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Tacloban At The Santo Nino Shrine

what i saw was the luxury of the past
ivory birds, octupus chandeliers,
chekoslovakian furnitures
russian dolls and persian carpets
these are all found here
icons of Christ and the Holy Virgin Mary
in marble chips from Italy
the paintings of Malakas and Maganda
the banig walls that took two years of polish and paste
it is totally a different world
thirty-seaters or twenty seaters
of chosen dignataries for dining
and dancing the wide halls
of this palace

the tourist guide guides us to different rooms
of this country of fools
each with an austrian mirror
polished black and white floors
the chosen hard wood and the glossy varnishes
these
all these
the people have suffered
in poverty and too much confusion of the times

what have we got now?
we have this trauma, of
never again

everything is dust.
everyone is dust

i am going back to the past
perhaps i shall bleed again,

cry...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For All The Treasures I See

for all the treasures i see
rain, forests, sun, clouds,
green fields, high mountains
waterfalls, white sandy shorelines,
rock formations, mountain mists,
a perfect sunset
a glorious sunrise

the ivory piano keys,
the 33-seater dining table
the paintings from italy
some marble mosaic
the glass windows from rome
the sculpted wood
the persian carpets
the octopus hangings
dancing lights

all these are nothing
treasures of mankind
his capacity for greed
materialism, consumerism,
his leanings for corruption
and avarice and instincts
for preservation
the reputation and fame

all these treasures fade
against the light of one

pure, clean heart
that i am still searching

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I need a past

Dalliance frozen like a tight snare
Recorded off wood floors
Appreciate a melody felt
Delivered and waiting for you
Does she love me concerns
Nerves as weak as the moon
My stereo is so nice
Writing in my dining room
Strong coffee and cream and sugar
I fall in love so easy
it's hot with a breeze
Modern poetry is so free
Some control freaks don't like it

Do you want a slice of my life
a little slice of time
Real and true and splintered
The music is sweet
I still somehow think I touched you
Going for a long walk in an hour
so green out
so lush and plush

Some times when I write
it feels like heaven
My dining room is nice lots of wood
cross breeze and a fan
I need the past
I certainly want a future
but a past is important
My past seems to protect me
Do you know what I mean?
People with a bad past seem off

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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These City Walls

There's no doubt this city's in abundance
There's beauty alright, too much to see sometimes
The summer varnishes stone buildings like they were a canvas
The rivers reflect the scenes, doubling the impact
And the people here are smart and easy
No trouble, no smashing glass or arses out of car windows

Of course; they keep the best stuff locked away
If you weren't born to money or vast ambition
Then you've not earned the right to see some joys
Then you're not blessed enough to come inside the walls

These city walls, secrets within arms-reach
Exploding summer gardens, ponds, boats, buildings
Dining halls, drawing rooms, ancient chapples
Wrapped a hundred walls around it all
Reserved for the elite, for the wealthy and the 'wise'

Still this city holds me in her talons tight
Still this place cushions me in its soft paw
Strips a few garments here and there
To keep me aware of all the beauty bubbling under

But now my times are tainted
Now too many feelings have boiled away
When I go to other cities
They fire my imagination
They inspire me with their possibility

Oh, the excitement of not knowing
Where this street will take me
Oh, the happiness in lost moments
Just swimming through confusion

It's time to go beyond these city walls
It's time to move on
From these city walls...

(2009)

poem by B. Alexander
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Song in Honor of BVM on Her Birthday (Sept.8th)

Baby Mary born today,
Of Joachim and of Anne;
Chosen by God long ago
To Mother Jesus Christ Lord.

Blessed Virgin Mary dear,
Who found favor in God’s heart;
Mediatrix for mankind;
Pray for us to earn God’s grace!

Holy Mary, God’s Mother;
Queen of heaven forever;
Pure of heart, immaculate
Conception who bore Jesus.

Hail O Mary, clad in grace;
Crushed the Serpent’s head and face!
Help me pray more rosaries
For the souls in purgatory.

Give us health of body, mind;
Help us keep soul in pure state;
Guide us lead a holy life;
And avoid sin and all strife!

Speak O Mary to Jesus;
Help us win against Satan;
Save us from the fire of hell;
Show the way to God’s abode.

poem by John Celes
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Snow On Christmas(revised)

The snow comes down so gently like God’s Love for Mary and for us
When he gave us Jesus and Mary remained pure as snow.
Jesus was conceived in her virgin’s womb.

Snow is clean and bright as her love for Jesus Christ.
Snow is soft like the skin of Jesus
a newborn baby on Christmas Night.

The snow flying gently to the ground like a white dove
which come without a sound this reminds me of the Holy Spirit.
Also the angels wings of Gabriel Who told Mary,
She was chosen by God to bear his son.

poem by Meg Harrison
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Pride Of Man

Turn around,
go back down,
back the way you came,
Can't you see that flash of fire ten times brighter than the day?
And behold a mighty city broken in the dust again,
Oh God, Pride of Man, broken in the dust again.
Turn around,
go back down,
back the way you came,
Babylon is laid to waste, Egypt's buried in her shame,
The mighty men are all beaten down, their kings are fallen in the ways,
Oh God, Pride of Man, broken in the dust again.
Turn around,
go back down,
back the way you came,
Terror is on every side, lo our leaders are dismayed.
For those who place their faith in fire, their faith in fire shall be
repaid,
Oh God, Pride of Man, broken in the dust again.
Turn around,
go back down,
back the way you came,
And shout a warning unto the nation that the sword of God is raised.
Yes, Babylon, that mighty city, rich in treasures, wide in fame,
Oh God, Pride of Man, broken in the dust again.
The meek shall cause your tower to fall, make of you a pyre of flame,
Oh you who dwell on many waters, rich in treasures, wide in fame.
you bow unto your God of gold, your pride of might shall be a shame,
For only God can lead His people back unto the Earth again.
Oh God, Pride of Man, broken in the dust again.
A Holy mountain be restored, and mercy on that people, that people

song performed by by Quicksilver Messenger Service
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Superhero Of The Computer Rage

I'm the past
Future
I've been chosen
You think it's over
But I'm ready to go
I am what you fear
I've been chosen
The world as you know it just died
It's the end of all time
I am a surprise
Even to myself I'm a genius
Superhero of the computer rage
In plastic I'll bury
I am what you fear
I've been chosen
The world as you know it just died
It's the end of all time
everything you say is denied
I'll be the devil on this ride
Dark clouds in your heaven
Your end has only begun
You can scream but the re's no rescue
I promise I'll make sure you die in time
I am the maggot
in your infected life
No matter how hard you try
I'll leave without a scar
i am a legend
In your infotainment life
It's whan I say "It's over"
It's you who's been chosen

song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Walk Within A Dream

I saw a building old as days
With countless rooms laid within
Walls with cracks and ivy rose
From the earth before me
Slowly I entered that place
Air ran heavy, thick to my lungs
With each taken step
I walked the rooms and halls
Some bare stripped of life
Others as though never touched
Some like a memory kept
Where instruments of music
Lay dust covered, silent
Still brought a song to thought
I saw paintings and pictures
Rich in a veil of colour
Like all the seasons held at once
A beauty found, celebrated
Then a sadness felt
In the shadowed halls
Empty with a loneliness
Another room had windows
Where a wind whistled through
I heard a birdsong carried
It passed in a second step
I thought no more of it
I descended and climbed stairs
Became lost and yet found
I knew this place well
However strange it came to me
Yes I knew this place
I felt the walls, ageless
I smelt the air, familiar
The ground beat to a pulse
A rhythm only I knew
On this my first visit
To that building which once rose
I felt at home, comforted
I looked back became held
As though I had never moved
The entrance still behind me
In spite of all the rooms and halls
Which I had walked
In spite of every step I counted
Numberless, countless, endless
I remained unmoved
Yet moved still moved
My eyes closed I felt myself pulled
Away from that old building
The rooms and walls
The cracks and the climbing ivy
That whistling wind
The music and colour
I awoke and thought
Had I walked a dream
Built upon my heart, soul, mind
Had I just walked myself
No answers came
I lay awake lost in thought

poem by Matthew Holloway
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts

As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.

The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.

The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds

I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Pride Of Man

Turn around go back down go back the way you came
Cant you see the flash of fire ten times brighter than the day
And behold the mighty city broken in the dust again
Oh God the pride of man broken in the dust again
Turn around go back down go back the way you came
Babylon is laid to waste egypts buried in her shame
Their mighty men are beaten down the kings are fallen in the ways
Oh God the pride of man broken in the dust again
Turn around go back down go back the way you came
Terror is on everyside though the leaders are dismayed
Those who put their faith in fire in fire their faith shall be repaid
Oh God the pride of man broken in the dust again
Turn around go back down go back the way you came
Shout a warning to the nations that the sword of God is raised
On babylon that mighty city rich in treasure wide in fame
It shall cause thy towers to fall and make it be a pyre of flame
Oh God the pride of man broken in the dust again
Thou that dwell on many water rich in treasure wide in fame
Bow unto a God of gold thy pride of might shall be thy shame
Oh God the pride of man broken in the dust again
And only God can lead the people back into the faith again
Thy holy mountain be restored thy mercy on thy people lord

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holy Jaunt

Two carpets, blue and black
Embroidered with sun and stars
Daily to fly to the divine destination
For me from this haven of mud

Jaunt of my joie de vivre intermitted shortly
Dieseled air and breath of bad people
Dirtied the carpets with dust and lust
Began the cleaning process to deterge

Down evacuated, up all the aqua
A volley of hydraulic pouring
Heavily beat and hammerded the carpets
Lines of clearance flashed now and then

Process over, brighter the carpets
Jiggling my joy resumed its soaring
To the interminable, untouched sanctum
The Holy Lord is supposedly dwelling

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Anna

Madness burns like a candle
Blustery night haunted with Anna
No clover or wild grass grows
No laughter sighs in the wind
Only the moan like a cemetery

The sea wrestles with ghosts
I have drowned in sorrow
Sanity has no wisdom of pain
Nestled in graves of ice
My heart lives in gray shadows

Threatened by brave self discovery
Blue skies are to be behind curtains
No paintings of ruby days of joy
Cobwebs and dust replete in the past
Only the tomb of sweet Anna will last

I have had enough of the light
Pastels have no place in my world
Red legions have come in purple
Don't bring me back - I am chosen
I have left willingly and sanity is evil

I hear her footsteps on the stairs
Curtain lace moves like her negligee
I know the dead live for they are near
Leave me to the kingdom of the past
Where Anna sleeps forever and forever

I have chosen this grand Gothic prison
I am free with glee sordid madness
Away from the world I seek darkness
Only Anna shall call me home
I have never met her but soon I shall

My doors are locked and shall not open
Gates as black as Byron’s steeds
Time is night when moonbeams swirl
Gossamer winds that make love to me
Dreams in dungeons where Anna cries

Etched ever deeply in my embittered heart
Is the sweet castle of Anna

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Arlington

I never thought that this is where Id settle down
I thought Id die an old man back in my hometown
They gave me this plot of land
Me and some other men
For a job well done
Theres a big white house, sits on a hill, just up the road
The man inside, he cried the day they brought me home
They folded up a flag
And told my mom and dad
Were proud of your son
And Im proud to be on this peaceful piece of property
Im on sacred ground, and Im in the best of company
Im thankful for those thankful for the things Ive done
I can rest in peace, Im one of the chosen ones
I made it to Arlington
I remember Daddy brought me here when I was eight
We searched all day to find out where my granddad lay
When we finally found that cross
He said Son, this is what it costs
To keep us free
Now here I am, a thousand stones away from him
He recognized me on the first day I came in
And it gave me a chill
When he clicked his heels
And saluted me
And Im proud to be on this peaceful piece of property
Im on sacred ground, and Im in the best of company
Im thankful for those thankful for the things Ive done
I can rest in peace, Im one of the chosen ones
I made it to Arlington
And every time I hear twenty-one guns
I know they brought another hero home to us
Were thankful for those thankful for the things weve done
We can rest in peace, cause we are the chosen ones
We made it to Arlington
Yeah, dust to dust
Dont cry for us
We made it to Arlington

song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arlington

song performed by by Trace Adkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Been Through The Gates

His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,--I do not remember how long I slept;
I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the
towers;
The walls are standing to-day, and the gates; I have been through the gates, I have
groped, I have crept
Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over
them;
His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly
rain, unclean and unswept,
Like the heart of the holy city, old blind, beautiful Jerusalem;
Over which Christ wept

poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Chosen People

Glory is on our way[? ]
Worship the sun, great spirit.
Born of the mother earth,
Seek for the true white brother.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.
It is written in our prophecy,
[it is written in our prophecy]
That we shall find the true white brother,
[we shall find the true white brother]
Who will help us, joined together, to build humanity.
There is a place for everyone.
We are the chosen people, give back our holy land.
We are the ever forest, we are great spirits hand.
She will call us soon,
She will shake her body,
Bringing your land to ruin.
Why will the world not hear us?
We are most ancient teachers, we know great spirits plan.
We learned by natures secrets, the inner side of man.
We are the chosen people, give back our sacred land.
We are the four grandfathers, a destiny for man.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Of The Last Siren

Somewhere in between slumber and arousal
the twilight zone scoops a fistful of memories.
Atrophied limbs. Mottled skin. A cancerous face haunts.
Not afraid but I am anxious. Life has not yet ebbed away.
I scramble for sparks, my hands burn.
Very disquietening!
The severed bones in a heap.
They wanted to appease the goddess,
the gnomes were dancing in a circle.

The land, the country is breaking, sky is falling.
Run, run for cover.
I scream in a dream.
Are we disintegrating? Disappearing?
A black hole is calling?
The mega truth has been broken into myriad fragments,
We are now thinking in chips, holding our own mirror.
Show your mirror to your truth. Future is fogging the past.

Come hither my child of sorrow.
We are old tribe. We will keep our pledge
to maintain fidelity towards verses of sadness, evening, night,
stars and dust. The sparkles will die one day. Only the moon
will rise on the dead bodies. Where will you like to go?

Amongst the ruins, walking straight back to the treasure-trove
of ancient wisdom.
Wake up
Bells are chiming.

poem by Satish Verma
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Blessed Among Women

Mary is 'blessed among women'
not because of her qualifications
courses studied exalted prestigious
but because of her heart humility

all Mary’s grace came from Christ
Mary is vessel instrument of God
Mary exemplifies transformation
Mary exemplifies divine restoration

never to be forgotten in all eternity
God became human through Mary
virgin birth slays sin curse sanctified
true salvation is in Christ not Mary

Mary a human like every one of us
God born human like every one of us
Jesus Christ was a human being born
Mary gave born to God as flesh born

Jesus Christ flesh incarnate one of us
Jesus Christ flesh tempted as one of us
Jesus born our brother not a stranger
Jesus born suffers all temptation danger

Christ must grow in us as he did in Mary
Divine Kingdom of God is born in us
Holy Spirit through Christ is born in us
Holy kingdom of God is all around us

the Kingdom of God is not built of stone
the Kingdom of God is not Vatican Rome
the Kingdom of God is born in living flesh
thirty nine stripes conquers diseased flesh

Mary became blessed by accepting Christ
Christians become blessed by accepting Christ
through symbolic baptism reborn in Christ
Christ in a reborn Christian living as in Mary

all that is temporal disappears wasted despairs
heavenly soul created remains for all eternity
virginity of Mary was God's temporal restoration
paving God’s purpose choice accept salvation

poem by Terence George Craddock
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No Neck-Tie Party

A prisoner speaks:

Majority of twenty-three,
I face the Judge with joy and glee;
For am I not a lucky chap -
No more hanging, no more cap;
A "lifer," yes, but well I know
In fifteen years they'll let me go;
For I'll be pious in my prison,
Sing with gusto: Christ Is Risen;
Serve the hymn-books out on Sunday,
Sweep the chapel clean on Monday:
Such a model lag I'll be
In fifteen years they'll set me free.

Majority of twenty three,
You've helped me cheat the gallows tree.
I'm twenty now, at thirty-five
How I will laugh to be alive!
To leap into the world again
And bless the fools miscalled "humane,"
Who say the gibbet's wrong and so
At thirty-five they let me go,
Tat I may sail the across the sea
A killer unsuspect and free,
To change my name, to darkly thrive
By hook or crook at thirty-five.

O silent dark and beastly wood
Where with my bloodied hands I stood!
O piteous child I raped and slew!
Had she been yours, would you and you
Have pardoned me and set me free,
Majority of twenty-three?
Yet by your solemn vote you willed
I shall not die though I have killed;
Although I did no mercy show,
In mercy you will let me go. . . .
That he who kills and does not pay
May live to kill another day.

*By a majority of twenty-three the House of Commons
voted the abolition of the death penalty.

poem by Robert William Service
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The court is like a palace of marble; it's composed of people very hard and very polished.

quote by Jean de la Bruyere
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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En.Citatepedia®.ro

Tacloban At The Santo Nino Shrine

Related quotes

For All The Treasures I See

I need a past

These City Walls

Song in Honor of BVM on Her Birthday (Sept.8th)

Snow On Christmas(revised)

Pride Of Man

Superhero Of The Computer Rage

A Walk Within A Dream

0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts

Pride Of Man

Holy Jaunt

Anna

Arlington

Arlington

I Have Been Through The Gates

Chosen People

Song Of The Last Siren

Blessed Among Women

No Neck-Tie Party

En.Citatepedia^®.ro