Raven Site Ruin
So it seems, Raven Site was home to Anasazi
An ancient people vanished unto time,
My eyes did view their ruins with dismay,
appalled by restorations disarray--
From force within, stinging voices veers,
of violent wrath, that pierced my opened ears,
As a tendril twined together in a terrible rage;
stunned was I of utterances from another age.
They struck my being in howling spectres anger,
the plundering of sacred grounds history---
again, an ancient race made known to me,
that energy remains thru aura's mystery.
poem by Joya Fairchild
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Rest of the Ancients
He sits among the ruins,
an ancient city long since forgotten,
He closes his eyes,
imagining the city in it's prime,
people praying at the alters,
a baby crying in its mother's cradled arms,
men hard at work in sweltering forges,
He hears them,
the scent of fresh bread wafts into his nose,
a bakery filled with warm bread,
this dead city is alive once more,
and then,
He opens his eyes,
it has been but only a second,
He stands,
bowing to the ruins of these glorious peoples,
leaving the ancient to their rest.
poem by by unknown author
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Violent Rage
I have been in a violent rage since the day that I was born
First it began when from my mother that I was violently torn
And then from that day that loss of innocence I still do mourn
I am truly the innocent, and at the world I do scorn.
Violence it is with me wherever that I might be
Where friendship is another man's drink, rage is my cup of tea
People enjoy to anger as though that is there strategy
And rage is that result, and the victim is always me.
I think about my past and the major events in my life
My first kiss, my first hug, my siblings and even my wife
But then those events brought me anger and hate and also strife
I was used and abused, cheated on and then stabbed by their knife.
When I wake up in the morning anger is on my mind
And when I go to bed at night my temper is all that I can find
I think of my rage which was caused by friends not being kind
How I wish that my peace and solitude was never left behind.
My life is filled with its outrages, anger and its wrath
I wish now that when I was walking I had taken a more peaceful path
Seems as though I have walked that road for years if correctly I did my math
How I wish that my rage could be removed, as simply by taking a bath.
I am now so tired my body is so old and worn
I wish again and again, I never came out that September morn
My mother was the rose and I indeed was her thorn
How I wish and pray many times over, that I could of been reborn.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Rage
Rage
Hungry like a lion
All consuming in its destructive power
Like a hurricane
Like a tornado
Like a tsunami
In its terrible beauty
Hypnotic
Passionate
Thunderou s
With its energy like a spring
Transferable
Like neurons through a conductor
Yet more electric than lightning
Violent
Heated
Yet empty
Empty with its lack
Consuming because it can't create
Unable to produce love
But bring hate
How the seasons change so quickly
Yet we never do move on
From that lonely day of anger
Seemingly alone in our pain
We lash out
To release our stress
What we don't realize is
Others feel it too
Occupying their brain in a tiny corner
Until we release it
And it engulfs our entire being
The world narrowed to that second of time
When rage is nothing
And everything
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Rochester Cathedral 2005
Pass by this ancient door and pause
Look upon it very history etched in stone
Wonder at its age and all who stood,
As you are standing now, looking.
The good and great of history
Have passed its portals just like you
Kings and Queens of every age
Have worshiped here, the Christ King.
Sit, be still, as voices young and old
Raise in perfect sound, the alleluia’s
To echo round the vaulted heights.
Kneel and pray as others have
So many times before through history
Evidence of the living God worshiped still.
Here Justus placed his knee in prayer
When all was daub and wattle
The imprint of history remains however
A time line of experience, and calling.
Today its mission written large in stone
To worship the alpha and omega
We see its beginnings, its end?
Is always in the future, waiting.
poem by James Tipp
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Remember Raven
Aah! ooh!
Aah! ooh!
While youre busy trying to conjure dirt upon me,
Your ponys sucked dry by an african bee.
The muck you rake is not enough to keep your turd at sea,
Remember the raven,
Remember the raven.
While your busy trying to weigh your power,
Your boats getting into fast water.
Lifes going down the river of no return,
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Dont try to be a warden to history,
While trying to find a seat for your posterity.
You better tend your garden for your family.
Remember raven,
Remember raven.
Judas never got the key to heaven, you know.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, remember raven,
Remember raven.
Raven, raven, raven.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ancient History
We can talk and talk all night / If you want to that's all right
Til I've heard every word you've got to say,
Go ahead and take your time / If you've got something on your mind
But it won't change the way I feel anyway
That's ancient history to me now
Something we don't have to talk about
You know I love you anyhow / That's ancient history to me now
There's a tale you've got to tell,
How you stumbled and then you fell
But I guess I knew that all along,
And, my love, there's times when we
Are weaker than we'd like to be,
And I could tell some stories of my own
CHORUS
song performed by by Pam Tillis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Jews are the most tenacious people in history. Hebron is there to prove it. It ties 20 miles south of Jerusalem, 3,000 feet up in the Judaean hills. There, in the Cave of Machpelah, are the Tombs of the Patriarchs. According to ancient tradition, one sepulcher, itself of great antiquity, contains the mortal remains of Abraham, founder of the Jewish religion and ancestor of the Jewish race. Paired with his tomb is that of his wife Sarah. Within the building are the twin tombs of his son Isaac and his wife Rebecca. Across the inner courtyard is another pair of tombs, of Abraham's grandson Jacob and his wife Leah. Just outside the building is the tomb of their son Joseph. This is where the 4,000-year history of the Jews, in so far as it can be anchored in time and place, began.
Paul Johnson in A History of the Jews, Chapter One: Israelites (1987)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Monumental Mystery
A column built of rough hewn stone.
By whom or why remains unknown.
Half hidden by dense foliage.
A relic from a by gone age.
What it was for nobody knows
It served some purpose I suppose.
An enigma a mystery
A sacred site quite possibly.
But still it stands amongst the trees.
As it has stood for centuries.
I don't suppose we'll ever know
Why it was built so long ago.
Before recorded history.
Though built to last indefinitely.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Chimneys of Lime
I’ve walked at your ruins
To seek out your history,
Charted the runes of you
Stone upon stone,
I’m left with damp walls
And a sense of some mystery;
What tamed the pride
That led on to your fall?
Some spirit entangled you
Lived in you yesterday,
Drove you, dispersed, and then
Lay you down still,
Now all that is left
Is grim ruin and disarray,
Relics of life,
Strength of purpose, and will.
Cairns and old bones at
The granite-hard cemetery,
Mounds where no markers
Recall you to name,
Time has dispensed with
All need for your mimicry,
Art has replaced what
We thought to reclaim.
Each one that wonders will
Carry the seeds of you,
Sense all the needs of you
Time upon time,
And walk the sad ruins
That long life will lead us to,
Crumble tall hopes
Like your chimneys of lime.
In search of some answer
I tap your foundations,
I sound each stone wall that
Encapsulates time,
Your dearth and your downfall
Exceed your dimensions,
I walk at your ruins,
Tread softly your rhyme.
13 March 1983
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Not From This Anger
Not from this anger, anticlimax after
Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower
Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods
In a land strapped by hunger
Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds
And bear those tendril hands I touch across
The agonized, two seas.
Behind my head a square of sky sags over
The circular smile tossed from lover to lover
And the golden ball spins out of the skies;
Not from this anger after
Refusal struck like a bell under water
Shall her smile breed that mouth, behind the mirror,
That burns along my eyes.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Upon The Altar Of My Lord
I offer my words up freely,
upon the altar of my God.
I come to this sacred place freely,
of my own free will to serve to pray.
This ancient sacred place this land,
this holy sacred God given ground;
is where in my humble veneration,
in worship I lay my offering down.
I have nothing more; to humbly offer pray.
I have while materially poor nothing more,
than time of value worth to humbly offer pray;
this is all I have I here in true worship bore,
I offer before my most high my sacred Lord.
Near on thirty years ago, I made this sacred vow,
with my soul heart head, bowed in breath low;
though my flesh remains, be still struggle weak,
this vow before God in worship I honour keep.
I thank my wondrous Lord, who let me humbly come here pray.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Nomad
Like a mirage riding on the desert sand
Like a vision floating with the desert winds
Know the secret of the ancient desert lands
you're the keeper of the mystery in your hands
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
Undercover of the veil of your disguise
The men that fear you are the ones that you despise
No one's certain what your future will behold
You're a legend your own history will be told
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
No one dares to even look or glance your way
Your reputation goes before you they all say
Like a spirit that can disappear at will
Many claim of things but no one's seen you kill
Nomad
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Odysseus: In Memory Of Arthur Griffith
You had the prose of logic and of scorn,
And words to sledge an iron argument,
And yet you could draw down the outland birds
To perch beside the ravens of your thought
The dreams whereby a people challenges
Its dooms, its bounds. You were the one who knew
What sacred resistance is in men
That are almost broken; how, from resistance used,
A strength is born, a stormy, bright-eyed strength
Like Homer's Iris, messenger of the gods,
Coming before the ships the enemy
Has flung the fire upon. Our own, our native strength
You mustered up. But I will never say this,
Walking beside you, or looking on you,
With your strong brow, and chin was like a targe,
And eyes that were so kindly of us all.
And sorrow comes as on that August day,
With our ship cleaving through the seas for home,
And that news coming sparkling through the air,
That you were dead, and that we'd never see you
Looking upon the state that you had builded.
The news that came was like that weight of waters
Poured on our hopes! Our navies yet unbuilded,
Our city left inglorious on its site,
Our fields uncleared, and over
Our ancient house the ancient curse of war!
And could we pray, touching the island-homeland,
Other than this: 'Odysseus, you who laboured
So long upon the barren outer sea;
Odysseus, Odysseus, you who made
The plan that drove the wasters from the house,
And bent the bow that none could bend but you:
Be with us still:
Your memory be the watcher in our house,
Your memory be the flame upon our hills.
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Raven
The raven
Lead vocal: alan parsons, leonard whiting
The clock struck midnight
And through my sleeping
I heard a tapping at my door
I looked but nothing lay in the darkness
And so I turned inside once more
To my amazement
There stood a raven
Whose shadow hung above my door
Then through the silence
It spoke that one word
That I shall hear forever more
Nevermore
Thus quoth the raven, nevermore
And still the raven remains in my room
No matter how much I implore
No words can soothe him
No prayer remove him
And I must hear for evermore
Quoth the raven, nevermore
Thus quoth the raven
Nevermore
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kiss Her Photograph
Her eyes confide to me
Inexplicable mystery,
Like time travelling
Through the corridors of history
To discover an ancient goddess unseen before,
Something wonderfully simple-hearted
But also exuding pride and contempt.
Did she understand
What I meant
When I told her
I could kiss
Her photograph?
The joyous vicarious experience
Of touching her face in a dream!
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Haunts Of Ancient Peace
Beside the garden walls,
We walk in haunts of ancient peace.
At night we rest and go to sleep
In haunts of ancient peace.
The love and light we seek,
The words we do not need to speak,
Here in this wondrous way we keep
These haunts of ancient peace.
Let us go there again
When we need some relief
Oh, when I cant find my feet
When I need rest and sleep.
The sunday bells they chime
Around the countryside and towns
A song of harmony and rhyme
In haunts of ancient peace.
The holy grail we seek
On down by haunts of ancient peace.
We see the new jerusalem
In haunts of ancient peace.
Oh, when I cant find my feet
Oh, when I need some relief
One more time again.
You know I want to go there one more time again.
Be still in haunts of ancient peace.
(be still)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Indian Love Song
He
Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon
of thy glory and grace,
Withhold not, O love, from the night
of my longing the joy of thy luminous face,
Give me a spear of the scented keora
guarding thy pinioned curls,
Or a silken thread from the fringes
that trouble the dream of thy glimmering pearls;
Faint grows my soul with thy tresses' perfume
and the song of thy anklets' caprice,
Revive me, I pray, with the magical nectar
that dwells in the flower of thy kiss.
She
How shall I yield to the voice of thy pleading,
how shall I grant thy prayer,
Or give thee a rose-red silken tassel,
a scented leaf from my hair?
Or fling in the flame of thy heart's desire the veils that cover my face,
Profane the law of my father's creed for a foe
of my father's race?
Thy kinsmen have broken our sacred altars and slaughtered our sacred kine,
The feud of old faiths and the blood of old battles sever thy people and mine.
He
What are the sins of my race, Beloved,
what are my people to thee?
And what are thy shrines, and kine and kindred,
what are thy gods to me?
Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies,
of stranger, comrade or kin,
Alike in his ear sound the temple bells
and the cry of the muezzin.
For Love shall cancel the ancient wrong
and conquer the ancient rage,
Redeem with his tears the memoried sorrow
that sullied a bygone age.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Sub Race
A sub-race of human race
It comes back
With the eyes
Flashing by blood!
A sub-race of human race
Sowing the panic
With the existence
Of sick faces!
From the dusk reborn
Of ancient time
Titanic Shadow
Black wing of death!
Forgotten warriors
They come back
Embracing us again
Reborn from the ashes!
A sub-race of human race
It comes back
With the eyes
Flashing by blood!
From the dusk reborn
Of ancient time
Titanic Shadow
Black wing of death!
A sub-race of human race
It comes back
With the eyes
Flashing by blood!
A sub-race of human race
Sowing the panic
With the existence
Of sick faces!
song performed by by Undercroft
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Modern poetry
On the cover
of those old black hymnbooks
in those old dark churches
you can just about read
'Hymns Ancient and Modern'
As time goes by,
'ancient' gets a longer and longer history
and curiously so too
does 'modern'
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Oh me, Oh me
Oh me, oh me
I will be, i will be
I will live my destiny
As it is given me
That which is written of me
Oh me, oh me
I will be, i will be
That i will not perish
But flourish
The life i have
Will i cherish
Oh me, oh me
I will be, i will be
I will not be a mystery
But i will be history
For you will remember me
Oh me, oh me
I will be, i will be
poem by Matt Ancient
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