There was a great cathedral
There was a great cathedral.
To solemn songs,
A white procession
Moved toward the altar.
The chief man there
Was erect, and bore himself proudly.
Yet some could see him cringe,
As in a place of danger,
Throwing frightened glances into the air,
A-start at threatening faces of the past.
poem by Stephen Crane
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By The Bivouac's Fitful Flame
BY the bivouac's fitful flame,
A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first
I note,
The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline,
The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence;
Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving;
The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily
watching me;)
While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts,
Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that
are far away;
A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground,
By the bivouac's fitful flame. 10
poem by Walt Whitman
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I Shall Not Be Moved
You will take my breath away,
Gild my heart with your love-
I shall not be moved.
My eyes will gloat at your sashay,
My lips will droll at your pulchritude-
I shall not be moved.
You will come with religions of faiths,
A heap of mountains you have moved-
Still I shall not be moved.
You will give me strongest of philtres,
Your touch will erect my one weakness-
But I shall not be moved.
You will light my darkest paths,
Move me here to there-
Yet I shall not be moved.
You will sing our song,
Your love for me will exceed eternity,
Even then, I shall not be moved.
You will live for me,
Die for me- For the last time-
I shall not be moved.
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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The Burial of the Reverend Gilfillan
On the Gilfillan burial day,
In the Hill o' Balgay,
It was a most solemn sight to see,
Not fewer than thirty thousand people assembled in Dundee,
All watching the funeral procession of Gilfillan that day,
That death had suddenly taken away,
And was going to be buried in the Hill o' Balgay.
There were about three thousand people in the procession alone,
And many were shedding tears, and several did moan,
And their bosoms heaved with pain,
Because they knew they would never look upon his like again.
There could not be fewer than fifty carriages in the procession that day,
And gentlemen in some of them that had come from far away,
And in whispers some of them did say,
As the hearse bore the precious corpse away,
Along the Nethergate that day.
I'm sure he will be greatly missed by the poor,
For he never turned them empty-handed away from his door;
And to assist them in distress it didn't give him pain,
And I'm sure the poor will never look upon his like again.'
On the Gilfillan burial day, in the Hill o' Balgay,
There was a body of policemen marshalled in grand array
And marched in front of the procession all the way;
Also the relatives and friends of the deceas'd,
Whom I hope from all sorrows has been releas'd,
and whose soul I hope to heaven has fled away,
To sing with saints above for ever and aye.
The provost, magistrates, and town council were in the procession that day;
Also Mrs Gilfillan, who cried and sobbed all the way
For her kind husband, that was always affable and gay,
Which she will remember until her dying day.
When the procession arrived in the Hill o' Balgay,
The people were almost as hush as death, and many of them did say --
As long as we live we'll remember the day
That the great Gilfillan was buried in the Hill o'Balgay.
When the body of the great Gilfillan was lowered into the grave,
'Twas then the people's hearts with sorrow did heave;
And with tearful eyes and bated breath,
Mrs Gilfillan lamented her loving husband's death.
Then she dropped a ringlet of immortelles into his grave,
Then took one last fond look, and in sorrow did leave;
And all the people left with sad hearts that day,
And that ended the Gilfillan burial in the Hill o' Balgay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Enchanted Wood (Part 3)
As the door opened, he could see
the room was filled with people.
They looked at him as he entered
everyone smiled saying good evening.
He was ushered to the top of the table
and seated beside a beautiful young woman.
Her smile radiated the room
with light and warmth.
“Hello, you must be Lord Charles
my husband to be.
I am Princess Juliet.”
Her voice flowed through him
like a river of tranquillity.
At first, he was not sure
just what to say to her.
He stumbled over his words
and it made her laugh.
Suddenly he was at ease
and it seemed they were
the only two in the room
and when he looked around,
they were the only two
everyone else had disappeared.
As they chatted he felt at home,
a home he could only have wished for.
They ate and talked
and when they had finished
the food and the dishes disappeared.
Suddenly as if by magic,
an orchestra began playing.
They got up and danced
and danced and danced
into the late evening.
They then took a stroll
into the garden in the moonlight,
walking arm in arm.
They stopped briefly,
where he stole a kiss.
As he awoke the next morning,
he could not remember much
of the night before
only that he had met his princess
and had a wonderful time.
“I am your clothes for today.”
He looked around as the clothes
suddenly threw themselves at him
and suddenly he was dressed.
“I see you are ready M’ Lord.”
“Ready for what? ”
“Your wedding M’ Lord.”
He followed the tall man
down the stairs
and out into the courtyard
where a carriage pulled by six white horses
stood waited for him.
He stopped and looked around
apart from the crowds of people
white doves danced
pirouettes in the sky.
They looked golden
as the sun painted them
with its warming rays.
Flags and pennants of different colours
hung out from everywhere.
From the Cathedral, church bells filled the air
as the carriage moved slowly
along the cobble stone streets
lined with people either side.
He sat and waved at them
through the window of the carriage
as the procession passed.
Within a few minutes,
they arrived at the great city Cathedral.
As he stepped from the carriage,
there seemed a party atmosphere everywhere.
Entering the Cathedral
the serine voices of the choir
rose up to the rafters
as the Cathedral bells
could be heard across the hamlets.
The pews were filled
from front to back.
He stood at the alter
waiting for his bride to be.
He felt that this must be all a dream
and in a moment, he would awake
back to the harsh realities of his life.
Then the organ announced of the brides arrival.
To be concluded
18-19 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Ambition
They brought the mighty chief to town;
They showed him strange, unwonted sights;
Yet as he wandered up and down,
He seemed to scorn their vain delights.
His face was grim, his eye lacked fire,
As one who mourns a glory dead;
And when they sought his heart's desire:
"Me like'um tooth same gold," he said.
A dental place they quickly found.
He neither moaned nor moved his head.
They pulled his teeth so white and sound;
They put in teeth of gold instead.
Oh, never saw I man so gay!
His very being seemed to swell:
"Ha! ha!" he cried, "Now Injun say
Me heap big chief, me look like hell."
poem by Robert William Service
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Forgive Me For....... Ever Being Born
Oh I'm sorry
yes I'm sorry
that you gave the world me
that you even bore me
an ugly face that would break all glass simultaneously
even the ugliest of beast hides
and the fiercest beast cringe
'what an ugly soul' they say
I'm sorry
yes I'm sorry
that you ever bore me
its okay
you can hit me
mark me
you cant make my soul any uglier then it already is
yes I'm sorry
that you ever bore me
saw my horrendous face and soul
yes I'm sorry,
I am so sorry
forgive me for ever being born mother and father
poem by Alizia Sampson
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May seventeenth
Wergeland's statue on May seventeenth
Saw the procession. And as its rear-guard,
Slow marching masses,
Strong men, and women with flower-decked presence;
Come now the peasants, come now the peasants.
Österdal's forest's magnificent chieftain
Bore the old banner. Soon as we see it
Blood-red uplifted,
Greet it the thousands in thought of its story:
That is our glory, that is our glory!
Never that lion bore crown that was foreign,
Never that cloth was by Dannebrog cloven.
I saw the
future
,
When with that banner by Wergeland's column
Peasants stood solemn, peasants stood solemn.
Most of our loss in the times that have vanished,
Most of our victories, most of our longing,
Most that is vital:
Deeds of the past and the future's bold daring
Peasants are bearing, peasants are bearing.
Sorely they suffered for sins once committed,
But they arise now. Here in the Storting
Stalwart they prove it,
All, as they come from our land's every region,
Peasants Norwegian, peasants Norwegian.
Hold what they won, with a will to go farther;
Whole we must have independence and honor!
All of us know it:
Wergeland's summer bears soon its best flower,-
Power in peasants, peasants in power.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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La Naval De Manila, My Mother
'Sa Iyong kandungan aking natikman ang unang pagmamahal. Kahit musmos pa, kapiling ka aking ina.'
Happiness, gladness, as I remember those old days.
We can surely say that we are lucky, but how?
The only thing in my life that I have is my mom.
My mom, my mom.
October 2,2008 was the enthonement of La Naval de Manila.
I was there at exactly 4: 30 pm.
The throne was empty.
Then at 5: 10 pm the lady went out of her royal room.
She was wearing her regalia, and a short procession was done.
I was seated at the left panel of the altar (I was lucky) . As she proceeded to her throne, I was crying.
Why? I remember my mom, La Naval's image is too motherly.
An affection of a mother and a son.
Tears fell. I did not able to touch her because of a certain shock.
My Queen, My Mother.
October 12,2008, I attended the annual the annual procession of The La Gran Señora de Filipinas La Naval De Manila.
Like what I have stated, I am a great devotee of the La Naval De Manila. I was there at around 9am, I wasvery happy to see the Lady standing in her Baldachino.
At around five in the afternoon, the procession went out,
as the mcee shoutedher name,
La Naval de Manila,
I hurriedly went to see her,
again the Lady was smiling in her carozza.
I said 'Kayo na po ang bahala sa amin.' That is the power of La Naval, powerful, motherly and majestic.
La Naval de Manila is like my mom.
My mom had battles, sufferings, and sorrows.
But my mom is a great warrior, like what the Lady did in the battle.
My mom continued the battle despite my father died.
What is the similarity of La Naval and my mom, both of them are brave. When Mary saw her dying son Jesus, she cried silently.
When my mom saw her two boys suferring she cried silently.
When Mary saw her son going to heaven, she was happy.
When my mom saw me going up on stage to receive my diploma, she cried, tears of joy fell.
Now that is what we call Women's power. Battles?
Yes, I believe that my mom is still having her battles.
Next year, October 2009, once again the La Naval will be placed in her royal baldachino,
she will hear songs again in her honor,
she will have a procession once again.
The Faith that my mom and I have will always continue,
it will always be there.
Without La Naval, the battles that we had will never be surpassed. Thank you, Our Lady of La Naval.
Thank you.
poem by Randolfh Bunag
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I Cringe
Cringe...
I do.
At the sound of an alibi.
And the ease by which,
They spill from lips...
Makes me want to run and hide.
Cringe...
From the sight of something overdone.
To impress someone.
And doing this as if,
Some status will be won.
Oh I cringe when people attend church and sin.
To do it over and over and over again.
Like a child denied something seen to quiet cries.
Even inside the most sacred of places,
People will be devious and tell some of the whitest lies.
Maybe it is from my own experiences.
Or places I've been.
That stresses my level of tolerance,
I find irritated now and then!
And 'age' does play a factor,
In one's mindset that becomes fixed...
To a stubbornness.
But of late I find that I cringe...
When it is obvious to me,
A deception is about to begin.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Funeral of the German Emperor
Ye sons of Germany, your noble Emperor William now is dead.
Who oft great armies to battle hath led;
He was a man beloved by his subjects all,
Because he never tried them to enthral.
The people of Germany have cause now to mourn,
The loss of their hero, who to them will ne'er return;
But his soul I hope to Heaven has fled away,
To the realms of endless bliss for ever and aye.
He was much respected throughout Europe by the high and the low,
And all over Germany people's hearts are full of woe;
For in the battlefield he was a hero bold,
Nevertheless, a lover of peace, to his credit be it told.
'Twas in the year of 1888, and on March the 16th day,
That the peaceful William's remains were conveyed away
To the royal mausoleum of Charlottenburg, their last resting-place,
The God-fearing man that never did his country disgrace.
The funeral service was conducted in the cathedral by the court chaplain, Dr. Kogel,
Which touched the hearts of his hearers, as from his lips it fell,
And in conclusion he recited the Lord's Prayer
In the presence of kings, princes, dukes, and counts assembled there.
And at the end of the service the infantry outside fired volley after volley,
While the people inside the cathedral felt melancholy,
As the sound of the musketry smote upon the ear,
In honour of the illustrous William, whom they loved most dear.
Then there was a solemn pause as the kings and princes took their places,
Whilst the hot tears are trickling down their faces,
And the mourners from shedding tears couldn't refrain;
And in respect of the good man, above the gateway glared a bituminous flame.
Then the coffin was placed on the funeral car,
By the kings and princes that came from afar;
And the Crown Prince William heads the procession alone,
While behind him are the four heirs-apparent to the throne.
Then followed the three Kings of Saxony, and the King of the Belgians also,
Together with the Prince of Wales, with their hearts full of woe,
Besides the Prince of Naples and Prince Rudolph of Austria were there,
Also the Czarevitch, and other princes in their order I do declare.
And as the procession passes the palace the blinds are drawn completely,
And every house is half hidden with the sable drapery;
And along the line of march expansive arches were erected,
While the spectators standing by seemed very dejected.
And through the Central Avenue, to make the decorations complete,
There were pedestals erected, rising fourteen to fifteen feet,
And at the foot and top of each pedestal were hung decorations of green bay,
Also beautiful wreaths and evergreen festoons all in grand array.
And there were torches fastened on pieces of wood stuck in the ground;
And as the people gazed on the weird-like scene, their silence was profound;
And the shopkeepers closed their shops, and hotel-keepers closed in the doorways,
And with torchlight and gaslight, Berlin for once was all ablaze.
The authorities of Berlin in honour of the Emperor considered it no sin,
To decorate with crape the beautiful city of Berlin;
Therefore Berlin I declare was a city of crape,
Because few buildings crape decoration did escape.
First in the procession was the Emperor's bodyguard,
And his great love for them nothing could it retard;
Then followed a squadron of the hussars with their band,
Playing "Jesus, Thou my Comfort," most solemn and grand.
And to see the procession passing the sightseers tried their best,
Especially when the cavalry hove in sight, riding four abreast;
Men and officers with their swords drawn, a magnificent sight to see
In the dim sun's rays, their burnished swords glinting dimly.
Then followed the footguards with slow and solemn tread,
Playing the "Dead March in Saul," most appropriate for the dead;
And behind them followed the artillery, with four guns abreast,
Also the ministers and court officials dressed in their best.
The whole distance to the grave was covered over with laurel and bay,
So that the body should be borne along smoothly all the way;
And the thousands of banners in the procession were beautiful to view,
Because they were composed of cream-coloured silk and light blue.
There were thousands of thousands of men and women gathered there,
And standing ankle deep in snow, and seemingly didn't care
So as they got a glimpse of the funeral car,
Especially the poor souls that came from afar.
And when the funeral car appeared there was a general hush,
And the spectators in their anxiety to see began to crush;
And when they saw the funeral car by the Emperor's charger led,
Every hat and cap was lifted reverently from off each head.
And as the procession moved on to the royal mausoleum,
The spectators remained bareheaded and seemingly quite dumb;
And as the coffin was borne into its last resting-place,
Sorrow seemed depicted in each one's face.
And after the burial service the mourners took a last farewell
Of the noble-hearted William they loved so well;
Then rich and poor dispersed quietly that were assembled there,
While two batteries of field-guns fired a salute which did rend the air
In honour of the immortal hero they loved so dear,
The founder of the Fatherland Germany, that he did revere.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Governor Isaac Stevens of the Washington Territory said there were a great many white people in our country, and many more would come; that he wanted the land marked out so that the Indians and the white man could be separated.
quote by Chief Joseph
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Congratulations Irving
YOU HAVE GIVEN AMERICA A CHANCE TO SING ALONG,
WITH FIFTEEN HUNDRED STRONG,
OH, WHAT BEAUTIFUL SONGS,
THANKS IRVING, AMERICA IS SO BLESSED THAT YOU CAME ALONG,
I CAN'T SAY ENOUGH ABOUT THIS GREAT MAN. YES, A LETTER TO IRVING BERLIN,
ONE OF AMERICA'S GREATEST GENIUSES,
YOU HAVE PROVEN THAT SONGS LIKE,
WHITE CHRISTMAS, GOD BLESS AMERICA AND SO MANY MORE,
THANK YOU IRVING BERLIN FOR MAKING AMERICA SO RICH IN SONGS. CONGRATULATIONS IRVING ON YOUR 100TH BIRTHDAY,
AND MAY YOU HAVE MANY, MANY MORE.
THANK YOU IRVING FOR ALL THE GREAT MOVIES,
SONGS YOU HAVEN WRITTEN.
CONGRATULATIONS AGAIN IRVING AND MAY GOD BLESS
YOU AND KEEP YOU IN GOOD HEALTH.
poem by Jr. Lem Poteete
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Big Chief Woolley Bosher
In the land they call the west
On the praries virgin crest
Lived a great man and his braves
And he led them to their graves
Big chief plays with baby son
The work of the indian today is done
Life is easy, life is grand
til there is white man, gun in hand
Started out when settlers came
And built their homes on the indian range
Big chief woolly bosher liked it none
Traded with a bad man for a gun
Big chief looks out at his great land
Locomotive on the prairie stands
Life that leak from the city in the east
Let us destroy that iron beast
Big chief rides on the trail tonight
Tread the land for which he must fight
In their fight for love and glory
Some indians were saved
They lived to tell the story
And woolly bosher prays
Big chief rides on the trail tonight
Soldier boys marching in the morning light
Bring the guns, bring the bows
Lets blow them into heaven lets see if God knows
One hundred men must have to die
When a thousand soldiers look you in the eye
Big chief sees his men fall round
The soldiers kill and the bugle sounds
In their fight for love and glory
No indians were saved
And big chief woolly bosher
Had written on his grave
He has done no wrong
Except being bold
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mother's Jewel
Red and white garlands draped the treasure chest.
They marched in tandem in the quietness of
The cathedral, offering up sorrowful
Tears to her crimson dressed body
Not even one dropp of red flowed through her veins
As, she lay between the walls of the living
And the dead... the silencer had
Muffled her voice
While from a distance, morbidly taking notes of
My own mortality in a state of gloom …
The pallbearers step forward.
Abundantly reserved, the grieving mother looks on
As white satin covers her precious pearl
Her heart quietly pulsating grief and
Her damp eyes choosing to hide
Behind shades, then with style
And grace, she slowly leads
the procession into the
Entrance, leaving her
Precious jewel in
heaven’s abode.
November 1,2006
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Song of Wrongs
Some songs are trapped, while other songs are free
Some songs can linger, while others need a key
Some songs look Heavenward to find a place to be
While most songs have homes, some songs aren't so lucky
Which song would you rather hear
The song of hope, or the song of fear
The song that has everything, or the song that needs care
The song you care nothing for, or the song you revere
I'd like to listen to all of those forgotten songs
Not the song of rights, I want the song of wrongs
I want the song of solitude hiding in the throngs
I want the song that has no place to which it belongs
poem by Bianca Free
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Today... 'The Elect
Elect and precious this Chief Corner Stone
Chosen by God to sit upon the throne
We that believe will not be put to shame
But shall proudly be called by His great name
And Who is this Elect and Chosen One?
It is Christ Jesus Gods' Only Son
For in Zion's city He shall be king
Of His greatness and praise all men shall sing
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Beautiful Darling of My Secret Heart
Beautiful darling of my secret heart;
Secret of secrets, held apart-
Under lock and key, a whole world wrought:
Beautiful darling of my secret heart.
Beautiful darling of another place;
There’s secret longing in your silent face-
Half in hiding, like unfinished thought:
Beautiful darling of another place.
Beautiful giver of beautiful songs;
Songs sung in secret, all night long-
A candle'd altar, quiescent flame:
Beautiful darling- I can’t speak your name.
poem by Patti Masterman
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The Statue Over The Cathedral Door. (From The German Of Julius Mosen)
Forms of saints and kings are standing
The cathedral door above;
Yet I saw but one among them
Who hath soothed my soul with love.
In his mantle,--wound about him,
As their robes the sowers wind,--
Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind.
And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child!
And my songs,--green leaves and blossoms,--
To the doors of heaven would hear,
Calling even in storm and tempest,
Round me still these birds of air.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Tearing The Sky
Tearing the sky
I moved
While I moved
Yor eyes open
To see red black blue
Who said I am
In white
In white only.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Czech Parade Horses
Many folks set proudly in costume
Upon their handsome horse
Putting us into another century
It’s the Czech parade, of course
A deep chocolate brown
A Palomino all golden and tall
Paints as well were collected
And, folks, that’s not even all
They all stood for the camera
Decorated brightly too
Like jewelry on a model
Spruced up for me and you
A white horse standing proudly
But he never would have reared
He matched his owner delightfully
Who had a great snow white beard
One horse had a lady riding
He stood tall and didn’t slump
But the funny thing about it was
There was a tablecloth on his rump
A lot of preparations were involved
Put through a regimented course
But we just loved every single
Gorgeous Czech parade horse!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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