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A Memorial

Canonised when dead, cannonaded when in life,
Lofty your thoughts that savour of content
But loftier the craftmanship
More congruent in symmetry
Than ever are our warring senses-
All in silent watch -martyr.

Not your lust of martyrdom but the sculptor's chisel
Leaves a living name. world wonder made.
Sad, Time and with it, centuries fail to see
Not light of fulfilment in your eyes
But hollow worn in stone,
History's daintily cut lies.

poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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The Sound of Silence

I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna

and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:

the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;

Krishna saying, I shall enter this.

And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.

The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.

The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence

as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;

even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.

The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Eternity

I was born on the banks of eternity
A page of the history it teaches
Not a care, lived my life like a hurricane
Leaving everything along the way in pieces
Some may have cheered, some may have wondered
If I am flesh, if I am stone
Thoughts of you tear through me like thunder
You are the light that has led me back home
Take me to the river, baby
Wash away the lies
Ive got no reputation living in your eyes
Take me to eternity
Let me bury this disguise
A southern boy has it harder sometimes
Its like you were climbing a razor
You were there when my dreams had all turned to dust
And the man in the mirror was a stranger
Look at me now, a soulless survivor
No mask can hide the man that Ive made
You ease my pain
Your make it silent
Slowly I feel it beginning to fade
I want to feel it
Rushing over me into the tide
I want to taste it
Every moment til the end of my life
I have laid still, adrift in you memory
Hoping your faith would erase all the years
Maybe some time, maybe some magic
Maybe your love will make everything clear
Take me to the river, baby
Wash away the lies
Ive got no reputation living in your eyes
Take me to eternity
Let me bury this disguise
Take me to the river, baby
Wash away the lies
There are no expectations hiding in your eyes
Take me to eternity
And let me bury this disguise

song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hollow Man

I think I have become one of the hollow men
As I shine on the outside more these days
I can feel the outside feeding on my inside
Leaves a growing darkness in its place
I think I have become one of the hollow men
I think I have become one of the lonely
Now that everybody talks to me
I feel I have become one of the empty
Hollow men can stop you with the twinkling of an eye
Hollow men can take you without even reaching out
Hollow men have got you long before you realise
The poison paralyses
I think I have become one of a pair of men
It's a feeling I've been having for some time
I look down upon myself and watch my movements
A blind eye sees the fragile vandalised
Watch this cold world dishing up these endless hollow men
Find us anywhere you look
Come and meet our friends
Stand us in our silly clothes
Put our batteries in
Line us up like fairground ducks
Watch us grin and grin
See the lies behind our eyes..
See the will to win
We'll buy you and we'll sell you
But perhaps we'll save your skin....
Sit quietly and listen to the breeze...
The hollow and the lonely listen too
Sniff the air for something we can use
We're tin hard and we rattle when we're shaken

song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quiet Ones

It's always the quiet ones
Who are stranger than fiction
They hide under tables like a child
What kind of chemistry is it?
Leaden or golden?
Nobody sees them driving us wild
It's your life
Don't just collide with the waves
Oh look into her eyes
You'll see such silent calling
Nothing seems to matter in this life
Wake up your majesty there are
Thieves in the temple
Picking the sunspots out of the sun
Looking for symmetry in man
Another dead Beatle
Down through the path we see how they run
It's your life
Don't just collide with the ways
Oh look into her eyes
You'll see such silent calling
Nothing seems to matter in this life
Oh so many reasons why
You hear the silence calling
Nothing seems to matter in this life
Oh salvation shine a light on a different world
And carry out thoughts on golden rays

song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hollow Man

(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
I think I have become one of the hollow men
As I shine on the outside more these days
I can feel the outside feeding on my inside
leaves a growing darkness in its place
I think I have become one of the hollow men
I think I have become one of the lonely
Now that everybody talks to me
I feel I have become one of the empty
Hollow men can stop you with the twinkling of an eye
Hollow men can take you without even reaching out
Hollow men have got you long before you realise
The poison paralyses
I think I have become one of a pair of men
Its a feeling Ive been having for some time
I look down upon myself and watch my movements
A blind eye sees the fragile vandalised
Watch this cold world dishing up these endless hollow men
Find us anywhere you look
Come and meet our friends
Stand us in our silly clothes
Put our batteries in
Line us up like fairground ducks
Watch us grin and grin
See the lies behind our eyes ...
See the will to win
Well buy you and well sell you
But perhaps well save your skin ...
Sit quietly and listen to the breeze ...
The hollow and the lonely listen too
Sniff the air for something we can use
Were thin hard and we rattle when were shaken

song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yourself you shape

Yourself the stone
Yourself the sculptor
Yourself the chisel
Yourself you shape

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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All the martyrs in the history of the world are not sufficient to establish the correctness of an opinion. Martyrdom, as a rule, establishes the sincerity of the martyr, — never the correctness of his thought. Things are true or false in themselves. Truth cannot be affected by opinions; it cannot be changed, established, or affected by martyrdom. An error cannot be believed sincerely enough to make it a truth.

quote by Robert G. Ingersoll
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Let us all be brave enough to die the death of a martyr, but let no one lust for martyrdom.

quote by Mohandas Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of A Virgin Born

Have you seen the
Star of wonder
Star of grace
Star by which
The stars themselves
All navigate?

Have you sensed the
Star behind all sight
Reaching out
Through all the senses
Calling you in
Silent song?

Is this the
Star that brought me here
The light behind my eyes
The store of shining words
Before the living thoughts
Are spoken?

Have you seen the
Star of wonder
Star of grace
Star that lights
The life behind
Each face?

poem by Steven Silent Wolf
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The Night

Through that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glowworms shine,
And face the moon,
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.

Most blest believer he!
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see,
When Thou didst rise!
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun!

Oh who will tell me where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour?
What hallowed solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower,
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fullness of the Deity?

No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carved stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.

Dear night! this world's defeat;
The stop to busy fools; care's check and curb;
The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb!
Christ's progress, and His prayer time;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime;

God's silent, searching flight;
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night;
His still, soft call;
His knocking time; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.

Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent,
Then I in heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.

But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To every mire,
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.

There is in God - some say -
A deep but dazzling darkness, as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
Oh for that night, where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim!

poem by Henry Vaughan
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Vera Pim

As I sit upon this ancient tomb of the dead
and watch the clouds pass the moon.
I feel the damp and cold in my bones
and wish my life would be over soon.

For too many years I’ve felt like this.
Life just isn’t what it used to be.
The exciting lust for life I used to have
has changed to relentless monotony.

My appearance has definitely deteriorated
and my clothes have seen better days.
The mystique of which belonged to me
has disappeared with my elegant ways.

I am now looked upon as a down and out
when seen in the shadows of the night.
Time is not my friend like it used to be
and starvation will soon douse my light.

The last of my teeth fell out some years ago,
which is the cause of my demise.
My honourable code forbids me to kill
and to drink from the one who lies.

For centuries mortal man has given me life,
I’ve toyed and drank their blood as well.
Alas I have no regrets for being what I am,
but without dignity I must soon go to hell.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Show-Piece

Behold! knees curled up to his chin
Head down, his empty bowl shaken
Fatigued and languished with weary mind
On penniless status for his bread...
Pity, even unaware of somebody playing upon

Poor beggar, a pose of hapless repose
An act of begging on loss
But an utility for a sculptor behind
The chisel shaping up poverty well formed
Benefitted is the sculptor in bucks

Soiled emotions to the beggar glue
His concaved belly nothing to pursue
Unnoticeably trespassed the sculptor to crop
A faint sitting target artistically on whop
Sold off by re-makes, the sculptor's ooh!

In a rich man's house seated respectfully
Is the pauper carved carefully
Out of a heavy stone looking meaningfully
With unshaken bowl for pennies hopefully!

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Time Machine

Oh what are you gonna do
When theres a part of you
That needs to run with the wind
And the fire of burning yesterdays
Can only light the way
To lead you from
The garden of the dark
Stay out of shadows
Now look like the change is on
Tomorrows never gone
Today just never comes
Go on and jump,yeah
Into the hurricane
You will forger the pain
Its only there
To exorcise your mind
Looking at the world
When youve open up your eyes
Youve got to see the promises theyve made
Theyre bloody lies and broken dreams
Your silence screams
Chorus:
Youre living in a time machine
And you can choose just who you are
Someone that youve never seen
Somewhere youve never been
Youre living in a time machine
Oh what are you gonna do
When every part of you
Just needs to catch the wind
And the fire of burning yesterdays
Can only light the way
To lead you from
The garden of the dark
Looking for the world
When youve opened up your eyes
Youll see youve got invisible chains
Theyre only lies
Not what it seems
I hear your silent screams
Chorus:
Youre living in a time machine
Nobody cares just where you go
Taken where youve never been
? ? ? somewhere you dont know
Youre living in a time machine
Why do you stay who you are
Be what youve never been
Someone youve never seen
Youre living in a time machine
Yeah

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Journey 1. To the Hollow Divine

I can not follow
I can not find
Of this hollow
Which is said to be divine

Through the maw of the Dragons Mouth
Past the high risen tress head south
Listen for water
Find the moss
Search for the statue embossed with an Albatross

Continue westward as directed
Find the stone where the sword was embedded
Bring light to this stone
and it will show you to the back bone
To the back bone of stone must go
Because this is where you find the hollow

When you see the door covered with vines
You must ask politely to enter in a rhyme
If done correctly you shall enter the hollow divine
Step carefully though, your life is hanging on twine

Reaching the stone, I say, ‘Stone anyone home’?
‘I have come a long way and without further delay.
would enjoy to go through and venture this hollow’
As the directions did spake, there came an earthquake
And cracked the stone in two
Timidly and cautiously and looking about
I tip toed silently through

A wondrous light and marvelous sight
Was beheld before my very eyes
Nothing was here that I detest or despise
Only the dreams I had the wishes I made
As if crafted by God and was gently laid
They were real, they were living
And in most cases breathing

I ran to them quick
I ran to them with glee
Although I sensed that I must flee
After three steps, my dreams turned on me
They became nightmares, evil ghosts and spirits
I must leave now I have forsaken my visit

I ran to the door
Which did not stretch evermore
Back to the forest through hole I see
I could feel the nightmares breath trailing behind me
With a jump I leapt
Through the whole where dreams are kept

I slid on the ground and quickly turned round
To see the stone with vines wrapped around
I looked to the stone and sank to the ground
Realizing the mistake that was bound to occur
I asked to come in, that was not obscure
But I did not thank the hollow for that I am sure
Thats why my dreams turned on me, with thoughts of murder

This quest is over, the next shall begin
But back to the inn, where tonight I shall din
I don’t know where after I shall go
Though definitely not here, back to the hollow

Written: October 13,2011

by Ryan Collins

poem by Ryan Collins
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Lust...

Lust destroyed my love
Lust pushed away my one
Lust made me weak
Lust took the one love
Lust killed my happiness
Lust is a sin I committed
Lust, I shouldn't had done
Lust got my suffocating
Lust made light turn into darkness
Lust made me miss my wife
Lust, my innocent girl is hurt
Lust I hurt myself too
Lust I miss my family I built
Lust, you were my biggest mistake....

poem by Joy O'Pateng
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Sculpting Krishna (2)

His parents guarded the temple,
answered questions; the child
wandered, looked, later read
all that was said;

now, he selects the stone,
listening all the time, hoping that
he hears the voice of Krishna say,
take this piece…

sharpens his chisel; prays;
with each tap, a chiselled prayer
rings out the question; magnified; or diminished?

chips away – outside himself, inside himself –
all that is not Krishna;
until finally, all that awaits
is the faintest sound of flute, of lightest laughter,
heard within the sculptor’s inner ear:

stone pretending to be Krishna;
Krishna, pretending to be stone.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Peace

Peace is not sleep of mind
But a form of suppressed war,
Ever warring against lust of martyrdom,
And the mind lost in stray thoughts
And a fickle heart fat with stray devotion.
Peace like charity starts at home,

And is of the nature of conquest,
Conquering first desire on evil bent
As the acid test of manhood,
That no battle has ever known.
No less than war
Peace has its own victories,

Short of which man has nothing.

poem by Yoonoos Peerbocus
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A Testament

The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.

I pause a moment…

Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.

Why must I lament?

The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.

A fool is content.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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The real success

With a woman of love
When I talk, I savour her every word,
When I touch, I savour her every part,
And when in foreplay, I savour her every writhing.
The real success of mine lies
In making her savour likewise.
28.01.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Rock, Stone, Sand, Wind, Time, Eternity

the sculptor,
called to the great task; through
the huge columns, ringing echoes even with a sandal’s tread,
the stone chamber,
the assembled court, gold, enamelled blue,
eyes everywhere, walls, men,
the Pharoah’s presence:

‘show me as I am:
man as lion,
king of the living and the dead;
show me as eternity’

the frail old man in heavy robes,
the courtiers nodding, smirking…

more men than men could count
whipped to task under a burning noonday sun;
behind, a half-built pyramid;
slaves chipped away the ancient bedrock
according to the careful measurements,
blocking out the figure, until the day
the sculptor himself – and older now –
mounts the scaffold to begin chipping
the face of time that meets eternity.

‘time says nothing but I told you so’;
which Pharaoh died before his monument?
five thousand years before our own stone dreams,
how many years of scaffolding?
a temple hollowing between its long, long paws.

was it looked upon with awe, or
as meaningless to children,
to their children’s children,
as the frozen gesturing bronzes of our public squares? they,
running off around the back of it
to clamber onto its stone tail?

the night wind already piling up the drifting sand,
night wind in palm leaves whispering of metaphor,
green shores lost under dunes of time;
wind and sand sculpting their own unanswered question:
what is the reason we should ask of time?
what is the question whose answer is timelessness?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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