reposing in glory
Mt Fuji in the meditative quiet
of a golden frame
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Beautiful Mount Fuji
Beautiful Mount Fuji,
How are you?
Oh glory wonderland!
I am a passerby to say hello to you.
All the nations have heard about you,
From the morning frost to a picture at dawn;
Oh glory, glory, glory wonderland! !
Mount Fuji is your name.
Beautiful Mount Fuji how are you?
You already know my name since,
I am your frequent visitor;
All the nations have heard about you as well,
Like the precious stones on our necks.
I only need to climb you once to gain wisdom,
Beautiful Mount Fuji how are you?
I have hopes and dreams like all the visitors around;
Oh glory wonderland.
With Fujiyama as sight to play a role,
Come in the night and see her wonders;
Beautiful Mount Fuji,
I do respect you a lot.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Golden Streets Of Glory
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
Theres a city where the streets are paved in gold
A land where the milk and the honey flow
And a mansion which for me
cause my Bible tells the story
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Green meadows where the little children play
No sorrow there, just one long happy day
And none will litter there except the pure and the holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
And when Ive reached my journeys end
And if Im worthy to go in
Golden streets of glory, I walk on
And the golden streets of my new home
Will lead me up to the masters throne
With the angel band Ill sing
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Hallelujah, I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
And when Ive reached my journeys end
And if Im worthy to go in
Golden streets of glory, Ill walk on
And the golden streets of my new home
Will lead me up to the masters throne
With the angel band Ill sing
Glory to his name, oh, holy, holy
I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
Hallelujah, I just hope my feet are clean enough
To walk upon the golden streets of glory
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Glory Is Not The Glory of God
MY GLORY IS NOT THE GLORY OF G-D
My glory is not the glory of G-d
I do not know what the glory of God is-
I do not know my own glory.
Glory glory glory
What’s glory?
We are small lost souls in a space and time so far beyond us
It is difficult to imagine
Even God knows how to deal with it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Dawn
Quiet miles of golden sky,
And in my heart a sudden flower.
I want to clap my hands and cry
For Beauty in her secret bower.
Quiet golden miles of dawn—
Smiling all the East along ;
And in my heart nigh fully blown,
A little rose-bud of a song.
poem by Francis Ledwidge
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Commemoration
When first your glory shone upon my face
My body kindled to a mighty flame,
And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace
Until you swooned to love, breathing my name.
And wonder came and filled our night of sleep,
Like a new comet crimsoning the sky;
And stillness like the stillness of the deep
Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh.
I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed,
Panting with passion, naked unto mine,
Until the throbbing world around is hushed
To quiet worship at our scented shrine.
Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face,
To kindle and to change my jaded frame
Into a miracle of godlike grace,
Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame.
poem by Claude McKay
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Glory of Man and Horse
Oh, the glory of the charge!
Man and horse to battle
Never an army too large
To stand in their way
Oh, the glory of the plains!
Man and horse to conquer
Battling wind and rains
To tame the far, far west
Oh, the glory of the sand!
Man and horse to test
Over the hot, dry land
To try their strength
Oh, the glory of the race!
Man and horse to run
Galloping a fearsome pace
To win that golden cup
The Glory of Man and Horse
Oh, the glory of the charge!
Man and horse to battle
Never an army too large
To stand in their way
Oh, the glory of the plains!
Man and horse to conquer
Battling wind and rains
To tame the far, far west
Oh, the glory of the sand!
Man and horse to test
Over the hot, dry land
To try their strength
Oh, the glory of the race!
Man and horse to run
Galloping a fearsome pace
To win that golden cup
poem by Horse Poet
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Nippon
Last night, I dreamed of Nippon....
I saw a cloud of white
Drifting before the sunset
On seas of opal light.
Beyond the wide Pacific
I saw its mounded snow
Miraculously changing
In that deep evening glow,
To rosy rifts and hillocks,
To orchards that I knew,
To snows of peach and cherry,
And feathers of bamboo.
I saw, on twisted bridges,
In blue and crimson gleams,
The lanterns of the fishers,
Along the brook of dreams.
I saw the wreaths of incense
Like little ghosts arise,
From temples under Fuji,
From Fuji to the skies.
I saw that fairy mountain....
I watched it form and fade.
No doubt the gods were singing,
When Nippon isle was made.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Picture Frames
Picture frames that enclose the art
make the art stand out.
If the frame is not just right
better to do without.
For the artist had in their mind
what the frame should be.
But the framer who made the frame
did not know what the art would be.
So acquiring the knack of pairing them
is a talent all its own.
The picture itself cannot speak out
but it has always known
what its frame should be.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Somebody Touched Me
(first release, live version portsmouth, england, september 24, 2000traditional, arranged by bob dylan)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!
Would you please welcome columbia recording artist bob dylan.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
While I was praying, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Well, it was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
It was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
It was on a sunday, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me,
Must have been the hand of the lord.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quiet One (for Beatle George)
They met him on the local bus, just
Local boys not knowing they were bound
For glory, greatness, and here was
The one to always ask for less
The quiet one, who worked hard on his lines
Holding his own above the fuss
For years they kept him to the wings
Without stage mark or microphone
Rising to harmonize but not to sing
Saturn's dark sun, its self-effacing child
Of Krishna, kept strong by belief
Sharing his heart, looking for inner light
It was more difficult to hold
To keep that faith when all around
Of his small frame it rained, the arrogance
Intrusion, all the slights and checks
Of his kind and careless friends
Advice on what and where and how to play
And when the dam burst and the songs poured down
The rivers he had stored, the chants suppressed
In deference rang quiet and strong, the hum
Of new contentment in his mind, the sign
To cultivate his garden and his son
Discovered footsteps in that quiet time
When cancer is held back, in check
And has not come again, not yet
To take the life on which it once laid claim
He thought back to those years, he said
They gave their screams, the Beatles gained insight
And gave their nervous systems in exchange.
poem by Frank Bana
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410
that winter
i close the window
behind me
Mt. Fuji
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Days Gone By
O the days gone by! O the days gone by!
The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye;
The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail
As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale;
When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky,
And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by.
In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped
By the honey-suckle's tangles where the water-lilies dipped,
And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink
Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink,
And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry
And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by.
O the days gone by! O the days gone by!
The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye;
The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring--
The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,--
When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,
In the golden olden glory of the days gone by.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Angel Of Heavenly Love
ANGEL OF HEAVENLY LOVE
An angel one day came
Thought it was a golden frame
Eyes wonderfully bright
Hairs veil heavenly light
An angel one day came
Thought it was just a game
Heard a voice smooth and caring
Got captured when hearing
An angel one day came
Thought I was insane
Felt a warmness washing
And my senses dashing
An angel one day came
Thought am I to blame
Held out a silver dove
Said follow it to the cove
An Angel one day came
Thought it's not the same
Kissed me on my lips
Enwrapping my hips
An angel one day came
Thought it was a golden frame
It is my Angel of heavenly love
Holding my hands forever above
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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You are wise to climb Mt. Fuji, but a fool to do it twice.
Stranger On A Quiet Street
When all the thrills have been forgotten
The chill of night can call them home
And all the dreams that you left stranded
Will slowly start to come along
I felt it as she slipped away, slipped away
I didnt have the words to say
When I saw the stranger
A stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
You can go straight as an arrow
You can go straight as you dare
Walkin the old straight and narrow
Dont always get you there
The sun was shining when I saw it all
She was moving to a different beat
When I met a stranger
A stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
It came to me out of the blue, out of the blue
There came the moment that I really knew
When I met a stranger
A stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street, on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
Stranger on a quiet street
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frame
Frame
I could frame my
mind to what my
thoughts become,
"words spoken"
or I could frame the
night to think my
agony is gone.
I can frame almost
anything I quess,
from a heart in grief
looking for some relief,
the mailman,
the milkman,
and everything
that passes by,
A kitten at my doorstep,
is funny isn't it?
you can frame your
way through a
dragons throat.
Anything you want,
even your heart,
your truth your lies and
even the clear skies.
The hymns I sing,
my eyelids to fall asleep,
an ability not yet control.
Everything I long for
has not yet pass through,
so I keep framing
the truth the lies and all
I can think of.
But framing is not my
escape is just a lie
I keep telling myself,
and I can keep doing
it for eons.
But not yet complete,
for I can't frame my
eyes of what I see.
©ElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Irksome Passion
Does it irk one that poets
who think real poetry
consists almost solely
of exclamation points
and impassioned rhetoric?
Is there no room in prosody
for the quiet meditative poem
or the modern ironic comment?
Not according to some
on this board who imply
that overheated verbiage
and a certain sympathy
one feels for the downtrodden
are prerequisites for poetry
with a capital P.
Does Keats or Shakespeare
foam at the mouth and spill
their guts in every line
they cast? Shelley does,
you say, but is hysteria
really that necessary?
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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If you see Mt. Fuji, a hawk, and an eggplant on New Year's Day, you will be forever blessed.
What did I do?
What did I do to get out of your life,
when I am in every frame of your life?
As a fetus, you kicked and turned,
I was there in that frame, carrying you.
As an infant you were fragile and helpless,
I remember I was there as well.
As an aimless toddler, before stumbling down,
the hands that carried you, were mine.
During all your school activities,
the beating heart that prayed for your success,
During minor and major exams and interviews,
the eyes that woke up before you,
Had I been there in those frame?
I was there in every frame of your life,
I will be there in every frame of my grandchildren,
If you both let.
Until then my child, explore the new things.
This poem is dedicated to the parents who miss their
children who have gone for further education, work
commitments and other reasons as well.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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