Primrose
Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, I said, to find
One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.
I looked at Christ transfigured without fear--
The light was very beautiful and kind,
And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed
I read it through the lenses of a tear.
And then my sight grew dim, I could not see
The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven,
And there was but the shadow of a tree
Ghostly among the stars. The years that pass
Like tired soldiers nevermore have given
Moments to see wonders in the grass.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Small Minds
Small minds truly think alike, while, we have the mind of Christ,
For Christ has a Glorified mind, one which is of an eternal kind,
So all believers think far above, small minds, which I speak of,
Those believing there’s no God, and limited to this earthly sod.
We’re seated in heavenly realms; small minds, this overwhelms,
Seated in Heaven with Jesus Christ, Who’s given us eternal life,
A thought that is much too tall, for their thinking, which is small,
Small enough to dismiss Truth, that from God has all the proof.
All the proof man could need, to believe, but they will not heed,
Since they dismiss The Creator, they have no need for a Savior,
But, in due time they’ll find, they were mislead, by a small mind,
By the thinking much too small, to accept God, Who is over all.
We may be shallow in their eyes, however, in Christ we are wise,
With the mind of Christ our Savior, as we embraced our Creator,
The One Who created all we see, The Lord God over all Eternity,
Christ is Lord, over all, my friend, as all shall see come the end.
But the small minds can change, in the Power of Christ’s Name,
When they see they were blind, they too can have Christ’s mind,
By repenting to turn to God’s Son, the very Creator of everyone,
When God’s Truth they believe, the mind of Christ they’ll receive.
I Have A Baptism
God’s truth will out and must be preached
Till earth’s four corners have been reached
“My Ghost and Flame shall be outpoured –Joel.2: 28
Receive my child”, thus says The Lord
The bible’s here for man to read
God welcomes all to on Christ to feed –Jn.6: 51
Throughout the flock He spreads The Flame –Lk.12: 50
To guide to heal purge of shame
God’s word is meat to babies tough
Water baptism’s not enough
If endless life is man’s desire
He must receive God’s Ghost & Fire –Jn.3: 6
The Fire of Christ refines till pure
Consumes our ills none else can cure –Heb.12: 29
Burning the chaff midst Jesus’ wheat –Mt.3: 12
Bringing the foe beneath our feet
By grace God’s Holy Ghost is here
Spirit & Flame have none to fear
When safe and sound in Jesus’ hand
The truth we truly understand
God’s Fire burns deep cleansing the heart
Consuming dross from every part
Salvation comes the truth to give
When through The Flame again we’ll live –Gen.3: 24
God’s Fire brings death upon its knees
Who holds the truth receives the keys
Eternal life body and soul
For those in Christ The Flame’s made whole
We need The Fire to win life’s race
But pure of heart will see God’s face
One thing in Christ we need the most
Fire baptism with His Holy Ghost…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Primrose, Being at Montgomery Castle, Upon the Hill, on Which It Is Situate
UPON this Primrose hill,
Where, if heaven would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
And where their form, and their infinity
Make a terrestrial galaxy,
As the small stars do in the sky;
I walk to find a true love; and I see
That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
Yet know I not, which flower
I wish; a six, or four;
For should my true-love less than woman be,
She were scarce anything; and then, should she
Be more than woman, she would get above
All thought of sex, and think to move
My heart to study her, and not to love.
Both these were monsters; since there must reside
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide,
She were by art, than nature falsified.
Live, primrose, then, and thrive
With thy true number five;
And, woman, whom this flower doth represent,
With this mysterious number be content;
Ten is the farthest number; if half ten
Belongs to each woman, then
Each woman may take half us men;
Or—if this will not serve their turn—since all
Numbers are odd, or even, and they fall
First into five, women may take us all.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ballade Against The Jesuits
Rome does right well to censure all the vain
Talk of Jansenius, and of them who preach
That earthly joys are damnable! 'Tis plain
We need not charge at Heaven as at a breach;
No, amble on! We'll gain it, one and all;
The narrow path's a dream fantastical,
And Arnauld's quite superfluously driven
Mirth from the world. We'll scale the heavenly wall,
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!
He does not hold a man may well be slain
Who vexes with unseasonable speech,
You MAY do murder for five ducats gain,
NOT for a pin, a ribbon, or a peach;
He ventures (most consistently) to teach
That there are certain cases that befall
When perjury need no good man appal,
And life of love (he says) may keep a leaven.
Sure, hearing this, a grateful world will bawl,
'Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!'
'For God's sake read me somewhat in the strain
Of his most cheering volumes, I beseech!'
Why should I name them all? a mighty train -
So many, none may know the name of each.
Make these your compass to the heavenly beach,
These only in your library instal:
Burn Pascal and his fellows, great and small,
Dolts that in vain with Escobar have striven;
I tell you, and the common voice doth call,
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!
ENVOY.
SATAN, that pride did hurry to thy fall,
Thou porter of the grim infernal hall -
Thou keeper of the courts of souls unshriven!
To shun thy shafts, to 'scape thy hellish thrall,
Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven!
poem by Andrew Lang
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A Poplar and the Moon
There stood a Poplar, tall and straight;
The fair, round Moon, uprisen late,
Made the long shadow on the grass
A ghostly bridge ’twixt heaven and me.
But May, with slumbrous nights, must pass;
And blustering winds will strip the tree.
And I’ve no magic to express
The moment of that loveliness;
So from these words you’ll never guess
The stars and lilies I could see.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Children's Song
We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Ronald Stuart Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frank and his Little Bank
When he was quite a small boy, Frank
Was fond of useful playthings;
So he was given a toy bank
That he might learn the way things
Were done in the financial world;
So, on the playroom floor he curled,
Tho' short of pence, and had great dreams
Of wonderful financial schemes.
No lack of pennies grieved small Frank,
He simply took some paper
And posted slips into his bank
A cunning childish caper.
And soon he found that, with due care,
He could become a millionaire.
A happy child. And all day
He sang himself this little song:
'If papers I have not enough
Each standing for a penny
I take it out and tear the stuff,
And then I've twice as many.
And if my bank's not full, why then
I tear them all tn two again.
So all day long I tear and sing
And grow as rich as anything.'
In course of time Frank learned to walk
And his perambulations
Led to strange fields; he learned to talk
And made some fine orations.
He left his school, and went to work;
He sought the vote, and stood for Bourke
And, being voluble, was sent
For years and years to Parliament.
But, tho' he grew in many ways
And wondrously developed
His childish money complex stayed
Until it had enveloped
His whole attention. So that, when
Acute depression comes to men,
And things financial all go wrong,
He sings again his little song:
'When lack of money troubles brew
For any stricken nation
You simply tear your notes in two
By process of inflation.
And of this does not serve, why then
You just divide them up again
Until, with new financial health,
The whole land overflows with wealth.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Primrose
Upon this Primrose hill,
Where, if Heav'n would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
And where their form and their infinity
Make a terrestrial Galaxy,
As the small stars do in the sky:
I walk to find a true Love; and I see
That 'tis not a mere woman that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
Yet know I not which flower
I wish; a six, or four;
For should my true-Love less than woman be
She were scarce any thing; and then, should she
Be more than woman she would get above
All thought of sex, and think to move
My heart to study her, and not to love;
Both these were monsters; since there must reside
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide
She were by art than Nature falsified.
Live primrose then, and thrive
With thy true number five;
And woman, whom this flower doth represent,
With this mysterious number be content;
Ten is the farthest number; if half ten
Belong unto each woman, then
Each woman may take half us men;
Or if this will not serve their turn, since all
Numbers are odd or even, and they fall
First into this, five, woman may take us all.
poem by John Donne
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Dark the shadows haunt the night
If I began to cry
The tears would never end
If I lowered my guard
Then how could I defend?
From every side the walls close in
And there is no place that you could stand
That would hide you from this world
And all that it demands
Whoever said that life was fair
Has not lived long enough
When the path takes you along the edge
You'll see them fall off the bluff
But the problem is
If your guard is high
You will wither away
And begin to die
How could something so small
Cast such a shadow on the land?
How was it that it stood so tall
Yet it was just a grain of sand?
I made my way through this world
With the Sun forever at my back
And the shadows went before me
And the shadow it was black
One grain of sand in my eye
Tormented me for many years
And I could never hope to fly
For I was blinded by my fears
Then Jesus came and turned me round
To face the rising Sun
His light it shone upon my face
And my journey had begun
When you walk into the Son
The shadows fall behind
The Sun removes the grain of sand
Now you're no longer blind
Who is your grain of sand my child
That made you stumble, made you fall?
In the light of Christ perhaps you'll find
That persons not so very tall
Dark the shadows haunt the night
That cause you to run and hide
Look to the Son that shines so bright
And He will shine that light inside
O to be filled with the light of Christ
And see the shadows disappear
To lift my eyes to heavens heights
And finally to shed a tear
poem by Frank McEleny
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Wonders
Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain
poem by Tiana Webb
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The Story Of Nevermore
now I cast a hypnotic spell
to free a child from her hell
surrender now child fall deep in my spell
just come to me child and all will be well
rise now child in sleep you now come
walk now child thought your scenes stay numb
fall now child in to a peaceful dream
but nothing there is as it seems
even thought child in you dream all is right
really your body walks still throw the night
relax now child let that dream ease your mind
follow now child let my voice be your guild
don’t worry child my intentions are pure
you’ll be happy with me of that I am sure
I’m just so tired of being alone
I want a child all of my own
so sleepwalk now child to the pull of my charm
sleepwalk to me child you’ll be safe in my arms
nevermore child shall you cry out in pain
your old life will be lost but a new one will be gained
sleepwalk to me child you’ll be my daughter soon
find your way to me child by the light of the moon
sleepwalk to me child and I’ll show you my ways
all the things I can show you; you’ll be amazed
sleepwalk to me child your almost here
come to me child soon all will be clear
sleepwalk to me child come meet your new mom
soon the whole world will rest in your palm
I see you now child I have you in sight
I run to you child now all is right
your eyes are dazed child unseeing and blank
I can see you now child what a great daughter you’ll make
come to me child collapse in my arms
come to me child you’re safe now from harm
I hold you now child and cradle you close to my heart
I hum to you child as I carry you throw the dark
were home now dear child far from all you ones knew
were home now dear child only one thing left to do
I made this child a special potion just for you
and with it your life begins anew
drink this now child and let your past slip away
remember not one second not one moment or one day
your eyes close child as I release you from my spell
in conciseness you do not dwell
back in to slumber you fall ever so deep
I love how innocent you look in sleep
a new name you need child to mark your new life
you need a new name as you exist the light
your name is Nevermore My child Raven Nevermore
a name like none ever heard before
you are Raven Nevermore
a young witch of great power to explore
you are Raven Nevermore
my daughter now and evermore
poem by Raven Nevermore
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Christmas wishes.
A Christmas tale so dear to me
Of Christmas past, now, and to be
A ghostly figure told each one
And this is how my tale begun
The 1st ghost showed me Christmas past
2 children playing with dreams to last
Parents watching as they grew
Each child was loved more than they knew
The 2nd ghost the one I fear
Christmas Day that soon is here
An empty room, a Christmas tree
With an empty space, where a gift should be
A jacket hangs behind a door
That once was worn but not no more
The 3rd ghost showed my future years
Christmas Days I share with tears
My Tale complete, the ghost was thru’
But looked at me as if he knew
For in my arms the ghost could see
The missing gift from beneath that tree
A gift I hold each year I live
My gift is love, but cannot give
To my only Son, who’s love must stay
In an ageing heart that will decay
The love I have has always grown
For the boy who’s name’s upon a stone
To mark the place where he must lay
The Son who was, my Christmas Day.
poem by Robin Hussey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is Your Christmas Small?
Is Christ the heart of Christmas, is God in the place He should be?
On a day that we’re shuffling gifts, is it all just about you and me?
Isn’t Christmas about a King, who came to this earth for everyone?
And peace to all He would bring, as this Ruler was God’s own Son.
This very One, who came so meek, did not remain a child so small,
For that, baby so mild and weak, would grow to be The Lord of all.
But if people think of Christ at all, it won’t be as The Lord on High,
He is still that tiny baby in a stall, and in this time, we pass Him by.
How many people, would you say, of all the families on this earth,
When they celebrate Christmas Day, look beyond that infant birth?
How many people truly understand, as you consider every nation,
That Christ came to a tiny land, to bring the world God’s Salvation.
How is it men have come so far, within this intelligent human race,
Yet in this season, men will bar, all Truth of God’s Saving Grace?
Not using this Holy time of year, to lift up God’s Christmas Truth,
While giving in to political fear, concerned only of man’s reproof.
Why was Christ born my friend, to give the merchants a holiday?
Or, was it God’s means to an end, to show all men a better way?
Christmas would be awful small, if we didn’t have hope in Christ,
Who came to earth to die for all, so all men can have eternal life.
Child of mine…
To my beautiful child, , ,
Beautiful child, being so small you inspire me big,
Beautiful child, so fragile, you make me so strong,
Beautiful child, so tender your touch your power is great,
Beautiful child, small is your heart, infinite is the love I feel for you;
Beautiful child, your hand I’m anxious to hold, to walk life’s road with you by my side.
Beautiful child, your light will show me the way,
Beautiful child, you came to my life to teach me a lesson that I shall never forget…
Nor riches, nor power can give us the best things of life…
The smile of a child…Is the best of all rewards…
poem by Ale Duncan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stafford's Cabin
Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man;
And something happened here before my memory began.
Time has made the two of them the fuel of one flame
And all we have of them is now a legend and a name.
All I have to say is what an old man said to me,
And that would seem to be as much as there will ever be.
“Fifty years ago it was we found it where it sat.”—
And forty years ago it was old Archibald said that.
“An apple tree that’s yet alive saw something, I suppose,
Of what it was that happened there, and what no mortal knows.
Some one on the mountain heard far off a master shriek,
And then there was a light that showed the way for men to seek.
“We found it in the morning with an iron bar behind,
And there were chains around it; but no search could ever find,
Either in the ashes that were left, or anywhere,
A sign to tell of who or what had been with Stafford there.
“Stafford was a likely man with ideas of his own—
Though I could never like the kind that likes to live alone;
And when you met, you found his eyes were always on your shoes,
As if they did the talking when he asked you for the news.
“That’s all, my son. Were I to talk for half a hundred years
I’d never clear away from there the cloud that never clears.
We buried what was left of it,—the bar, too, and the chains;
And only for the apple tree there’s nothing that remains.”
Forty years ago it was I heard the old man say,
“That’s all, my son.”—And here again I find the place to-day,
Deserted and told only by the tree that knows the most,
And overgrown with golden-rod as if there were no ghost.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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An Introduction To The Ensuing Discourse.
These lines I at this time present
To all that will them heed,
Wherein I show to what intent
God saith, Convert[2] with speed.
For these four things come on apace,
Which we should know full well,
Both death and judgment, and, in place
Next to them, heaven and hell.
For doubtless man was never born
For this life and no more:
No, in the resurrection morn
They must have weal or woe.
Can any think that God should take
That pains, to form a man
So like himself, only to make
Him here a moment stand?
Or that he should make such ado,
By justice, and by grace;
By prophets and apostles too,
That men might see his face?
Or that the promise he hath made,
Also the threatenings great,
Should in a moment end and fade?
O! no, this is a cheat.
Besides, who is so mad, or worse,
To think that Christ should come
From glory, to be made a curse,
And that in sinners' room,
If nothing should by us be had
When we are gone from hence,
But vanities, while here? O mad
And foolish confidence.
Again, shall God, who is the truth,
Say there is heaven and hell
And shall men play that trick of youth
To say, But who can tell?
Shall he that keeps his promise sure
In things both low and small,
Yet break it like a man impure,
In matters great'st of all?
O, let all tremble at that thought,
That puts on God the lie,
That saith men shall turn unto nought
When they be sick and die.
Alas, death is but as the door
Through which all men do pass,
To that which they for evermore
Shall have by wrath or grace.
Let all therefore that read my lines,
Apply them to the heart:
Yea, let them read, and turn betimes,
And get the better part.
Mind therefore what I treat on here,
Yea, mind and weigh it well;
'Tis death and judgment, and a clear
Discourse of heaven and hell.
poem by John Bunyan
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Relativity
I looked down on a daisied lawn
To where a host of tiny eyes
Of snow and gold from velvet shone
And made me think of starry skies.
I looked up to the vasty night
Where stars were very small indeed,
And in their galaxy of light
They made me think of daised mead.
I took a daisy in my hold;
Its snowy rays were tipped with rose,
And with its tiny boss of gold
I thought--how like a star it glows!
I dreamt I plucked from Heaven's field
A star and held it in my hand.
Said I: "The might of God I wield,
The Great and Small I understand."
For when the All is said and done,
In Time and Space I seem to see
A daisy equal to a sun,
Between heart-beats--Eternity
poem by Robert William Service
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Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind!
Seeing and hearing,
Is it eye that see?
Is it ear that hear?
Eyes are windows of Mind,
Like are ears, eyes have eyelids, ears remain open!
Seeing is not perceiving,
Light passes through the small camera,
Giving picture of world around,
Yet mind is the processor,
Process the data,
Process the colourful image,
Sometime filling with its own colour!
But it is not vision,
mind sees something itself,
Seeing through the mind without the help of eyes
Neither windows opened,
Nor light from open windows affect!
Mind is that faculty sees something within,
And day by day the vision become clear,
When mind learns it is not the seer,
It sees everything clear,
Clearly presented to the master,
And Self is the master of Mind,
When mind is pure and clear,
Without prejudice and suspense traits,
Self perceives self in its true nature,
Nothing goes bad,
processed food for thought remain good for ever!
one who sees eyes as seer,
He is ignorant,
One who sees mind as a seer,
Knows not,
One whose mind sees the seer is different,
Vision get purified, seer can see through the mind,
Scenes seen by mind with eyes closed,
when perceived by seer,
It becomes vision of life,
And that vision when becomes ambition of life,
Ambition becomes aspiration,
Aspiration transforms into mission,
Mission transmits wisdom and genius of self!
Self becomes master Of mind
Self becomes master Mind,
Master and mind becomes one,
Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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That Day
That day, that day
What a mess what a marvel
I walked into that cloud again
And i lost myself
And i'm sad, sad, sad
Small, alone, scared
Craving purity
A fragile mind and
A gentle spirit
That day, that day
What a marvelous mess
This is all that i can do
I'm done to be me
Sad, scared, small, alone, beautiful
It's supposed to be like this
I accept everything
It's supposed to be like this
That day, that day
I lay down beside myself
In this feeling of pain, sadness
Scared, small, climbing, crawling
Towards the light
And it's all i see and
I'm tired and i'm right
And i'm wrong
And it's beautiful
That day that day
What a mess
What a marvel
We're all the same
And no one thinks so
And it's okay
And i'm small
And i'm divine
And it's beautiful
And it's coming
But it's already here
And it's absolutely perfect
That day, that day
When everything was a mess
And everything was in place
And there's too much hurt
Sad, small, scared, alone
And everyone's a cynic
And it's hard and it's sweet
But it's supposed
To be like this
That day, that day
When i sat in the sun
And i thought and i cried
'cause i'm sad, scared, small
Alone, strong
And i'm nothing
And i'm true
Only a brave man
Can break through
And it's all okay
Yeah, it's okay
song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freelance Contractor for M'lady Lucianne
I’ve been a ghost for centuries.
Qualified by experience.
No diplomas or degrees
but plenty of self confidence.
Although I died quite suddenly.
Beheading does not take too long
I just accepted readily
the choice of sides I made was wrong.
I lived my life as best I could
like other men I made mistakes.
And did not do the things I should
One wrong decision all it takes.
Although a failure as a man.
I am a most successful ghost
I do the very best I can
Although I am not one to boast.
I take a pride in what I do
I can appear and disappear
(I’m one of the accomplished few)
to fill a humans heart with fear.
I’ve haunted stately homes with pride
I’ve walked abroad without my head
Through solid walls I quickly glide
I am enjoying being dead.
Alive I earned but small respect
in fact nobody noticed me.
But now in my ghostly aspect.
I’m treated most respectfully.
Some day I know I must move on
but I can feel no urgency.
Although my dearest friends have gone.
A ghost is all I want to be.
I’ve been a ghost for centuries.
I find it suits me very well.
I do exactly as I please
The skills I have I freely sell.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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