Has His Measure
Sister Cecilia fingers the beads.
The wood hard between finger
And thumb. The Christ has been
Rubbed smooth by years of prayer.
Shines like a new coin. Her feet ache
With cold. The fingers work their magic.
Her lips move to the rhythm of words
Carried on breath. She carries her
Christ in her breast close to her heart
His picture in the black and red book
In a pocket of her habit of black cloth.
She knows He follows her and listens
To her words and thoughts and watches
Her deeds done in darkness and light
In coldness and heat in cloister and chapel.
For weeks on end she feels His absence
Like a lover gone from sight on some
Distant voyage over rough sea or far off
Lands in search of some other treasure.
But she loves Him still her constant lover
And knows His worth and has His measure.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Rubber Of The Rosary
I am the rubber of the rosary,
said Sister Paul, my finger and
thumb move over the beads like
a humble worm, I utter prayers
like a hissing snake, my breath
rising in the air like a frightened
bird. The silence enfolds me like
my lover's arms, its peacefulness
kisses my ears like my lover's lips,
the touch of the thick silence my
lover's fingertips. His breath breathes
upon my neck, His requests utter
In my ears, His love echoes through
my being. The darkness embraces
me like a black cloth, my eyes see
shadows in nightly prayers, my sight
fails me with its tired eyes, the late
nights, the on knees prayers, the
going up and down the stairs to
and from the chilling chapel. I am
a denier of self, my self denial is
my weapon against the selfish I,
my way of keeping the ego in its
place, the surging wanter of wants
kept check, each fight for self denial
takes its toll, the selfish I wants its
revenge, seeks its way through my
daily walks, my day to day talks,
the moment of eating, drinking,
sleeping, the dreaming nights.
My lover comes at my least request,
His eyes see me in the darkness's
hold, His fingers find me and release
my bonds, His words echo through
the blackest night, His love warmer
than the sun's kiss, His nearness
closer than air to lungs, than stars
to sky. My Lover comes, my prayers
are heard, my soul is lifted up, my
finger and thumb push round the black
beads, He is there, noting each whispered
prayer, he lays me upon my bed, rests
me down, His holy lips healing my soul,
granting peace to my all too human head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holy Saturday Gains and Losses
Holy Saturday. Lulu softly rubs her
Black rosary held between fingers.
The church cold and dark. Waiting
For the light. The candle brought by
The priest and others of his ilk to bring
Light to the darkness. Rudandoff stands
Still silent in shadows watching her
Outline in candlelight's glow. Lulu feels
Smooth wood on fingers and thumb
Mutters her pure prayers watching
The candle light up the darkness.
Rudandoff smells her the scent
Touching him the shine of her hair
Caught by passing light her profile
Moves him her moving fingers stirs
His dark embers stiffen his manhood.
The holy candle brings light to the
Church. The priest and others chant
Out the long prayers. Lulu's soft lips
Kiss the crucified Christ on her crucifix
Warm lips on smooth wood. Rudandoff
Wishes those were his kisses his manhood
Between her moving fingers her tender
Body beneath his hot frame. Lulu closes
Eyes imagines her Christ blue bruised
And beaten hammered and battered
Gazing through eye slits bringing her true
Love never forsaken. Rudanoff's hot lust
Swells in the darkness his sausage fingers
Want to reach and touch to squeeze and
Fondle to greedily suck her female juices.
Holy Saturday. She finds her love's light.
He loses lust's kiss and burns in darkness.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Am As Nothing.
I am as nothing, said Sister Clare;
I am a tool in the Lord’s hands, His
Words wake me from sleep, His
Utterance disperses my dreams.
I wake to the birds’ chorus, the sun
Rises at my elbow, the moon goes
As my eyes take sight. I dress while
Uttering an Ave, wash the night from
My eyes and skin, sense the waters’
Coldness through my fingers’ hold.
From my window I see the cranberry
Tree in the cloister garth; early birds
Perched in the branches, sunlight
Flittering through the green leaves.
Sister Blaise stares up at the sky, her
Hands hidden beneath her habit’s cloth,
Her head to one side. God sees all, my
Mother said, He knows you better than
You know yourself, knows your thoughts
Like a well read book, He understands
Your ways and wants, marks your sins
In the big black book. I leave my room,
Walk down the stairs to the cloister’s
Path, run my palm on the wall’s rough
Brick, my feet taking the steady step,
My blue eyes lowered, my thoughts run
Off like children at play. I gather my
Thoughts like a shepherd his sheep,
I pen them tight into my skull’s sides.
Flowers in the flowerbeds pull my eyes,
Yellows and reds and blues feed my mind.
Sister Rose stands by the bell, her hands
Holding the rough rope, her eyes lit up like
Candles at night, her smile like a child’s kiss.
I pass her by with a gentle nod, taking note
Of her fingers’ hold. I enter the church with
A steady pace, smell incense on the air’s skin;
See sunlight through high windows, beaming
Down on the choir stalls and cold stone floor.
I sit and wait for matins to begin, wait for my
Bruised groom carrying the whole world’s sin.
poem by Terry Collett
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Binding The Wind
You are breathing
It is cold
And your breath
Is seen in the wind
As white smoke
As you speak
I see your
Words in the air
And the wind
Carries them
All to me
In my nostrils
Then to my heart
I take my fingers
Touching your
Mouth feeling
Your lips
Molding some
Words of white smoke
To this cold day
I am cold
And weak
But I shall have
A way of making
My fingers coil
Into a rope
And I shall
Bind the wind
Where your words
Are contained
My fingers
Ropes of this
Meticulous mind
In this lovely chase
It is cold today
I am weak today
I bind the wind
Your words of
Love your warmth
In affection
And I bind them
All as I bundle
Them into a pillow
On my head
A pillow in my heart
On this cold day
I will not be weak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lover Be Thy Name
Lover, lover
Lover be thy name I say
Hey, hey, hey lover
Lover, lover
Lover be thy name
Everyday when the sun goes down
And all alone I face the night
I thinkof you and all that you've been
To me you've torn away a hole in my life
Don't try to be my sister, my mother, my friend
Cause it would never ever be the same
Hey, hey, hey
Lover be thy name
In the Middle of the night
Lover be thy name
In the middle of the night
Lover be thy name
Go live your life and I'll try live mine
But baby, if you see me out on the street
Walk away, turn away
Don'tlook in my eyes
Till I get my heart back on my feet
Don't wanna be your brother or the
Shoulder you lean on
Just to ease the burning pain
When I Call you there's no answer
When I had your love
I didn't know the words to say
Those words to make you stay
I should have said
Lover, lover
Lover be thy name
song performed by by Haddaway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Things.
These things are sent to try us,
Gran said, her thumb
Moving itself over
The well-worn beads
Of her dark wood rosary;
Her eyes taking in the crucifix
On the wall above her bed.
You sat watching her thumb
Moving its way back and forth
Over the round black beads,
Her arthritic fingers clutching
Blue blankets and white sheet.
Never tries us beyond our strength,
She added, the strained features
Mingling with the yellow taint
Of wrinkled skin. You wondered
Who sent the things to try her,
Whose bounty of gifts left
Small tears wedged in the corners
Of her eyes, pushed out words
Between harsh sighs.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I've Crossed Oceans Of Wine To Find You
There was a time when i
Could breath my life into you
One by one your pale fingers
Started to move
And i touched your face
And all death was erased
And you smiled like an angel
Falling from heaven
Just to be lift up again
And you kissed my lips
With those once cold fingertips
You run me back to life
And all things come to an end
We don't have to pretend
Slowly we fall asleep
And never wake up again
We're so christ like
We're so lifelike
Vampire christ
We're so alive
We're so lifelike
Vampire christ
In the grace
Of this love
We rise in pain
And death is not far away
And soon we'll sleep
And never wake up again
There was a time when i
Could breath my life
Into you
And all's been come to an end
We don't have to pretend
Slowly we fall asleep
We're christ like
So lifelike
Vampire christ
We're so lifelike
So christ like
A vampire christ
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More Than A Woman (Bump 'n' Flex Club Mix)
Passion, Instant
Sweat Beads, Feel Me
Cupids Shot Me
My Heartbeats Racing
Tempt Me, Drive Me
Feels So Exciting
Thought of highly
Its Yours Entirely
Ill Be
Ill Be More Than A Lover
More Than A Woman
More Than Your Lover
Ill Be
Ill Be More Than Another
More Than A Woman
More Than Enough For You
Ill Be
(Ill Be More) More Than Your Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) Even more undercovers
Ill Be
(Ill Be More) More Than A Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) More Than Enough For You
Midnight Grindin
My Heartrates Climbin
You Go, I Go
Cause We Share Pillows
Chase Me, Beat Me
Theres Still No Separating
Morning Massages
With New Bones In Your Closet
Ill Be
Ill Be More Than A Lover
More Than A Woman
More Than Your Lover
I Said Ill Be
Ill Be More Than Enough For You
More Than A Woman
More Than Enough For You
Ill Be
(Ill Be More) More Than Your Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) Even more undercovers
Im Gonna Be
(Ill Be More) More Than A Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) More Than Enough For You
I Dont Think Your Ready
I Dont Think Your Ready For This Thing
For This Thing
I Dont Think Your Ready For This Thing
Youre Not Ready
I Dont Think Your Ready For This Thing
This Thing, This Thing
I Dont Think Your Ready For This Thing
Constant Pleasure
No Scale Can Measure
Secret Treasures
Keeps On Getting Better
Do You Wanna Roll With Me?
We Can Go To Foreign Lands your Hand In My Hand
Do You Wanna Ride With Me?
We Can Be Like Bonnie & Clyde
Be By Your Side
Ill Be More Than A Lover
More Than A Woman
More Than Your Lover
Ill Be More Than Enough For You
More Than A Woman
More Than enough For You
(Ill Be More) More Than Your Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) Even more undercovers
(Ill Be More) More Than A Lover
(More) More Than A Woman
(More) More Than Enough For You
song performed by by Aaliyah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Friday and More
Good Friday. Dark purple over
All the statues. Grimstock stares
At windows coloured glass light
Shines through. Kim Keltis on his
Right dressed in black mind in prayer
Standing there. Crucified on a brass
Crucifix a Christ hangs the eyes
Closed arms stretched out the hands
Nailed. Grimstock's eyes lower down
To the slim waist of Kim and lets
Eyes move over firm buttocks fleshy
Thighs her dark dress caressing.
Unaware of his eyes her eyes closed
Holds to prayer talks to God confident
God is there not knowing Grimstock's
Stare. Grimstock's eyes like feelers
Reach and touch suck and feed in mind's
Eye greedily the prayer book in his hands
Clutched tightly becomes part of the girl's
Fleshy thighs becomes this becomes that
His dark eyes moving up rest upon her
Brushed hair. Kim standing still in prayer
Not aware Grimstock's there with finger
From forehead to her breast from shoulder
To shoulder makes soft sign of the cross
Imagines her own sweet Crucified hangs
For her in pain there Sweet Jesus she mutters
Like eased breath. Grimstock dreams she's
Undressed beside him in his bed making
Love passionate utterings sexual soft touches.
Kim opens her dark eyes sees Grimstock's
Greedy stare travelling over her standing
There his rough eyes like fingers touching
Her ravishing her soft flesh raping her in his
Mind and knowing that deep down that this
Man pushes hard onto her Jesus' thorny crown.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Human Hand
The Human Hand has five fingers,
But none of similar size!
Yet, God put them all together,
To make a Hand so nice!
The Thumb is short and stout as well,
And moves most in all ways;
God gave it utmost importance,
‘I’m the best, ’ it says!
The Index- finger points the way,
And says, ‘I am the best;
As God had made it straight and strong,
’Tis better than the rest.
The Middle-finger grows longest,
And feels the greatest one;
Its actions though of lesser range,
’Tis not useful alone.
The Ring-finger is always proud,
It carries costly rings!
And sometimes, it has more than one!
‘I am richest, ’ it sings.
The Little-finger though smallest,
Cried ’twas sadly ignored!
Foremost in prayer, it remains,
And hence it felt unnerved.
Why fingers should fight ’mongst themselves?
Together, they stand best;
Each one is meant for a function;
Alone they form not Hand!
poem by John Celes
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Ive Crossed Oceans Of Wine To Find You
There was a time when i
Could breath my life into you
One by one your pale fingers
Started to move
And I touched your face
And all death was erased
And you smiled like an angel
Falling from heaven
Just to be lift up again
And you kissed my lips
With those once cold fingertips
You run me back to life
And all things come to an end
We dont have to pretend
Slowly we fall asleep
And never wake up again
Were so christ like
Were so lifelike
Vampire christ
Were so alive
Were so lifelike
Vampire christ
In the grace
Of this love
We rise in pain
And death is not far away
And soon well sleep
And never wake up again
There was a time when i
Could breath my life
Into you
And alls been come to an end
We dont have to pretend
Slowly we fall asleep
Were christ like
So lifelike
Vampire christ
Were so lifelike
So christ like
A vampire christ
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valentine
My Valentine!
My lover!
For a short time
Fingers entwined
When you were mine
Walking through each others mind
Now just a picture of you
To which I say
I LOVE YOU!
My Valentine!
My lover!
Words you cannot hear
From me
To make your heart stir
Now you are free
Just a picture of you
To which I say
I LOVE YOU!
RG/NB
poem by Robert Green
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The Tryst
I raised the veil, I loosed the bands,
I took the dead thing from its place.
Like a warm stream in frozen lands
My lips went wandering on her face,
My hands burnt in her hands.
She could not stay me, being dead;
Her body here was mine to hold.
What if her lips had lost their red?
To me they always tasted cold
With the cold words she said.
Did my breath run along her hair,
And free the pulse, and fire the brain,
My wild blood wake her wild blood there?
Here eyelids lifted wide again
In a blue, sudden stare.
Beneath my fierce, profane caress
The whole white length of body moved;
The drowsy bosom seemed to press
As if against a breast beloved,
Then fail for weariness.
No, not that anguish! Christ forbid
That I should raise such dead! I rose,
Stifled the mouth with lilies, hid
Those eyes, And drew the long hair close,
And shut the coffin lid.
My cold brow on the cold wood laid,
Quiet and close to-night we lie.
No cruel words her lips have said.
I shall not take nor she deny.
The dead is with the dead.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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Words
He lets me listen, when he moves me,
Words are not like other words
He takes me, from under my arms
He plants me, in a distant cloud
And the black rain in my eyes
Falls in torrents, torrents
He carries me with him, he carries me
To an evening of perfumed balconies
And I am like a child in his hands
Like a feather carried by the wind
He carries for me seven moons in his hands
and a bundle of songs
He gives me sun, he gives me summer
and flocks of swallows
He tells me that I am his treasure
And that I am equal to thousands of stars
And that I am treasure, and that I am
more beautiful than he has seen of paintings
He tells me things that make me dizzy
that make me forget the dance and the steps
Words…which overturn my history
which make me a woman…in seconds
He builds castles of fantasies
which I live in…for seconds…
And I return…I return to my table
Nothing with me…
Nothing with me…except words
poem by Nizar Qabbani
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The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue
Red what is it to you black the color of death? maybe maybe not? anyone here play video games? FOR CHAOS? ring any bells help spread the taint more quickly? what might an open book write
what would a open book draw
what would an open book think
open books are predictable
so predict what the picture means
why is black black? why is red O infused? what is the meaning only you know maybe only me...
(added years later)
Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed
poem by David Knox
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My Loverman
You treated me hard and made my heart ache
I know youre only human, and men they make mistakes
Your life with her turned to black
And now you want our love back
Well come into my arms and fall, my lover man
Was it a gypsys curse or a hex sign
Or was it just that simple thing that led you from these arms of mine
Oh yes, Ive had the days
To grow used to your foolish ways
And what is it really, after all, my lover man
I can see the change in your eyes
Theres no need to apologize
We stood at the wishing well
Our dreams like coins into the water fell
The water so cold and black
There was no going back
I dont mean to cause you hurt or cause you pain
Life is short and loves a dirty game
Now theres no need for our game to end
Come close and well begin
To find our beautiful selves again, my loverman
My loverman
My loverman
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kiss Me Red
I could paint your picture in the sky tonight
Your lipstick on the moon it shines so bright
Baby its full and white
Honey its full tonight
(chorus 1)
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
I could paint your picture in my room tonight
Your bodys on my mind its clear and bright
Oh but youre far away
And what I wouldnt pay
(chorus 2)
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
Its black out
And Im alone in the dark
But light a candle to replace your heart
What I wouldnt give to have you here in my bed
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Old Black Magic
That old black magic has me in its spell
That old black magic that you weave so well
Icy fingers up
And down my spine
The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine
The same old tingle that I feel
Inside
When that elevator starts its ride
Down and down I go, round and round I go
Like a leaf thats
Caught in the tide
I should stay away but what can I do
I hear your name, and Im aflame
Aflame with
Such a burning desire
That only your kiss can put out the fire
You are the lover that Ive waited for
The mate that fate had me created for
And every time your lips meet mine
Baby down and down I go,
All around I go
In a spin, loving the spin that Im in
Under that old black magic called love
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Touching Ceremony
On a golden autumn morning,
Just fifty years ago,
When harvests ripe lay smiling
In the sunshine’s yellow glow,
A pious group was standing
Round the lighted altar’s flame
In the humble convent chapel
Of the Nuns of Notre Dame.
A girl of fifteen summers,
With gentle, serious air,
In novice garb of purple,
Was humbly kneeling there;
Uttering the vows so binding
Whose magic power sufficed
To make that child-like maiden
The well-loved Bride of Christ.
No troubled, anxious shadow
O’er-clouded that young brow,
As with look and voice unfaltering
She breathed her solemn vow:
No regretful glances cast she
On the pomps that she had spurned,
Nor the dream of love and pleasure
From which she had coldly turned.
* * * * *
Fifty years of joy and sorrow
Since that day have o’er her flown—
Years of words and deeds of mercy,
Living but for God alone—
And again a group is standing,
By this holy scene enticed,
To renew the golden bridal
Of this faithful spouse of Christ.
True, her brow has lost the smoothness
And her cheek the fresh young glow
That adorned them on that autumn
Morning—fifty years ago;
But, oh! think not that her Bridegroom
Loves her anything the less;
He sees but the inward beauty
And the spirit’s loveliness.
Cloister honors long have fallen
Ceaseless, constant, to her lot,
But, like cloister honors falling,
Unto one who sought them not;
Daughter meek of the great Foundress
Of thy honored house and name,
Worthy art thou to be Abbess
Of the nuns of Notre Dame!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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