The Martyr
My martyr was also an epicure as a rich man,
Bold are the epithets to describe him, all a ban.
The job epitomizes good goals and strong life,
An epoch of calamities and casualties that were rife.
My understanding is of a fetish that spoke alarmingly,
It became a fetid smell, a sensible touch was the ability.
Most of the hankering became a mission,
To intercede on behalf of the demon.
Festal reactions described him fully,
As the honeydew pleased him abdominally.
It is the largesse, it is the probity of good singing,
Underneath the grand sea, that inspired the abandoning.
You have naught as a martyr, elsewhere there is naught,
All is morbid, and the scaring is dwindling, to be fought.
I can evangelize the youth into goodness,
Yet my breathing is harassing me like an actress.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
The Martyr Poets—did not tell
544
The Martyr Poets—did not tell—
But wrought their Pang in syllable—
That when their mortal name be numb—
Their mortal fate—encourage Some—
The Martyr Painters—never spoke—
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work—
That when their conscious fingers cease—
Some seek in Art—the Art of Peace—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Do Good
I will live my life doing good
For i understand
The reason of doing good
So wither with or without
I will live doing good
The only power over evil
Is to live doing good
I will live my life doing good
For goodness is love
Goodness will take you
Higher and above
Goodness is kindness
Goodness brings happiness
It opposes selfishness
Goodness is Godliness
So i will live my life doing good
poem by Matt Ancient
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Sonnet- Why Worry At All?
All things will happen, pre-destined by God;
We earthlings have to do as per His word;
We are just naught without the mighty Lord;
We are His flock; He is our Good Shepherd.
Nothing is done by human will or pow'r;
But free, we are to choose the path we tread;
All good and bad have God-preset an hour;
Meanwhile, we must not be ever misled.
A few men care about the other’s souls;
Most spend a life, selfishly and with pride;
If God helps us, we can pursue more goals,
And serve our brethren; yet in God abide.
Let’s not worry about the next morrow;
Life is a blend of joy less, more sorrow.
poem by John Celes
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My Ritual
My blood moves
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves
I feel all right
Dont touch me
Cuz Ive had too much to feel tonight
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its gettin easy not to suffer all the time
My good time
I feel all right
My ritual followed us to paradise
My blood moves I feel all right
Dont touch me cuz youre still too much to feel tonight
Not tonight, I repeat, me over
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Trying to be good, while I get my fill
Will I get what I need?
I dont know if I will
When I take it in , will I make it my own again
My own again
My good time, I feel all right
My ritual got my through another night
Im a martyr of a new and magic kind
Its getting easy not to suffer all the time
My sense of humor might have narrowed with my age
But happy anarchy is all I really crave
Its all I want. its all I need
So come over.
song performed by by Folk Implosion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Life 5
When I returned to the Terminal Hotel
Frances said to Candy, “I like these little drinks.
I like laughter
and to maintain a good job
but lately I can’t work
except once in a while on the street.”
“That’s alright, ” said Candy
opening the bottle of Cherry Liqueur.
“I once was set up
with this guy for a date
when I spoke to him
on the phone
he had a pleasant voice
but when I saw him
he had a big head
like a circle like a full moon
deformed
the features all too big.
the worst Fetish I ever saw...”
“Fetish? ” I asked.
Candy said impatiently, “Bernstein,
don’t interrupt Franny
just look out the window.
You like that.”
Frances stared at me saying,
“Fetish. The evil ones,
the ones who lead you astray.
He went into the bedroom.
and took off his pants
then said for me to come in
for sex.
I told him I’m not like that.
Then he pressed me close
and I smelled the Fetish smell
from his ears
and a little from his anus
but not his mouth.
That’s how people are fooled.”
And I listened by the window
to profundities, to pain,
patiently, at peace
in a warm room
with Candy and this woman
safe now
the empty streets
distant, at least
a thousand miles away.
poem by Charles Chaim Wax
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To Molde
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Billowy rhythms whose thoughts fill with love me,
Follow thy form in bright colors above me,
Bear thy beauty along.
Naught is so black as thy fjord, when storm-lashes
Sea-salted scourge it and inward it dashes,
Naught is so mild as thy strand, as thine islands,
Ah, as thine islands!
Naught is so strong as thy mountain-linked ring,
Naught is so sweet as thy summer-nights bring.
Molde, Molde,
True as a song,
Murm'ring memories throng.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o'ergrown,
Houses and gardens where good friends wander!
Hundreds of miles away,-but I'm yonder
'Mid the roses full-blown.
Strong shines the sun on that mountain-rimmed beauty,
Fast is the fight, let each man do his duty.
Friends, who your favor would never begrudge me,
Gently now judge me!-
Only with life ends the fight for the right.
Thought flees to you for a refuge in light.
Molde, Molde,
Flower-o'ergrown,
Childhood's memories' throne.
Oh, may at last
In thine embrace, life's fleeting
Conflict past,
Glad thine evening-glory greeting,
-Where life let thought awaken,-
My thought by death be taken!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Who's Living With That Mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Wakes up to give a damn?
Who here,
Demands to give a helping hand?
And who here,
Knows that peace has a chance?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about their fellowman?
Who here,
Gives their neighbor understanding?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Thinks about what is right?
Who here,
Wants to do that day and night?
And who here,
Prays conflicts and fights
Would end!
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who here,
Lives to dance and sing?
Who here,
Lives to hear the birds singing?
And who here,
Lives their life just to give?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that mission?
And who here,
Wants the bleeding done by man...
To end and please them?
Who's living with that mission?
Who's living with that,
As ambition?
To live to give as a mission?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Wishing-Caps
Life's all getting and giving,
I've only myself to give.
What shall I do for a living?
I've only one life to live.
End it? I'll not find another.
Spend it? But how shall I best?
Sure the wise plan is to live like a man
And Luck may look after the rest!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
Give or hold at your will.
If I've no care for Fortune,
Fortune must follow me still.
Bad Luck, she is never a lady
But the commonest wench on the street,
Shuffling, shabby and shady,
Shameless to pass or meet.
Walk with her once--it's a weakness!
Talk to her twice. It's a crime!
Thrust her away when she gives you "good day"
And the besom won't board you next time.
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
What is Your Ladyship's mood?
If I have no care for Fortune,
My Fortune is bound to be good!
Good Luck she is never a lady
But the cursedest quean alive!
Tricksy, wincing and jady,
Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her--she's hailing a stranger!
Meet her--she's busking to leave.
Let her alone for a shrew to the bone,
And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
I'll neither follow nor flee.
If I don't run after Fortune,
Fortune must run after me!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Memories of Youth
Memories of youth are emerging, desisting, then reemerging,
Fully apt for the taking, magically presented by the mind.
Youth is a wonderful endeavour of the rich, the blamed,
Who struck their riches in health as well as wealth.
Health is far superior to the strength of a business,
This business is sick and final, working like a trick.
We describe fully a general air, a young memory of worth,
This joy brings full dreaming and dreams so splendid a spectacle,
We enjoy themselves, the dreams are forcing their way through
Like a soldier of strong bravery, the worst enemy is against him.
poem by Naveed Akram
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At the Long Sault
Searching the pile of corpses the victors found four Frenchmen still breathing. Three had scarcely a spark of life . . . the fourth seemed likely to survive and they reserved him for future torments.
- Parkman's History
A prisoner under the stars I lie,
With no friend near;
To-morrow they lead me forth to die,
The stake is ready, the torments set,
They will pay in full their deadly debt;
But I fear them not! Oh, none could fear
Of those who stood by Daulac's side
While he prayed and laughed and sang and fought
In the very reek of deathand caught
The martyr passion that flamed from his face
As he died!
Where he led us we followed glad,
For we loved him well;
Some there were that held him mad,
But we knew that a heavenly rage had place
In that dauntless soul; the good God spake
To us through him; we had naught to do
Save only obey; and when his eyes
Flashed and kindled like storm-swept skies,
And his voice like a trumpet thrilled us through,
We would have marched with delight for his sake
To the jaws of hell.
The mists hung blue and still on the stream
At the marge of dawn;
The rapids laughed till we saw their teeth
Like a snarling wolf's fangs glisten and gleam;
Sweetly the pine trees underneath
The shadows slept in the moonlight wan;
Sweetly beneath the steps of the spring
The great, grim forest was blossoming;
And we fought, that springs for other men
Might blossom again.
Faint, thirst-maddened we prayed and fought
By night and by day;
Eyes glared at us with serpent hate
Yet sometimes a hush fell, and then we heard naught
Save the wind's shrill harping far away,
The piping of birds, and the softened calls
Of the merry, distant water-falls;
Then of other scenes we thought
Of valleys beloved in sunny France,
Purple vineyards of song and dance,
Hopes and visions roseate;
Of many a holy festal morn,
And many a dream at vesper bell
But anon the shuddering air was torn
By noises such as the fiends of hell
Might make in holding high holiday!
Once, so bitter the death-storm hailed,
We shrank and quailed.
Daulac sprang out before us then,
Shamed in our fears;
Glorious was his face to see,
The face of one who listens and hears
Voices unearthly, summonings high
Rang his tone like a clarion, "Men,
See yonder star in the golden sky,
Such a man's duty is to him,
A beacon that will not flicker nor dim,
Shining through darkness and despair.
Almost the martyr's crown is yours!
Thinking the price too high to be paid,
Will you leave the sacrifice half made?
I tell you God will answer the prayer
Of the soul that endures!
"Comrades, far in the future I see
A mighty land;
Throned among the nations of earth,
Noble and happy, calm and free;
As a veil were lifted I see her stand,
And out of that future a voice to me
Promises that our names shall shine
On the page of her story with lustre divine
Impelling to visions and deeds of worth.
"Ever thus since the world was begun,
When a man hath given up his life,
Safety and freedom have been won
By the holy power of self-sacrifice;
For the memory of your mother's kiss
Valiantly stand to the breach again.
Comrades, blench not now from the strife,
Quit you like men!"
Oh, we rushed to meet at our captain's side
Death as a bride!
All our brave striplings bravely fell.
I, less fortunate, slowly came
Back from that din of shot and yell
Slowly and gaspingly, to know
A harder fate reserved for me
Than that brief, splendid agony.
Through many a bitter pang and throe
My spirit must to-morrow go
To seek my comrades; but I bear
The tidings that our desperate stand
By the Long Sault has saved our land,
And God has answered Daulac's prayer.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Be Good
Be a good person
Goodness has no tribe
Goodness has no village
Goodness has no other name
Goodness thrives on any land
In the desert
Goodness is oasis
In the wilderness
Goodness is a pathway
Goodness is required anywhere
It is food to man
It nourishes the giver
And gives happiness to the receiver
Goodness is pleasant
So be good
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Good And Evil
I shall speak of the good but not the evil within you.
For what is evil but good tortured by hunger and thirst?
In truth when good is hungry it seeks food in dark places,
And when thirsty truth drinks from dead water.
Goodness comes when you are one with yourself.
Yet when you are not at one with yourself you are not evil.
A house divided is not a den of thieves; it’s only a divided house.
You are good when you strive to give the best of yourself;
Yet you are not evil when you seek personal gain.
When you strive for gain you are like a root,
Seeking growth whilst clinging to the Earth.
You are good when you are fully awake in your speech.
Yet you are not evil when you sleep and babble without purpose.
You are good when you walk to your goal firmly with bold steps;
Yet you are not evil when you go forth limping,
For even while staggering and limping you move forward.
You are good in countless ways, yet are not evil when you are not good;
You are only lazy and loitering.
In your longing for “My Higher Self” lies your goodness.
This inherent and “God Given” longing is in everyone.
poem by Ray Lucero
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Guaranteed
Dont play this game with me
You know you came to be my world
When times were bad enough
Seems I was good enough
You run out my door
You come back, and beg for more and more
Just like the times before
Youll always be
Guaranteed a place inside my heart
I would never forget a single thing
Always be a martyr to your heart
Then youll never regret a single thing
You think I just dont care (just dont care)
The fact is, I could not bear (could not bear)
To lose this kind of loving touch (I love your touch)
Would you be bothered much?
You had so much planned (so much planned)
So take time to understand (understand)
My reasons for pulling you back to me (back to me)
Youll always be
Guaranteed a place inside my heart
I would never forget a single thing
Always be a martyr to your heart
Then youll never regret a single thing
You hide so many years
(hide away)
You cried so many tears
(cried away your tears)
You think I just dont realise
(now I realise)
One thing Ive come to know
(if you stay)
This pain will surely go
(all the way with me)
So soon before your very eyes
Guaranteed a place inside my heart
I would never forget a single thing
Always be a martyr to your heart
Then youll never regret a single thing
Guaranteed a place inside my heart
I would never forget a single thing
Always be a martyr to your heart
Then youll never regret a single thing
Guaranteed . . .
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Babble...
the goodness that good does
to you, your greed come blocking,
you haven't measured yet
goodness with goodness, you lie
and all the excuses are recited,
and i do not listen, my goodness
does what good can do to you,
i shall ambush, your conscience,
i wait, my goodness can kill you,
then shall you be good forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Commentary On War
War is an act perpetrated on our youth,
the ones who don't know better.
They have not lived long enough
to cry and mourn
or see lives torn
because they've not learned the truth.
It's been closed to their eyes
so they won't realize
they are fighting the rich man's war.
They're in the front lines
where the blood runs cold.
Most are the young that will never see old.
The ones riding high who don't seem to die
are the green eyed monsters that hide.
Their mouthpieces speak as rulers of the lands
because their hands are tied
with puppet strings
from monsters in the wings
whose souls have long ago died.
And so when I hear WE are fighting a war
I cry for our youth who are the we.
For they most probably will not see
what the war they fought was for?
It was all for naught.
They had never been taught
that peace can't come from a gun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Nothing
Pain
All consuming
Like a fire
I can't breathe
There's nothing left
What have you done?
My hands are shaking
I can't sit still
My mind is racing
My heart is breaking
Strangled gasps
Heart races
It's all a blur
Where am I?
What happened?
Who are you?
You stole my breath
My mind
My heart
My body
Are you a thief?
Are you a liar?
Who is it that can do something so small,
Yet so large
That I have nothing left
Only pain
Only rage
Only hurt
Only tears
Only blood
Only fears
Only death
Have you stolen everything?
Or is my life still left?
I hear naught
I see naught
I feel naught
I smell naught
I taste naught
Am I nothing?
Are you nothing?
There's nothing left
I sense nothing
I know nothing
This must mean I am nothing
It must mean you are nothing
Am I nobody?
Like a myth
Like a legend
Like a story
Does this make everything I've said
And done
And felt
Unreal
Like a dream
Or a story
Or a thought
So it never happened?
You didn't make me love you?
You didn't hurt me?
You didn't make me cry?
Make me bleed?
Make me suffer?
You didn't leave me there
On the street
On a sidewalk
So I could bleed out?
You didn't hold a knife?
You didn't violate me?
You didn't kill me?
You didn't walk away?
You didn't lie?
I didn't exist meaning
You didn't exist so
You must not have
Meaning
I am not dead because
I just never existed
And you are not alive
Because you never existed
We are just nothing
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Comrade
We naught six yet never four
compact at times of fall or soar
could penetrate aloft than core
yes! the bond none could bore
To step on fire or over planks
fear; we hath none-as gathered all
To leave the tracks on river banks
on deep waters, through that shoal!
How naught apart the heart and souls.
why back the faded track we go?
Unnoticed naught the far set goals
though aloft, yet live earthy-low
Moments as people dreamed to Luna;
paths were often lead to point.
all sought so much lithe persona;
His, Her prejudice has joint
The sobbing of the sun on parting,
the grinning of the stars at night.
The pain on back of pretty smiling,
was not joker's but Donald's fright.
To unjust sight, sought merely waste
to weary eyes 'twas gold
The chemical bond abides no caste
Afore them, We stand Bold.
The freezing period of Dark eclipse
Bothers not our dwell-
-them, Whose lives were in ellipse,
to ransom them from hell.
His avid tongue to destroy
to delet the barely known existence
His tricky motions on decoy
To burgeon all of our hindrance!
Seldom not, we entice unite
seldom not, the great escapades
naught even destiny could fight
The longing laughter of comrades.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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the modern martyr in the kingdom of God
i've just seen the picture of a man
devout catholic
gunned down in broad day,
falling to the ground,
and declared another martyr for
mother church,
sooner he becomes a saint
because he died
to the hands of the fanatics
the unbelievers,
sometimes i ask myself if this is the only way to become
a martyr, the only way to be a saint,
(does it really matter if one becomes a saint?)
i guess, there is another happy child of God
who has worked for the church
who cooked faith, who served beliefs,
who traveled far just to show how good God is,
the happy child does not have to die
for God wants him to be with his side,
smiling and alive,
He too is a saint. He sowed happiness.
He did not plant guilt. He did not grown scruples.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Her Likeness
A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways
She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him;
Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise,
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze,
A little better she would surely make him.
Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon,
And very far from angel yet, I trow.
Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human;
Yet she's more lovable as simple woman
Than any one diviner that I know.
Therefore I wish that she may safely keep
This womanhede, and change not, only grow;
From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep,
And in perennial blessedness, still reap
On every hand of that which she doth sow.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Her Likeness
A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways
She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him;
Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's praise,
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze,
A little better she would surely make him.
Yet is this girl I sing in naught uncommon,
And very far from angel yet, I trow.
Her faults, her sweetnesses, are purely human;
Yet she's more lovable as simple woman
Than any one diviner that I know.
Therefore I wish that she may safely keep
This womanhede, and change not, only grow;
From maid to matron, youth to age, may creep,
And in perennial blessedness, still reap
On every hand of that which she doth sow.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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