En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Boy Who Came Down from the Cross

He stood beside his father before tumbling into a deep pit.
A split second later a volley of shots were fired.
His father fell with the others into the abyss, shot dead.
But sixteen year old Zvi Michalowski was alive.

It was a pitch dark night when he climbed out of the pit.
He was naked and his body covered with blood.
He heard the Lithuanian executioners singing, laughing,
Celebrating the shooting of the Jews.
They were all drunk by now.

As Hitler’s armies were advancing on Moscow
The murderers arrived with an Einsatzgruppen unit.
They entered Eishyshok, an old Jewish town in south Lithuania,
On September 25 of 1941. On the same day and the next
The paramilitary SS units massacred about 5,000 Jews
From Eishyshok and adjacent villages.

Zvi Michalowski knew the place like the palm of his hand.
He passed the Jewish cemetery beyond which Polish and
Lithuanian families lived. He knocked on the door of the first house.
A peasant opened the door. In his hand he held a lamp
With a Star of David, which he looted from a Jewish home.

‘Let me in, please’, the boy implored. The man raised the lamp
And looked at the blood covered naked body of the boy.
‘Jew, go back to the grave that you came from! ’ he said
And he shut the door in his face.

Zvi Michalowski knocked on many doors on that night
But nobody wanted to take him in. In his wanderings he arrived
In a wooded area. He knew the old widow who lived in the house
And knocked on the door. She was shocked to see the boy.

She held a burning piece of wood in her hand and spurned him.
He stood there nevertheless. She cursed him, sending him away
With angry words. When he did not move she threatened him
With the fiery wood she had in her hand.

But the boy refused to go away. ‘I am your Lord, Jesus Christ,
Who came down from the cross’, he told her. ‘Now look at me,
Look at the blood of my body, the pain the suffering of the innocent.
Please, let me in’.

Shaking all over, the old woman began to pray.
She fell on her knees at the bloodstained feet of the boy.
Then she slowly rose to her feet, opened the door and let him in.
‘Oh, my dear God, oh my dear God, oh my dear God’,
She kept repeating her prayer, crossing herself each time.

The boy asked the woman not to tell anyone about his visit.
She asked him to bless her family and her, which he promptly did.
She gave him food and clothes and prepared for him a warm bath.
He stayed in her house for three days and three nights.

When Zvi Michalowski left the house he was dressed as a farmer
And carried a food supply for a week. Soon he reached
The nearby forest and went into hiding. He survived the war
Fighting the Nazis as a partisan.

poem by Paul Hartal
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The Three Knocks

WHEN the owl that scared the mouse
Fluffed his feathers and sat still,
And the night around was chill,
On the door of yonder house
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
While the owl, aloof and drear
Yellow-eyed his vigil kept,
Down the breeze a crying crept,
And it seemed to tell of fear —
Fear and care —
It was Life that entered there!
When the owl had greyer grown
By a score of years and more,
On the selfsame cedar door
Of yon house that stands alone,
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Yet, though many gracious flowers
Wreathed the house from floor to roof,
In his shadowed haunt aloof
Staring sat he through the hours,
Unaware
It was Love that entered there!
When the owl had passed away,
And the mouse, no more afraid,
In the tree-glooms frisked and played,
On that door at end of day
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Once and twice that knock had come,
Once for Life, and once for Love;
Towards the night the shadows move,
And the land lies still and dumb
Everywhere —
It is Death that enters there!

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Behind The Door

With trembling hand,
I knocked upon the door,
which someone had sent me to.
They told me a new life
awaits me there.
I reached out
and knocked on the door
not knowing when it opened
exactly what I’d find.
My heart beat faster,
almost racing from my chest.
I could hear footsteps
coming from within.
My hand trembled even more
as the footsteps headed towards the door.
I stood there in anticipations
as the door begins to open wide.
So far, I have not told you
who will be coming to the door.
Will it be a long lost sibling,
a future love, or even God?
I will have to let you decide,
because being a nervous person.
The suspense was killing me,
so I ran and hid, and never saw
who was it answering the door.

poem by David Harris
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The Stranger (story)

(story 03/14/11)

I saw a man coming down the road
Head held high, eyes were strong.
He stopped and asked of me
If he could have a bite to eat.

His clothes were all torn and tattered
I asked him what was the matter.
He looked at me and his eyes turned down
His face changed from a smile to a frown.

Hard times I have come across
I was let go by my boss
He said the times was making him downsize
And he had to let go of people to survive.
Everyone was doing the same
People losing their jobs was quite a shame.

Being a farmer who had hard times too
I knew exactly what he was going thru.
So I invited him inside to sit for a spell
For traveling these roads could really be hell.

He was given some soup to take
the chill out of his bones
And was told by the farmer that he wasn’t alone.
He was then given some dinner to eat
To this man it was quite a treat.

The farmer told him he could bathe and
stay the night - and if he wanted to leave
He could leave at first light.
He laid out some pajamas for him to wear
Even gave him some clean underwear.
The bed in the spare room was “ oh so nice”
And he slept peacefully throughout the night.
When he awoke there was breakfast on the table
Coffee, ham and eggs, and cream cheese on a bagel.
After having breakfast he felt like a new man
He looked for the farmer to shake his hand.
He thanked the farmer and asked him his name
He pointed to a wooden nameplate which said:
J. CHRISTHISSON- but some call me J.C.
He then told him he put a fresh set of clothes
On his backpack, turned around and didn’t look back.
So he put on his new clothes and out the door he went
Thinking that this man was heaven sent.
As he walked a mile down the road
He felt guilty that he didn’t thank him properly
For being so kind to a man in need.
He ran back to the farm house and knocked at the door
To be greeted by someone he had never saw.
“I am looking for the farmer who owns this place! ”
That would be me! What can I do for you?
He said: no! that can not be! It was a younger
Man, not as elderly with a beard and shoulder length hair.
He gave me dinner and invited me in, let me bathe
And to have a good nights sleep, then gave
Me these clothes and breakfast to eat.
I don’t see how here you could have stayed
When my wife and I were in another county far away.
But there has been stories going around
About someone helping people when their luck was down.
As he said that - the strangers back pack fell
to the ground, and he heard a clatter.
The man looked at him and asked what was the matter.
He opened his backpack and a wooden name plate fell to the ground
And broke in three- when he looked he could not believe what he saw.
The three parts said: J.CHRIST-HIS-SON
And a cross and rosary laid alongside with a note with one word.
HOPE
Now who could this man have been?

poem by Louis Rams
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 11)

A man called Lazarus was ill,
Brother of Mary, Bethany;
This Mary had anointed Lord’s feet
By perfumed oil, dried by her hair!

So, Mary sent word to Jesus,
‘Master, the one you love is ill.’
(Meaning her brother Lazarus)

When Jesus heard, then He remarked,
‘This illness isn’t to end in death.
But for the glory of God’s works
And that the Son be glorified.’

Now Jesus loved Martha, Mary
And Lazarus who’d fallen ill;
He went to Judea later;
His disciples told Him, ‘Rabbi,
The Jews had wanted to stone you,
You want to go back to that place? ’

Then Jesus answered, ‘Are there not
Twelve hours by day for one to walk?
None stumble then for world has light.
But when he walks alone at night,
He stumbles as he has no sight!

Then Jesus said, ‘Friend Lazarus
Has gone asleep, let me wake him.’
They said, ‘If he sleeps, he’ll be saved! ’
But Jesus talked of deathly sleep,
While disciples, of slumber deep.

Jesus told, ‘Lazarus is dead! ’
Let’s go to him that you believe.
So, Thomas said, ‘Let’s die with him! ’

When Jesus reached Lazarus’ house,
He had died four days earlier.
Bethany lay two miles away!

Some Jews arrived to comfort them;
When Martha heard Jesus would come,
She went to meet; Mary sat home.

Then Martha told Him, ‘Lord, if you’d
Been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.’
‘But even now, I know whatev’r
You ask of God, He will give you.’

Jesus said, ‘Your brother will rise! ’
Martha replied, ‘Yes, Lord, I know,
He’ll resurrect on the last day.’

‘I am the resurrection, life! ’
Then Jesus said. ‘Whoev’r believes
In me, ev’n if he dies, will live!
And everyone who lives, believes
In me, will never die at all.
‘Do you believe this? ’ asked Jesus.

Then Martha replied, ‘Yes, my Lord.
I do believe you’re Son of God;
I know that you’re the Messiah,
The one who’s coming to the world!

She told her sister in secret,
‘The Teacher’s here and asks for you! ’
On hearing, Mary rose to greet.
But Jesus had not reached village.

When Mary saw Jesus, she fell
At his feet and said to Him, ‘Lord
If only you had been here then,
My brother would not be now dead.’

On seeing Mary and Jews weep,
Then Jesus perturbed, became sad.
He asked, ‘Where has he been entombed? ’

They said to Him, ‘Sir, come and see! ’
And Jesus wept while Jews all said,
‘Look, how He loved poor Lazarus! ’

But some remarked, ‘Could not the one
Who opened eyes of blind beggar,
Have done something to avoid death?

So, Jesus reached the place of tomb;
It was a cave with stone across;
Jesus said, ‘Take the stone away.
Then Martha said, ’Tis four days now,
Should there a stench be, all around? ’

Then Jesus asked, ‘Did I not tell
If you believe, God’s glory’s seen!
Then Jesus raised his eyes to Heav’n,
And said, ‘I thank you Father, God.
I know You always have heard me,
I said so, that they may believe.’

And having said this, Jesus cried,
‘Lazarus, Come out! ’ in voice loud.
The dead man came with hands, feet tied,
With burial bands and face cloth-wrapped.
So Jesus said, ‘Untie him soon! ’

Now many Jews who had come there,
Began to believe in Jesus.
But some went to the Pharisees,
And told them what he ‘ad done that day.

So, they convened the Sanhedrin,
And said, ‘What do we do hence-forth?
This man performs so many signs.’
If we leave Him alone for now,
All will believe in Him and Rome
Will take away, our nation whole.’

But one Caiaphas, high-priest that year
Remarked, ‘You know not anything,
Nor do you consider better
That one man dies, not more people
And whole nation may not perish,
And gather dispersed God’s children.’

They planned to kill Him, from that day!
So, Jesus didn’t walk in public,
And left for Ephraim, desert-town,
And there He stayed with disciples.

The Jewish Passover was near.
Many came to Jerusalem.
They looked for Jesus everywhere
And wondered if He will ev’r come.

For, Pharisees and chief priests all,
Had given orders to inform,
If they should come across Jesus,
So that, they could arrest Him soon.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-24-2007

poem by John Celes
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You Have Not Knocked

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

When I had been in double struggles,
You have not knocked.
Or when I had been on my knees,
You have not knocked.
And when I felt grumpy and crunchy,
You have not knocked.
Or when I've asked you to leave me,
You have not knocked.

You know I can get really moody,
But, you have not knocked.
And carry drama to extremes,
No, you have not knocked.
You've stuck with me when I've been stinky,
And, you have not knocked.
To me you are my 'everything',
And I love you a lot.

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

Whenever I've been down and dumpy,
You have not knocked.
Or when I've picked my wounds to bleed so,
You have not knocked.
And when I pout with rudeness rooted,
You have not knocked.
Or when I whined consistently,
No, you have not knocked.

You know I can get really moody,
But, you have not knocked.
And carry drama to extremes,
But, you have not knocked.
You've stuck with me when I've been stinky,
And, you have not knocked.
To me you are my 'everything',
Because of patience you've got.

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

And...
In my heart you are adored.
That's what I need to show you more.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Oak Wood Piano on Kristallnacht

The SS guard hit Zindel Grynszpan on the head and he fell
Into a ditch. Father, he heard the voice of his son, you must
Go on. Zindel took the hand of his son and climbed out of
The trench. With his wife, a son and daughter on his side
They continued the march. But the SS guards did not stop
The savage whipping of the deportees. Blood was flowing
On all sides.

The Grynszpan family were Polish Jews from Hanover.
When the Nazis came to power they became outcasts.
In October 1938 they were expelled from Germany
And deported to Poland in a group of 12,000 Jews.
They were taken by train to the frontier town Neubenschen
And from there on foot to the German-Polish border.
When they reached the border heavy rain started to fall.

The Nazis confiscated their money. They had no food to eat.
Polish officers arrived and began to inspect their papers.
They admitted the refugees with Polish passports,
Housing them in military stables. Old, sick and children
Were herded together in most inhuman conditions.

One of the first things that Zindel did in Poland was to send
A postcard to his seventeen year old son Hirsch in Paris.
When Hirsch Grynszpan read the family’s tribulations
He became furious. His heart was filled with rage and hatred
And he decided to avenge their sufferings. On the morning
Of November 7, Hirsch entered a gunsmith’s shop on rue
Faubourg Saint-Martin and purchased a 6.35 calibre pistol
With a box of 25 bullets, for 235 Francs.

Then he took a ride on the Metro to the Solferino stop
And walked to the German Embassy at 78 rue de Lille.
Hirsch told the receptionist that he has some documents with him.
He was received by Ernst vom Rath, the third secretary.
When the German diplomat closed the door Hirsch pulled out
The gun. “You are a filthy Kraut”, he said, “and in the name of
12,000 persecuted Jews here is the document”. He fired five
Bullets from point blank range at vom Rath. The diplomat died
Two days later of his wounds.

The assassination came as a godsend thing for the Nazis.
Hitler denounced it as part of a global Jewish conspiracy
Against Germany. It became a pretext for the well-orchestrated
Pogrom of Kristallnacht, the night of broken glass.
During the night of November 9-10,1938, in every place
Throughout the Third Reich, Storm Troops attacked Jews
And Jewish institutions.

Hitler’s henchmen burnt down or destroyed in Germany
Nearly two hundred synagogues. They burst into Jewish houses,
Broke the glass of Jewish businesses and beat up Jews wherever
They found them. About ninety people were murdered
And thousands of others were wounded in the street violence.
The Nazis also arrested thirty thousand Jews and sent them
To concentration camps in Buchenwald, Dachau,
And Sachsenhausen. And on top of all this, the Reich
Cynically imposed a billion mark penalty
On the Jewish Community to pay for the damages.

In Berlin hundreds of truncheon swinging storm troops
Led the mob in smashing up the glass plate windows
Of Jewish stores. In the Jewish neighbourhoods of German
Cities the Nazis lit bonfires. They threw on them to burn
Torah scrolls, prayer books and whole libraries. Thousands
Of Germans joined the Storm Troops in the atrocities.
But many resented the pogrom. People watched in horror
The roundup; they cried silently behind their curtains.

On a third floor balcony in Leipzig
Storm Troops shattered a balustrade and pushed
An upright oak wood piano over the edge. It plunged like
A black wingless dragon and fell helplessly to the street.
It crashed on the pavement with a shocking clamour.
Its wooden casing had split. The strings stripped bare
Stood in the middle of the wreckage as an orphan harp
Screaming with a heartbreaking outcry.

poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Palace and the Hut XXIX

Part One

As night fell and the light glittered in the great house, the servants stood at the massive door awaiting the coming of the guests; and upon their velvet garments shown golden buttons.

The magnificent carriages drew into the palace park and the nobles entered, dressed in gorgeous raiment and decorated with jewels. The instruments filled the air with pleasant melodies while the dignitaries danced to the soothing music.

At midnight the finest and most palatable foods were served on a beautiful table embellished with all kinds of the rarest flowers. The feasters dined and drank abundantly, until the sequence of the wine began to play its part. At dawn the throng dispersed boisterously, after spending a long night of intoxication and gluttony which hurried their worn bodies into their deep beds with unnatural sleep.

Part Two

At eventide, a man attired in the dress of heavy work stood before the door of his small house and knocked at the door. As it opened, he entered and greeted the occupants in a cheerful manner, and then sat between his children who were playing at the fireplace. In a short time, his wife had the meal prepared and they sat at a wooden table consuming their food. After eating they gathered around the oil lamp and talked of the day's events. When the early night had lapsed, all stood silently and surrendered themselves to the King of Slumber with a song of praise and a prayer of gratitude on their lips.

poem by Khalil Gibran
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Perfidy

Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.

The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.

The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.

Two brown ponies trotting slowly
Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
While the city stars so dim and holy
Drew nearer to search through the streets.

A hastening car swept shameful past,
I saw her hid in the shadow,
I saw her step to the curb, and fast
Run to the silent door, where last
I had stood with my hand uplifted.
She clung to the door in her haste to enter,
Entered, and quickly cast
It shut behind her, leaving the street aghast.

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Knock, Knock

Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And twice He knocked then stayed.
It was my choice, I could ignore
And that's why I delayed.
He walked away.
I watched Him leave
Then got on with my life,
To sin like others who deceive
And cause all sorts of strife

Lord Jesus stood there at my door
And I watched Him inside.
I knew He knew my every flaw,
Not one could be denied.
I stood my ground, He left again.
I let Him walk away.
I struggled every now and then
With fears of Judgment Day.

My bank account looked mighty fine
As fifteen years passed by.
To think that all that cash was mine.
How come my soul felt dry?
Lord Jesus stood there at my door,
With fear I turned the key.
And simply stared at Christ with awe.
You see, He died for me.

Lord Jesus entered as my friend,
Yet also set me straight.
My useless life came to an end,
God's love to celebrate.
I sighed I'd made Him wait so long.
Those years I can't restore.
I tell you this, you can't go wrong
If you open the door.

poem by Denis Martindale
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Jus Primae Noctis

(In medieval times, the right of the
Lord of the Manor to spend the first night
with a peasant's bride) .

John and Jayne at the altar stood,
To put up their wedding banns,
In the Church at Haversham, Holy Cross
On Sir Robert de Courcy's lands,
When a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones
Brought dread to the open door,
As the Lord of the Manor came striding in
And planted his feet on the floor.

He looked at the two with a great disdain,
His hand on his scabbard sword,
His knights stood silent across the nave,
Not one would utter a word.
His voice rang out in that hallowed place
As Jayne cowered down, distress'd,
'I come to claim the Lord's First Right
By the power jus primae noctis.'

He strolled so arrogant down the aisle,
Of the Hereford Village Kirk,
Then drew his sword with a wicked smile,
With the tip of it, lifted her skirt,
'Her legs are fine, I can tell you that, '
He said to John with a sneer,
But John had averted his eyes to the floor
As his eyes were beginning to tear.

De Courcy turned, and he walked away
Up the aisle to the Norman doors,
Then turned at last with a final command
That would end their short discourse,
'You'll place yourself at my mercy, then,
And leave your husband denied,
You'll make your way to the castle gate
On the night that the knot is tied! '

John had cursed as they rode away,
The priest was more reserved,
'You should think it an honour, young man, ' he said,
That your bride will be well served.
With luck, you may get a blue-blood son,
And honours will come his way,
Sir Robert has twenty or more in the town
That are blessed in the usual way.'

Jayne knew, of course, it would come to this,
She had seen with her sister Jone,
Carried away to the castle gate,
And weep all the way back home.
She'd watched her belly grow big with child
While her man had cursed and sworn,
'Til the day she lay on a bale of hay
As the child arrived, still-born.

Meanwhile, in Bristol, came a ship
That had sailed from Gascony,
Dropping a sickening sailor there
With its wines and its armoury,
The sailor staggered up streets outside,
And fell in the tavern door,
Infected all that were drinking there,
As the pestilence came ashore.

It spread at the rate of a raging fire
That nothing could halt or douse,
The abscesses in the armpits made
Their way from house to house,
The plague ran on through the countryside
And arrived at Haversham,
On the day of the wedding of John and Jayne
Though they didn't know it then.

There was just one victim on that day,
A woman who stayed at home,
She watched as her flesh grew puffy, as
The boils grew down below,
She sent a note to her sister, said
'I'll not be there at the feast,
But I have a gift I'll give to you,
It's the least I can do... the least! '

That evening, out by the castle gate
A woman was led inside,
De Courcy sat in the dark, and watched
As she knelt by the Lord's bedside,
She knelt in shadows, and then she wept
And he watched as she disrobed,
Then stood quite naked beside his bed
For the lord to touch and probe.

He pulled her onto the bed and grasped her
Close to his body there,
And then she laughed, it was not the laugh
Of a bride caught in despair,
The moon shone bright through the chamber then
And he shrank from the woman's moan,
She was covered in blood and pustules, said:
'Not Jayne - but her sister Jone! '

He screamed for his knights, who pulled her off,
Then spilt her blood on the floor,
Cut off her head, then shrank in dread
At the sight of her festering sores,
The plague ran right through the castle then,
Spared not one knight or horse,
While John and Jayne in the forest lay
Til the plague had run its course.

poem by David Lewis Paget
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Red Light Lady

(copyright nazareth,tiflis tunes,inc.-ascap)
Down at the house with the red light
She works from seven til dawn
Youll find her there any time that you like
Some days a week shell be on
Down at the house with the red light
I was a boy not to sure of myself
When I was first taken down
Down to the house with the red light
Two miles west of town
I paid my fee and I went on in
Into the house with the red light
Pull up a chair, up the stairs
The key was cold and dampened my hand
Opened the door, heard her say;
Into my room and set yourself down
She let us lie on this shiny brass bed
Curtains and flowers in her hair
She played my soul and she shattered my head
Could not believe I was there
Down at the house with the red light
I fell in love with that lady
First love I knew, she gave me
Seven days a week, you can find her
Down at the house with the red light
I fell in love with that lady

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sebokarang Villages

Every evening
I always go to the Sebokarang villages
bike to break through the twilight
In the Bamboo threes
and the field of sugar plantantion
its flower blossom, yellow and
to bend in the street
to be fenced in kembang sepatu
and than turn to her hause
the wall of her house made from teakwood
and around her house planted
The Ceplok Piring flowers

in front of the door of her houses
I knocked its with my thremble fingers,
With my thremble heart
Where my blood flow fastly

The evening wind
Blowing softly
And start to be darkness
Its covering the leaf
Eat the tree near the street
Where the people pass and through
So cat run to catch the mouse
the mouse jump
To the path of the villages
I fell loneness
in front of the door
waiting for you
open the door

when the door opened
the light of petromax lamp is lighting
to my eyes wonder
of your smile
from the red lips

open, just open the door
the door of your heart
again and again
till I could stay
in the wide room of your heart
forever

poem by Prasetya Utama
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Used to be Hero

Patricia,

Do you know? Do you remember? Things from long ago? Do you know that you used to be my hero? The person I thought I could always talk to? Do you remember when I called you mom?

I wish this letter was addressed to her; the woman I called mom; my hero. I used to think about asking dad where did you go; then I realized he was never there. So instead I realized the appropriate question for him is 'where have you been'. It was my hero who left me. It is you I must ask 'where did you go'. You used to be my hero.

Once upon a time,

You lived in Newell; Dad lived in Nisland. Matt and I we were at your house for the night. Mattie slept in our bunk in the back room. I slept on the floor in the livingroom. To raised voices I awoke. Daddy was drunk and you were fighting. You told him to leave and he grabbed Mattie. He took him out to his truck and you locked him out. To the door I ran screaming for Mattie, scared for my little brother. Not caring for my safety. You locked the door and pulled me back. Daddy soon was at the door screaming and pounding at the door for you to let him get his stuff. You ignored his rants and raves and called the police. I watched from the door as they arrived and Daddy, he put up a fight. The cops asked once, they asked twice, soon he was on the ground and put in vice. On his wrists they slapped the cuffs and dear little mattie was brought back to us. In the back of the police car Daddy went.

The End

That night you were my hero. You kept Mattie and me safe from Daddy when he was drunk. I only have one question for you now. Where did that Mommy go? My hero.....the person who was supposed to teach me everything in life. Your life seemed to fall apart in front of my eyes, but I did not see your pain. Only the pain inflicted on Mattie and me. I wish you could still be my hero, but that was lost a long time ago.

.

poem by Cathy VanDorn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House

For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.

The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.

The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.

The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre

15 March 2011

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 20)

It was the day one of the week;
When dawn broke, Mary Magdalene
Came early to the tomb, though dark
And saw the stone large, set aside!

She hurried to Simon Peter,
And other one, whom Jesus loved,
And said, ‘The Lord has been taken.
We don’t know where they have put Him.’

So, Peter with the other one,
Both ran towards the tomb at once;
The other disciple reached first,
But did not go into the tomb.

He bent down, saw the burial clothes!
Then Peter went into the tomb and saw
And saw the burial clothes lie there;
The cloth that covered Jesus’ head
Lay rolled up in a separate place.

The other disciple went in
And saw, believed the state of things;
For, they didn’t know the scripture say:
‘He had to rise from dead, third day! ’

The two disciples returned home.
But Mary stayed outside the tomb;
Bending over the tomb, she wept;
She saw two angels in white there:
One at the head, one at the feet,
Where Jesus’ body had been laid.

They asked, ‘Woman, why do you weep?
She said, ‘They’ve taken the Lord away!
I don’t know where they have laid Him.’
At as she said, she turned around,
Saw Jesus but didn’t recognize.

Jesus asked her, ‘Woman, why weep?
Whom are you searching for right here? ’
She thought it was the gardener.
She asked him, ’Sir, please tell me where
You’ve laid Jesus and I’ll take Him! ’

Then Jesus called to her, ‘Mary!
She said in Hebrew, ‘Rabbouni! ’
Then Jesus said, ‘Stop holding to me;
I’ve not ascended to Father.
But go and tell my brothers all,
I’m going to my Father, God! ’
Then Mary Magdalene went back,
Told all disciples, all she saw.

While disciples stayed with doors locked,
For fear of Jews and evening came:
Then, Jesus stood in their ’midst, said,
‘Peace be with you, peace be with you!
As Father sent me, I send you.’

He breathed on them and said to them,
‘Receive the Holy Spirit now!
Whose sins you forgive, are forgiv’n,
Whose sins you retain, are retained.’

Thomas wasn’t there when Jesus came;
The others told, ‘We’ve seen the Lord.’
He said, ‘Unless I see the mark
Of nails in hands and side, and put
My finger into them, I’ll not
Believe in whatever you say.’

When Thomas was with disciples,
A week later, again inside,
Then Jesus came, though doors were locked,
And said to them, ‘Peace be with you! ’

He told Thomas, ‘Put your finger
Into my hands, into my side;
Don’t be unbelieving, Believe! ’
Then Thomas said, ‘My Lord, My God! ’

Then Jesus asked, ‘Do you believe
Because you have all seen me now?
Bless’d are those who haven’t, yet, believe! ’
Then Jesus did many more signs,
In presence of his disciples.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-27-2007

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Young Man Who Refused To Take Off His Shoes

A young man
wandering in the dark
with his heart bleeding
found himself
infront of the house
that was fully lighted.

A woman
who seemed to be
an upright person
opened the door
and pityingly lead the young man
to enter the house
but then stopped him
when she saw the young man entering
with his shoes on his feet.

The woman told the young man
to take off his shoes
but the young man refused
to do so.

'I'm sorry,
I cannot let you in
if you won't take off your shoes
it is my policy
that everyone must take off the shoes
when entering the house.'

But the young man
still refused
so the woman pushed
the young man away
from the door and told him,
'I cannot help you
if you won't follow my policy! '
and the woman shut the door.

The young man
who refused to take off his shoes
back in the dark
wandering
with his heart bleeding
...alone.

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Christmas Guest

It happened one day near decembers end when two neighbors
Called on an old friend and they found his shop so meager and
Lean made gay with thousand bows of green and conrad was
Sitting with faces shining when he suddenly stopped as he
Stitched a twine and he said old friends, it dawned today
As the cock was crowing the night away the lord appeared in
A dream to me and said Im coming your guest to be.
So Ive been busy with feet of stern strewing my shop with
Branches of fern. the table is spread and the kettle is shine.
And over the rafters the holly is twine. now Ill wait for my
Lord to appear and listen closely so I will hear his step as
He nears my humble place. and Ill open the door and look on his face.
So his friends went home and left conrad alone for this
Was the happiest day he had known. for long since his family had
Passed away and conrad had spent many a sad christmas day.
But he knew with the lord as his christmas guest this christmas
Would be the dearest and best.
So he listened with only joy in his heart and with
Every sound he would rise with a start and look for the
Lord to be at his door. like the vision he had had a few hours before.
So he ran to the window after hearing a sound but all he could
See on the snow covered ground was a shabby beggar whose shoes
Were torn and all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
But conrad was touched and he went to the door
And he said you know your feet must be frozen and sore.
I have some shoes in my shop for you and a coat that will
Keep you warmer too. so with grateful heart the man went away
But conrad noticed the time of day and wondered what made the
Lord so late and how much longer hed have to wait.
When he heard a knock he ran to the door but it was
Only a stranger once more. a bent old lady with a shawl of
Black with a bundle of kindling piled on her back. she asked
For only a place to rest but that was reserved for conrads
Great guest. but her voice seemed to plead dont send me away,
Let me rest for awhile on christmas day, so conrad brewed
Her a steaming cup and told her to set at the table and sup.
But after she left he was filled with dismay for
He saw that the hours were slipping away and the lord hadnt come as
He said he would. then conrad felt sure he had misunderstood.
When out of of the stillness he heard a cry please
Help me and tell me where am i? so again he opened his
Friendly door and stood disapointed as twice before.
It was only a child that wandered away and was lost from
Her family on christmas day.
Again conrads heart was heavy and sad but he knew
He should make the little girl glad. so he called her in
And he wiped her tears, quieted all her childish fears.
Then he led her back to her home once more but as he
Entered his own darkened door he knew the
Lord was not coming today.
Well the hours of christmas had passed away so he
Went to his room and knelt down to pray and he said
Dear lord, why did you delay? what kept you from
Coming to call on me? for I wanted so much your face to see.
When soft in the silence a voice he heard.
Lift up your head for I kept my word.
Three times my shadow crossed your floor
And three times I came to your lowly door.
I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet
And I was the woman you gave something to eat.
I was the child on the homeless street.
Three times I knocked, and three times I came in.
And each time I found the warmth of a friend.
Of all the gifts, love is the best.
And I was honored to be your christmas guest.

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Messenger

She rose up in the early dawn,
And white and silently she moved
About the house. Four men had gone
To battle for the land they loved,
And she, the mother and the wife,
Waited for tidings from the strife.
How still the house seemed! and her tread
Was like the footsteps of the dead.

The long day passed; the dark night came.
She had not seen a human face.
Some voice spoke suddenly her name.
How loud it echoed in that place,
Where, day on day, no sound was heard
But her own footsteps. 'Bring you word,'
She cried to whom she could not see,
'Word from the battle-plain to me?'

A soldier entered at the door,
And stood within the dim firelight;
'I bring you tidings of the four,'
He said, 'who left you for the fight.'
'God bless you, friend,' she cried, 'speak on!
For I can bear it. One is gone?'
'Ay, one is gone!' he said. 'Which one?'
'Dear lady, he, your eldest son.'

A deathly pallor shot across
Her withered face; she did not weep.
She said: 'It is a grievous loss,
But God gives His belovèd sleep.
What of the living-of the three?
And when can they come back to me?'
The soldier turned away his head:
'Lady, your husband, too, is dead.'

She put her hand upon her brow;
A wild, sharp pain was in her eyes.
'My husband! Oh, God, help me now!'
The soldier heard her shuddering sighs.
The task was harder than he thought.
'Your youngest son, dear madam, fought
Close at his father's side; both fell
Dead, by the bursting of a shell.'

She moved her lips and seemed to moan.
Her face had paled to ashen gray:
'Then one is left me-one alone,'
She said, 'of four who marched away.
Oh, overruling, All-wise God,
How can I pass beneath Thy rod!'
The soldier walked across the floor,
Paused at the window, at the door,

Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek
And sought the mourner's side again.
'Once more, dear lady, I must speak:
Your last remaining son was slain
Just at the closing of the fight,
'Twas he who sent me here to-night.'
'God knows,' the man said afterward,
'The fight itself was not so hard.'

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Orthodox

Love to whom, who really lover you,
But never hate who does with you so,
Kindle the revolution in the heart of you,
And remove the baseless tradition like a foe.

In a town, there lived a handsome boy,
There lived a girl too, full of coy,
Both were young having strong intention,
They would meet and did long time mention.

The time passed their love got its culmination,
Castes were different but had sinkie thought,
And wished to marry they had determination,
And life-partner in each other they'd sought.

Race was the single obstacle in their wedding way,
They eloped and married and enjoyed a marital life,
Cause they never dare to their families say,
Now they began living happily but with strife.

Both families got angery knowing this deed,
His father warned not to come back,
They would be killed if they paid on heed,
All seasons passed, they didn't come back.

He begot four children with the passage of time,
Now their children got their prime,
Passing twenty years, once he thought,
Their elopement likely they had forgot.

With his family he started for his home,
To see his father's home children were keen,
Cause they had been fed up living in single home,
Cause their grandparents they had never seen.

Reaching that town, it began to rain,
Children were wet like blossoming flowers,
Somehow he managed to reach the door again,
Door was knocked snackly like it showers.

The door being opened, emerged his mother,
Seeing them her joys knew no bound,
Kissed and hugged, and let them enter,
And home filled for sometimes with joyful sound.

The father saw them, became red and red,
And frightened mother her tears began to shed,
He roared, ' You've lost my dignity,
So, on you can never be taken pity.'

He pushed into his room, emerged in little time,
There was gun in his old hand,
Shot at all, like attacks a lion in his prime,
A moment passed, all six were lying dead on the land.

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Delialah

I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window
I saw the flickering shadows of love on her blind
She was my woman
As she deceived me I watched and went out of my mind
My, my, my, Delilah
Why, why, why, Delilah
I could see that girl was no good for me
But I was lost like a slave that no man could free
At break of day when that man drove away, I was waiting
I cross the street to her house and she opened the door
She stood there laughing
I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more
My, my, my Delilah
Why, why, why Delilah
So before they come to break down the door
Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take any more
(insert trumpet solo here)
She stood there laughing
I felt the knife in my hand and she laughed no more
My, my, my, Delilah
Why, why, why, Delilah
So before they come to break down the door
Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take any more
Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take any more

song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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