We read all the books they gave us
And knowing they would not save us,
Knowing the world was failing,
Choking - and even inhaling,
Wailing - though some of us fainted,
Flailing in festival mud,
Certain the water was tainted
We painted our bodies in blood.
We are the boomers of fable,
Born of the children of light,
Much has been laid at our table,
Much has been hid from our sight.
Favoured of all generations,
By trinkets and folly suborned...
What are the boomers of nations
But mirrors of all that we scorned?
By Felix Dennis from his collection of poems 'A Glass Half Full'
When a child who is hungry and thirsty,
Cries out in great pain
‘Allah, be merciful, send me some water,
Send me some grain. ’
Does the great Jehovah turn away in disdain?
When a child cries out in anguish
In the cold and bitter dark of night,
‘Jehovah take pity, send me some blankets
And an Angel for light.’
Does the great Allah, turn away from her plight,
Just because the name just wasn’t quite right?
When a child cries out from the slums of this world,
‘Dear Jesus, save me, I am alone and I am weak.’
Do the great lords, Brahma and Vishnu, say,
‘Sorry, whom did you say you seek,
No, nobody of that name here,
Perhaps you should try again later,
Maybe next week.’
When a child cries out on the long and weary track,
‘Brahma, Vishnu, Lords!
I am lost and in the wilderness
And can’t find my way back,
Give me direction Lords, to show me the road,
Lighten my burdens Great Lords,
Lighten my load.’
Does the great Lord Jesus,
The Blessed Saviour of humankind, say
‘Well, I would really, really like to help you child
But the problem is, you see,
You are un-baptised
And by the way that you speak, it is obvious to me,
That you are not one of mine.
So after careful consideration, I feel I must in these circumstances,
You understand, most respectfully decline.’
Isn’t the great and powerful God of the Universe
Above all of this!
The Divine hears the widow and the orphans in their plight,
Whether they are
MUSLIM, JEW, HINDU, CHRISTIAN
YELLOW, RED, BLACK OR WHITE
No matter the address given
And even if the name
Just wasn’t quite right.
Michael, that was very moving, both poem and the following quote from the funeral. I don't know the poet so I wandered around with google and read some of her other work. Thank you for the introduction. I opened my book of Emily Dickinson and this was the one that jumped out.
CHILDISH GRIEFS - Softened by Time's consummate plush
Softened by Time's consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood's citadel
And undermined the years!
Bisected now by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood's realm,
So easy to repair.
Hev, thank you! What a perfect poem. "There are no coincidences." So wrote James Redfield and the poem grabbed you as it was meant to do, and then touched me and, I trust, many others.
A poem by Max
Until the last is fed and clothed and safe in friendly arms,
until the fitful sleeps of fear aren't shattered by alarms,
until inoculation has their killers by the scruff,
until we've met their basic needs, we haven't done enough.
Until the universal laws aren't honoured in the breach,
until religions' followers all practice what they preach,
until we cherish children whether brindle, black or buff,
until we've made them family, we haven't done enough.
Until our leaders demonstrate it's economic sense
to budget aid for others as our paramount defence,
until we view equality as more than words of puff,
until we treat the symptoms too, we haven't done enough.
Until a life of freedom and the tools with which to learn,
are seen as rights of everyone - not privileges to earn,
until we've bled a little and, by choice, we've had it tough,
until we've changed the way it is, we haven't done enough.
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem how be sung
By you- by yours, the evil eye,- by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong.
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy
bride.
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes.
"Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven-
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of
Heaven!
Let no bell toll, then,- lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!
And I!- to-night my heart is light!- no dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!"
*from the book The Innocent Assassins, 1973
by Loren Eiseley
Sunset at Laramie
Somewhere beyond Laramie the winding freights
still howl their lonesome message to the dark,
the mountain men lie quiet, wolves are gone,
stars circle overhead, huge missiles lie
scattered in firing pens. Computers watch
with radar eyes pinpointed latitudes.
Gigantic cupped ears listen everywhere—
a bear asleep beneath a winter drift,
his pulse is coded, too; night-flying geese
blip by on horizon screens, slowly we draw a net
converging to ourselves. How strange to hear
trains hoot in blizzards, cattle brawl in cars,
think of the Chisholm trail a century gone, and know
beyond the polar circle other ears now listen.
This daft and troubled century spies and spies,
counts bears' heartbeats, whales' frantic twists and turns.
The background noise of continents drifts in,
captured by satellites. Still far up in the crags
sure-footed mountain sheep climb higher, lift horned heads,
see the night fall below them, hear the train, and stamp
as rams stamp, vaguely troubled, while the glow
on the last peak fades out. Far off a coyote cries,
not in wild darkness, but a haunted night
filled with the turning of vast ears and eyes.
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
The ship awaits you
The sea is ready
To bear you away
To the sunset of dreams
Tearful goodbyes
To the ones that love you
Knowing too well
That you cannot stay
We touched so briefly
Yet we remember
As if imprinted
On our very souls
You were the one
The whole world stopped for
Your were the one so humbly rare
You were the love of a lifetime journey
You were the one who made us care
Rest you now the incense burning
Rest you now within the tomb
Holding hands forever feeling
The love you gave
To the willing world
But on we go
The world still turning
And eyes so burning
From our river of tears
Thank you for the light you shined here
Thank you for your courage bold
Bless you for the years of trying
When the gift was so hard to hold
Rest you now in soft green linin
Sleep you now in God's enfold
Take your memories of earth's great lessons
To the stars - for the young and old.
The Baby Boomers We are
)
The Baby Boomers
We are the baby boomers,
The dreamers of dreams that died,
Begotten of war and rumours
We knew that our parents lied.
Turning our backs on their humours
We hunted, bereft of a guide,
We padded the planet like pumas,
Belovéd and golden-eyed.
We read all the books they gave us
And knowing they would not save us,
Knowing the world was failing,
Choking - and even inhaling,
Wailing - though some of us fainted,
Flailing in festival mud,
Certain the water was tainted
We painted our bodies in blood.
We are the boomers of fable,
Born of the children of light,
Much has been laid at our table,
Much has been hid from our sight.
Favoured of all generations,
By trinkets and folly suborned...
What are the boomers of nations
But mirrors of all that we scorned?
By Felix Dennis from his collection of poems 'A Glass Half Full'
When a child who is hungry
)
When a child who is hungry and thirsty,
Cries out in great pain
‘Allah, be merciful, send me some water,
Send me some grain. ’
Does the great Jehovah turn away in disdain?
When a child cries out in anguish
In the cold and bitter dark of night,
‘Jehovah take pity, send me some blankets
And an Angel for light.’
Does the great Allah, turn away from her plight,
Just because the name just wasn’t quite right?
When a child cries out from the slums of this world,
‘Dear Jesus, save me, I am alone and I am weak.’
Do the great lords, Brahma and Vishnu, say,
‘Sorry, whom did you say you seek,
No, nobody of that name here,
Perhaps you should try again later,
Maybe next week.’
When a child cries out on the long and weary track,
‘Brahma, Vishnu, Lords!
I am lost and in the wilderness
And can’t find my way back,
Give me direction Lords, to show me the road,
Lighten my burdens Great Lords,
Lighten my load.’
Does the great Lord Jesus,
The Blessed Saviour of humankind, say
‘Well, I would really, really like to help you child
But the problem is, you see,
You are un-baptised
And by the way that you speak, it is obvious to me,
That you are not one of mine.
So after careful consideration, I feel I must in these circumstances,
You understand, most respectfully decline.’
Isn’t the great and powerful God of the Universe
Above all of this!
The Divine hears the widow and the orphans in their plight,
Whether they are
MUSLIM, JEW, HINDU, CHRISTIAN
YELLOW, RED, BLACK OR WHITE
No matter the address given
And even if the name
Just wasn’t quite right.
Louis Littlefair
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Oneness of The World' by
)
Oneness of The World' by Tricia LaRose Vicedomine
What world bleeds hearts of desperate needs
So bound in Hate that supersedes
Course of violence mirror imaged
Of Man, and Mother, and child
I plead the sacred words
and manifest that love be heard
For peace is such a simple word
With complicated juror
No artificial rule of law
Can perpetrate or sing God's call
For error lies in men of all
To consummate their needs
So hear my simple plea, all kind
That peace, knows not, of a drawn line
Of worlds which kill and worlds which find
The need to disgrace God
So heads be gone, by heads of state
That could not, should not, bare such fate
For Islam knows of Human waste
The sin of such regard
Honor what you have to toil
From faith comes peace on foreign soil
and rid our hearts of desperate hate
For Love shows all one needs.
* * *
A little handwritten sign seen at Arlington National Cemetary after another military funeral:
"W M D ~ Where's My Daddy"
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Michael, that was very
)
Michael, that was very moving, both poem and the following quote from the funeral. I don't know the poet so I wandered around with google and read some of her other work. Thank you for the introduction. I opened my book of Emily Dickinson and this was the one that jumped out.
CHILDISH GRIEFS - Softened by Time's consummate plush
Softened by Time's consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood's citadel
And undermined the years!
Bisected now by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood's realm,
So easy to repair.
Emily Dickinson
Hev, thank you! What a
)
Hev, thank you! What a perfect poem. "There are no coincidences." So wrote James Redfield and the poem grabbed you as it was meant to do, and then touched me and, I trust, many others.
A poem by Max
Until the last is fed and clothed and safe in friendly arms,
until the fitful sleeps of fear aren't shattered by alarms,
until inoculation has their killers by the scruff,
until we've met their basic needs, we haven't done enough.
Until the universal laws aren't honoured in the breach,
until religions' followers all practice what they preach,
until we cherish children whether brindle, black or buff,
until we've made them family, we haven't done enough.
Until our leaders demonstrate it's economic sense
to budget aid for others as our paramount defence,
until we view equality as more than words of puff,
until we treat the symptoms too, we haven't done enough.
Until a life of freedom and the tools with which to learn,
are seen as rights of everyone - not privileges to earn,
until we've bled a little and, by choice, we've had it tough,
until we've changed the way it is, we haven't done enough.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Lenore by Edgar Allen Poe
)
Lenore by Edgar Allen Poe
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem how be sung
By you- by yours, the evil eye,- by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong.
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy
bride.
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes.
"Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven-
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of
Heaven!
Let no bell toll, then,- lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!
And I!- to-night my heart is light!- no dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!"
*from the book The Innocent
)
*from the book The Innocent Assassins, 1973
by Loren Eiseley
Sunset at Laramie
Somewhere beyond Laramie the winding freights
still howl their lonesome message to the dark,
the mountain men lie quiet, wolves are gone,
stars circle overhead, huge missiles lie
scattered in firing pens. Computers watch
with radar eyes pinpointed latitudes.
Gigantic cupped ears listen everywhere—
a bear asleep beneath a winter drift,
his pulse is coded, too; night-flying geese
blip by on horizon screens, slowly we draw a net
converging to ourselves. How strange to hear
trains hoot in blizzards, cattle brawl in cars,
think of the Chisholm trail a century gone, and know
beyond the polar circle other ears now listen.
This daft and troubled century spies and spies,
counts bears' heartbeats, whales' frantic twists and turns.
The background noise of continents drifts in,
captured by satellites. Still far up in the crags
sure-footed mountain sheep climb higher, lift horned heads,
see the night fall below them, hear the train, and stamp
as rams stamp, vaguely troubled, while the glow
on the last peak fades out. Far off a coyote cries,
not in wild darkness, but a haunted night
filled with the turning of vast ears and eyes.
THE FLEA. by John
)
THE FLEA.
by John Donne
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
Physics is for gurls!
THE SHIP TO GOODBYE The
)
THE SHIP TO GOODBYE
The ship awaits you
The sea is ready
To bear you away
To the sunset of dreams
Tearful goodbyes
To the ones that love you
Knowing too well
That you cannot stay
We touched so briefly
Yet we remember
As if imprinted
On our very souls
You were the one
The whole world stopped for
Your were the one so humbly rare
You were the love of a lifetime journey
You were the one who made us care
Rest you now the incense burning
Rest you now within the tomb
Holding hands forever feeling
The love you gave
To the willing world
But on we go
The world still turning
And eyes so burning
From our river of tears
Thank you for the light you shined here
Thank you for your courage bold
Bless you for the years of trying
When the gift was so hard to hold
Rest you now in soft green linin
Sleep you now in God's enfold
Take your memories of earth's great lessons
To the stars - for the young and old.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Chemin De Fer by Elizabeth
)
Chemin De Fer by Elizabeth Bishop
Alone on the railroad track
I walked with pounding heart.
The ties were too close together
or maybe too far apart.
The scenery was impoverished:
scrub-pine and oak; beyond
its mingled gray-green foliage
I saw the little pond
where the dirty old hermit lives,
lie like an old tear
holding onto its injuries
lucidly year after year.
The hermit shot off his shot-gun
and the tree by his cabin shook.
Over the pond went a ripple
The pet hen went chook-chook.
"Love should be put into action!"
screamed the old hermit.
Across the pond an echo
tried and tried to confirm it.