Prelude
I have eaten your bread and salt.
I have drunk your water and wine.
In deaths ye died I have watched beside,
And the lives ye led were mine.
Was there aught that I did not share
In vigil or toil or ease, --
One joy or woe that I did not know,
Dear hearts across the seas?
I have written the tale of our life
For a sheltered people's mirth,
In jesting guise -- but ye are wise,
And ye know what the jest is worth.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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After Ascension
Those twelve years from Ascension
Until the day of meeting broke,
She was not so much all alone
As it might seem to common folk,
Because no day passed without bliss:
He gives Himself back to her kiss.
He comes no more in human guise,
Yet He is in their midst again.
His wounds are there in all men's eyes,
So doubting Thomas sees them plain;
They pour the Wine and break the Bread,
And the heart's hunger's comforted.
The Apostle takes the Cup of Wine,
The white Bread on the paten bright,
O Food of angels dear, divine!
The Lord of Life comes down in light,
And sweeter than the honeycomb
Rests in the heart that was His home.
Give place! His Mother's claim is first;
Her arms embrace her Son once more:
On the kind breast where He was nurst
He hath sweet ease as oft before.
Morn after morn, through the twelve years,
His love makes rapture of her tears.
She guards the youngling Church as once
She kept her small Son while He grew,
Safe sheltered from the winds and suns,
Comforted with soft rain and dew;
Till it's full-grown and she is free
For the long bliss that is to be.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: LVI
Who has not wept with Manon? Of all tales
That thrill youth's fancy or to tears or mirth
None other is there where such grief prevails,
Such passionate pity for the loves of Earth.
Who has not wept with Manon in her sin,
Wept in her punishment? What angry heart
Has been unmoved in youth to see her win
With those sad archers to the inhuman cart?
Who has not followed her beyond the seas,
And sold his life for her, and bowed his pride,
And sinned all sins to buy her back to ease,
And died all deaths to venge her when she died?
And I, blest boy, who each new happy night
When all was done still lived in her delight!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Come Live With Me
(ray charles)
Come live with me and be my love
Share my bread and wine
Be a part of me, the heart of me
Be mine
Come live with me and be my love
Let our dreams combine
Be wife to me, be life to me
Be mine
With these hands I will build a roof
To shield your head
And with these hands I will carve the wood
For our babys bed
Come live with me and be my love
And let me love you all the time
Be mate to me, be fate to me
Be mine
I will try to do my best for you
I swear, I promise you
I will cry for you, I will comfort you
My whole life through
Come live with me and be my love
Share my bread and wine
Be a part of me, be the heart of me
Be mine
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neighbours
My neighbour has a field of wheat
And I a rood of vine;
And he will give me bread to eat,
And I will give him wine.
And so we are a jolly pair,
Contentedly unwed,
Singing with supper as we share
Red wine and crusty bread.
Now venison is mighty meat
And so is trout and hare;
A mallard duck is sweat to eat
And quail is dainty fare.
But such are foods for festal day,
And we will not repine
While on the table we can lay
Crisp bread and rosy wine.
A will to till one's own of soil
Is worth a kingly crown,
With bread to feed the belly need,
And wine to wash it down.
So with my neighbour I rejoice
That we are fit and free,
Content to praise with lusty voice
Bread, Wine and Liberty.
poem by Robert William Service
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I Have Taken Your Slice Of Bread
i have taken your slice of bread
from the table
it is for you
as i have already eaten mine
early
this morning
forgive me
i have learned
to eat more
and took
without so much
thinking
your share
the slice of bread
one half bigger
than mine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: IV
And thus it is. The tale I have to tell
Is such another. He who reads shall find
That which he brings to it of Heaven or Hell
For his best recompense where much is blind,
A jest--book or a sermon or mere wind,--
Each as he may,--for life's least godly mirth
Is mingled strangely here with fate unkind,
And this is a true story of the Earth.
The passionate heart of youth with its desires
Is not all noble, and some baseness clings
For ever mixed with its eternal fires,
Else were it single among human things.
And all life's wisdom learns but this last plan,
To jest at tears and weep Man's mirth and Man.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The people have drunk the wine of peace
The people have drunk the wine of peace
In the streets of town.
They smile as they drift with hearts at rest
Uphill and down.
The people have drunk the wine of peace,
They are mad with joy.
Never again need they lie and fear
Death for a boy.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak
The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night
and when the clock counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished
no one can know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours,
they will mean what you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for
peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say,
it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us.
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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We Praise Him Still
It came upon a midnight dear,
A baby's cry, a mother's tear,
A babe to change this earthly sphere,
A saviour who is always near.
He came to save us all from sin,
So we our lives could now begin,
He was to us our own dear kin,
Our hearts he would forever win.
We celebrate his holy birth,
With joy and love, with songs and mirth,
His teachings are so full of worth,
We praise him still, upon this earth.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Penalty
Because of the fullness of what I had,
All that I have seems poor and vain.
If I had not been happy, I were not sad--
Tho' my salt is savorless, why complain?
From the ripe perfection of what was mine,
All that is mine seems worse than naught;
Yet I know, as I sit in the dark and pine,
No cup can be drained which has not been fraught.
From the throb and the thrill of a day that was,
The day that now is seems dull with gloom;
Yet I bear the dullness and darkness, because
'Tis but the reaction of glow and bloom.
From the royal feast that of old was spread
I am starved on the diet that now is mine;
Yet, I could not turn hungry from water and bread
If I had not been sated on fruit and wine.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude IV.
When the long murmur of applause
That greeted the Musician's lay
Had slowly buzzed itself away,
And the long talk of Spectre Ships
That followed died upon their lips
And came unto a natural pause,
'These tales you tell are one and all
Of the Old World,' the Poet said,
'Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall,
Dead leaves that rustle as they fall;
Let me present you in their stead
Something of our New England earth,
A tale which, though of no great worth,
Has still this merit, that it yields
A certain freshness of the fields,
A sweetness as of home-made bread.'
The Student answered: 'Be discreet;
For if the flour be fresh and sound,
And if the bread be light and sweet,
Who careth in what mill 't was ground,
Or of what oven felt the heat,
Unless, as old Cervantes said,
You are looking after better bread
Than any that is made of wheat?
You know that people nowadays
To what is old give little praise;
All must be new in prose and verse:
They want hot bread, or something worse,
Fresh every morning, and half baked;
The wholesome bread of yesterday,
Too stale for them, is thrown away,
Nor is their thirst with water slaked.
As oft we see the sky in May
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain,
The Poet's face, before so gay,
Was clouded with a look of pain,
But suddenly brightened up again;
And without further let or stay
He told his tale of yesterday.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Beauty In You Boils Like Wine Yet You Are So Divine
You are eternal so is love
Everything is for change but not beauty of my love..
Beauty in you is admired by all
Here i'm as adorable not for all..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty is you that's true
Honey.. it's true mirror never lies you..
I never lie but can lie for you and
For your happiness can die for you..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty is sacred so are you
Beauty is priceless so in you
You are precious but not for the world
Can bet anything to make you my world
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beautiful is you not my life
Your beauty is immortal not my eyes
Oh Mine...
Your beauty is the way to heaven
Show me way to your heart which is next to seven..
Take me the way i am and
make me the way you want..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
You are my love worth to die for
You are my freedom worth to fight for..
I made my guts to compromise
Beauty in you is worth a sacrifice..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
My words can sail but are not for sale
Can sacrifice in love to make you my fairy tale..
This song of mine is only for you my sunshine
I can sing this song specially for you my divine..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
I've signed your name on each dropp of my sweat and
Will dream of you till the last day of my breath..
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine
Beauty in you boils like wine yet you are so divine..
poem by Dr Vinay Sirigere
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Bluebird Wine
(rodney crowell)
Baby brought me in out off the highway
Made me put my money in the bank, bank
Straightened out my crooked way of thinking
Made it purely pleasure when I drank
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby taught me a diffrent way of thinkin
Like how to spend my evenings here at home
Listning to the music on the radio
Drinking all the bluebird we can hold
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby says hed really love a party
Well get some friends together feelin fine
Any friend of mine is worth his habit
A belly full of babys bluebird wine
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unwelcome
|WE were young, we were merry, we were very very wise,
And the door stood open at our feast,
When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes,
And a man with his back to the East.
O, still grew the hearts that were beating so fast,
The loudest voice was still.
The jest died away on our lips as thy passed,
And the rays of July struck chill.
The cups of red wine turned pale on the board,
The white bread black as soot.
The hound forgot the hand of her lord,
She fell down at his foot.
Low let me lie, where the dead dog lies,
Ere I sit me down again at a feast,
When there passes a woman with the West in her eyes,
And a man with his back to the East.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Cannonball Days
What's come to stay from the Cannonball days
but a house and some clothes on the line.
Fired away your drunken brigade
In the streets of New York as a child.
Woman so fine, fine as a girl
Slow like an Italian wine.
Her hair all a mess and a dress off the shelf
But all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Cuz you're gonna need it dear.
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
I tasted your lips with my hands on your hips
Danced in apartment named Nine.
Cats on the sill and my head to your breast
Beating your rhythms divine.
West Jersey Queen with a rattled machine
Tasted the salt through your skin.
Loved you back then, but I couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Go give em some hell and goodbye
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
Basked in the heat down on Christopher street,
Bought you a rose from a bum
Left you a note, had it stuffed in your coat
You laughed and said it was dumb.
Broke like a stem, and I guess you're with him
I'm sure that he treats you just fine.
So bottoms up, cheers, baby here's to your tears
all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
I'll miss you, but go on, goodbye.
I feel like a stray from these cannonball days
when all of your roses were mine.
all of your roses were mine
all of your roses........were mine
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Mother
In the first dawn she lifted from her bed
The holy silver of her noble head,
And listened, listened, listened for his tread.
'Too soon, too soon !' she murmured, 'Yet I'll keep
My vigil longer thou, O tender Sleep,
Art but the joy of those who wake and weep!
'Joy's self hath keen, wide eyes. O flesh of mine,
And mine own blood and bone, the very wine
Of my aged heart, I see thy dear eyes shine!
'I hear thy tread; thy light, loved footsteps run
Along the way, eager for that 'Well done !'
We'll weep and kiss to thee, my soldier son!
'Blest mother I he lives! Yet had he died
Blest were I still, I sent him on the tide
Of my full heart to save his nation's pride!'
'O God, if that I tremble so to-day,
Bowed with such blessings that I cannot pray
By speech a mother prays, dear Lord, alway
'In some far fibre of her trembling mind!
I'll up I thought I heard a bugle bind
Its silver with the silver of the wind. '
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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First Water
The water had its beginning before time began
Before even the first born our God would call earthly man.
The creator knew the value and significance of water
Just as its second human creation we call an earthly daughter.
Man certainly does not live by bread alone
But along side the children who sleep at home.
Man can survive without food for a long, long time
But not for long without water nor drinking wine.
The universal one covered earth with two thirds water
Still not as miraculous as the gift of a daughter.
More bounty in the water than in the soil
How expressive is the holy one when we toil.
A green tree grows on coral with a great deal of salt
A desire of the eternal God who has no fault.
The creator separated the birds from the land and sea
Also for man and woman and their child to be.
Water cleans, heals and provides
Mother nature gives, replenishes and renews with each new tide.
poem by chuck Hurley
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Sonnet: Happy Birth-Anniversary, Dear Mom!
This day, we know, you had your birth on earth
-A lovely, lucky day for all of us;
Your living memories give us intense mirth;
You turned our world of woes into mere bliss!
You strived to make the world a better place;
You made our lives worth living by your toil;
You labored hard, yet kept a pleasant face;
You feared your Lord and burnt the midnight oil!
You brought much cheer in people's lives around;
You changed our dreams into one joyous scene!
Your righteous ways saw all of us dumbfound;
Oh, what a charming person, you had been!
Each stage of life, you had performed so well;
The angels in heaven will surely tell!
Most lovingly dedicated to our dear beloved mother,
(Late) Mrs. Stella Antoniswami on her birth anniversary today
By her living, longing and ever-loving children!
poem by John Celes
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Not Worth the toil!
NOT all the sum of earthly happiness
Is worth the bowed head of a moment's pain,
And if I sell for wine my dervish dress,
Worth more than what I sell is what I gain!
Land where my Lady dwells, thou holdest me
Enchained; else Fars were but a barren soil,
Not worth the journey over land and sea,
Not worth the toil!
Down in the quarter where they sell red wine,
My holy carpet scarce would fetch a cup
How brave a pledge of piety is mine,
Which is not worth a goblet foaming up!
Mine enemy heaped scorn on me and said
'Forth from the tavern gate!' Why am I thrust
From off the threshold? is my fallen head
Not worth the dust?
Wash white that travel-stained sad robe of thine!
Where word and deed alike one colour bear,
The grape's fair purple garment shall outshine
Thy many-coloured rags and tattered gear.
Full easy seemed the sorrow of the sea
Lightened by hope of gain--hope flew too fast
A hundred pearls were poor indemnity,
Not worth the blast.
The Sultan's crown, with priceless jewels set,
Encircles fear of death and constant dread
It is a head-dress much desired--and yet
Art sure 'tis worth the danger to the head?
'Twere best for thee to hide thy face from those
That long for thee; the Conqueror's reward
Is never worth the army's long-drawn woes,
Worth fire and sword.
Ah, seek the treasure of a mind at rest
And store it in the treasury of Ease;
Not worth a loyal heart, a tranquil breast,
Were all the riches of thy lands and seas!
Ah, scorn, like Hafiz, the delights of earth,
Ask not one grain of favour from the base,
Two hundred sacks of jewels were not worth
Thy soul's disgrace
poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
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If I Needed You
(townes van zandt)
If I needed you
Would you come to me
Would you come to me
For to ease my pain
If you needed me
I would come to you
I would swim the seas
For to ease your pain
Well the nights forlorn
And the mornings born
And the morning shines
With the lights of love
And youll miss sunrise
If you close your eyes
And that would break
My heart in two
If I needed you
Would you come to me
Would you come to me
For to ease my pain
If you needed me
I would come to you
I would swim the seas
For to ease your pain
Babys with me now
Since I showed her how
To lay
Her lilly
Hand in mine
Who would ill agree
Shes a sight to see
A treasure for
The poor to find
If I needed you
Would you come to me
Would you come to me
For to ease my pain
If you needed me
I would come to you
I would swim the seas
For to ease your pain
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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