meaning
poems freeborn so many poems written intermixing
together rhythm worship never ending
poems life love wave vibrant harmonic ad hoc fusing
soul carried I sang our life songs of life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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C. L. M.
In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir.
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind ?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my rnouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached ?
What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman dead ?
Men triumph over women still,
Men trample women's rights at will.
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
* • * •
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
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Living Kingdom
Life energy present in the plant cells
Imbibes elements and build live matter.
Elements in the earth and carbon in air
Are converted into living matter.
Life energy present in animals
In takes plants as food and help them add flesh
Or it takes flesh as food and gives more flesh.
Life energy circulates within these.
Life energy of plants and animals
Are same and animals are sequel to plants.
The existence and the expansions of
The living kingdom is from evolution.
The whole kingdom can be analogous
To a banyan tree, where sprout twigs and leaves
And where dry twigs and leaves on routine,
With no birth and no death to life energy.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet XLIV: Press'd by the Moon
Press'd by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blast, rising from the Western cave,
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave!
With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore
Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave;
But vain to them the winds and waters rave;
They hear the warring elements no more:
While I am doom'd—by life's long storm opprest,
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Thread of Life
I
The irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:--
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?--
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.
II
Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
Around me free and sunny and at ease:
Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?
But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
But what I was I am, I am even I.
III
Therefore myself is that one only thing
I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanitive;
Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
he bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Body & Soul
Man placed God’s Christ within the tomb –Mk.15: 42-47
Who’d died in awesome pain –Mk.15: 21-41
His grave a simile to the womb –Mt.12: 39-40
Gave birth to Christ again –Ro.6: 4
He left behind the clothes He wore –Jn.20: 6-7
To rise as Lord and King –Mt.19: 28
Enrobed in Glory’s Light once more –Rev.1: 13-18
His praises now we sing
The complete Christ had left the grave
No bones were found within
Revealing, bodies too He’ll save
That leaves behind their sin
Yet who’ll believe Salvation’s plan?
From death to birth anew!
Fulfilled in Christ, who proved to man
By dining with the few
Earth’s food, the spirit has no need
This truth God’s Lamb has shown
Dining on fish, God’s risen Seed –Lk.24: 42-43
Nourished His flesh and bone
Once Enoch, walked with God the earth
One day he was no more –Gen.5: 24
Quite whole to him who gave him birth
He entered Heaven’s door
With whirlwind sent from God on high –2Ki.2: 11
Came chariot, fire and steed
Bore whole Elijah in the sky
Alive, as God decreed
So offer God your body true –Ro.12: 1-5
Through Jesus, free of shame –1Co.6: 11
Quite reasonable in Christ to do
When baptised in His name…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Ballade Of Truisms
Gold or silver, every day,
Dies to gray.
There are knots in every skein.
Hours of work and hours of play
Fade away
Into one immense Inane.
Shadow and substance, chaff and grain,
Are as vain
As the foam or as the spray.
Life goes crooning, faint and fain,
One refrain:
'If it could be always May!'
Though the earth be green and gay,
Though, they say,
Man the cup of heaven may drain;
Though, his little world to sway,
He display
Hoard on hoard of pith and brain:
Autumn brings a mist and rain
That constrain
Him and his to know decay,
Where undimmed the lights that wane
Would remain,
If it could be always May.
YEA, alas, must turn to NAY,
Flesh to clay.
Chance and Time are ever twain.
Men may scoff, and men may pray,
But they pay
Every pleasure with a pain.
Life may soar, and Fortune deign
To explain
Where her prizes hide and stay;
But we lack the lusty train
We should gain,
If it could be always May.
Envoy
Time, the pedagogue, his cane
Might retain,
But his charges all would stray
Truanting in every lane -
Jack with Jane -
If it could be always May.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Messages
What shall I your true-love tell,
Earth-forsaking maid?
What shall I your true-love tell,
When life's spectre's laid?
'Tell him that, our side the grave,
Maid may not conceive
Life should be so sad to have,
That's so sad to leave!'
What shall I your true-love tell,
When I come to him?
What shall I your true-love tell--
Eyes growing dim!
'Tell him this, when you shall part
From a maiden pined;
That I see him with my heart,
Now my eyes are blind.'
What shall I your true-love tell?
Speaking-while is scant.
What shall I your true-love tell,
Death's white postulant?
'Tell him--love, with speech at strife,
For last utterance saith:
I, who loved with all my life,
Love with all my death.'
poem by Francis Thompson
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Element of Life
ICE so cold, so still
slowing, freezing
FIRE so hot, so fast
thriving and burning
ELEMENTS so small, so real
making, destroying
EARTH so alive, so big
turning, evaulving
TIME so haunting, so mysterious
stealing, taking
LIFE so full, so true
being, never stopping
DEATH so cold, so still
slowing, freezing
STONE so still, so perfect
unmoving, changing
WATER so vibrant, so steady
shining, flowing
ETERNITY so long, so full
living, being
IMMORTALITY so strong, so ready
unbreaking, fighting
EVERYTING so different, so alike
the elements of life!
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Individuality
Ah yes, I love you, and with all my heart;
Just as a weaker woman loves her own,
Better than I love my beloved art,
Which, until you came, reigned royally, alone,
My king, my master. Since I saw your face
I have dethroned it, and you hold that place.
I am as weak as other women are –
Your frown can make the whole world like a tomb
Your smile shines brighter than the sun, by far;
Sometimes I think there is not space or room
In all the earth for such a love as mine,
And it soars up to breathe in realms divine.
I know that your desertion or neglect
Could break my heart, as women’s hearts do break;
If my wan days had nothing to expect
From your love’s splendour, all joy would forsake
The chambers of my soul. Yes this is true.
And yet, and yet – one thing I keep from you.
There is a subtle part of me, which went
Into my long pursued and worshipped art;
Though your great love fills me with such content,
No other love finds room now in my heart.
Yet that rare essence was my art’s alone.
Thank God, you cannot grasp it; ‘tis mine own.
Thank God, I say, for while I love you so,
With that vast love, as passionate as tender,
I feel an exultation as I know
I have not made you a complete surrender.
Here is my body; bruise it, if you will,
And break my heart; I have that something still.
You cannot grasp it. Seize the breath of morn,
Or bind the perfume of the rose as well.
God put it in my soul when I was born;
It is not mine to give away, or sell,
Or offer up on any alter shrine.
It was my art’s; and when not art’s, ‘tis mine.
For Love’s sake, I can put the art away,
Or anything which stands ‘twixt me and you,
But that strange essence God bestowed, I say,
To permeate the work He gave to do:
And it cannot be drained, dissolved, or sent
Through any channel, save the one He meant.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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There Once Was A Man...
There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave
There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave
There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save
There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'
poem by Terry O'Leary
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None Else Can Make This Boast
How can religion head still rise
How are it’s sects yet fooled
When faith that’s based on man made lies
Is by the devil ruled
Religion says its prayers in vain
Their footing’s not on high
But Christ who died who rose again
Lives now no more to die
There’s no one else to make this boast
Not one from Heaven or earth
But Jesus through His Holy Ghost
The first with second birth
That man must die is plain to see
All flesh must meet the grave
But Christ states life; He’ll give us free
Through faith, man’s soul He’ll save
When minds this statement understand
When hearts accept these facts
Christ will raise to dwell His land
As in the book of acts
The facts are there they’re plain in view
The truth’s before our eyes
Through faith in Christ, we’re born anew
We’ve hope in Him to rise
We find these facts from deep inside
God’s Spirit leads to see
He comes to help He comes to guide
He comes as guarantee
He comes to those who’s hearts are true
Who’s faith in Christ is real
As sure as earth drinks morning dew
There’s life within God’s Seal…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Egg to Hen Poem
At first hard cover
Inside a
fluidity of identity
atomic alchemy
Boxing ring can be the hard holder of disciplinary existence
Break free, whether it is true or false to touch the sky of the true base of humanity no humiliated conceptualization process but the birth if the eye is the eye
if not blindness of life can happen it is an adventure of life, go for it
Shaping form and colours first, then conditioned concepts and innate concepts encounter life
sound and voice, the smallest units of human language
the hard holder asks the fluidity of the existing identity
what is the purpose of your life?
how would you end your life?
Form is now clear and idea is evolving out of complexity
Like a poem with possessing vehicle of predetermined destiny
Our Heav'nly Race
Just two, two choices we’ve got on this planet:
life, life and death, death;
life on earth, eternal life in heav’n above,
and death here on earth, eternal death in hell below.
But questions, questions ask we ourselves below:
‘How do we live here on this planet? ’
‘what’s our rewards aft’r death? ’
Death is inevitable gentle young man:
plants die, animals die, we too must die
and sleep in Mr. Death’s grave;
we must die in flesh, not on soul returning to God.
Isaiah holiness, let’s accept
that our death may be our sweet pillow for rest
or we due to second death eternal in hell!
poem by Eche Ononukwe
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Sonnet: Death Will Come
God breathed life into dust to make each man,
And gave him soul to realize His love;
And made each, uniquely, both man, woman:
And keep soul sin-free, and one’s love to prove.
All earthlings must perish some day on earth,
And leave behind all earthly things, we got;
A great blessing indeed is every birth;
There is no thing we call as our sheer lot!
Are we prepared to embrace death that day?
It comes thief-like to cut the thread of life;
How many can to death then bravely say,
‘I’m ready for your cruel, ruthless knife! ’
All earthlings die to turn again to clay,
Releasing soul for God’s Last Judgment Day!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2008
poem by John Celes
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True Fulfillment Of My Birth
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
Never with dry rituals and harsh austerities
Would I torture my tender body!
All the time I'd play the games of love with my beloved!
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
When the final liberation waits on me like a menial servant,
Why should I worship someone else?
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
In all our births to come we will ever be your servants!
And the divinel eel a of Narsaiyya's lord we will sing forever!
True fulfillment of my birth is in loving my beloved forever!
poem by Narsinh Mehta
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We Still Have Love...
we start with the tradition of life
we begin as bodies
tasting the fire of the flesh
savoring each moment
of skin and bones
and hair
time has a crucible
it tests us
about what we are
what are our intentions
what is in our hearts
our bodies are taken
the flesh weakens
the fire subsides
the skin loosens from the hold of the bones
the bones crack
the hairs have fallen
into surrender
we have become mere minds
intangible intentions
our hearts lose the sounds of the drums of life
we have no more hands to hold with each other
we have become the wind
we breathe into each other
the love that shall then be forgotten
we have become the sighs of the earth
into the darkness of its nights
what then my love? must we transcend the havoc that life
has caused upon us?
tomorrow, the eyes of death shall stare at us
we must decide
let not any stone of earth
be disappointed
we still have love
beyond and above.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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