Poet And Priest.
The poet's born, the priest is made: at last
Shall come a day when all men at the shrine
Of poesy shall pay their vows, and know
The oracles of Nature are divine,
And but the inspired have authority.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Related quotes
Silence Vavroovahana Patra
Silence provides peace;
Poet desires Divine Bliss.
In deep silence prays mother;
Surrenders in the lap of Nature.
Mother attracts, adorned with flowers;
In the lap of Nature provides pleasure.
Blesses poet affectionatinely;
Derives peace divinely.
Profound silence takes mind to Divinity;
At night through silence mind enchants with gaiety.
Poet beholds mother reverentially;
Mind remains in the world of peace delightfully.
Mother Vinapanee blesses poet with affection;
He enjoys the beauty of creation.
Her blessings tranquilises mind daily;
Singing her songs mind derives peace gaily.
The shrine in the dense forest allures the poet;
Mind enchants with delight.
The serene shrine is a Brook of Delight;
Poet drinks the nectar from the Brook of Gaiety.
Silence of the shrine provides profound peace;
Poet surrender on the rosy cosy feet for Divine Bliss.
Hymns breaks the silence of environment;
Poet chants hymns with merriment.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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A Patriarchal Mosaic Christian Covenant
What authority
did Jesus have
for his ministry?
By what ordinances
what divine authority
what signs in ministry?
His miracles astounded many
healings among signs many
authority foundations so many.
Jesus was circumcised
into divine covenant
between Abraham all
his descendants and God.
Jesus was prophesy born
into Mosaic dispensation
laws of Moses he followed.
Born into Divine house of David
he inherits law of house authority
bloodline stewardship ministry...
inherits Abraham’s Patriarchal covenant
inherits Mosaic written physical law
becomes Christian spiritual living law.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Were I Born With
Were I born with the gift of poesy I'd write of the beauty I see
The unrivalled beauty of Nature that is everywhere around me
I'd pen my songs to Mother Nature I've loved her since I was a boy
From her people are always learning and lessons from her I enjoy,
I belong to the Goddess of Nature and she is the one I adore
Each day my love for her grows greater I love her now as never before
I feel humans belong to Nature and to her we'll return one day
In the coolness of her dark earthy bosom our remains are destined to lay
So many have great love for Nature and they love her far more than I
They fight to save her trees from deevelopers and they will fight for her until the day that they die
To them she is the one true Goddess yet people like her Seasons come and go
But she is the one who lives forever and her rivers to her oceans flow
were I born with the gift of poesy of Nature I surely would write
her sights and sounds and the scents of her perfume to the senses a source of delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Oracles
Invaders, invaders! The oracles must be consulted;
From the North to the South and,
From the East to the West are the African Oracles.
The oracles of my ancestors are,
The trademarks of my African identity to a call;
We have to consult the oracles in times of need.
Who said it is not rue?
Who said it is not powerful?
Visit the Oracles of Africa and know the truth.
The African Oracles,
Do ask Mr. Okonkwo about it;
He will tell you why,
The Whiteman's 'iron Horse' was hanged on a tree.
Oh! The oracles of my ancestors;
Out of their mystic myths,
So lay their powers.
Of their creative arts and acts,
Of their spell which makes me think otherwise;
Yet still, the African lacks behind in many things.
If onne could fly in the thin air and able to vanish,
Why can't they form a Universal Soldier in Africa? !
Those are they who are bullet-proof too;
Are these Oracles also working for them?
The oracles,
The Oracles of Africa!
With respective rites for a passer-by who,
Wants to know more about the African;
Oh, the oracles of my forefathers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Innocent Face Vavroovahana Patra
The innocent face allures the poet in the morn;
The Beauty magnifies the beauty of the dawn.
Mind derives peace;
Poet lives with Divine Bliss.
Poet is a lover of Beauty;
Beautiful things enchant the poet with gaiety.
Loves Silvery face delightfully;
Loves innocent hearts silently.
Vernal chilly Breeze kisses the crisp hair delightfully;
Fragrance of Beauty bathes poet's body with gaiety.
Poet is inspired to remain in a world of peace;
Praying in the lap of Nature derives Divine Bliss.
Innocent rural Beauty proceeds silently;
Poet, a lover of Beauty, beholds enthusiastically.
Innocence provides delight;
Inspiration is a Brook of Delight.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Life of a Roman Catholic Priest
A priest is nearest Christ;
A priest is Christ at times;
A priest is almost Christ;
A priest is most divine.
A priest is God’s shepherd;
A priest must tend to flock;
A priest must be like ‘rock’;
A priest should ne’er defrock.
A priest communes with God;
A priest draws hope from Lord;
A priest shows love of Christ;
A priest carries His Cross!
A priest is tempted too;
A priest has falls in life;
A priest falters also;
A priest has strength from Christ.
A priestly job is tough;
A priest’s life can turn rough;
A priest has strife enough,
But has to smile and laugh!
A priest helps harvest souls;
A priest has many roles;
A priest has but one goal –
To drink from Christ’s own bowl!
Pray that more priests should come;
May priests curb their freedom;
May priest usher Kingdom;
A life for Christ’s welcome.
Fondly dedicated to Rev. Fr. Xavier Claudius,
Beloved Parish priest, ‘Holy Family Church, Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 25-7-2010
poem by John Celes
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Daughter Poesy
An adopted child mine daughter Poesy
At this age of sixtyplus
My skin wrinkly and body rickety
Senses dying and soul almost ready
To up on a count down
Like the fading light of evening sky
Longing for a full moon in new moon night...
Asking everybody why
Opted I for a foreign lexicon
Whilst not an adept in home diction itself
Just a desire before expire
Though in brain much I require..
Ponder my Poesy enforcing the quintescence
So far of my cognition, Poesy to soar high
Progressively speaking, my Poesy
Years few old, amazingly
Like my country Lotus growing divine
God sent blessings! Pamper Poesy with gratitude
All concepts, knowledge mine exclusively for Poesy
My elder daughters the tamils aren't jealousy
But ponder their sister, my English Poesy
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Ocean Of Peace
Bhagaban Shiva’s shrine is an Ocean of peace;
Devotees assemble on the Shrine, derive God’s Bliss.
Bhagavana attracts women and men devotees;
He is the Eternal Peace, a brook of delight.
Deva Deva Mahadeva loves all creatures;
He contents all innocent creatures’ desires.
The Shrine smiles with Natural Beauty;
Bhaktas enchant on the Shrine with gaiety.
Devotees chant Bhagvan’s name delightfully;
Chaste women pray Maheswar gaily.
The Shrine is endowed with fragrant flowers;
Bhagavana showers Divine bliss on all creatures.
Bhagavana attracts the distant devotees;
He is the Deity of Deities, the Supreme Soul, the Almighty.
Bhagavana’s Shrine smiles in the lap of Nature;
The Shrine magnifies the beauty of the creator.
Deepas illuminate the Shrine;
Devotees drink the nectar of love as drunkards to wine;
Women and men enchant with Divine Bliss;
Mahadeva’s Shrine is an Ocean of Eternal Peace.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Sonnet: In the Wings of Poesy
How far do I go in poesy’s wings?
I keep asking myself again, again;
From my inspired heart, my poem just springs,
To the clouds and sky, descending like rain.
How high a can I fly with Poesy’s Wings?
Sky high and beyond to the Stellar Space!
I can meanwhile do acrobatic things,
In this newer field too, I feel an ace.
The more I fly and higher in the sky,
Poesy’s Wings grow stronger everyday;
I shall do this ably until I die;
A record new, it will become one day.
God gave me Wings and showed me how to fly!
All praise and glory is His, the One High.
poem by John Celes
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The Woman Who Loves Poesy
She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.
She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.
Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight
To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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She Was My Wife
My heart is set
On a girl I can’t forget,
But she’s vanished from my eyes
And now only resides
In haunted memories
That never become dislodged
From my worn and weary mind.
I had great plans
To hold her hand
On the sacred ground
Where a priest would stand
And solemnly pronounce
She was my wife.
I don’t know
Which is worse
The vows never made
Or the vows never kept.
I could forgive her a thousand sins
If I could only see her again.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Acrostic Sonnet: God Made Me a Poet
God bestowed me with poesy so fine;
Only a few on earth are gifted thus;
Did I deserve to drink this wine divine?
May glory be to God and to Jesus!
And He gave me the words that came by heart;
Deciding what and how to write for long;
Eventually that turned into an art!
My soul in ecstasy has made a song!
Enticing me with themes divine on earth;
And goading me to ink my pleasant words,
People wonder if I’m poet by birth?
Obeying God, I did like many birds.
Eternity in Heaven is my aim –
The place, we all must enter with great name!
My 2121st poem
Dedicated to thank my God and Jesus Lord!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-26-2008
poem by John Celes
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Poem about Poetry - Born poets, made poets
born poet, nature's gift
the beauty of god's essence
caught in every bloom and season
the years caught, preserved
in the lines and cracks
of a treasured antique
that never fails to excite a collector
made poet, from him
scholastic verses that trace every
perception, but blurly hits on
their exact sequence
the echo of the poetic self usually
missing - God did not put it there -
a crescent that entrances but
never as much as a glorious full moon
a blindman's quest to tell
the bends and squaring of a lane
after having been led
through it a hundred times
the thinly veiled struggle between
confidence and diffidence
the perceived and the real
the pain to put each
in its proper order the way
nature has done it, minus all
elements of pretensions, or ignorance
that come lose through each written word
a net sieving out the made poet
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Authority Song
They like to get you in a compromising position
They like to get you there and smille in your face
They think, theyre so cute when they got you in that condition
Well I think, its a total disgrace
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
So I call up my preacher
I say: gimme strenght for round 5
He said: you dont need no strength, you need to grow up, son
I said: growing up leads to growing old and then to dying,
And dying to me dont sound like all that much fun
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
Oh no
Oh no
I fight authority, authority always wins
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocent Beauty Vavroovahana Patra
Innocent beauty lives below the mountain;
Enjoys the beauty of the fountain.
Magnifies the beauty of Nature;
With sweet conversation contents poet’s desire.
Innocent Beauty is a beautiful flower;
In the lap of Nature is a lovely creature.
Her innocence provides inspiration;
She is a cosy rosy Beauty in the lap of Creation.
A little sweet conversation delights the poet day and night;
He is inspired to depict verses with delight.
Derives peace and pleasure;
Derives peace from the lap of Nature.
Beauty passes on the path delightfully;
Poet depicts poems gaily.
Enchants enjoying the Beauty;
She is a Brook of Gaiety.
Vernal Sun beam provides gay;
Beauteous looks the vernal day.
People enchant delightfully;
Poet surrenders on Mother’s feet gaily.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Continuation
So sung the poet in a humble strain,
With empty pockets, and a head in pain,
Where the soft clime inclin'd the soul to rest,
And past'ral images inspir'd the breast.
Apollo listen'd from his heav'nly bower,
And, in his health restor'd, express'd his power.
Pygmalion thus before the Paphian shrine,
With trembling vows address'd the pow'r divine;
Durst hardly make his hopeless wishes known,
And scarce a greater miracle was shown --
Returning vigour glow'd in every vein,
And gay ideas flutter'd in the brain;
Back he returns to breathe his native air,
And all his first resolves are melted there!
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Υμνος αυμνος
O Thou whose image in the shrine
Of human spirits dwells divine;
Which from that precinct once conveyed,
To be to outer day displayed,
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again!
O Thou that in our bosom’s shrine
Dost dwell, unknown because divine!
I thought to speak, I thought to say,
‘The light is here,’ ‘behold the way,’
‘The voice was thus,’ and ‘thus the word,’
And ‘thus I saw,’ and ‘that I heard,’—
But from the lips that half essayed
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.
O Thou, in that mysterious shrine
Enthroned, as I must say, divine!
I will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.
I will not prate of ‘thus’ and ‘so,’
And be profane with ‘yes’ and ‘no,’
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatso’er Thou may’st be, art.
Unseen, secure in that high shrine
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day to place Thee there;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women saw Thee thus and then:
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her Thou didst appear.
Do only Thou in that dim shrine,
Unknown or known, remain, divine;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies,
The hand to sway, the judgment guide,
In sight and sense Thyself divide:
Be Thou but there,—in soul and heart,
I will not ask to feel Thou art.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Am A Poet
Iam a poet
ı was born a poet
ı feel that frommy childhood
why the storks
chatter on the chimneys
and nest there
their young beak black
their eggs catch cold in winter
ı am a poet
but sometimes ı am misunderstood
that upsets me
very
sometimes people scold me
why the hell you look at me
strangely
they say
do ı resemble someone
do you recognise me
ı am just a poet
ı cannot say
ı s ı t my fault
to be born poet
ı wanna write a poem about you
so ı look and try to understand
your attitude
why does this bother you
ı was born so
ı watch a little child
leaving her mother
throwing herself to the water shower
in the pool in spring
then ı ask the child to return to mother
cause she is looking eagerly looking AFTER
does not like a stranger
she does not know what a poet is too
and lives plain and direct
ı am a poet
ı wish
ı were not born so
ı long for a humble and simple life
living may be in poverty
cause understands me nobody
even the closest around me
poem by Metin Sahin
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Dispensation of the Divine
Underneath a gorgeous forenoon sky,
In a lush and cool garden of delight,
The green pheasant lifts his exploring eye,
Calling his all wise sage beyond his sight.
His melodious song praises the divine One,
Whose luminance descends in a beam,
Touching within the shrine bright as the sun,
Turning every thing gold as in a dream.
The Lord rests now upon His noble throne,
Calling all to climb up the stairs of stone.
There my reverie of Jesus commenced-
The glory of His office deified,
His knowledge of man’s history there dispensed,
His science of the present thither described.
Wisdom of the future was His display,
Myself humbled to receive His cachet.
Five years of learning was spent at this shrine-
Proving command of as many disciplines-
Crossing the bridge from human to Divine,
His acute knowledge of miracles begins.
Then writing for His testimonial,
Also history that brightens the wise,
With focus on the rites ceremonial,
And how theocracy does authorize.
Divine authority added to His reign,
With the King’s seal He departs the domain.
poem by Albert Price
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Our Wonder Of Her Only Does Seem To Grow
The artists and poets by the beauty of Nature inspired to sketch and to write
Their drawings for others to look at and their poems for others to read and recite
And in Nature there is always great beauty to see
In paddock and parkland and on every bush and tree
Once you get to know them you cannot get them wrong
Each species of bird of Nature by their chirp or their song
And though so little of Nature's ways we do seem to know
Our wonder of her only does seem to grow
And in her there is so much to love and admire
And of singing her praises one never could tire
In time brief enough the longest human life span
And Nature will outlive the last woman and man
Since all of her life forms are born to die
That's a fact of Nature and facts never lie.
poem by Francis Duggan
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