Sparrows Self-Domesticated In Trinity College, Cambridge
None ever shared the social feast,
Or as an inmate or a guest,
Beneath the celebrated dome
Where once Sir Isaac had his home,
Who saw not (and with some delight
Perhaps he view’d the novel sight)
How numerous, at the tables there,
The sparrows beg their daily fare.
For there, in every nook and cell
Where such a family may dwell,
Sure as the vernal season comes
Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs,
Which kindly given, may serve with food
Convenient their unfeather’d brood;
And oft as with its summons clear
The warning bell salutes their ear,
Sagacious listeners to the sound,
They flock from all the fields around;
To reach the hospitable hall,
None more attentive to the call.
Arrived, the pensionary band,
Hopping and chirping, close at hand,
Solicit what they soon receive:
The sprinkled, plenteous donative.
Thus is a multitude, though large,
Supported at a trivial charge;
A single doit would overpay
The expenditure of every day,
And who can grudge so small a grace
To suppliants, natives of the place.
poem by William Cowper
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Spread Like Lilies
come little sparrows
hop about all freely
under my laid tables
daily feast upon crumbs
of this our heavenly
daily bread spread like lilies
of God’s harvest fields
sparrows do not spin or weave
freely feast enjoy stay believe.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Through Every Day
The Lord has and shall always; see me through all my days,
Whatever will come before me, His Gracious hand I will see,
As my life The Lord does guide, with my Savior by my side,
Through any task, large or small, He's the Lord God over all.
I seek God's face in the morning, before any trial or warning,
When talking to Him, anywhere, my Lord God's always there,
I just share what's on my heart, knowing to me He will impart,
Calm, for another day down here, as I cast to Him every fear.
I always reach the Throne of Grace, any time, from any place,
To talk about issues at hand, all things I may not understand,
God may not alter the day ahead, but He's always, like I said,
There, whenever I need to talk, anywhere along my daily walk.
Each day from beginning to end, I speak to God, as a friend,
Who helps me with doubt I face, to supply the needed grace,
Always an ear along the way, to help me through another day,
And in God, I'm always assured, I am in the Hand of my Lord.
In my days, as they come and go, this for sure I always know,
I'm guided by The Lord above, who leads me daily in His love,
And when I pause to talk to Him, He fills me with peace within,
Through the day into the night, He is always, my guiding Light.
Harvest
See! the corn again in ear!
How the fields and valleys smile!
Harvest now is drawing near
To repay the farmer's toil:
Gracious Lord, secure the crop,
Satisfy the poor with food;
In thy mercy is our hope,
We have sinned but thou art good.
While I view the plenteous grain
As it ripens on the stalk;
May I not instruction gain,
Helpful, to my daily walk?
All this plenty of the field
Was produced from foreign seeds;
For the earth itself would yield
Only crops of useless weeds.
Though, when newly sawn, it lay
Hid awhile beneath the ground,
Some might think it thrown away
Now a large increase is found:
Though concealed, it was not lost,
Though it died, it lives again;
Eastern storms, and nipping frosts
Have opposed its growth in vain.
Let the praise be all the Lord's,
As the benefit is ours!
He, in seasons, still affords
Kindly heat, and gentle flow'rs:
By his care the produce thrives
Waving o'er the furrowed lands;
And when harvest-time arrives,
Ready for the reaper stands.
Thus in barren hearts he sows
Precious seeds of heav'nly joy;
Sin, and hell, in vain oppose,
None can grace's crop destroy:
Threatened oft, yet still it blooms,
After many changes past,
Death, the reaper, when he comes,
Finds it fully ripe at last.
poem by John Newton
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On Leaving Winchester School
The spring shall visit thee again,
Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,
That casts its shadow on thy breast,
As if, by many winters beat,
The blooming season it would greet,
With many a straggling wild-flower shall be dressed.
But I, amid the youthful train
That stray at evening by thy side,
No longer shall a guest remain,
To mark the spring's reviving pride.
I go not unrejoicing; but who knows,
When I have shared, O world! thy common woes,
Returning I may drop some natural tears;
As these same fields I look around,
And hear from yonder dome the slow bell sound,
And think upon the joys that crowned my stripling years!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Bell Upon Organ
It's all very well,
Said the Bell,
To be the big Organ below!
But the folk come and go,
Said the Bell,
And you never can tell
What sort of person the Organ will blow!
And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather
For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together!
But up in my cell
Next door to the sky,
Said the Bell,
I dwell
Very high;
And with glorious go
I swing to and fro;
I swing swift or slow,
I swing as I please,
With summons or knell;
I swing at my ease,
Said the Bell:
Not the tallest of men
Can reach up to touch me,
To smirch me or smutch me,
Or make me do what
I would not be at!
And, then,
The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase:
I chose to be made in one perfect piece!
poem by George MacDonald
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A pair of Sparrows on my lovely Lemon Tree
Those were the days
So joyous and carefree
When I could watch the preening of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Summer days were so short, winters were so long
And for endless hours one could go on a kite flying spree
When I could watch, hopping here and there
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Enjoying tender sunshine in winter is a past
And chapattis from an earthen hearth a history
When I could watch, assembling of a nest by
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
What seemed to be mundane at that time
Life in my backyard so ordinary
Bliss it is in hindsight, chirping of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
I still sometimes motivate myself
To get off the treadmill and shake the shackles free
But can’t anymore find in my back yard
That pair of sparrows and that lovely lemon tree
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree..
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree.......
30 July 09
poem by Ravi Singh
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The Flamingo Parade
A million collect for this pink extravaganza
I have preened my virgin self
Again and again, I am in my prime
I am ready for the mating bonanza
Of the pink parade.
One thousand young heads raise high
The more I raise my head
The more pinkier I become,
The more suitors it will drum
Without the moon or roses.
The eyes must flash its signal of love
In this multitude of sameness,
Birds of a feather
We are the same but not the same,
Our call and aroma are our own.
This male stops me dead
Entwines his neck, mmmmmm
Then gives a peck, mmmmmm I’m struck
He smells so masculine, I flutter my eyes
He gives a stare and chirps ‘We are a pair yes’
‘Yes yes yes, ’ I flap my wings and
I do quivering things, I feel born again.
We waste no time to claim our plot
A nest we must start to build,
For when I receive his seed of life
It carries in the core of its cell,
The genetic code of our babies
Form doth dwell.
All is sewn up in the Flamingo of love,
Love of each other
Love of the flock so broad
Love of our new born and
Most love of all to the might
OF the love of the Lord.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Those Words Were Uttered As In Pensive Mood
THOSE words were uttered as in pensive mood
We turned, departing from that solemn sight:
A contrast and reproach to gross delight,
And life's unspiritual pleasures daily wooed!
But now upon this thought I cannot brood;
It is unstable as a dream of night;
Nor will I praise a cloud, however bright,
Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.
Grove, isle, with every shape of sky-built dome,
Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,
Find in the heart of man no natural home:
The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:
These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,
Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Psalm 84
v.1-4,10, paraphrased
C. M.
Delight in ordinances of worship; or, God present in his churches.
My soul, how lovely is the place
To which thy God resorts!
'Tis heav'n to see his smiling face,
Though in his earthly courts.
There the great Monarch of the skies
His saving power displays,
And light breaks in upon our eyes
With kind and quick'ning rays.
With his rich gifts the heav'nly Dove
Descends and fills the place,
While Christ reveals his wondrous love,
And sheds abroad his grace.
There, mighty God, thy words declare
The secrets of thy will;
And still we seek thy mercy there,
And sing thy praises still.
PAUSE.
My heart and flesh cry out for thee,
While far from thine abode;
When shall I tread thy courts, and see
My Savior and my God?
The sparrow builds herself a nest,
And suffers no remove;
O make me, like the sparrows, blest,
To dwell but where I love.
To sit one day beneath thine eye,
And hear thy gracious voice,
Exceeds a whole eternity
Employed in carnal joys.
Lord, at thy threshold I would wait
While Jesus is within,
Rather than fill a throne of state,
Or live in tents of sin.
Could I command the spacious land,
And the more boundless sea,
For one blest hour at thy right hand
I'd give them both away.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Silent Place
The lights bend
As a single person approaches
The sparsely furnished hallway
As if they felt him.
The corridors are filled
With a deafening silence,
Before they knelt to pray.
And the suspended linens
Sway with a gentle wind
As the bell tells time
With its ceremonial ringing.
A brother, with a food cart,
Moved from cell to cell
And slip the daily rations
Through the windows
Set in the paneled doors.
They are not seen.
They are not heard.
They are situated
In a silent place.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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After Prayer
people milling around food
guest were first to be serve
they're very polite and quiet
elders came to say 'hello'
i saw three security guard
looking, walking with radio
we don't have tables to sit
we stand and eat our food
only cold water was serve
i don't have my four square
we all just rubbing elbows,
bowing, smiling and talking
(different world for me; same
prayers offered)
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Across The Bridge Where Angels Dwell
Across the bridge where angels dwell
Across the bridge where angels
Across the bridge where angels dwell
Children play
Beyond the place where time is still
Beyond the place where time is
Beyond the place where time is still
Night is day
Close your eyes in fields of wonder
Close your eyes and dream
Close your eyes in fields of wonder
Close your eyes and dream
Along the path where heaven lies
Along the path where heaven
Along the path where heaven lies
All is clear
Ahead where home awaits the heart
Ahead where home is waiting
Ahead where home awaits the heart
Peace is near
Close your eyes in fields of wonder
Close your eyes and dream
Close your eyes in fields of wonder
Close your eyes and dream
Across the bridge where angels dwell
Across the bridge where angels
Across the bridge where angels dwell
Children play
(repeat)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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William Blake
THIS is the place. Even here the dauntless soul,
The unflinching hand, wrought on; till in that nook,
As on that very bed, his life partook
New birth, and passed. Yon river's dusky shoal,
Whereto the close-built coiling lanes unroll,
Faced his work-window, whence his eyes would stare,
Thought-wandering, unto nought that met them there,
But to the unfettered irreversible goal.
This cupboard, Holy of Holies, held the cloud
Of his soul writ and limned; this other one,
His true wife's charge, full oft to their abode
Yielded for daily bread the martyr's stone,
Ere yet their food might be that Bread alone,
The words now home-speech of the mouth of God.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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To Our Delight
I snapped a twig beneath my shoe,
and a startled bird flew o’er my head.
Crisp leaves were sprinkled on their tops with dew,
coloured, each one, in an autumnal hue,
and thickly spread.
Across the park, beneath the trees,
helped by the breeze, they’d descended down.
Carpeting the ground with a cushioned layer.
A splendid scene of such impressive flair,
in shades of brown.
A squirrel always so alert,
stood, rigid, inert and listened hard.
Then with an impish look made fast retreat,
by scuttling off, his tasty nuts to eat,
but still on guard.
Silence fell, no sound pierced the ear,
nothing to hear, quiet peace serene.
Then rutting stags called out to their new mates,
each bellow from a powerful throat vibrates,
their passions keen.
Strange that a twig beneath my toes,
can scatter the sparrows into instant flight.
In a fragile locale these creatures dwell,
to them it’s home and therefore they excel,
To our delight.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Thanksgiving
It’s getting close to thanksgiving day
When every ones table will be on display.
Tablecloths of different patterns and designs
Making the tables look just fine.
Where every mother or wife try to
Fill their hearts delight.
Food dishes and desserts passed down
From generation to generation
Leaving you with a tasty temptation.
On the table a butterball turkey
And a honey baked ham
Both sitting in their juices
In a large roasting pan.
Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes
Green bean salad, and corn on the cob
It looks like someone was doing their job.
A pan of beans, and a large bowl of rice
Bottles of apple cider sitting on ice.
Everything to make a thanksgiving complete
Spending it with family and friends
What a beautiful treat.
But this holiday can not be celebrated
If it wasn’t for those pilgrims on that historic day
When they spent it with Indians
and learned different games to play.
This was the creation of this
Great country that we all know
And now macy’ s puts on its thanksgiving show.
You’ve got to love it!
poem by Louis Rams
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Season Of Hope
This is the season of hope
That we are now living in
And there are so my hopes that we have for us
During this seson of hope
We hope to find love
We hope to have peace during this seseon of hope
We hope to be healthy during this season of hope
We hope that we can be happy in our homes during the season of Hope
And we should know that hope will never die for us
So that we must keep on hopping each day that we live our lives here On earth
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Season Of Hope Revised
This is the season of hope
That we are now living in
And there are so my hopes that we have for us
During this seson of hope
We hope to find love
We hope to have peace during this seseon of hope
We hope to be healthy during this season of hope
We hope that we can be happy in our homes during the season of Hope
And we should know that hope will never die for us
So that we must keep on hopping each day that we live our lives here On earth
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Life Of The Blessed
FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON.
Region of life and light!
Land of the good whose earthly toils are o'er!
Nor frost nor heat may blight
Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,
Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore!
There without crook or sling,
Walks the good shepherd; blossoms white and red
Round his meek temples cling;
And to sweet pastures led,
His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.
He guides, and near him they
Follow delighted, for he makes them go
Where dwells eternal May,
And heavenly roses blow,
Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.
He leads them to the height
Named of the infinite and long-sought Good,
And fountains of delight;
And where his feet have stood
Springs up, along the way, their tender food.
And when, in the mid skies,
The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies,
With all his flock around,
He witches the still air with numerous sound.
From his sweet lute flow forth
Immortal harmonies, of power to still
All passions born of earth,
And draw the ardent will
Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.
Might but a little part,
A wandering breath of that high melody,
Descend into my heart,
And change it till it be
Transformed and swallowed up, oh love! in thee.
Ah! then my soul should know,
Beloved! where thou liest at noon of day,
And from this place of woe
Released, should take its way
To mingle with thy flock and never stray.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Band On The Run
Stuck inside these four walls, sent inside forever,
Never seeing no one nice again like you,
Mama you, mama you.
If I ever get out of here,
Thought of giving it all away
To a registered charity.
All I need is a pint a day
If I ever get out of here.
Well, the rain exploded with a mighty crash as we fell into the sun,
And the first one said to the second one there I hope youre having fun.
Band on the run, band on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor sam were searching every one
For the band on the run, band on the run, band on the run, band on the run
Well, the undertaker drew a heavy sigh seeing no one else had come,
And a bell was ringing in the village square for the rabbits on the run.
Band on the run, band on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor sam, were searching every one
For the band on the run, band on the run, band on the run, band on the run
Well, the night was falling as the desert world began to settle down.
In the town theyre searching for us every where, but we never w ill be found.
Band on the run, band on the run
And the county judge, who held a grudge
Will search for evermore
For the band on the run, band on the run, band on the run, band on the run
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Time Like...
Loneliness from the lack…
Of love…
Feels like you can’t breath…
Some kind of a freeze…
Locking your knees…
Love me, love me, please…
Part of a family I must be…
That is the real key…
See…1,2,3...
Love is a power true…
Coming from one who is you…
Let your hair down…
Stop the frowns…
Stop the clowning around…
Be wise…
Treat your family right…
They all have a different sight…
But…that’s a might…
Don’t take it lightly…
Love is true blue…
Stay on your *p’s and q’s…
Don’t get used…
For an excuse…to band!
Keep family close at hand…
*unknown/but may mean “ to be attentive to the main chance”
whisperkwane
[email protected]
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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