Turkish Song Of The Damned
I come old friend from hell tonight
Across the rotting sea
Nor the nails of the cross
Nor the blood of christ
Can bring you help this eve
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee
They stand outside your door
Four score and three
Did you keep a watch for the dead mans wind
Did you see the woman with the comb in her hand
Wailing away on the wall on the strand
As you danced to the turkish song of the damned
You remember when the ship went down
You left me on the deck
The captains corpse jumped up
And threw his arms around my neck
For all these years Ive had him on my back
This debt cannot be paid with all your jack
And as I sit and talk to you I see your face go white
This shadow hanging over me
Is no trick of the light
The spectre on my back will soon be free
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembering Grandpa
grandpa was strict
i remember
for a Red Cross Donation
that i asked from him
and which he considers
as my debt
he did not forget
to remind me and
thus collect
i was then 12 and he
was 60
i was disappointed but
he did not mind
a debt is a debt and must
be paid
the years may have buried
him for good
but the memory of a debt
paid still lingers
the numbers are clear
as always
some words may have faded
but the feeling
sticks like a scar
in my face....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Over Now
Good night...
Yeah, its over now, but I can breathe somehow
When its all worn out, Id rather go without
You know its been on my mind
Could you stand right there
Look me straight in the eye and say
That its over now
We pay our debt sometime
Well its over now, yet I can see somehow
When its all gone wrong, its hard to be so strong
You know its been on my mind
Could you stand right there
Look me straight in the eye and say
That its over now
We pay our debt sometime
Yeah, we pay our debt sometime
We pay our debt sometime
Yeah, we pay our debt sometime
Guess its over now, I seem alive somehow
When its out of sight, just wait and do your time
You know its been on my mind
Could I stand right here
Look myself in the eye and say
That its over now
We pay our debt sometime
Yeah, we pay our debt sometime
We pay our debt sometime
Yeah, we pay our debt sometime
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is God In The Picture?
Is The Lord God in your picture, or is God just a religious fixture?
Friend is Jesus Christ real to you, involved in all you say and do?
Or does The Lord God have no part, in your life or in your heart?
Has Jesus Christ become your boss, or just an Icon on a cross?
God dear friend is real indeed; who’s there for all in time of need.
You may still have Him on a cross, where He died for all the lost,
But He’s no longer upon that tree; He rose again for you and me.
God dear friend is Jesus Christ, who died to bring us Eternal Life.
Jesus Christ became a Sacrifice, to pay for men an eternal price,
The price was God’s Only Son, who paid sin’s debt for everyone.
For on that day our debt was paid, when all sin on Christ was laid.
God did this so men could know, God in Heaven who loves us so.
Christ does not need you or me, to rule and reign for all Eternity,
God is truly real dear friend; Christ is the Beginning and the End.
And even if you don’t believe, Christ loved you friend on Calvary,
However, you must believe in Him, for God to forgive all your sin.
Why turn your back on the love, of God who’s reigning up above?
Why not trust Christ who died, now reigning at The Father’s side?
Won’t you today embrace The One, God who gave His Only Son?
Why don’t you friend believe today, in God’s only everlasting way?
(Copyright ©06/2006)
Modern Day Hobo
i've been walking this old road
for too damned long.
i know every turn,
and every sign.
i've fallen, got back up,
i know every puddle, every stone.
i've searched every alley,
i've paid the cost by time.
a modern day hobo,
a drifter, a singer, and a fool.
a friend to the end,
a crutch and a tool.
my wings are dirty,
and my heart paid the debt.
the feeling you remember,
i'm the face you forget...
i've climbed your mountains,
i've crossed your rivers.
fought your battles,
i've lost your wars.
i've been a user and a taker,
a healer and a giver.
the bandage on your wounds,
the key to your door.
a modern day hobo,
a drifter, a singer, and a fool.
a friend to the end,
a crutch and a tool.
my wings are dirty,
my heart paid the debt.
i'm the feeling you remember,
the face you forget...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This debt crisis coming to our country. The wall and tidal wave of debt that is befalling our nation. Medicare and Social Security go bankrupt within ten years, we have a debt that is looming so high that in the last year of President Obama's budget just the interest payments on our debt is $916 billion dollars.
Holy Sonnet IX: If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us,
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious
Cannot be damned, alas, why should I be?
Why should intent or reason, born in me,
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous?
And Mercy being easy, and glorious
To God; in his stern wrath, why threatens he?
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee
O God? Oh! of thine only worthy blood,
And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood,
And drown in it my sin's black memory;
That thou remember them, some claim as debt,
I think it mercy, if thou wilt forget.
poem by John Donne
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The Burial: In Memory of W.L.E.
What task is this that so unnerves me now?
When pity should be dead, and has been dead.
Unloose that sheet from round the pierced brow;
What matter blood is seen, for blood is red,
And red’s the colour of the clammy earth.
Be not so solemn,-There’s no need to pray;
But, rather smile, - yea, laugh! If pure, thy mirth
Is right. He laughed himself but yesterday.
That pay-book? Take it from him. Ours a debt
No gold can ever pay. That cross of wood
About his neck? That must remain, and yet
He needs it no, because his heart was good.
We’ll house him ‘neath those broken shrubs; dig deep.
He’s tired. God knows, and needs a little sleep.
poem by Leon Gellert
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A Woman’s Sonnets: V
Whate'er the cost to me, with this farewell,
I shall not see thee, speak to thee again.
If some on Earth must feel the pangs of Hell,
Mine only be it who have earned my pain.
No matter if my life be blank and dead,
Bankrupt of pleasure: it is better so
Than risk dishonour on a once loved head,
Than link all loved ones with my own sole woe.
I have no claim to bring grief's shade on these,
To mix their pure life's waters with my wine,
To vex the dead, dear dead, in their new peace
With knowledge of my sin and great decline.
For these I leave thee, and, though life be rent
With the rude fight, think not I shall relent.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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A Loving Love Missed so Long Way Behind That Soggy Foggy Bog
Had i been sighted behind that mossy log...
Way down beyond that foggy bog.
Fog as thick as thickest bricked wall...
Fog goes up as far as thirty feet tall.
Feelings felt as saddened dread...
Looks of ribs protruding thru skin as skinny as thread.
I missed you much as much can be...
Come back to me for love to thee.
Many years have passed since last we met...
My heart to thee is owed a great debt.
Loving arms so parted as parted for thee...
Wedded bliss comes home for yee to be.
Love's love so heavenly.
poem by Michael Gale
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A Coarse Morning
OH the yellow boisterous sea,
The surging, chafing, murderous sea!
And the wind-gusts hurtle the torn clouds by,
On to the south through a shuddering sky,
And the bare black ships scud aloof from the land.
'Tis as like the day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
The ship that was blown on the sunken sand—
And he coming back to me!
Oh the great white snake of foam,
The coiling, writhing, snake of white foam,
Hissing and huddering out in the bay,
Over the banks where the wrecked ship lay,
Over the sands where the dead may lie deep!
There are some in the churchyard loam,
Some two or three the sea flung to our keep:
Their mothers can sit by a grave to weep,
But my son never came home.
Never, never, living or dead—
Oh, never, Willie, living or dead,
Could you keep your word and come back to me!
Oh, my darling! As like this day as can be,
When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,
When the ship came rounding the head,
Close to the haven and close to the sand.—
And their graves are long green that were tossed to land.
Ah, 'Sure to come back,' he said!
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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The Widow's Lullaby
She droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
The sun comes up from the lea,
As he who will never come more
Came up that first day to her door,
When the ship furled her sails by the shore,
And the spring leaves were green on the tree.
But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
The sun goes down in the sea,
As he who will never go more
Went down that last day from her door,
When the ship set her sails from the shore,
And the dead leaves were sere on the tree.
But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
The year comes glad o'er the lea,
As he who will never come more,
Never, ah never!
Came up that first day to her door,
When the ship furled her sails by the shore,
And the spring leaves were green on the tree.
Never, ah never!
He who will come again, never!
But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
The year goes sad to the sea,
As he who will never go more
For ever went down from her door,
Ever, for ever!
When the ship set her sails by the shore,
And the dead leaves were sere on the tree.
Ever, for ever!
For ever went down from her door.
But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
A gun, and a flash, and a gun,
The ship lies again where she lay!
High and low, low and high, in the sun,
There's a boat, a boat on the bay!
High and low, low and high, in the sun,
All as she saw it that day,
When he came who shall never come more,
And the ship furled her sails by the shore.
But she droops like a dew-dropping lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
All as she saw it that day,
With a gun, and a flash, and a gun,
The ship lies again where she lay,
And they run, and they ride, and they run,
Merry, merry, merry, down the merry highway,
To the boat, high and low in the sun.
Nearer and nearer she hears the rolling drum,
Clearer and clearer she hears the cry, 'They come,'
Far and near runs the cheer to her ear once so dear,
Merry, merry, merry, up the merry highway,
As it ran when he came that day
And said, 'Wilt thou be my dearie?
Oh, wilt thou be my dearie?
My boat is dry in the bay,
And I'll love till thou be weary!'
And she could not say him nay,
For his bonny eyes o' blue,
And never was true-love so true,
To never so kind a dearie,
As he who will never love more,
When the ship furls her sails by the shore.
Then she shakes like a wind-stricken lily,
'Whisht thee, boy, whisht thee, boy Willie!
Whisht whisht o' thy wailing, whisht thee, boy Willie!'
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Rosalind's Scroll
I LEFT thee last, a child at heart,
A woman scarce in years:
I come to thee, a solemn corpse
Which neither feels nor fears.
I have no breath to use in sighs;
They laid the dead-weights on mine eyes
To seal them safe from tears.
Look on me with thine own calm look:
I meet it calm as thou.
No look of thine can change this smile,
Or break thy sinful vow:
I tell thee that my poor scorn'd heart
Is of thine earth--thine earth--a part:
It cannot vex thee now.
I have pray'd for thee with bursting sob
When passion's course was free;
I have pray'd for thee with silent lips
In the anguish none could see;
They whisper'd oft, 'She sleepeth soft'--
But I only pray'd for thee.
Go to! I pray for thee no more:
The corpse's tongue is still;
Its folded fingers point to heaven,
But point there stiff and chill:
No farther wrong, no farther woe
Hath licence from the sin below
Its tranquil heart to thrill.
I charge thee, by the living's prayer,
And the dead's silentness,
To wring from out thy soul a cry
Which God shall hear and bless!
Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand,
And pale among the saints I stand,
A saint companionless.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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You don't pay back your parents. You can't. The debt you owe them gets collected by your children, who hand it down in turn. It's a sort of entailment. Or if you don't have children of the body, it's left as a debt to your common humanity. Or to your God, if you possess or are possessed by one.
quote by Lois McMaster Bujold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Her Sea-Faring Lover
SHALL I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare?
And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not hear?
Alas! say nay! say nay! and be no more so dumb,
But open thou thy manly mouth and say that thou wilt come:
Whereby my heart may think, although I see not thee,
That thou wilt come--thy word so sware--if thou a live man be.
The roaring hugy waves they threaten my poor ghost,
And toss thee up and down the seas in danger to be lost.
Shall they not make me fear that they have swallowed thee?
--But as thou art most sure alive, so wilt thou come to me.
Whereby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand,
And think and say Lo where he comes and Sure here will he land:
And then I shall lift up to thee my little hand,
And thou shalt think thine heart in ease, in health to see me stand.
And if thou come indeed (as Christ thee send to do!)
Those arms which miss thee now shall then embrace [and hold] thee too:
Each vein to every joint the lively blood shall spread
Which now for want of thy glad sight doth show full pale and dead.
But if thou slip thy troth, and do not come at all,
As minutes in the clock do strike so call for death I shall:
To please both thy false heart and rid myself from woe,
That rather had to die in troth than live forsaken so!
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Ship Of Earth.
'Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold,
I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword
At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!
'The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky,
But all the deck is wet with blood and stains the crystal red.
A pilot, GOD, a pilot! for the helm is left awry,
And the best sailors in the ship lie there among the dead!'
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Hymn of Sovereign Grace
Formed for thyself, and turned to thee,
Thy praises, Lord , I show;
No more, with sacrilegious pride,
I rob thee of thy due.
Divested of my fancied plumes,
I throw me at thy feet;
Nor, as a debt, thy favour claim,
But, as an alms, intreat.
Repentance, holiness, and faith.
By which to thee we live,
Are not conditions we perform,
But graces we receive.
Thy Spirit does not offer life,
But raises from the dead;
And neither asks the sinner's leave,
Nor needs the sinner's aid.
Thy power, before the fruit is good,
Must first renew the tree;
We rise, and work the works of God,
When wrought upon by thee.
Each grace of our celestial birth
From thy blest influence springs;
Which plants, and nourishes, and guards,
And to perfection brings.
Gardens of thine, enclosed and sealed,
Thou all our works hast wrought;
And wilt eternal peace ordain
For those thy blood hath bought.
Had not thy love laid hold on us,
We has not loved thee now;
Possess us quite, thou God of grace,
To whom our all we owe!
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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One Mans Meat
Cold beer and a strange cigarette
Getting you high getting you wet
Falling in love falling out of debt
Straight gay black or white
Strutting in the dark hiding in the light
Doing it wrong doing it right just doing it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right we all got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
Short fat thick or thin
Take it in the gut take it on the chin
Living in glory living in sin
Hard days work going down slow
Riding the road where the greengrass grows
Watching in die what dyou know
Watch it
You got your life on the one hand
Mine in the other
I got the right
One mans meat is the other mans lousy luck
One mans meat is someones empty well
One mans meat is some guys aching butt
One mans meat is another mans living hell
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Amazing Grace Of God.
We get what we deserve!
Do we? Do we really?
Do we really get what we deserve?
Kelly said ‘If we all
get what we deserve,
then we will all
be on our way to hell.’
Kelly said ‘But Christ
gave his life for us, that
is the Grace we can never
repay.’ The Grace of God.
“For while we were still
helpless, at the right time,
the Messiah died on behalf
of ungodly people.”
It is rare for anyone to die
for the sake of a righteous
person, for a truly righteous
person, very few will obtain
the courage to die. “But God
recommends his own love to
us in that, while we were yet
sinners, Christ died for us.”
“Blessed are those whose
transgressions are forgiven,
whose sins are covered over; ”
for God chooses to see it no more.
“Blessed is the man
whose sin Adonai
will not reckon against
his account.” Debt is paid.
Christ was our Lamb
our ransom sacrifice
in the blood of the Lamb
is our debt paid in full.
This is the Amazing Grace Of God.
This is our ticket to heaven and eternal salvation.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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He Gave Me No Meat
My brother, I am hungry,—give me food
Such as my Father gives me at his board;
He has for many years been to thee good,
Thou canst a morsel then to me afford;
I do not ask of thee a grain of that
Thou offerest when I call on thee for bread;
This is not of the wine nor olive fat,
But those who eat of this like thee are dead;
I ask the love the Father has for thee,
That thou should'st give it back to me again;
This shall my soul from pangs of hunger free,
And on my parched spirit fall like rain;
Then thou wilt prove a brother to my need,
For in the cross of Christ thou too canst bleed.
poem by Jones Very
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To Her Sea-faring Lover
SHALL I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare?
And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not hear?
Alas! say nay! say nay! and be no more so dumb,
But open thou thy manly mouth and say that thou wilt come:
Whereby my heart may think, although I see not thee,
That thou wilt come--thy word so sware--if thou a live man be.
The roaring hugy waves they threaten my poor ghost,
And toss thee up and down the seas in danger to be lost.
Shall they not make me fear that they have swallowed thee?
--But as thou art most sure alive, so wilt thou come to me.
Whereby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand,
And think and say Lo where he comes and Sure here will he land:
And then I shall lift up to thee my little hand,
And thou shalt think thine heart in ease, in health to see me stand.
And if thou come indeed (as Christ thee send to do!)
Those arms which miss thee now shall then embrace [and hold] thee too:
Each vein to every joint the lively blood shall spread
Which now for want of thy glad sight doth show full pale and dead.
But if thou slip thy troth, and do not come at all,
As minutes in the clock do strike so call for death I shall:
To please both thy false heart and rid myself from woe,
That rather had to die in troth than live forsaken so!