In Narthex
Leave me with abba
after devastation. There was
blood before the dawn.
The feathers were floating.
And why should one weep
when the lake was dry
and there was a corona
discharge from the man's face.
I remember not, all the
ugliness of life, when I was
growing roses in my books, like
a moon striking my pen.
The road was there, the tree
was there, but your footprints
were not to be seen. Where have
you gone my words, I was waiting?
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Abba, Daddy, Father
Abba, did you smile as you
saw the perfect world you’d just created?
And did you weep when Adam fell
and Eve tumbled after?
Abba, do I have the right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Daddy, did you jump for joy as
you saw your son, born to human parents?
And did you write the Angels words
as Glory shone all around?
Daddy, did the shepherds have the right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Father, did you laugh out loud as
Mary and Joseph searched for their son, and
Found him in the Temple, with you?
Did you allow the telling off that he got?
Father, did you give Mary and Joseph the right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Abba, did your heart break asunder as
the Angels thundered to go and rescue
Your Son from the cross? Did you cry raindrops
when you had to turn your back, because of sin?
Abba, did you deny the Christ the right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Daddy, did the Angels turn and ask
You, why? How did you reply when the words
choked you? Were you waiting to destroy
the world that crucified your Son?
Daddy, did you think about taking away our right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Father, did you yell at Satan, when
he thought he had won? Did you let
him believe it, and then showed him Your Son
by your side? Did Satan fly in rage?
Father, how did you feel, when Satan fell from grace, no longer to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Abba, was it your loud shout that woke the
world on that Easter morn? Was it you who
moved the stone? Did you close the eyes of
the guards, as Glory shone around?
Abba, did you allow Mary the right to call you,
Abba, Daddy, Father?
Daddy, did you smile when you saw
the perfect Son, alive, alive, ALIVE?
And did the Angels party, and are they
partying still? Will it be long before you
come again? And does the earth rest?
Do we have the right to call you, Abba, Daddy, Father?
Father, do you always remember your gifts
and promises to us, yet forget the sins?
Can I feel your arms around me? Am I
blessed by your Son? And, Father, do I
still have the right to call on you? Do I
still have the right to call you Abba, Daddy, Father?
Abba, Daddy, Father, do you rejoice in those
names? Do you look at your children
and remember their names, one by one?
And can I stretch out my hand and get
one to one attention? Abba, Daddy, Father,
that is what I call you, by right, My Abba, My Daddy, My Father.
poem by Steve Gregory
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This Tree By The Side Of 'Abba Hilkiah' Road
THIS TREE BY THE SIDE OF THE ABBA HILKIAH ROAD
This tree by the side of the Abba Hilkiah road
Will be here
When I no longer am,
One day too though
It will not be.
Each and every living thing
One day will be not.
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on”
And at the end of our day
And at the end of our night
We are not.
God then
Only God
And who knows about God?
But God then
And only God.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Of The Next Zen
When moon was found on water
sky came down with unclenched fist,
too proud to accept the defeat.
Footprints of a giant will not leave
the broken landscape, of the virgin garden
where roses died in a row in storm.
There were no absolutes in good and bad
I have started talking to trees to shed
their blooms, winter was coming in blue eyes.
My ship was able to dodge the icebergs
wringing the waves from your face;
lake heaved a sigh of relief in glided death.
Satish Verma
poem by Satish Verma
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Moon-Lake
i
the moon
crying
moon-lake
ii
war
comes early
and silently...
iii
the baby
smiles
at the gun
aimed for
it's head
iv
the smile
lingers
as life
goes
silently
coldly
v
red moon
crying
moon-lake
of blood
vi
the killer
looks up at the moon
and says of it
'it's beautiful
tonight'
vii
war
co mes early
and silently...
viii
the moon
moon-lake
poem by Jacques du Lumerie
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An earthly miracle
Sometimes, an earthly miracle
needs human mediation;
it’s what creates our saints;
and what our saints create.
This story’s told of Abba Alonius,
known always to speak the truth:
One day a man, provoked beyond restraint
by ceaseless taunts and treachery,
murdered a man, within the Abba’s sight;
fled to the Abba’s cell, begging him,
‘Forgive me, Abba, in the sight of God,
before they hang me in the sight of men…’
Abba Alonius said,
that was not in his power..
The police came, asked that holy man,
‘Did this man murder in your sight? ’
The Abba said, all he could say
was that the man sought blessing in his cell..
the murderer looked astonished at that holy man,
who had for his sake, broken holy vow of truth;
and for one man’s soul.. That soul
cried out to God, to redeem the holy Abba’s lie…
and in the instant, knew itself redeemed.
After the trial with no witness to the deed,
he sought the Abba, to know the holy truth:
And Abba said: ‘Better for me to express a lie,
and so, deliver your soul over to God unbound;
for God knows all.. Do what you can,
and leave the rest to God..’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Fairy tale queen [Crăiasa din poveste]
White and brightly shining mists
Spins the moon, like airy shields,
Then it spreads them over streams
And across the fallow fields.
Flowers gather on the loom
Where the spider web is thrown
Hanging on the black night's gown
Many beads of precious stone.
Near the lake, on which the clouds
Warped a shade as black as night,
Which the waves break here and there
As if they were balls of light,
Putting the tall reed aside
Bends the maiden, shy and grave,
Throwing roses red like blood
Over the enchanted wave.
Looks ahead to see a face
Where the water's really stirred,
For the lake has been spellbound
By Saint Wednesday's witty word.
And to make the face come out
She is throwing roses young
For they all are surely charmed
By Saint Friday's clever tongue.
She is looking... Her blonde hair
And her face are lit by moon,
While within her deep blue eyes
Fairy tales will gather soon.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Reflection of God
Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.
Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.
It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.
But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.
Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.
When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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The Crocodile
The crock
The small lake in the vale is muddy brown and
I see what looks like an uprooted tree floating
in the middle, the tree disappears and the water
ripples like it suddenly feels cold. There has
been rumours about sheep disappearing when
grazing near the lake but since there is a good
road nearby, rustlers have been blamed; mind,
dogs too have vanished and no self-respecting
thieve can possible be interested in our motley
canines. The breeze that made the water ripple
has died out and in sharp spring sunlight I can
see the tree again, but it seems to be lower in
the water. The lake gets smaller and browner
every year less rain falls now then in the past,
a few years hence it will be a piece of dry land
and a dusty crocodile.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Reptile
The Reptile
The small lake in the vale is muddy brown and
I see what looks like an uprooted tree floating
in the middle, the tree disappears and the water
ripples like it suddenly feels cold. There has
been rumours about sheep disappearing when
grazing near the lake but since there is a good
road nearby, rustlers have been blamed; mind,
dogs too have vanished and no self-respecting
thieve can possible be interested in our motley
canines. The breeze that made the water ripple
has died out and in sharp spring sunlight I can
see the tree again, but it seems to be lower in
the water. The lake gets smaller and browner
every year less rain falls now then in the past,
a few years hence it will be a piece of dry land,
with, perhaps, a crocodile skeleton on.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Saddest Song
Only two more days, until your birthday
Yesterday was mine
You'll be turning five
I know what it's like, growing up without your father in your life
So I pretend, I'm doing all I can
And I hope someday you'll find it in your heart
To understand
Why I'm not around
And forgive me for not being in your life
I remember waiting
For you to come
Remember waiting
For you to call
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all
I remember waiting
For you to come
Remember waiting
For you to call
Waiting there to find nothing at all
maybe someday
you really get to know me
not just the letters read to you
I pray I get the chance
To make it up to you
We got a lot of catching up to do
So I pretend, I'm doing all I can
And hope someday you'll find it in your heart
To understand
Why I'm not around
And forgive me for not being in your life
I remember waiting
For you to come
Remember waiting
For you to call
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all
I remember waiting
For you to come
Remember waiting
For you to call
Waiting there to find nothing at all
Forgive me!
I'm so sorry!
I will make it up to you....
song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Footprints
You left your footprints across my life
I hate to see your photographs:
passing history impossibly frozen,
demanding out-of-date thoughts.
You left your footprints on my life
I hate it when people talk of you:
as if they were asking for my blood
to warm their own false memories.
You left your footprints through my life
I hate it when I find a letter from you:
I read a richness and a loss in them
and am torn apart by myself
You left your footprints in my life
Footprints claim nothing, offer nothing;
they do not ask to be preserved, or to be erased;
they are clean, yet they are there;
where they lead, I have yet to find
You left your footprints across my life
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Weep Day
I never went to the tropical island
Though everybody said they saw me there
And it wasnt me you punched a hole in
At the west german protest march
Simultaneous events dont happen
We are isolated temporally
And a part is never called the whole thing
Though it bothers us to know its so
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
I didnt write the words you hear me singing (didnt write the words you hear me singing)
I didnt sing the line before this one (didnt sing the line before this one)
You are not the one I was addressing (you are not the one I was addressing)
That person took a train to africa (africa)
Where he met the consulate from belgium
Who is now a buddhist in a cave
Who is pitching for the oakland raiders
Striking out the batter she became
Every man is made of two opinions
Every woman has a second half
And its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Yes, its samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man (samba time for tambo and weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day for urine man (weep day for urine man)
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep day weep day
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
Weep (weep) weep (weep) weep (weep)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dust Moon
How long have I been running far far away from you
As many miles as I've gone
Still the darkness comes on
There will be a crimson moon tonight
Dust moon rises...your face haunts me so
Dust moon rises...sanity leaving me soon
I still see your blood on the face of the moon
Your face haunts me, nothing clear now
Dust moon has risen
Bloody, mocking moon
Daylight seems lifetimes away, eternal midnight
Keep running away
Dust moon has risen...haunting me so
Dust moon rises...sanity, leaving me so soon?
I still see your face on the blood of the moon
And when the dust moon rests his weary head
And the sunshine begins to rise
Will I still be here or will I be dead
Is the dawn of a new day just a lie?
The big tree
Lets make a tree house for ourselves,
I can remember the words of my love,
Piling up fine wood with your soft hands,
I can see the visions of my love, .
I remember the hanging ropes,
Climbing the tree and tightening them,
It was a tree that we made our tree,
Tears role down my cheeks standing before it,
The footprints of a lost lover I see, .
Your imprints brings sorrow to me,
The tree brings me memories
The swings we made there my love,
Playing while hoping for tomorrow,
Remember the marriage we planned,
The wedding we admired,
And children we debated about,
You said three and i said two,
It was under the tree,
And ended under the tree,
Death took you by surprise,
My hopes so long gone,
My wishes drained into mystry,
Im all alone, with the tree, our tree
You have gone my love,
I wanted to marry you,
I wanted us to grow together,
With our tree, the big tree,
The swings are empty,
The tree house so desolate,
Im missing you.......
This tree shall be symbolic to us,
Us, , , the us that will never be,
As seasons shall surely change and pass,
The tree shall die also,
And will be left all alone, ,
Of course, in solitude
Im missing you
poem by Sir Gaylord Munemo
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In The Footprints of My Mother
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall step to you.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall stay innocent and true.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall not give up hope.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall give you my love note.
In the footprints of my mother,
Lead me to a better path.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall releive in her wrath.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall cure all of your pains.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall bring you great reigns.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall unleash the angels of truth.
In the footprints of my mother,
I shall defeat the evils booth.
The footprints of my mother,
led me straight to you.
The footprints of my mother,
Shown me I have nothing left to loose.
The footprints of my mother,
Guieded me towards the compelling lights.
The footprints of my mother,
Guided me towards the love of my life.
poem by Erin Grantham
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Irish Blood
Something mellow rises in the dawn
This feeling that you are a friend
This notion of hope
We are the mountains
We are the sea
Green meadows with yellow larks
Childhood feathers of the morning sun
Sired by stars of ancient pilgrims
Scalloped clouds with violet scarves
Fishermen amidst the howling wind
Emerald wings carry her smile
Who is this sweet angel?
Who is this daughter of warriors?
We are the ships landing
The immigrants of famine
Timeless paths in the misty fog
My darling I see their shadows
I hear their laughter
They have come in Gaelic glee
Castles with tales of the Irish Sea
When the moon changes hue
When silent tears master tenderness
These ragged stones with faith
Autumn roses pressed in scarlet
You come toward me with dreams
Gathered harvested dreams waiting
Sparrows have survived the ice
Your dress is a garden growing
Mellow cottages of old stone fences
This walk of deep Irish blood
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Ask The Ashkenazic
Who set the wild donkey free? !
Life is like the words from the Encyclopedia Judiaca;
But, can you tie the wild ox in the furrow with ropes? !
Even though the wings of the ostrich wave proudly,
They cannot be compared to the pinions and the feathers of the stock.
Like a fool pounded in a motar,
Ask the Ashkenazic for more!
With the Babylonian Talmuds tested through the praises when,
One looks back on life and history.
As a face is reflected in water,
So does a man's face mind reflects his activities on this earth.
Red is for the roses and for the wine but,
Whosoever tends thew fig tree will surely eat from it.
Ask the Ashkenazic for more facts,
And learn from others to know how this world is made up;
Like the face of a man being reflected by water.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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There Goes A Tenner
Okay, remember.
Okay, remember
That we have just allowed
Half an hour
To get in, do it, and get out.
The sense of adventure
Is changing to danger.
The signal has been given.
I go in.
The crime begins.
My excitement
Turns into fright.
All my words fade.
What am I gonna say?
Mustnt give the game away.
Were waiting.
Were waiting.
Were waiting.
We got the job sussed.
This shops shut for business.
The lookout has parked the car,
But kept the engine running.
Three beeps means troubles coming.
I hope you remember
To treat the gelignite tenderly for me.
Im having dreams about things
Not going right.
Lets leave in plenty of time tonight.
Both my partners
Act like actors:
You are bogart,
He is george raft,
That leaves cagney and me.
(what about edward g.? )
Were waiting.
Were waiting.
Were waiting.
You blow the safe up.
Then all I know is I wake up,
Covered in rubble. one of the rabble
Needs mummy.
(whats all this then? )
The government will never find the money.
(whats all this then? )
Ive been here all day,
A star in strange ways.*
Apart from a photograph
Theyll get nothing from me,
Not until they let me see my solicitor.
Ooh, I remember
That rich, windy weather
When you would carry me,
Pockets floating
In the breeze.
Ooh, there goes a tenner.
Hey, look! theres a fiver.
Theres a ten-shilling note.
Remember them?
Thats when we used to vote for him.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Under The Laburnum Tree
(A simple tale)
Under the Laburnum tree
She saw his gentle face
Under the Laburnum tree
She knew their first embrace
Under the Laburnum tree
She gave to him her love
Under the Laburnum tree
Beneath the stars above
Under the Laburnum tree
He left her there to cry
Under the Laburnum tree
That`s where she chose to die
(Under the Laburnum tree
Were scattered all its seeds
Under the Laburnum tree
Amongst the growing weeds)
Under the Laburnum tree
The moon was shining bright
Under the Laburnum tree
Her silv`ry soul took flight
Under the Laburnum tree
At last she was set free
Under the Laburnum tree
She found eternity
poem by Valerie Dohren
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I Remember, I Remember
I Remember, I Remember
I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups--
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,--
The tree is living yet!
I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
poem by Thomas Hood
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