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John of Forde, his witness

John of Forde

Kneeling there, the candles living flame
in the darkened abbey, brother monks
still and silent at the golden altar rail,
kneeling there, clearing that inner space
into which may enter what God wills –

sometimes He takes me unawares;
murmurs like a gentle thunder
some clear message beyond words
yet winging into crystal sentences,
and that, a treasure-house of joy…

why do I call it sweet, this moment
savoured, indescribable? Because
there is no other word… why do I say,
ah, He has called me to the marriage feast..?

How else to tell you how, at that,
everything becomes delight,
everything becomes a glory?

and the glory is delight;
delight, in truth, the glory.

[adapted from Sermon 43 of Abbot John of Forde Abbey, c.1145-1214]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Abbot John of Forde at prayer

All the wonders under heaven and earth
would take more than a lifetime to enumerate –

why then, to be surprised, that One
can speak to such as me,
not in my outer ear, but straight
into my inner ear – nay, right into my soul
his gnosis whispers as it were myself
that spoke it… whispers
such sweet things,
that though they blessedly inform my later words
- as these to you – yet they tremble
in their truth, upon the very edge of words;

whispers such new things to me,
though such things, old to Him,
old, but present; thus, they’re ever new…

for this, I’d waited; waited in the stillness of my heart;
now listened as it were to all
my life explained to me; not, not in judgment,
but in the sweetest grace of friendly intimacy;

and then, when I can no longer hold
Him to me, dare to ask for further news of my true self,
He’s gone…

At first, it was the sweetest pain, His going;
and then one day, I learned as from myself
the way to share with Him, his return journey –
which for Him must be – as must have been – joy beyond all joy;
returning to His Father… so I accompanied Him
with gratitude and praise…

and then I learned, when I accompanied Him
to that place where all inner and all outer meet,
a further, private, holy thing – His Father’s love
for Him… which aforetimes had been but words
that I believed to be beyond man’s mind…

the whisper in my thought, now thunder in the world;
silent thunder in the mind, flashing lightning in the soul;

yet in the silent church, I by the altar there, sounded
near as altar candle’s peaceful flame:
I knew that what men call a mystery,
is daylight truth as visible as mountains or as streams:
that what men read as words, dance off the page
in holy silence, to the heart: the Holy Trinity
was, is now to me, as necessary and inevitable,
as Man and God; as living, now, as God and Man;
as living, now, as Grace.

So John of Forde records for us, by grace of grace itself.

[John of Forde, c.1145 – 1214, is a newly translated witness
to the undivided Church in an age when spirituality,
scholarship, and poetry of speech came together at their height.]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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John of Forde, His Exculpation

What I say and what I write
may seem to you – may seem to me –
as foolishness and folly; for
I talk of boundless things, and of infinity;

which by their nature, are beyond
the human mind, the human pen;
should I then not and never speak of such?

Or are these boundless things
just what mankind should talk about –
seeking the laws of atoms, or of space, only
to find the boundlessness yet further off
than men of yesteryear believed?

and if I talk and write – beside those things
invisible as once the surface of the Moon –
then, of the boundlessness of love - which is yet bound
into Creation’s very substance – and
those other boundless things which seem to us
to be Creation's - even the Creator’s - very nature…

then my exculpation is but simply this:
the motive force for what I write,
the theme of what I write, which is
my boundless love for you, for all,
demands, must win, forgiveness
from Boundlessness itself…

there is no more, there is no less
than love, which is true boundlessness.

[adapted from Sermon 43 of John of Forde,1145-1214]

poem by Michael Shepherd
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My Glory Is Not The Glory of God

MY GLORY IS NOT THE GLORY OF G-D

My glory is not the glory of G-d
I do not know what the glory of God is-
I do not know my own glory.
Glory glory glory
What’s glory?
We are small lost souls in a space and time so far beyond us
It is difficult to imagine
Even God knows how to deal with it.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Delight

Anytime that you fall asleep
I'm wide awake
Anytime that you leave your house
I'm waiting at the gate
I'm not angry anymore
Come on and show your soul
I'd love to hang it on the wall
Framed for me
Anytime that you smile
I know that's really you
Anytime that you laugh you know that
I'll be laughing too
But it's not funny anymore
Come on now where's your soul
Is that it crumpled on the floor
Is this blame on me
Delight Delight Delight Delight
Delight at least we know its name
Delight Delight Delight
Wouldn't it be nice to feel again
Delight Delight Delight
It's locked outside it won't be coming in
Anytime now you'll talk at least I hope you will
Anytime now you'll speak and you know
I'll be listening still
But we don't say much anymore
Come on tell it from your soul
Delight Delight Delight Delight
Delight at least we know its name
Delight Delight Delight
Wouldn't it be nice to feel again
Delight Delight Delight
It's locked outside it won't be coming in
Won't be coming in
Delight Delight

song performed by by Bic Runga from Drive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monk (1)

and in the half-light of the abbey church,
candles flickering,
a kneeling stillness

for years of days
prayer
so that to be is to pray
to pray is to be and

to be is to love and
to love is to understand for

there are no questions
when silence holds all answers

candles flickering,
a kneeling stillness

poem by Michael Shepherd
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It could be true for M' lady Ernestine

Anselm the abbot avidly believed in bibliography.
He loved learning passionately and filled the abbey library
with scrolls and books of sacred lore and had scriveners by the score.
Who had the task of copying and reproducing everything.
Anselm decreed each monk must learn to read and write each in their turn
Although some monks were not impressed they had to learn at his behest.
Anselm the abbot’s word was law and soon the Abbey boasted more monks who were truly literate and able to communicate.
knowledge acquired painfully to other brothers easily.
Anselm had inadvertently created very probably
The very first religious school where love of learning was the rule
And so the abbey came to be more of a school than monastery
Anselm had realised his dream and risen high in the esteem
not only of the monarchy but of the church authority
The king decreed Anselm should be rewarded for his industry.
So he created Kings College where monks could pass on their knowledge.
And that’s how Oxford came to be in time a university
Where students came from far and wide to study by the riverside
A little bit of history not noted for its accuracy
I have no doubt you will agree it could well solve the mystery.

16-Dec-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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American Trilogy

Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old things they are not forgotten
Look away, look away, look away Dixieland
Oh I wish I was in Dixie, away, away
In Dixieland I take my stand to live and die in Dixie
Cause Dixieland, that's where I was born
Early Lord one frosty morning
Look away, look away, look away Dixieland
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
His truth is marching on
So hush little baby
Don't you cry
You know your daddy's bound to die
But all my trials, Lord will soon be over
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
His truth is marching on
His truth is marching on

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somebody Touched Me

(first release, live version portsmouth, england, september 24, 2000traditional, arranged by bob dylan)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!
Would you please welcome columbia recording artist bob dylan.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Well, it was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
It was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
It was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moment Of Glory

A moment of glory called evolution
Could I see the world with the eyes of a chirld
A new begining, a moment of freedom
Like angles are singning a song full of joy
This side of heaven
Belongs to the chirldren
I will be there, when the future arrives
A moment of glory called evolution
Could I fly away like a bird in the sky
No limitation, a new inspiration
A world that is free just as free as my mind
Communication
A new destination
The planet of vision is calling tonight
Another thousands of years seems so long
I am just a passenger
And the ride has just begun
Moment of glory
A moment of glory called evolution
Could I see the world with the eyes of a chirld
A new begining, a moment of freedom
Like angles are singning a song full of joy
This side of heaven
Belongs to the chirldren
I will be there, when the future arrives
Moment of glory
Moment of glory
Moment of glory
Moment of glory

song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Glory

Man tries his level-best to gain glory,
In short a time and by all covert means;
His life gets spent with mind in this worry,
Knowing not that they are but earthly scenes!

One’s glory got by climbing high a peak,
Will stay forev’r if done by hardest way;
But glory o’er-night, others try to seek,
That plummets down to earth during the day!

All earthly glory vanishes with time;
Some may remain for centuries to come;
The wisest man will make his life sublime,
By keeping eyes fixed on heaven- God’s home!

The glory got by man’s efforts lasts not;
Each word from mouth of God decides one’s lot!

poem by John Celes (26 December 2006)
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An American Trilogy

(words & music by newbury)
Oh I wish I was in the land of cotton
Old things they are not forgotten
Look away, look away, look away dixieland
Oh I wish I was in dixie, away, away
In dixieland I take my stand to live and die in dixie
Cause dixieland, thats where I was born
Early lord one frosty morning
Look away, look away, look away dixieland
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory hallelujah
His truth is marching on
So hush little baby
Dont you cry
You know your daddys bound to die
But all my trials, lord will soon be over

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anthem For Christmas

Words: gloria gaither
Music: michael w. smith
In the space of the beginning
Was the living word of light
When this word was clearly spoken
All that came to be was right
All creation had a language
Words to say what must be said
All day long the heavens whispered
Signing words in scarlet red
Some failed to understand it
So God spoke his final word
On a silent night in judahs
Hills a babys cry was heard
Glory! sang the angel chorus
Glory! echoed back the night
Love has come to walk among us
Christ the lord is born this night
All creation sing his praises
Earth and heaven praise his name
All who live come join the chorus
Find the words his love proclaim
Find the words his love proclaim

song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Strange Delight

(ferry/manzanera)
So there goes your life
Disappeared from ever loving friends
And now a slave to obsession
Your strange delight
You lie awake
How your senses ache
Shaking off the night
Is there more strange delight?
There goes your self
In the clear forever out of line
And there youll stay through obsession
Your strange delight
Cant bear this heat
You poor heart skips a beat
Tearing off the years
To when you really cared
So where's your soul?
In the field where every story ends
And then how plain your obsession
Your strange delight
So this is hell
Not so hard to tell
Better men than i
Have tried your strange delight
Is there no strange delight?

song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory, glory to, glory to,
The new born King...
Glory, glory, glory, glory, glory...
Glory to the new born King
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies
With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born King
Glory, glory, glory, (oh yeah) glory, glory
Glory to the new born King
Glory (glory) glory, (yeah) glory, glory...
Glory...
Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory... Glory...
Hail! the heaven-born Prince of Peace; Hail the son of Righteousness
Light and life to all He brings, risen with healing in His wings
Mild He lays His glory by, born that man, no more may die
Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth
Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the new born...
[Ad Libs]

song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Son can be a rival/.

I taught my son lessons on singing
And made him with my sweats a great singer.
Sons’ glory is fathers’ glory.
His glory is my glory.
His wings spread and mine shrunk.
People thronged around him and spared me.
They didn’t say he was the great;
They said I was no where near him.
His glory is not my glory;
Sons’ glory is not fathers’ glory.
Can there be two heroes in a play?
Should he outlive me in the posterity?
He is my rival, no more a son.
11.02.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Take this House of Glory,

Take this House of Glory,
Take this House of Glory,
That I may earn that Living Beauty,
In my Image,
It is all Clear,
That the Mind is with that great UNDERSTANDING,

Take this Shelter and see the House of Hopes,
From within me,
Iam not failing anymore,
Since with that Great Timing,
I take this House that I may see that Living Beauty,
There is no Regard for Wrong Doers anymore,
See that the Change is all Better than Worst.

poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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After The Play

Father
Have you spent the money I gave you to-day?

John
Ay, father I have.
A fourpence on cakes, two pennies that away
To a beggar I gave.

Father

The lake of yellow brimstone boil for you in Hell,
Such lies that you spin.
Tell the truth now, John, ere the falsehood swell,
Say, where have you been?

John

I'll lie no more to you, father, what is the need?
To the Play I went,
With sixpence for a near seat, money's worth indeed,
The best ever spent.

Grief to you, shame or grief, here is the story--
My splendid night!
It was colour, scents, music, a tragic glory,
Fear with delight.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, title of the tale:
He of that name,
A tall, glum fellow, velvet cloaked, with a shirt of mail,
Two eyes like flame.

All the furies of fate circled round the man,
Maddening his heart,
There was old murder done before play began,
Ay, the ghost took part.

There were grave-diggers delving, they brought up bones,
And with rage and grief
All the players shouted in full, kingly tones,
Grand, passing belief.

Oh, there were ladies there radiant like day,
And changing scenes:
Great sounding words were tossed about like hay
By kings and queens.

How the plot turned about I watched in vain,
Though for grief I cried,
As one and all they faded, poisoned or slain,
In great agony died.

Father, you'll drive me forth never to return,
Doubting me your son--

Father

So I shall, John

John

--but that glory for which I burn
Shall be soon begun.

I shall wear great boots, shall strut and shout,
Keep my locks curled.
The fame of my name shall go ringing about
Over half the world.

Father

Horror that your Prince found, John may you find,
Ever and again
Dying before the house in such torture of mind
As you need not feign.

While they clap and stamp at your nightly fate,
They shall never know
The curse that drags at you, until Hell's gate.
You have heard me. Go!

poem by Robert Graves
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A beautiful thing called YOU

How to write about a beautiful piece of God’s writing
I mean what is there to edit?
Did God leave room for improvement
Oh I see, he did leave some for comment
And praise and Glory to value

A Beautiful thing called you
Unmatched in splendor

A beautiful thing named you
That only God` s description could equal the importance

A beautiful thing called you
That only the angelic can understand

A beautiful thing called you
Whose creation was inspired by the divine

A beautiful thing called you
That the universe handles with care

A beautiful thing called you
Whose shape was sculpted by His own word

A beautiful thing called you

How do I begin to describe it
Is it by letter
Oh I see holding it is better
How do I own it
To praise the glory and the value

A beautiful thing called you
Oh I see, God knows better
The value the Glory and the praise

No, He revealed it to me
But still I cant
Bear the praise the value and the glory
That flows from those eyes
The ear the nose and the belly

I looked through the key hole to see the sky
I saw heaven`s 1 2 3 stars shy
HE opened the door of your heart
Behold the millions that were hidden
Now I know
How to Praise the glory and the value of a beautiful thing called you.

poem by Didier Sixte Kahungu
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Buttocks of Divine Delight (A Whimsey)

O buttocks of divine delight,
You give old ladies such a fright,
They wince and shudder at the sight
Of buttocks shining in the night!

And tits and thighs and pubic hair
Have driven wise men to despair,
But don't they realise the joy
Awaiting every girl and boy?

The time has come to sup the wine,
What's mine is yours, and yours is mine!
Let's mingle minds and bodies too,
Their marriage is now overdue! !

Don't be afraid of Love's sweet pleasure,
It's waiting there for you to treasure,
But the corpse will shiver in the tomb
Far from the comfort of the womb!

The maggots will enjoy the feast
When every living thought has ceased,
The human frame will turn to dust
That once rejoiced in carnal lust! !

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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