En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Joy of My Youth

The morning is cold,
the moon slung low
lighting the snow
iridescently blue

In the dark, glowing church
red votives flame
throwing bright prayers
to the ceiling

Introibo ad altare Dei,
The old priest intones
“I will go
to the alter of God”

and I quickly recite
Ad Deum qui laetificat
juventutem meam

“To God,
the joy of my youth.”

The church is empty,
but still we go on,
chanting the ancient love-songs

to the One who lives
in the flickering flame

to the One who rises
in ascending incense

and hears our words
and becomes them.

poem by Steven Federle
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Flos Lunae

I would not alter thy cold eyes,
Nor trouble the calm fount of speech
With aught of passion or surprise.
The heart of thee I cannot reach:
I would not alter thy cold eyes!

I would not alter thy cold eyes;
Nor have thee smile, nor make thee weep:
Though all my life droops down and dies,
Desiring thee, desiring sleep,
I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes;
I would not change thee if I might,
To whom my prayers for incense rise,
Daughter of dreams! my moon of night!
I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes,
With trouble of the human heart:
Within their glance my spirit lies,
A frozen thing, alone, apart;
I would not alter thy cold eyes.

poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Empty Chairs

I feel the trembling tingle of a sleepless night
Creep through my fingers and the moon is bright
Beams of blue come flickering through my window pane
Like gypsy moths that dance around a candle flame
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would
Moonlight used to bathe the contours of your face
While chestnut hair fell all around the pillow case
And the fragrance of your flowers rest beneath my head
A sympathy bouquet left with the love that's dead
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would
Never thought the words you said were true
Never thought you said just what you meant
Never knew how much I needed you
Never thought you'd leave, until you went
Morning comes and morning goes with no regret
And evening brings the memories I can't forget
Empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs
And empty clothes that drape and fall on empty chairs
And I wonder if you know
That I never understood
That although you said you'd go
Until you did I never thought you would

song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sex & The Church

Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Emptiness Of The Church ...

it is when i finally decide to go
to church this afternoon
after a long time of hibernation
in the world of words
in the most silent privacy
only to find out that the church
too is empty but the priest just the
same has to say mass

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Heart of your Shadow

The Shadows are dark
Can you feel them?
The shadows are hidden
Where did they go?

Can you see it?
The light within the dark?
In hides in the shadows
That one flame

The flickering flame
In the dark
Our hearts
All have a flickering flame

Let that light shine
In the darkest depths
Fear fades with anger and hate
Because of that light

The light lies
In a dark place
Let it shine within
The heart of your shadow

poem by J.T. Derouen
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Ritual

Every morning he goes to the church
though not religious, not really much
tidily dressed, looking so neat
the routine is a way, for him a habit
he prays for nothing, nothing he wants
it's all ritual, the prayers he chants
Years roll by, he grows frail and old
till he is laid in a coffin, dark and cold
the hearse carries him to the church he went
there is no prayer, he remains silent.

poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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We Learned

The decorum of fire...
-- Pablo Neruda

We learned the decorum of fire,
the flame's curious symmetry,
the blue heat at the center of the thighs,
the flickering red of the hips,
& the tallow gold of the breasts
lit from within
by the lantern in the ribs.

You tear yourself out of me
like a branch that longs to be grafted
onto a fruit tree,
peach & pear
crossed with each other,
fig & banana served on one plate,
the leaf & the luminous snail
that clings to it.

We learned that the tearing
could be a joining,
that the fire's flickering
could be a kindling,
that the old decorum of love--
to die into the poem,
leaving the lover lonely with her pen--
was all an ancient lie.

So we banished the evil eye:
you have to be unhappy to create;
you have to let love die before it writes;
you have to lose the joy to have the poem--
& we re-wrote our lives with fire.

See this manuscript covered
with flesh-colored words?
It was written in invisible ink
& held up to our flame.

The words darkened on the page
as we sank into each other.

We are ink & blood
& all things that make stains.
We turn each other golden as we turn,
browning each other's skins like suns.

Hold me up to the light;
you will see poems.

Hold me in the dark;
you will see light.

poem by Erica Jong
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I Went To Church Today

i went to church today
and as it is customary
at dawn
a sacrifice so to say
for advent's sake

i join in the singing of
the hymns
i sit and stand and kneel
i recite my prayers
on paper
i look at the pulpit
and listen to the
priest saying the homily
i sit and stand and kneel

i look around the corners
i follow the lines of the pillars
i look at the center of this
church majestic in its
art and architecture
i look at the corners
and at the seats filled with
my own people

i was looking for the face
of God
his shadow even
is not there anymore.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Looking For A Valentine

most of the time, she goes home early
never fails to visit the church and pray

she has been this way, hollow, empty,
the prayers never make her full

sometimes she extends her time in church
looking at the other faces hoping to find someone

that may like her, propose her a marriage
that at her last trip to love, she may not refuse

or have the right to, she has no right to choose now
at 33, she prayed so hard, and gave bigger tithes,

sponsored masses, and offered masses for her
dead ancestors,

until one day, someone paid her a special attention,
and she promised herself, she would not refuse him,

she married finally the priest, and so the emptiness
from her heart, transferred to the hallways of the church.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Church

I love the church: its labara,
its silver vessels, its candleholders,
the lights, the ikons, the pulpit.

Whenever I go there, into a church of the Greeks,
with its aroma of incense,
its liturgical chanting and harmony,
the majestic presence of the priests,
dazzling in their ornate vestments,
the solemn rhythm of their gestures-
my thoughts turn to the great glories of our race,
to the splendor of our Byzantine heritage.

poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Love's Worship Restored

O Love, thine empire is not dead,
Nor will we let thy worship go,
Although thine early flush be fled,
Thine ardent eyes more faintly glow,
And thy light wings be fallen slow
Since when as novices we came
Into the temple of thy name.

Not now with garlands in our hair,
And singing lips, we come to thee.
There is a coldness in the air,
A dulness on the encircling sea,
Which doth not well with songs agree.
And we forget the words we sang
When first to thee our voices rang.

When we recall that magic prime,
We needs must weep its early death.
How pleasant from thy towers the chime
Of bells, and sweet the incense breath
That rose while we, who kept thy faith,
Chanting our creed, and chanting bore
Our offerings to thine altar store!

Now are our voices out of tune,
Our gifts unworthy of thy name.
December frowns, in place of June.
Who smiled when to thy house we came,
We who came leaping, now are lame.
Dull ears and failing eyes are ours,
And who shall lead us to thy towers?

O hark! A sound across the air,
Which tells not of December's cold,
A sound most musical and rare.
Thy bells are ringing as of old,
With silver throats and tongues of gold.
Alas! it is too sweet for truth,
An empty echo of our youth.

Nay, never echo spake so loud!
It is indeed thy bells that ring.
And lo, against the leaden cloud,
Thy towers! Once more we leap and spring,
Once more melodiously we sing,
We sing, and in our song forget
That winter lies around us yet.

Oh, what is winter, now we know,
Full surely, thou canst never fail?
Forgive our weak untrustful woe,
Which deemed thy glowing face grown pale.
We know thee, mighty to prevail.
Doubt and decrepitude depart,
And youth comes back into the heart.

O Love, who turnest frost to flame
With ardent and immortal eyes,
Whose spirit sorrow cannot tame,
Nor time subdue in any wise -
While sun and moon for us shall rise,
Oh, may we in thy service keep
Till in thy faith we fall asleep!

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Kometenmelodie

[Lyrics are an excerpt of "The Heaven Prolog" from Faust - Wolfgang von Goethe. In this masterpiece, these lines are said by Raphael archangel]
Die sonne toent nach alter weise
In brudersphaeren wettgesang
Und ihre vorgeschriebene reise
vollendet sie mit donnergang
[Translation 1:]
The sun sounds out in an old manner
In a fraternal vocal competition
And its prescribed course
Reaches a conclusion with a thunder
[Translation 2:]
The sun intones its ancient song
Mid rival chant of brother spheres
Its predestined course it speeds along
In thund?rous march throughout the years
[Translation 3:]
The sun intones, in ancient tourney
With brother-spheres, a rival song
Fulfilling its predestined journey
With march of thunder moves along
[Translation 4:]
The sun is chanting his ancient song
In contest with the brother spheres
Rolling with thunder steps along
Down the predestined course of years

song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Man's Lament

The child-sun blazes
through grey morning fog
his passion overpowers
night’s sluggish slog
‘till bright noon’s on fire
with his effervescent love,

but it’s all the same, it’s
all the same.
Morning, noon, and night
may embrace our little lives,
but it’s all the same.

The ancient moon rises
in the fast-fading east.
Bloody sun dies, failed day retreats,

but it’s all the same, it’s all
the same.
Morning, noon, and night
may consume our little lives
but it’s all the same, all
the same.

poem by Steven Federle
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The Flame

I find myself remembering things I thought I'd forgot
I thought I'd gotten over you but I can see I've not
And seeing you has made me realize how wrong I've been
And the torch I've carried for so long is burning bright again
The flame is burning bright again it just took my seeing you to know
That the flame had not burned out it just had flickered low
Yes I still love you just as much as I ever did before
The flame is burning bright again and I can't fight it anymore
Could it be your seeing me has set your heart on fire
Could it be old memories has filled you with desire
Oh if after all this time you find that you still feel the same
Then come and take my hand and walk with me into the flame
The flame is burning bright again...

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Worlds On Fire

Theres a couple sunbathing on a freshly mown lawn in england
Its a house with a view and all you see is green and blue for miles
The local vicar has pretended that the church is well attended this morning
As he wanders without purpose to the sunday service he smiles
{oh-ho!} what a beautiful morning
{oh-ho!} what a beautiful day
{oh-ho!} what a sickening feeling
It took this long to make it, now were throwing it away
Now, I was told not to play with fire
I said, look out church the flames grow higher
I said, watch those flames lick that spire
I said, look our church the falmes grow higher
{the worlds on fire}
Theres a curtain closed early in an upstairs room in england
Theres a couple misbehabving when they shouldve been praising sunday
And theres a bounce in a walk and the neighbours stop to talk for hours
And when eyebrows are raised at the next song of praise come monday
{oh-ho!} what a beautiful morning
{oh-ho!} what a beautiful day
{oh-ho!} what a sickening feeling
It took this long to make it, now were throwing it away
Now, I was told not to play with fire
I said, look out church the flames grow higher
I said, watch those flames lick that spire
I said, look our church the falmes grow higher
{the worlds on fire}
The worlds on fire!

song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sundays Past

On Sunday mornings you would wear a dark suit
With a tie and shiny shoes you are ready to en route
The church bells would ring calling for morning mass
While you check the weather through the window glass
A last glance in the mirror and you are on your way
You join the church goers without any further delay

Walking over uneven cobblestones in our small town
Children would jump on the sidewalks up and down
Dressed up for church everyone is wearing their best
Thinking about the priest and what they have to confess
Men lifting their dark hats as they wish a Good Morning
Then pass by the cemetery bowing heads as in mourning

The church bells now ringing louder and more demanding
Calling all sinners to mass without misunderstanding
I always knew that right then the decision was made
And it was agreed to skip church without being afraid
Through the old alley you and others took a known detour
Heading straight to the pub on the corner that is for sure

Around noon I would go to meet my father by the church
And he would talk about mass having done some research
At home my mother would just smile and shake her head
While my father gave her a wink that was hardly misread
Joking around we would eat lunch smiling with every bite
Keeping my father's Sunday secret and the world was alright

© 2011

poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Dream Dies

So aother dream dies
And another I suppose ends up in blue skies
Give me a why?
Not tonight, not tomorrow
There's nothing to say

You are a shadow in a flame
A blue flame, but it burns cold
So cold it burns, cold white hot and blue
Be the reason, come down star
Take me away to where nothing
Is all it seems

poem by Midnights Voice
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4: 59 In The Early Morning

the church bells nearby
toll
for whom, for you,
some prayers
broadcast on the microphone
in this place of
little christianities,

you wash your face
put on your clothes
church this morning
i forget, we used to
have church every
morning when we
were newly married,

changes, time,
ebb, high tides,
moons and more moons,
moorings and more moorings
mornings and lots of boring mornings,

i have changed and you have changed too.
i walk, i walk away, and you will pray,
i will pray too but in other silent places
far away from us, from you, from everything
familiar

too boring, but not sad yet, we are anticipating sadness
like noontime
lunch with so much chili and pepper,
and cold rice, the one we had
for breakfast,
these kinds, you know, are not my favorites....

yet without any word, you will serve them.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Some Have Steeples. Some Don't

What do I think of church?

'Yes! '

Church?
Like in 'church' church?

'Yes! '

Well...
Some have steeples.
Some don't.
Some have people.
Some wont.

Some are religiously political.
And some are politically religious.

My vehicle is my church.
And that's all I care about.

'Oh?
So your 'car' is your church? '

Oh.
No no!
My 'body' is my church.
It is my sanctuary.

Now...
Keep in mind,
I am not devoted to keep it as pure,
As it should be.
But I do the best I can,
Not to be led away by temptation.

But everyday I pray to be forgiven,
Of those 'sins' I know I should not enjoy!
However...
You can find me anytime,
Self righteously defending...
My point of view.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Christmas party at the South Danbury Church

December twenty-first
we gather at the white Church festooned
red and green, the tree flashing
green-red lights beside the altar.
After the children of Sunday School
recite Scripture, sing songs,
and scrape out solos,
they retire to dress for the finale,
to perform the pageant
again: Mary and Joseph kneeling
cradleside, Three Kings,
shepherds and shepherdesses. Their garments
are bathrobes with mothholes,
cut down from the Church's ancestors.
Standing short and long,
they stare in all directions for mothers,
sisters and brothers,
giggling and waving in recognition,
and at the South Danbury
Church, a moment before Santa
arrives with her ho-hos
and bags of popcorn, in the half-dark
of whole silence, God
enters the world as a newborn again.

poem by Donald Hall
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