Concrete Abbey.
Concrete Abbey.
Abbey took the pain, she took the sorrow.
Look at her now; it’s easy to face tomorrow.
She was lost and confused,
But she knew what she had to do.
She left her shack,
She would never come back.
She went far away,
Abbey knew only one place to stay.
Grandfather was in shock when he saw Abbey,
She knew she would finally be happy.
Abbey took her pain and threw it as far as she could,
She broke the concrete like she knew she would.
She let Mr. Happy back into her life,
And forgot what Mr. Sorrow was like.
poem by Bethany Jeffreys
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Related quotes
View The Dragon
View the powerful dragons of this century,
Find their names and view the common logic,
Chew the warehouse with its smoke and abbey.
With computers define the current times abnormally,
Fence in the animals too good and heroic,
View the powerful dragons of this century.
May winter complete nothing of itself as an absentee,
Religion carries the videos and classics heraldic,
Chew the warehouse with its smoke and abbey.
My terms of the moon are foods from absurdity,
Keeping individuals of theology who are heretic,
View the powerful dragons of this century.
Zoology states classes and categories that are lively,
Horns sound on the way to what is hectic,
Chew the warehouse with its smoke and abbey.
My decision guesses as thawing carries on limitlessly,
This day we mar the region of skin that is ironic,
View the powerful dragons of this century,
Chew the warehouse with its smoke and abbey.
poem by Naveed Akram
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There are men and women still on the streets, and that's all they are saying Can you spare a quarter? I come from a crowd of people who were current on the outlook on life, who were social and knew where they were and had some input into how things seemed to be.
quote by Abbey Lincoln
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misery Machine
Man in the front got a sinister grin, careen down highway 666
We wanna go, crush the slow, as the pitchfork bends the needles grow
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Were gonna ride to the abbey of the ema, to the abbey of the ema
Blood is pavement
The grill in the front is my sinister grin, bugs in my teeth make me sick sick sick
The objects may be larger than they appear in the mirror
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Were gonna ride to the abbey of the ema, to the abbey of the ema
Blood is pavement
When you ride youre ridden, when you ride youre ridden
I am fueled by filth and fury
Do what I will, I will hurry there, there
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Blood is pavement
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy is the man who has a handsome wife close to an abbey.
Abbey Assaroe
Gray, gray is Abbey Assaroe, by Belashanny town,
It has neither door nor window, the walls are broken down;
The carven-stones lie scatter'd in briar and nettle-bed!
The only feet are those that come at burial of the dead.
A little rocky rivulet runs murmuring to the tide,
Singing a song of ancient days, in sorrow, not in pride;
The boortree and the lightsome ash across the portal grow,
And heaven itself is now the roof of Abbey Assaroe.
It looks beyond the harbour-stream to Gulban mountain blue;
It hears the voice of Erna's fall - Atlantic breakers too;
High ships go sailing past it; the sturdy clank of oars
Brings in the salmon-boat to haul a net upon the shores;
And this way to his home-creek, when the summer day is done,
Slow sculls the weary fisherman across the setting sun;
While green with corn is Sheegus Hill, his cottage white below;
But gray at every season is Abbey Assaroe.
There stood one day a poor old man above its broken bridge;
He heard no running rivulet, he saw no mountain-ridge;
He turn'd his back on Sheegus Hill, and view'd with misty sight
The Abbey walls, the burial-ground with crosses ghostly white;
Under a weary weight of years he bow'd upon his staff,
Perusing in the present time the former's epitaph;
For, gray and wasted like the walls, a figure full of woe,
This man was of the blood of them who founded Assaroe.
From Derry to Bundrowas Tower, Tirconnell broad was theirs;
Spearmen and plunder, bards and wine, and holy Abbot's prayers;
With chanting always in the house which they had builded high
To God and to Saint Bernard - where at last they came to die.
At worst, no workhouse grave for him! the ruins of his race
Shall rest among the ruin'd stones of this their saintly place.
The fond old man was weeping; and tremulous and slow
Along the rough and crooked lane he crept from Assaroe.
poem by William Allingham
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The tragedy of modern war is that the young men die fighting each other - instead of their real enemies back home in the capitals.
quote by Edward Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It could be true for M' lady Ernestine
Anselm the abbot avidly believed in bibliography.
He loved learning passionately and filled the abbey library
with scrolls and books of sacred lore and had scriveners by the score.
Who had the task of copying and reproducing everything.
Anselm decreed each monk must learn to read and write each in their turn
Although some monks were not impressed they had to learn at his behest.
Anselm the abbot’s word was law and soon the Abbey boasted more monks who were truly literate and able to communicate.
knowledge acquired painfully to other brothers easily.
Anselm had inadvertently created very probably
The very first religious school where love of learning was the rule
And so the abbey came to be more of a school than monastery
Anselm had realised his dream and risen high in the esteem
not only of the monarchy but of the church authority
The king decreed Anselm should be rewarded for his industry.
So he created Kings College where monks could pass on their knowledge.
And that’s how Oxford came to be in time a university
Where students came from far and wide to study by the riverside
A little bit of history not noted for its accuracy
I have no doubt you will agree it could well solve the mystery.
16-Dec-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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More Than A Few
'Strawberry Fields Were Forever'?
Laid down evermore, in Beatle Memory -
Written and recorded at: 'Abbey Road'
Back in: The Sixties Of Free!
Back when the saying was:
'If you're going to San Francisco -
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair'
Back when the English Music Explosion -
Helped shape the music everywhere.
I can still hear John Lennon Singing: 'Imagine'
The group singing: ' Sergeants Peppers Lonely hearts Club Band'
Back in the day where Love seemed free -
While in the background: The Beatles sang: 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand'
Back in the day when Peace was the sign and the call -
And Vietnam took more than a few -
Frank Bozello, my best friend, was 18
When he died, for the country he knew.
poem by Theodora Onken
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John of Forde, his witness
John of Forde
Kneeling there, the candles living flame
in the darkened abbey, brother monks
still and silent at the golden altar rail,
kneeling there, clearing that inner space
into which may enter what God wills –
sometimes He takes me unawares;
murmurs like a gentle thunder
some clear message beyond words
yet winging into crystal sentences,
and that, a treasure-house of joy…
why do I call it sweet, this moment
savoured, indescribable? Because
there is no other word… why do I say,
ah, He has called me to the marriage feast..?
How else to tell you how, at that,
everything becomes delight,
everything becomes a glory?
and the glory is delight;
delight, in truth, the glory.
[adapted from Sermon 43 of Abbot John of Forde Abbey, c.1145-1214]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Grail
In the village Bellastrino
On the craggy Tuscan hills,
Lies an old abandoned Abbey
And the Church of San Michele,
Though the village was abandoned
There are two who would not go,
The Abbot, Father Grandier,
The Priest, Don Angelo.
The Abbey on the mountain top,
The Church down in the dell,
They'd fought, these two, for twenty years
Consigning each to Hell!
For in the Church of San Michele
Before the village failed,
Down in the crypt, beneath the floor
They'd found the Holy Grail.
A bowl, fine wrought in pale green glass,
There's no room for debate,
The Templar Knights had left it in
Eleven eighty-eight,
They'd always said they would return,
In fact, they never did,
They went to challenge Saladin
And died, as they had lived!
‘It's mine, ' said Father Grandier,
‘Not so, ' said Angelo,
‘I found it and I'm keeping it,
Here, in the Church below.'
‘It should be in the Abbey, '
Father Grandier opined,
‘Its glory on the mountain top…'
‘Not so! The Grail is mine! '
For years the two had tussled
Had approached the Holy See,
The Pope thought it ridiculous
And said: ‘Don't bother me!
We have two dozen of those things,
A heap of rusty nails,
All from the Cross at Calvary
But these are peasant tales.'
A Cardinal then came to call
And tried to sort them out,
Well practiced in diplomacy
He said: ‘No need to shout!
You have a choir each, ' he said
‘Who visit in the spring,
So hold a competition here,
What better way, than sing? '
‘The better choir shall win the Grail
And keep it for a year,
Up in the Abbey's mountain top,
Or down here, if you dare.
Then sing for it each passing year,
Three judges, understood?
If one should win it three years straight
They keep the Grail for good! '
With many muttered mumblings
And hellfire in their eyes,
The Abbot and the priest said yes,
Dissembled with their lies,
They each set out to cheat their way
To keep that Holy Grail,
The Abbot got to pick each judge
He thought he couldn't fail!
The Abbey won the first two years
And held the Grail on high,
While poor Don Angelo despaired,
The time was coming nigh;
They had to sing for it once more,
He knew that if he failed,
The Abbot would, victorious,
Not let him keep the Grail.
Don Angelo went down to Rome
And brought a tenor back,
His voice like rich red Tuscan wine
To join his choir's attack,
They sang their hearts out on the day
But saw the judges feign,
And shake their heads, Don Angelo
Had nothing left to gain.
The judge stood up to name the prize,
The Abbot had his way,
The tenor stood and sang a note
Not heard since Jesu's day,
He held it long, unwavering
The Grail began to ring,
A long high-pitched reverberance,
The Grail began to sing.
A minute there, without a breath
The tenor held his tone,
And Grandier stood up, alarmed,
Let out a fervid moan,
The Grail sang on, then shattered
Fell in pieces to the floor,
The judge stood up and shook his head,
Then said - ‘The sing's a draw! '
The Abbey holds the base of it,
Up on the mountain top,
All glued together, like some vase
Bought in the Red Cross Shop.
While down there in the little Church
On a thousand Euro tips,
They're coining them a fortune with
The rim that touched his lips!
1 September 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Behind Her Eyes
The pain she felt was behind her eyes
The eyes that were once the clear blue skys
Her face is clouded and dark
You can tell sorrow has left it's mark.
He left this pain in her face,
Left her clothed in faded lace,
He told her she wasn't worth it,
Wasn't worth the house he lit.
The pain was left with her, in her mind,
If you look past her eyes sorrows all you'll find.
She knew he'd do this, destroy her will to live,
She knew this would be all he would give.
The pain, she knows, will never pass,
It cuts through her like broken glass.
Her face is clouded and dark,
You can tell sorrow has left it's mark.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Love Songs and Past Lovers
On Abbey Road, the Beatles said it best. 'And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make'
My philosophy is similar, 'The love you give is equal to the love you live'
Each of my lovers is remembered with a song
Janet was 'Try a little tenderness'
Marcy 'Wild Thing'
Barbara was 'Will you still love me tomorrow? '
Irene, well I guess you get the idea
Just hearing the song, she's there in my mind
The woman with who I called it 'our song'
Remembering her face, her smile, her kiss
But somehow, never why we broke up
And when the song ends, she's gone
Just like in real life, I lost her again
But now, I can bring her back
Simply by listening to the song again
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The girl you all...
The girl you all once knew so well,
Has left and now dwells.
Dwells in the place of burning fire.
The place where you sent her with desire.
The girl you all once knew as a child,
Has left not for a while.
She's gone and won't come back again to this town.
Are you happy she took her final bow?
The girl you all once made fun of at school,
She was treated so cruel.
How you made her feel pain and fear,
Making her think she's unwanted here.
The girl you all once put in such pain,
Because of you fear and grief is what she gain.
She gained this by your torture in her life,
And yet you wonder why she sleeps with that silver knife,
The girl you all once called the bitch from hell,
Can you hear her ring those darken bells?
Do you understand the pain she was put through,
Around the people she once knew?
The girl you all let her life end,
Did you remember when you were once a friend?
A friend to her when she had none around,
So why did you let her die and leave this small town?
poem by Alice Spakrs
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Grown men do not need leaders.
quote by Edward Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A drink a day keeps the shrink away.
quote by Edward Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When a man's best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem.
quote by Edward Abbey
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I'm always trolling for trivia.
quote by Lynn Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm dense when it comes to discouragement.
quote by Lynn Abbey
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If the end does not justify the means - what can?
quote by Edward Abbey
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Im Yours
Johnny green / e.y. harburg
Ask the sky above
And ask the earth below
Why Im so in love
And why I love you so
Couldnt tell you though I tried do
Just why Im yours
When you went away
You left a glowing spark
Trying to be gay as
Whistling in the dark
I am only what you make me
Come take me
Im yours
How can I happy
I would be to beg or borrow
For sorrow
With you
Even though I knew
Tomorrow
Youd say we were through
If we drift apart
Then Ill be lost and alone
Though you use my heart
Just for a steppin stone
How can I help dreaming of you
I love you
Im yours
How can I happy
I would be to beg or borrow
For sorrow
With you
Even though I knew
Tomorrow
Youd say we were through
If we drift apart
Then Ill be lost and alone
Though you use my heart
Just for a steppin stone
How can I help dreaming of you
I love you
Im yours
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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