While Waiting At The River Styx
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, like beggar's blankets, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper's grim garrote."
'It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.' (Matthew 19: 24)
poem by Terry O'Leary
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By Now You Have Forgot' (To Whom It May Concern)
Remember all the Wise Men on their knees upon your yacht?
With orphans on their backs they crawled (and others that they brought)
Through rubble on the highway sands and residues of Lot.
They came from severed cities selling postcards of your thoughts,
Though offered for a penny piece, not even worth a jot.
They asked
"How are you feeling? What it is you want, you've got.
You've scrawled behind your calling cards ‘I AM, but you are not',
Though carved beneath the seven seas ‘Salvation can't be bought.
Your fathers tried before you and your fathers came to naught.'
"You started out by gelding goats and then by casting lots
Of bodies to the battlefields, contorted, tight and taut,
Then wallowed in the wake of trails the dervish devil trots.
"With marching bands of fatherlands, and drums of Hottentots,
You lure your legions in harm's way like giant juggernauts.
Like Tweedle Dum your minions come, the sober and the sots,
The troglodytes, barbarians, and mislead patriots,
The Vandals, Huns and Hannibals and seaport Cypriots,
The Japanese, the Congolese, the Indians and Scots,
To vanquish bows and arrows, spears and catapulted shots
Of those who build their bamboo huts for families now distraught,
With withered wives with dried up breasts, and swollen babes in cots,
Who swoon, engulfed in poison darts and vats of acid hot,
Consumed by magic mushroom clouds, atomic megawatts.
"In churches of your deities, your Holy Huguenots,
Your Imams, Rabbis, Voodoo Dolls and Mitered Lancelots
Lit wicked kindled candled walls in temples (while we fought)
In mosques, cathedrals, synagogues to bless each new onslaught
(Used pins and needles, magic spells on makeshift mock whatnots,
With prayers for pipers, puppets, pawns and rigid armed robots) .
"Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots.
"You've treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you paused to preen your pride, you scrubbed a scarlet blot.
"In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crocks of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts,
The mirrors of our lifelessness, the evils you begot.
"The haunted leaves on winds of time have strewn a shallow plot
Where now beneath the frozen stones the bodies lie and rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust and feed Forget-Me-Nots
In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot.
"A black and withered tree of death is rooted to the spot,
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
And buried them in barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat,
Then drank your wine from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
"While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, like beggar's blankets, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
And gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
And wrapped in chains around your neck, the Reaper's grim garrote."
That is the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was oh so long ago, by now you have forgot'.
poem by Terry O'Leary
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Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.
I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
quote by Jesus Christ
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
Possessions
Why you told mine striving consciousness
t’was climbing commandment slippery;
supposedly silver sanctified stairway;
to fervent fortitude hard entrant heaven?
When all life suffering since Eden
I have abated apparently fated held.
Hands toiling; falling; down below. Psalms 128: 2.
Hear life proverb possessions riddle. Isaiah 65: 23.
It is easier
for a camel
to pass through
a needle’s eye
than for a rich man to enter
into the kingdom of God. Mark 10: 25. Matthew 19: 24.
Mentioned needle’s eye is onward rocky;
life long pilgrim’s passage passed. Hebrews 12: 1-2.
Eye is symbolic reference point; pertaining to; Ezekiel 18: 24.
treacherous soul; seeking heaven sought path. Job 11: 20. Isaiah 14: 13-15.
The eye of the needle
was the confining rocky passage;
where the camel could only pass
fully unloaded possessions shed;
a difficult place to pass
hard work to individually;
carry each item of load
through such a place of passage.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Take The Black
The moon is full you can not see
There's something in the air
Sound asleep you're into deep
Protecting your own lair
The lion roar into the night
Yet another foe to slay
Who are you that I see right through
The hunter or the pray?
Too late to hear the final warning
No one can defy the reaper
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
You though you had it all in there
In your little bag of tricks
Insanity won't set you free
As you cross the river Styx
You're out of time your bridges burn
In the undying flame
We'll nail you down to the ground
For you to bear the shame
Too late to hear the final warning
No one can defy the reaper
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Voices - Twisted
Calling out your name
Voices - Twisted
Calling for you
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Ain't no reason for the rhyme
Take the Black - Ready to attack
Take the Black
Face to face you bide your time
Take the Black - Ready to attack
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you look closely at a tree you'll notice it's knots and dead branches, just like our bodies. What we learn is that beauty and imperfection go together wonderfully.
quote by Matthew Fox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grim Lullaby
An ode to you, oh quiet child,
Lying so still, broken and defiled,
As blood seeps from your veins,
Traces the tiles,
Tears descend your face,
And to the floor they are exiled.
Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby.
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.
You are the moon,
Reflecting all that comes your way,
You are a rock,
Taking hit after hit, day after day,
You are the sun,
Blocked by gloomy storm clouds,
You are the rain,
Free falling into darkness.
Oh,
Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby.
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.
Oh no, don’t cry darling,
I’ll sing it again.
Hush my sweetheart, don’t you cry,
Grim Reaper’s gonna sing you a lullaby,
And if you don’t suddenly die,
Then Grim Reaper’s gonna give it another try.
poem by Sai Killam
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Ballad of the Goodly Fere
Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all
For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men,
O' ships and the open sea.
When they came wi' a host to take Our Man
His smile was good to see,
"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.
Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears
And the scorn of his laugh rang free,
"Why took ye not me when I walked about
Alone in the town?" says he.
Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine
When we last made company,
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere
But a man o' men was he.
I ha' seen him drive a hundred men
Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free,
That they took the high and holy house
For their pawn and treasury.
They'll no' get him a' in a book I think
Though they write it cunningly;
No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere
But aye loved the open sea.
If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere
They are fools to the last degree.
"I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Though I go to the gallows tree."
"Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind,
And wake the dead," says he,
"Ye shall see one thing to master all:
'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree."
A son of God was the Goodly Fere
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.
He cried no cry when they drave the nails
And the blood gushed hot and free,
The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue
But never a cry cried he.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men
On the hills o' Galilee,
They whined as he walked out calm between,
Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea,
Like the sea that brooks no voyaging
With the winds unleashed and free,
Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret
Wi' twey words spoke' suddently.
A master of men was the Goodly Fere,
A mate of the wind and sea,
If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.
I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb
Sin' they nailed him to the tree.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Long Grown Cold
thunderstorm, and ashes...
wild horses running free.
wolves panting in the darkness,
owls shudder in the night.
bats hang upside down, and then die,
like falling stars disappear.
i lick the walls of your soul,
until my tongue bleeds.
water dripping from a rusted spicket,
the old tree split by lightning.
i kiss your eyes, and death stammers,
even word hesitates.
longing tastes like sap and old books,
sadness precious hangs and falls.
you dig your nails into my heart,
the waterfall frozen in time.
stone throbs, pines pray needle prayers.
there's no direction in the darkness,
only pulse, and animal souls.
then i awaken with a start,
gasping for breath in an empty room.
wind blown branches scratch the window,
embers whisper long grown cold!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Diamond Joe
1. now theres a man youll hear about
Most anywhere you go,
And his holdings are in texas
And his name is diamond joe.
2. and he carries all his money
In a diamond-studded jar.
He never took much trouble
With the process of the law.
3. I hired out to diamond joe, boys,
Did offer him my hand,
He gave a string of horses
So old they could not stand.
4. and I nearly starved to death, boys,
He did mistreat me so,
And I never saved a dollar
In the pay of diamond joe.
5. now his bread it was corn dodger
And his meat you couldnt chaw,
Nearly drove me crazy
With the waggin of his jaw.
6. and the tellin of his story,
Mean to let you know
That there never was a rounder
That could lie like diamond joe.
Instrumental
7. now, I tried three times to quit him,
But he did argue so
Im still punchin cattle
In the pay of diamond joe.
8. and when Im called up yonder
And its my time to go,
Give my blankets to my buddies
Give the fleas to diamond joe.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beggar To Beggar Cried
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The One Escape
Seven feet high.
Five feet across.
Infinite room to die.
The walls will keep you safe from the others
The almighty warden claims.
But am I afraid of the others?
Prisoners may be able to contort me, but
Prisoners can’t fill my soul with pains.
Prisoners can’t crush my heart with chains.
Why are prisoners so silent when the lights fade, you ask?
Isolation
Isolation that prickles your neck at night
Isolation that makes the darkness bite.
Screaming bounces off of the impenetrable walls of isolation,
And it hits you.
Echoes haunt your head
And the memories of not wanting to feel dead,
Disappear.
The bars
And the walls
And the dark
Erode your life.
How can you escape?
There is only
One
Way
Out
And it satisfies the walls
The grim reaper holds the ticket
His ticket leads out of the bars
And into the bright
Into the light
Pit of eternity.
The stone walls seem dreadfully close tonight
And this rope around my neck feels tight
This cold loneliness, my heart is full of it.
And I think I see the reaper with my ticket…
Chains On My Neck
Chains On My Neck
I’m black here I sit with chains on my neck
I’m beside other black men with chains on their necks
I’m waiting but while I wait my mind
takes me to my village
There, there is my home
I built it with my hands and my brothers hands
I built it with my sweat and pride
a very, very fine house indeed
But I am here sitting with chains on my neck
Beside other black men with chains on their necks
I see in my minds eye my fine house
I bring in furniture, built by my hands and my father’s hands
Strong furniture made with care from the best trees
But I am here sitting with chains on my neck
Beside other black men with chains on their necks
I see again in my minds eye my fine house
I bring in my spear, ax and shield
Deadly weapons to attack or defend
I mount them on the wall of my fine house
But I am sitting with chains on my neck
Beside me other black men with chains on their necks
I shake my chains and my house is on the other end of my chains.
Copyright 2005
poem by Watchful Steward
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The Tree
Ready with leaves and with buds stood the tree.
"Shall I take them?" the frost said, now puffing with glee.
"Oh my, no, let them stand,
Till flowers are at hand!"
All trembling from tree-top to root came the plea.
Flowers unfolding the birds gladly sung.
"Shall I take them?" the wind said and merrily swung.
"Oh my, no, let them stand,
Till cherries are at hand!"
Protested the tree, while it quivering hung.
The cherries came forth 'neath the sun's glowing eye.
"Shall I take them?" a rosy young girl's eager cry.
"Oh my, yes, you can take,
I've kept them for your sake!"
Low bending its branches, the tree brought them nigh.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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An Old Story
(Retold in Rhyme)
They threw him in a prison cell;
He moaned upon his bed.
And when he crept from coils of hell:
"Last night you killed," they said.
"last night in drunken rage you slew
A being brave with breath;
A radiant soul, because of you
Lies dark in death."
"last night I killed," he moaned distraught,
"When I was wild with wine;
I slew, and I remember naught . . .
O Mother, Mother mine!
"To what unbridled rage may lead
You taught me at your knew.
Why did I not your warning heed . . .
And now - the gallows tree.
"O Mother, Mother, come to me,
For I am sore distrest,
And I would kneel beside your knee
And weep upon your breast. . . ."
They stared at him; their lips were dumb,
Their eyes tear filled;
Then spoke the Priest: "She cannot come . . .
'Twas she you killed."
poem by Robert William Service
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I Hope It Happens Soon
I've stood many times in the face of troubles
Once or twice face to face with death
One night so close I even fealt his breath
You see I was knelling and the reaper, was hovering over me
Breathing down my neck
I was trying to help my buddy, we were one
Yet the bullets still came from N.V.A.guns
I've never forgotten those nights of fear
Nor when the Grim Reaper came so near
That came so close to vist with me
In that land, Black Hell across the sea
Forty one, some years have come and gone
But I remember as if it was just before the dawn
So now my heart goes hungry through this world
Never finding the peace I seek
Nor a way to hide pains that cries out
With words that it cannot speak
My name stands for one who can see far
But for peace I only can wonder, where you are
My arms reached out to stop him only to wrap empty air
Living forever that one day I cried buddy hang on! Hang on!
Yet, He took you and left me, dying there...
They say time heals all wounds...
God... I hope that it happens soon
poem by Clyde Bryson
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The Carpenter's Son
"Here the hangman stops his cart:
Now the best of friends must part.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live, lads, and I will die.
"Oh, at home had I but stayed
'Prenticed to my father's trade,
Had I stuck to plane and adze,
I had not been lost, my lads.
"Then I might have built perhaps
Gallows-trees for other chaps,
Never dangled on my own,
Had I left but ill alone.
"Now, you see, they hang me high,
And the people passing by
Stop to shake their fists and curse;
So 'tis come from ill to worse.
"Here hang I, and right and left
Two poor fellows hang for theft:
All the same's the luck we prove,
Though the midmost hangs for love.
"Comrades all, that stand and gaze,
Walk henceforth in other ways;
See my neck and save your own:
Comrades all, leave ill alone.
"Make some day a decent end,
Shrewder fellows than your friend.
Fare you well, for ill fare I:
Live lads, and I will die."
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Hangman's Gallows
Hangman's Gallows
By: Adam M. Snow
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
the reapers awaken,
to mend the broken.
The mourners mourn,
a soul that was scorn.
Your judgment comes,
now's the end,
like a dying friend,
laying you at rest,
in a hollowed coffin,
as they dance and jest.
The mark of noose,
around your neck,
if weakness may excuse.
They dance and dance,
they jest and jest,
your blood drips to the deck.
To the blood of dawn,
to the black of dusk,
all tears are gone,
and all who brusque.
All's unspoken,
you're forsaken.
The children screaming,
mothers stopped dreaming,
your body's hanging,
from a waning noose.
All you've done,
your life's abuse.
By dawn the reaper weary,
as time grew dark and eerie.
The hangman cometh,
to the gallows oaken,
with a gauntlet of raw,
for you, who's broken.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Reason Why Pain Is Inflicted Sometimes
Feeling the need
To have pearls
Around your neck
I will give you pain
To make you cry
Now you have all
The pearls gleaming
In your eyes, cheeks
Then around your
white slender neck
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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