The First Arrival Of Love In My Heart...
of the many people who got out of
the church
that Sunday evening
of 1985
despite the dimming light
of the passing years
my failing eyesight considered
it was only you, just you, and
nothing but you
that i clearly saw....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Just Like A Child Would
A tailspin is dimming...
Everybody's quality of life.
With a greed fixation whipping winds.
A tailspin is dimming...
Everybody's quality of life.
And fog is blinding eyesight.
Values place on things,
Is the cause for many tears to fall.
And people upset with themselves,
Point their fingers to blame it all...
On others,
Like a child would do.
And like a child would,
Run home from misdeeds themselves they did.
And like a child would,
Pick a fight then try to cover it!
And like a child would,
Stir up conflict just to get their way.
And like a child would,
Lie about their actions everyday!
And like a child would,
Run home from misdeeds themselves they did.
And like a child would,
Pick a fight then try to cover it!
And like a child would,
Stir up conflict just to get their way.
And like a child would,
Lie about their actions everyday!
Values place on things,
Is the cause for many tears to fall.
And people upset with themselves,
Point their fingers to blame it all...
On others,
Like a child would do.
Run home from misdeeds themselves they did.
And like a child would,
Pick a fight then try to cover it!
And like a child would,
Stir up conflict just to get their way.
And like a child would,
Lie about their actions everyday!
A tailspin is dimming...
Everybody's quality of life.
With a greed fixation whipping winds.
A tailspin is dimming...
Everybody's quality of life.
And fog is blinding eyesight,
With a hindsight now that frightens.
And people who deceived now deny...
Just like a child would.
People who deceived now deny...
Like a child would.
And people who deceived now deny...
Just like a child would.
People who deceived now deny...
Like a child would.
And like a child would...
People who deceived now deny.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aging
Isn't it funny,
isn't it strange,
what happens to people
as they all age.
For myself I have noticed
that on the inside
my character's better
and so is my mind.
I love to read books,
learn new ideas.
I've taken up hobbies
in my late years.
But my eyesight is failing,
my hearing is weak,
which is sad as it's now
that my need of them's peaked.
To look on the bright side
I suppose it's a blessing,
for I don't see my wrinkles
when I am dressing.
As for the housework,
dusting and mopping.
I can't see the dirt
So I just go out shopping!
poem by Ruth Walters
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Retort
My land is not for barter, sir
my land is not for barter, na
and there's to you ya silly foo
my land is not for barter, na
My people's not for buyin' sir
my people's not for buyin' oh
and there's your pipe for smokin', sir
my people's not for buyin', na.
They go to church o' Sunday, sure
they go to church o' Sunday sure
and I will be assurin' yer
they go to church o' Sunday, sir
They sing and praise their Maker, now
they sing and praise their Maker, now
and sure it is amazin' how
they sing and praise their Maker, how.
The grace o' God is on them, sure
the grace o' God is on them, yeh
and on their work and on their ware
the grace o' God is on them now
You voices join together, now
and every hand a fellow find
our land is not for barter, sir
and we are people not for buyin'.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Red riding hood
In the jungle named city
Johnny and Sally
dressed in their church best,
(she with a little red jacket and hood for winter)
one Sunday evening walked to church
when the cruel wolf
(a black monster) ,
drew a long knife
to take God’s money with violence and force,
but unluckily for him
they made him cry long howls
even before the moon did appear
when one two three
they chopped and kicked him using karate
and walked on quite unimpeded
before the church bells were even ringing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hypocrisy In Christianity
today is Sunday
the one day sunday christians
are off to church
these are the Christians
who are only Christian
one day Sunday a week
Christians for only one day?
one day sunday for a few hours?
sin of Hypocrisy in Christianity?
is one of the most detestable sins
it causes righteous worshippers to stumble
it takes the name of God in vain
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Just Emote...
a poet without talent
forgive him
for just being himself
forgive me
but we are all poets in some sense
a fly trapped inside
your hand wanting to be free
a bird in a cage
singing
a leaf falling and falling
and falling
eyesight failing and failing
and failing
and old woman on a
swinging
chair with no one caring
for her
a Japanese kid waiting
for help sitting beside
the ruble
a bird alone on a
telephone cable
sands on the shore and
the sea
a boy lost in the marketplace
a mother still searching
the silent crowd in the mall
always window shopping
we may have no talent
but we are expressing feelings
we are writing simply
by what we see....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Easter song: 2011
Easter
when Christians come together
to celebrate Christ
rising from death,
giving donations to the church
and rather are gossiping,
bragging with their new cars
than to be interested
in the God of the universe.
Easter
when cars drive past
with people on holiday
Hansel, Gretchen, mom and dad
lay somewhere next to the road
either dead or maimed
or are gambolling at the sea.
Easter
on the trees autumn leaves are shining
in colours of yellow, brown and rusty-brown
and the sun is loosing its heat,
still the entire world is searching
for a redeemer who brings solutions
while crime, violence and pain
is circling out wider and wider.
[Reference: Paaslied: 1985 (Easter song: 1985) by Lina Spies.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Contradiction
They go to church with their prayer books on sunday and praise the lord and sing their hymns and pray
And when their political leaders talk of war they support them for war to them one might say seems okay
They are what one might call a contradiction their love for god and war go hand in hand
These people who love god and talk of bloodshed are people that are hard to understand.
They go to church to pray to the almighty though with their next door neighbour they're at war
But they kid themselves by their self delusion for they take self delusion that bit far
They say they love god though their god from them seem distant and they don't seem to have their god within
And if their god exist then their god will disown them for god's approval they could not hope to win.
These people truly are a contradiction they go to church and praise their god in song
Yet some of them belittle their next door neighbour and some of them will tell you war's not wrong
And some of them back their political leaders to dropp bombs on people they don't even know
And they think they are decent church going people yet for others compassion they do not show.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A revival does two things. First, it returns the Church from her backsliding and second, it causes the conversion of men and women; and it always includes the conviction of sin on the part of the Church. What a spell the devil seems to cast over the Church today!
quote by Billy Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Bloody Sunday
Well it was sunday bloody sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the free derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You claim to be majority
Well you know that its a lie
Youre really a minority
On this sweet emerald isle
When stormont bans our marches
Theyve got a lot to learn
Internment is no answer
Its those mothers turn to burn!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You anglo pigs and scotties
Sent to colonize the north
You wave your bloody union jack
And you know what its worth!
How dare you hold to ransom
A people proud and free
Keep ireland for the irish
Put the english back to sea!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Well, its always bloody sunday
In the concentration camps
Keep falls road free forever
From the bloody english hands
Repatriate to britain
All of you who call it home
Leave ireland to the irish
Not for london or for rome!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Church On Sunday
Today is the first day of the rest of our lives
Tomorrow is too late to pretend everything's alright now
I'm not getting any younger as long
As you don't get any older
I'm not gonna state that yesterday never was
Bloodshot
Deadbeat and lack of sleep
Making your mascare bleed
Tears down your face
Leaving traces of my mistakes
When I say
If I promise to go to church on Sunday
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me I'll die for you
And this compromise
I hereby solemny swear to tell the whole truth
And nothing but the truth is what I'll ever hear from you
"Thrust" is a dirty word that comes from such a liar
But "Respect" is something I will earn
If you have faith
Bloodshot
Deadbeat and lack of sleep
Making your mascare bleed
Tears down your face
leaving traces of my mistakes
When I say
If I promise to go to church on Sunday
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me I'll die for you
And this compromise
If I promise to go to church on Sunday
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me I'll die for you
And this compromise
Let's go
Ohhhhhhhhh........
If I promise to go to church on Sunday
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me I'll die for you
And this compromise
If I promise to go to church on Sunday
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me I'll die for you
And this compromise
And this compromise
It's a compromise
song performed by by Green Day from Warning
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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about the ash from Yuri N., she writes it
I once knew
a lady at our church
who played the piano -
Her name was Naomi...
she was quiet,
maybe insignificant...
but I knew her
(only from church) ...
when I heard one Sunday
that she had died
and had been buried
without me knowing,
I grieved for days....
that was 8 years ago...
I still sometimes
think of her,
thinking that,
in some way
she enriched my life -
I cannot remember
her piano-playing,
but I still grieve
nevertheless....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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English Jan
She still has her English accent the one known as English Jan
And she never was a mother nor a wife to any man
She ages without dyes or makeups her hair is silver gray
But do not say about her she has known a better day.
She migrated to Melbourne from Blackpool her Hometown by the Irish sea
When she was in her early twenties in nineteen fifty three
Fifty one years in Australia yet she remains undimmed by time
And more than forty years have passed since she was in her prime.
For forty years a school teacher her retirement she enjoy
And she will make the most of every day until the day she die
She plays bowls on a saturday and on sunday evening after eight
She socializes with her friends and always until late.
On sunday mornings at the Corner cafe she is one I always see
And she does always say hello and smile and wave at me
So down to earth and carefree and untainted by conceit
And one of those good people I feel happy for to meet
She does not use dyes or makeups and she ages in the natural way
And she is one of those nice people who makes a new friend every day
From the English Town of Blackpool by the cold Irish sea
She migrated to Melbourne in nineteen fifty three.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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91
about the ash from Yuri N., she writes it
I once knew
a lady at our church
who played the piano -
Her name was Naomi...
she was quiet,
maybe insignificant...
but I knew her
(only from church) ...
when I heard one Sunday
that she had died
and had been buried
without me knowing,
I grieved for days....
that was 8 years ago...
I still sometimes
think of her,
thinking that,
in some way
she enriched my life -
I cannot remember
her piano-playing,
but I still grieve
nevertheless....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bredon Hill
In summertime on Bredon
The bells they sound so clear;
Round both the shires they ring them
In steeples far and near,
A happy noise to hear.
Here of a Sunday morning
My love and I would lie,
And see the coloured counties,
And hear the larks so high
About us in the sky.
The bells would ring to call her
In valleys miles away:
'Come all to church, good people;
Good people, come and pray.
But here my love would stay.
And I would turn and answer
Among the springing thyme,
'Oh, peal upon our wedding,
And we will hear the chime,
And come to church in time.
But when the snows at Christmas
On Bredon top were strewn,
My love rose up so early
And stole out unbeknown
And went to church alone.
They tolled the one bell only,
Groom there was none to see,
The mourners followed after,
And so to church went she,
And would not wait for me.
The bells they sound on Bredon,
And still the steeples hum.
'Come all to church, good people,' -
Oh, noisy bells, be dumb;
I hear you, I will come.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Sunday
Sunday
Only church's
Housefull...
God working day is
Sunday...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Some Have Steeples. Some Don't
What do I think of church?
'Yes! '
Church?
Like in 'church' church?
'Yes! '
Well...
Some have steeples.
Some don't.
Some have people.
Some wont.
Some are religiously political.
And some are politically religious.
My vehicle is my church.
And that's all I care about.
'Oh?
So your 'car' is your church? '
Oh.
No no!
My 'body' is my church.
It is my sanctuary.
Now...
Keep in mind,
I am not devoted to keep it as pure,
As it should be.
But I do the best I can,
Not to be led away by temptation.
But everyday I pray to be forgiven,
Of those 'sins' I know I should not enjoy!
However...
You can find me anytime,
Self righteously defending...
My point of view.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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