Confrontation
It erupts and then sublimates
in thirst of response
from the faraway wholeness of truth.
Will not be the same
again this life in motion
of reverse malignity.
Lifting the passage from
script to justify the
suicidal chair of kingdom.
Every morning I wake, the
town weeps for the dead,
killed by street.
The grieving mother tolls
the bell, for each fallen horse.
Earth, receive your sons in shame.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
London Stone
WHEN you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
(Grieving-grieving!)
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
(Grieving-grieving!)
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
(Grieving-grieving!)
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
(Grieving-grieving!)
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
(Grieving-grieving!)
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
(Grieving-grieving!)
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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How I Wish The Bell Tolls For Me
for whom the bell tolls?
i ask that
it must toll for me,
but the bell never really
toll for me,
always, it tolls for someone else,
a friend for 15 years
a relative close to the family,
a baby newly born in town,
a man conscious of his health,
the non-smoker and non-drinker alike,
the successful politician,
the wife of an expatriate,
the rich gambler, oh, the bell tolls for all of them
and there were banquets and city lights
and eulogies
and expensive garments of the priest
i wish the bell tolls for me,
but who am i to really say?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When the bell tolls
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
I know that there
is more to life
than just living.
On a Sunday
the bell tolls almost endlessly,
(like a alarm clock)
before the service begins.
At times when I hear
a church bell that tolls,
it rings for a funeral
and I am glad
that I’m alive.
At a wedding
the bell sings a joyful song
and everyone smiles at each other
and wait for the bride to appear.
In the dead of night
the bell tolls lonely
no one cares about
the time that it keeps,
as sleep creeps deeper
into everybody’s soul.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Bell Tolls
The bell tolls not to alarm us
about a break of war
The bell tolls not to announce
the funeral of a great magician
The bell tolls not for classes
to start the school-year calendar.
But it is ringing for you and me
to bend our knees,
To intercede for our land
and for ourselves
The bell tolls to say a prayer
that opens up
avenues to God's love and mercy.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Keys To The Kingdom
The keys to Heaven’s Kingdom, open up eternal things to come,
They’re keys that you do receive, when in Christ you do believe.
A Truth revealed to us from, The God of Heaven about His Son,
That His Son is indeed The Christ, and in The Son we have life.
Christ dear friend is The Key, to open hearts and minds to see,
This Truth will help you to see, that God’s Kingdom is in Eternity,
Eternal truth of God from above, the Truth of God’s Eternal Love.
Keys that open up Truth of God, on this earth we presently trod.
To reach men of every nation, with the keys to God’s Salvation.
With the Keys we will enter in, His Eternal Kingdom with no sin.
He will build His Church with us, as in Christ men place their trust,
Living stones upon one foundation, Christ our Rock and Salvation.
All Authority is given to the Son, to build the Church and Kingdom.
His Authority gives men power, to live for Him each day and hour.
To share this access with others, bringing to Christ many brothers.
Access we receive from Christ, is used by God through every life,
With access comes responsibility, helping other men come to see,
It’s His Name we must confess, the name of Christ to gain access.
Whatever you bind on this earth, will become for you eternal worth,
And whatever you do not bind, upon this earth, shall be left behind.
You must deny your earthly plan, when you follow The Son of Man,
Dying to our worldly needs, to share with men The Kingdom’s Keys,
Becoming for Him a living sacrifice, to gain New Life in Jesus Christ.
Leading men from the dark of night, into the Kingdom’s Eternal Light,
This by passing on the only Keys, to His Kingdom that will not cease.
(07/2006)
Seeing you watching TV sleeping
On a rocking chair you sleep again
While watching TV and I rise from
My bed not faraway from where
You are sleeping in front of this
Colored TV on a loud volume
With slowness and respect
I touch your cheek and you
Wake up rubbing your eyes
Asking me what time is it,
You have slept again and
I have to wake you up again
In this cycle of pain and unrest
It is late and the night is deep
And dark, some dogs howl
In the street another stranger
Has arrived to this town again
It is late you have to transfer
To my bed where we will again
Make a warm embrace as I tell
You, I love you as I will always will.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Grieving Mother
The patriots celebrating the war has been won
But the grieving mother weeps for her dead son
Who died a young hero in a war far away
His twenty third birthday it would be today.
Out of the young war dead war heroes are made
This morning she did not go to watch the parade
Instead she placed flowers on the grave where her son lay
And knelt on the grass for awhile for to pray.
She sees her son's death as a waste of a good young life
He never had the chance to make the young woman he loved his wife
He surely would have made a wonderful dad
One of the joys in life that he never had.
Today had he been alive he'd have been twenty three
Her son was a brave man none braver than he
She wept at his grave whilst through the streets of the town
The patriots did proudly parade up and down.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Little Difference
there is
a change
a little difference
in the morning
in this town
when the bell
tolls
after the flood
the people
begins
to pray again
a new life
perhaps
or fear
that God may
send
another flood
again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Faraway
What a state to be in
Its a world of indecision
So self destructive
And such an ugly business
In and out of fashion
You always leave your mark
An indefinite decision
A dangerous remark
** when youre cold and tired
Dont turn your head away
The distance thats between us
Gets bigger every day
* how come you never see
Youre as faraway as faraway can be
Youre as faraway as faraway can be
You try so hard to impress
You talk the telephone to death
Its what you cant see that counts
But you havent worked that out yet
There is no reason
There is no plan
The truth can be deceptive
From such a quiet man
Theres madness in your words
Not wishing to be heard
But just like yesterday
Youve already slipped away
(* repeat)
(** repeat)
(* repeat)
Youre as faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway from me as you can be
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hung My Head
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed jebs rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bread on him to practice my aim
My brothers rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
I set off running to wake from the dream
And my brothers rifle went into the stream
I kept on running into the salt lands
And thats where they found me, my head in my hands
The sheriff he asked me why had I run
Then it came to me just what I had done
And all for no reason, just one piece of lead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Here in the courthouse, the whole town is there
I see the judge high up in his chair
Explain to the courtroom what went through your mind
And well ask the jury what verdict they find
I said I felt the power of death over life
I orphaned his children, I widowed his wife
I beg their forgiveness, I wish I was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Early one morning with time to kill
I see the gallows up on the hill
And out in the distance a trick of the brain
I see a lone rider crossing the plain
Hes come to fetch me to see what they done
Well ride together til kingdom come
I pray for gods mercy for soon Ill be dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hung My Head
Early one morning with time to kill
I borrowed jebs rifle and sat on the hill
I saw a lone rider crossing the plain
I drew a bread on him to practice my aim
My brothers rifle went off in my hand
A shot rang out across the land
The horse he kept running, the rider was dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
I set off running to wake from the dream
And my brothers rifle went into the stream
I kept on running into the salt lands
And thats where they found me, my head in my hands
The sheriff he asked me "why had I run"
Then it came to me just what I had done
And all for no reason, just one piece of lead
I hung my head, I hung my head
Here in the courthouse, the whole town is there
I see the judge high up in his chair
"explain to the courtroom what went through your mind
And well ask the jury what verdict they find"
I said "i felt the power of death over life
I orphaned his children, I widowed his wife
I beg their forgiveness, I wish I was dead"
I hung my head, I hung my head
Early one morning with time to kill
I see the gallows up on the hill
And out in the distance a trick of the brain
I see a lone rider crossing the plain
Hes come to fetch me to see what they done
Well ride together til kingdom come
I pray for gods mercy for soon Ill be dead
I hung my head, I hung my head
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yer Blues
Yes i'm lonely wanna die
Yes i'm lonely wanna die
If i ain't dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
In the morning wanna die
In the evening wanna die
If i ain't dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
My mother was of the sky
My father was of the earth
But i am of the universe
And you know what it's worth
I'm lonely wanna die
If i ain't dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bone
I feel so suicidal
Just like dylan's mr. jones
Lonely wanna die
If i ain't dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
Black cloud crossed my mind
Blue mist round my soul
Feel so suicidal
Even hate my rock and roll
Wanna die yeah wanna die
If i ain't dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Escape of Billy the Kid
In an upper room they have me shackled.
Handcuffed, abused and under guard.
Pat Garrett’s off collecting taxes
This might be my chance, dear Lord.
Bob Olinger would love to kill me
He’s waved his shotgun in my face.
James Bell, the other guard, is softer,
He’s here to keep Bob in his place.
At noon I had the chance I wanted.
Olinger lunched across the street.
Bell was left alone to guard me-
a handcuffed man with shackled feet.
I told Bell I felt nature calling.
He took me on a Privy run
He was quick but I was quicker
We struggled and I got his gun
I pistol whipped my former guard.
I took his keys and freed my hands.
I didn’t want to kill him but,
I had to just because he ran.
That gunshot stirred the sleepy town
Olinger ran from across the street
I killed him then with his own shotgun
He needed killing, I’ll lose no sleep.
No lawman left in Lincoln town
I made the blacksmith break my chains
I saw Bell’s horse before the courthouse
I saddled up and took the reins.
No one made a move to stop me
As I rode out away from town
The rope they had to hang me waits
another’s neck to slip around.
Notes: This describes the events of 04/28/1881 at the Lincoln County Courthouse
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold?
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth?
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled--
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.'
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold,
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Wake Up Dead
I sneak in my own house
Its four in the morning
I had too much to drink
Said I was out with the boys
I creep in my bedroom
I slip into bed,
I know if I wake her,
Ill wake up dead
Chorus:
I wonder, will she find out,
About the other, other lover.
Diana.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead, and buried.
Wake up dead, you die
Wake up dead.
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Thought
BLYTHE bell, that calls to bridal halls,
Tolls deep a darker day;
The very shower that feeds the flower
Weeps also its decay.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Love Expresses Itself Nevertheless
I fear no grieving widow, even if the world wails
I have no yearning to issue another one of me
even if earth weeps and with sombre details
declares that the last of my days will be,
and even if my life is spend,
life still has its sorrows and its joys
the entire world does not end,
it is still filled with its pleasures and its ploys
and in truth no child though from my body
is truly me and even in temperament we are apt to be different
and love appears by itself, is different for everybody
and still I am living and far from spent:
there is no shame nor is it heartless to be childless,
without fear love expresses itself nevertheless.
(In answer to William Shakespeare/Reference: Sonnet 9 “Is it fear to wet a widow’s eye” by William Shakespeare.)
poem by Gert Strydom
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Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
The dark, snow-slushy, empty street....
Tingle of frost in brow and feet....
Horse-breath goes dimly up like smoke.
No sound but the smacking stroke
As a sergeant flings each arm
Out and across to keep him warm,
And the sudden splashing crack
Of ice-pools broken by our track.
More dark houses, yet no sign
Of life....And axle's creak and whine....
The splash of hooves, the strain of trace....
Clatter: we cross the market place.
Deep quiet again, and on we lurch
Under the shadow of a church:
Its tower ascends, fog-wreathed and grim;
Within its aisles a light burns dim....
When, marvellous! from overhead,
Like abrupt speech of one deemed dead,
Speech-moved by some Superior Will,
A bell tolls thrice and then is still.
And suddenly I know that now
The priest within, with shining brow,
Lifts high the small round of the Host.
The server's tingling bell is lost
In clash of the greater overhead.
Peace like a wave descends, is spread,
While watch the peasants' reverent eyes....
The bell's boom trembles, hangs, and dies.
O people who bow down to see
The Miracle of Cavalry,
The bitter and the glorious,
Bow down, bow down and pray for us.
Once more our anguished way we take
Towards our Golgotha, to make
For all our lovers sacrifice.
Again the troubled bell tolls thrice.
And slowly, slowly, lifted up
Dazzles the overflowing cup.
O worshipping, fond multitude,
Remember us too, and our blood.
Turn hearts to us as we go by,
Salute those about to die,
Plead for them, the deep bell toll:
Their sacrifice must soon be whole.
Entreat you for such hearts as break
With the premonitory ache
Of bodies, whose feet, hands, and side,
Must soon be torn, pierced, crucified.
Sue for them and all of us
Who the world over suffer thus,
Who have scarce time for prayer indeed,
Who only march and die and bleed.
The town is left, the road leads on,
Bluely glaring in the sun,
Toward where in the sunrise gate
Death, honour, and fierce battle wait.
poem by Robert Nichols
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Tears
THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing, at her marriage-bell
The bride weeps, and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot
Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place
And touch but tombs,--look up I those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Old Man (Faraway)
old man, old man,
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare.
i can see by your wrinkles,
and the scars on your hands.
it's been a long journey
from that faraway land.
tell me who and why you fought,
tell me what you won and lost.
tell me who that you loved,
and who paid the cost.
tell me what you learned,
would you do it all again?
have you made peace with yourself,
are you ready to go 'round the bend?
old man, old man....
sitting in your chair;
tell me the story
behind your faraway stare....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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