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The Judge's Prayer

‘Sentenced to death;
May God have mercy on your soul
Now may you die by hanging...’
The African judge
Holds the gravel of wrath
And sits on the crown of revenge
Where love stiffens into blood thirst
And blood pours into the hands
of an empty soul.
The judge makes a prayer
That covers his own fate!

poem by Timothy muggaga
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Judge

Judge is not here to decide
Who is winner and who is loser.
Judge is here to decide
Who is in right point.

No judge is empower to
Pronounced death sentences
No judge has got power
To give life to the lifeless.

Judge can not decide
The synonyms and antonyms
Judge can not say
The right source for right word.

Judge is not judge
So long as the judge is mortal
Judge is judge
If judge is eternal.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Eternal Hope For Your Soul

I would judge only
that your pain is great
almost more
than your soul can bear.

I would judge only
that your pain was
born in great injustice.

I would judge only
that your wrist scare scars
bear self witness to pain.

But I would not
judge your soul,
your right or wrong,

but I can discern,
that only a divine love,
can resurrect dead life...

in your heart,
give eternal hope,
for your soul.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who is to judge?

Family Heads, are you right to judge?
Political Heads, are you wise to judge?
Religious Heads, are you just to judge?
Judicial Heads, are you true to judge?
Individuals, are you free to judge?
One is right to one’s act.
Each act ends with its fate
As each birth meets its death.
Which birth is not just?
Which act is not just?
Who are you and I to judge?
Time is supreme and beyond us.
08.06.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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So I went in front of the judge, and I had my St. Jude prayer book in my pocket and my St. Jude medal. And I'm standing there and that judge said I was found guilty, so he sentenced me to what the law prescribed: one to 14 years.

quote by Aaron Neville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Blood

Stinging sensation, a bad combination,
Tearing at each other all the time.
A need for aggression, a way of expression.
Where is the reason for the crime?
Bonded by hatred, sentenced to endless toil and strife.
Waiting for the time, to take away your life.
A fist full of fury, no judge and no jury,
There is a time and there's a place.
A rightful decision with perfect precision.
I think it's time to end the human race.
Bonded by Hatred...
It infects me, it annoys me,
It destroys me.
There's no reason for this treason,
Or what you've done.
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
It infects me...
Bad Blood...

song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Blood

Stinging sensation, a bad combination,
Tearing at each other all the time.
A need for aggression, a way of expression.
Where is the reason for the crime?
Bonded by hatred, sentenced to endless toil and strife.
Waiting for the time, to take away your life.
A fist full of fury, no judge and no jury,
There is a time and there's a place.
A rightful decision with perfect precision.
I think it's time to end the human race.
Bonded by Hatred...
It infects me, it annoys me,
It destroys me.
There's no reason for this treason,
Or what you've done.
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
Bad Blood
It infects me...
Bad Blood...

song performed by by Xentrix
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Hole In The Soul Of Depth

Soul why do you cry out?
In the depth of despair you don't even care-
even if they dare to speak to you...
dare to talk, walk, and share the breath of fresh air with you.
Soul you cry out, yet you do not answer to the beckoning of the caller.
You do not respond to the death of your soul-
losing blood at every waking moment.
In the quiet still of the night you scream once again, but your forever friend
is no longer there in the end...
for that night you did not only bend but you broke again.
You broke of your passions, morals, standards, and love.
You broke of your mercy, spirit, compassion, and your tenderness...
tenderness to understand and not command.
Tenderness to love and not judge.
Tenderness to withstand all life's demands without sinking in the sand and holding your love's left hand.
That part of your soul is gone.
Your soul is beyond hope-
beyond restoration...but only self medication in response to your frustration.
Now it is only devastation...
in response to the hole of your soul.
It is a vicious cycle on an upward slope that leads to no hope only depth of lose...the loss of everything.

poem by RosaLee Marybeth
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The Hanging Judge

I am the Judge, the flower of the law,
Bolstered in, privileged, all men’s awe;
When I am pleased to display my wit
The court is a-cackle with joy of it;
When my liver is slightly out of order
Woe to who crosses me—barrister, warder!
How do I rule the obsequious gang?
The secret is simple—I always hang!
One plant in my legal garden grows:
The mandrake’s shriek is the solace I chose;
And I water my treasure whenever I can
With the blood that drips from a gibbeted man.
Justice? Fiddlesticks! Mercy? Fudge!
I am the Judge!
I am the Judge. I like to dine
Before I charge: then, flushed with wine,
I bully the jury into submission
And rise to the height of judicial ambition.
O how I thrill deliciously
At the wretch in his anguish under me!
I gather my brows in a terrible frown,
The slow beads drop from his forehead down;
I lower my voice, and my eyes I roll:
“The Lord have mercy upon your soul!”
He lifts his hands; but—“Sheriff!” I shout,
And his knees give way as they drag him out.
Into eternity he shall trudge.
I am the Judge!
I am the Judge. A Judge should be
A pattern of humble piety.
A week well spent brings Sabbath content:
To church my steps are piously bent.
When the holy man reads the holy book
I grieve for the god, by gods forsook,
So clumsily crucified: pity rises
He was not a remanet to My assizes!
But when at the door they stand aside
To watch me pass, how I swell with pride
To hear them say, “That’s Him all right!
He hanged another one yesterday night!
The jury cried mercy, he wouldn’t budge,
He is the Judge!”
I am the Judge. When at Michael’s trump
The dead from their mouldering sepulchres jump,
And the Great Judge sits on his jewelled throne
To give each man the crop he has sown,
Up I’ll come with my little lot
Taut in the loop of a hangman’s knot!
I will bring them trooping, trooping in
With my quaint black halter-mark under each chin:
“Sweet Lord! the fruit of my gallows tree;
The images I have made of Thee!”…
Lo, he doffs his robes and his golden crown;
He kneels at my feet in obeisance down—
“Make me your servant, usher, drudge:
You are the Judge!”
I shall be Judge. And O, ’t will be merry
With Space one vast gaol cemetery!
For I’ll choke the choir at their morning hymn
And I’ll stifle the star-eyed seraphim:
I will hang the gods, I will hang the devils,
I’ll throttle the imps in the midst of their revels;
And when remains of all Creation,
But one alive from strangulation,
To my own soul’s throat a garrote I’ll fit
With a long drop into the bottomless Pit:
I’ll leap from the dais exultingly,
And while I smother in agony
Of the whole hushed Universe I will swear
I am the Executioner.

poem by Alfred George Stephens
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Mercy, my lady! One thing I ask you,

‘Mercy, my lady! One thing I ask you,
As God may bless you, answer me fairly:
When you are dead, and I – for it’s true
After you there can be no life for me –
What of Love, without our company?
For there’s such wisdom and worth in you
And I love so: after us, He’ll not be.’

‘Before God, Thibaut, I judge it true
No one’s death ever killed Love. I see
You mean perhaps to mock me too,
Since you don’t seem wasted much to me.
When we’re dead (Long may our lives be!)
I’m sure Love will suffer a pang or two,
But Love’s worth holds for eternity.’

‘Lady, you mustn’t merely imagine
But know in your heart I love you deeply.
That is why I have put on flesh again,
This joy makes me love myself more dearly:
For God never made a creature so lovely
As you, but it makes me fear that when
We die it will end all Love completely.’

‘Thibaut, silence! No one should begin
A discussion developed so foolishly.
It’s only your means of softening
My heart, when you’ve already beguiled me.
I don’t say I hate you, certainly,
But if Love’s fate’s left for me to sing,
He would still be served honourably.’

‘Lady God grant that you judge aright
And see the ills that you make me suffer:
Since I well know, that if die I might,
Whatever the judgement Love will wither,
If you, Lady, don’t keep him together,
In the place he has always occupied:
To your wisdom aspires no other.’

‘Thibaut, if Love is making you suffer,
For me, don’t regret it, if I love ever,
Mine is a heart that will fail you never.’

poem by Thibaut de Champagne
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Tim Turpin

Tim Turpin he was gravel-blind,
And ne'er had seen the skies :
For Nature, when his head was made,
Forgot to dot his eyes.

So, like a Christmas pedagogue,
Poor Tim was forced to do -
Look out for pupils; for he had
A vacancy for two.

There's some have specs to help their sight
Of objects dim and small :
But Tim had specks within his eyes,
And could not see at all.

Now Tim he wooed a servant maid,
And took her to his arms;
For he, like Pyramus, had cast
A wall-eye on her charms.

By day she led him up and down.
Where'er he wished to jog,
A happy wife, altho' she led
The life of any dog.

But just when Tim had lived a month
In honey with his wife,
A surgeon ope'd his Milton eyes,
Like oysters, with a knife.

But when his eyes were opened thus,
He wished them dark again :
For when he looked upon his wife,
He saw her very plain.

Her face was bad, her figure worse,
He couldn't bear to eat :
For she was anything but like
A grace before his meat.

Now Tim he was a feeling man :
For when his sight was thick
It made him feel for everything -
But that was with a stick.

So, with a cudgel in his hand
It was not light or slim -
He knocked at his wife's head until
It opened unto him.

And when the corpse was stiff and cold,
He took his slaughtered spouse,
And laid her in a heap with all
The ashes of her house.

But like a wicked murderer,
He lived in constant fear
From day to day, and so he cut
His throat from ear to ear.

The neighbours fetched a doctor in :
Said he, "'This wound I dread
Can hardly be sewed up -
his life Is hanging on a thread."

But when another week was gone,
He gave him stronger hope -
Instead of hanging on a thread,
Of hanging on a rope.

Ah ! when he hid his bloody work
In ashes round about,
How little he supposed the truth
Would soon be sifted out.

But when the parish dustman came,
His rubbish to withdraw,
He found more dust within the heap
Than he contracted for !

A dozen men to try the fact
Were sworn that very day ;
But though they all were jurors, yet
No conjurors were they.

Said Tim unto those jurymen,
You need not waste your breath,
For I confess myself at once
The author of her death.

And, oh ! when I refect upon
The blood that I have spilt,
Just like a button is my soul,
Inscribed with double guilt !

Then turning round his head again,
He saw before his eyes,
A great judge, and a little judge,
The judges of a-size !

The great judge took his judgment cap,
And put it on his head,
And sentenced Tim by law to hang
Till he was three times dead.

So he was tried, and he was hung
(Fit punishment for such)
On Horsham-drop, and none can say
It was a drop too much.

poem by Thomas Hood
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Mediation

If Thou, Lord God, willest to judge
This, Thy very piteous clay
Which to save Christ did not grudge
His last dying, I shall say:
Lord, I interpose Christ's death
'Twixt these children and Thy wrath.

Then if Thou shouldst say: Their shame
Is as scarlet in Mine eyes--
I shall ask : Who took their blame?
Look, Lord, on this Sacrifice!
Is Thy Son's blood not more bright
Which hath washed their scarlet white?

Then, if Thou Thy wrath should'st keep
And Thy gaze should'st still avert
From Thy Son's most piteous sheep,
I shall ask : Who bare the hurt?
I Present Christ's death and Pain
'Twixt Thine anger and these men.

Lord, they die by millions
And they look to Thee--take thought!--
This dear flock, that is Thy Son's,
By the richest ransom bought.
See, Thy dead Son lies between,
Thee, the High judge, and their sin.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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The POET from the POEM

That lady -
whose eyes can see no ordinary eyes can see,
and desolate winds crying for her name
till truth and lies are all the same;
who knows how she ate the stars at night,
yet left the old moon sleeping in the sky?
Certainly she married that awful death
only not to die.
Out of her hands there came blood,
till blood covered her flesh.
And the blood had life...had sweeter life
till blood became her flesh.
How can you know the poet from the poem,
or sift the melody from its song?
Judge me, for I'll say
that lady -
is the poet and he being the blood, her poem.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Les Noyades

WHATEVER a man of the sons of men
Shall say to his heart of the lords above,
They have shown man verily, once and again,
Marvellous mercies and infinite love.

In the wild fifth year of the change of things,
When France was glorious and blood-red, fair
With dust of battle and deaths of kings,
A queen of men, with helmeted hair,

Carrier came down to the Loire and slew,
Till all the ways and the waves waxed red:
Bound and drowned, slaying two by two,
Maidens and young men, naked and wed.

They brought on a day to his judgment-place
One rough with labour and red with fight,
And a lady noble by name and face,
Faultless, a maiden, wonderful, white.

She knew not, being for shame’s sake blind,
If his eyes were hot on her face hard by.
And the judge bade strip and ship them, and bind
Bosom to bosom, to drown and die.

The white girl winced and whitened; but he
Caught fire, waxed bright as a great bright flame
Seen with thunder far out on the sea,
Laughed hard as the glad blood went and came.

Twice his lips quailed with delight, then said,
“I have but a word to you all, one word;
Bear with me; surely I am but dead;”
And all they laughed and mocked him and heard.

“Judge, when they open the judgment-roll,
I will stand upright before God and pray:
‘Lord God, have mercy on one man’s soul,
For his mercy was great upon earth, I say.

“‘Lord, if I loved thee—Lord, if I served—
If these who darkened thy fair Son’s face
I fought with, sparing not one, nor swerved
A hand’s-breadth, Lord, in the perilous place—

“‘I pray thee say to this man, O Lord,
Sit thou for him at my feet on a throne.
I will face thy wrath, though it bite as a sword,
And my soul shall burn for his soul, and atone.

“‘For, Lord, thou knowest, O God most wise,
How gracious on earth were his deeds towards me.
Shall this be a small thing in thine eyes,
That is greater in mine than the whole great sea?’

“I have loved this woman my whole life long,
And even for love’s sake when have I said
‘I love you’? when have I done you wrong,
Living? but now I shall have you dead.

“Yea, now, do I bid you love me, love?
Love me or loathe, we are one not twain.
But God be praised in his heaven above
For this my pleasure and that my pain!

“For never a man, being mean like me,
Shall die like me till the whole world dies.
I shall drown with her, laughing for love; and she
Mix with me, touching me, lips and eyes.

“Shall she not know me and see me all through,
Me, on whose heart as a worm she trod?
You have given me, God requite it you,
What man yet never was given of God.”

O sweet one love, O my life’s delight,
Dear, though the days have divided us,
Lost beyond hope, taken far out of sight,
Not twice in the world shall the gods do thus.

Had it been so hard for my love? but I,
Though the gods gave all that a god can give,
I had chosen rather the gift to die,
Cease, and be glad above all that live.

For the Loire would have driven us down to the sea,
And the sea would have pitched us from shoal to shoal;
And I should have held you, and you held me,
As flesh holds flesh, and the soul the soul.

Could I change you, help you to love me, sweet,
Could I give you the love that would sweeten death,
We should yield, go down, locked hands and feet,
Die, drown together, and breath catch breath;

But you would have felt my soul in a kiss,
And known that once if I loved you well;
And I would have given my soul for this
To burn for ever in burning hell.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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On The Slaughter

Heaven, beg mercy for me!  If there is
a God in you, a pathway through
you to this God - which I have not
discovered - then pray for me!  For my
heart is dead, no longer is there prayer
on my lips; all strength is gone, and
hope is no more.  Until when, how
much longer, until when?

You, executioner!  Here's my neck - go
to it, slaughter me!  Behead me like a
dog, yours is the almighty arm and the
axe, and the whole earth is my scaffold
- and we, we are the few! My blood is
fair game - strike the skull, and
murder's blood, the blood of nurslings
and old men, will spurt onto your
clothes and will never, never be wiped
off.

And if there is justice - let it show
itself at once!  But if justice show itself
after I have been blotted out from
beneath the skies - let its throne be
hurled down forever!  Let heaven rot
with eternal evil!  And you, the arrogant,
go in this violence of yours, live by
your bloodshed and be cleansed by it.

And cursed be the man who says:
Avenge!  No such revenge - revenge for
the blood of a little child - has yet been
devised by Satan.  Let the blood pierce
through the abyss!  Let the blood seep
down into the depths of darkness, and
eat away there, in the dark, and breach
all the rotting foundations of the earth.

poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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Death of a Vampire

She sits there. Eyes blank, lifeless. Blood pours from her eyes, her mouth, and the wound in her chest. They tried to stake her, to kill her. She had done nothing wrong, but just living was a crime her race. Her race lived off blood, other's blood, evil assumed they did of her. She never did killed anyone. Now she sits, awaiting her death. The pain dulls as the minutes roll by. She felt so hated, so unwanted. It was unbearable, painful. And as she slowly closes her eyes, she dreams of a time she was loved and she thinks to herself, ' And now I die alone.'

poem by Suzaku Vaneko
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Blood & Fire

Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
There is no more water to out the fire
There is no more water to out the fire
Let it burn, let it burn
Let it burn, burn burn
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Judgement has come and mercy has gone (mercy come and gone)
Ooh, weak hearts shall lick up and spit up (weakheart must get lick up)
Judgement has come and mercy has gone (judgement time is here)
Ooh, weak hearts shall lick up and spit up (weakheart must get sick up)
Let it burn, let it burn
Let it burn, burn burn (mercy gone)
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Rasta hail!
Blessed is the weed, the healing of all nations in every corner of the earth
Blessed are the fields of sensimillia that enlighten and erich our soul
Blood and fire mek it burn bredren
All weak hearts shall lick up and spit up
And all righteous shall stand
Hail, rasta hail and wail (rastafari)
Hail rasta dont quail (we not quail)
Let it burn, burn burn
Let it burn, burn burn

song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood And Fire

Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
There is no more water to out the fire
There is no more water to out the fire
Let it burn, let it burn
Let it burn, burn burn
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Judgement has come and mercy has gone (mercy come and gone)
Ooh, weak hearts shall lick up and spit up (weakheart must get lick up)
Judgement has come and mercy has gone (judgement time is here)
Ooh, weak hearts shall lick up and spit up (weakheart must get sick up)
Let it burn, let it burn
Let it burn, burn burn (mercy gone)
Blood, blood, blood; blood and fire
Rasta Hail!
Blessed is the weed, the healing of all nations in every corner of the earth
Blessed are the fields of sensimillia that enlighten and erich our soul
Blood and fire mek it burn bredren
All weak hearts shall lick up and spit up
And all righteous shall stand
Hail, Rasta hail and wail (rastafari)
Hail Rasta don't quail (we not quail)
Let it burn, burn burn
Let it burn, burn burn

song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul

The man who sailed around his soul
From east to west, from pole to pole
With ego as his drunken captain
Greed, the mutineer, had trapped all reason in the hold
The man who walked across his heart
Who took no compass, guide or chart
To rope and tar his blood congealed
When he found his self revealed ugly and cold
And the sirens that sing
By your nose with its ring
Theyll drag you in
For your sins
Now he sits all alone
And its no place like home
Its empty skin
A bag to keep lifes souvenirs in
The man who sailed around his soul
The man who sailed around his soul
The man who sailed around his soul
Came back again to find a hole
Where once he thought compassion and the truth
Had laid to warm his freezing carcass on return
The man who walked across his heart
Was doomed to journey from the start
Of every love affair hed broken
All the lies hed ever spoken
Tattooed on his arm
And the jellyfish stings
Even angels with wings
Who look too deep
And dare to peep
Now he sits all alone
Knowing flesh blood and bone
Is everything
He found the treasure hed been seeking
The man who sailed around his soul

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Weep Tears For Them

when your son
or daughter
lines up to enlist

join the military
to fight in foreign
wars America’s

Muslim Wars
in target countries
I will not judge

all suffering death pain
inflicted on sovereign
soil democracy invades

when their sons daughters
are killed as wars drone on
I shall weep tears for them

when your sons daughters
are killed as foreign invaders
I shall weep tears for them

I cannot judge right
I cannot judge wrong
I cannot stomach lies

politics is guilty
of invasion crimes
against humanity

Afghanistan Iraq invasions
Pakistan incursions drone attacks
Libya sorties rebel alliances

I cry for their children
I cry for your children
blood is on so many hands

as innocence is bath drowned
in aircraft carriers of steam blood
pornography elite power rapes

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: All Men are Sinners

How can we judge a man with greatest sins?
‘Let the man who has no sins, throw the first stone';
A sword can kill and sometimes even pins;
And man can sin even while being alone.

The purest soul has some kind of sin-stain;
And man falls into temptations with ease;
Sometimes, he tends to sin again, again;
In tempting man, the devils will not cease.

The blood of Christ absolves all men of sins;
The worst sinner could always reach Heaven;
God's forgiveness can come within a wince;
God knows the problems on earth of all men.

No man, really speaking can judge next;
Man's Salvation comes through God's Holy Text.

poem by John Celes
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