Page 2 of 3

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 03 Sep 2019, 09:52
by Roy
mom3 wrote:
20 Jun 2017, 11:19
In honor of Nelson Mandela and You. - I leave you with William Ernest Henley's inspiring poem Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 03 Sep 2019, 13:13
by mom3
I needed this ^^^ today Roy. I find it amusing that I originally posted it. But I am having a day where I need to pull through and reading it helps.

Thank you.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 04 Sep 2019, 09:41
by Roy
I saw this one over at BCC:
The God Who Ranges

Some find comfort in a God who commands.
Others find solace in a God who weeps.
But I am called by the God who ranges:
A Father and a Mother range among the worlds;
they scry the heavens and the earth for signs
of other wills, sparks of self-awareness like themselves.
They sweep the skies for them;
they hunt them from hidden places in deep hollows,
and, finding them, they laugh with delight as they lay them on their shoulders.
They gather them and give them their names,
clothe them and choose them their children,
plant them and provide for them;
and then watch in wonder and delight
to see what strange new things they will grow into,
in the strange new places where they will peregrinate,
when they, the begotten children of rangers,
begin themselves to range.
And when they do, the Mother and the Father go out again to range,
and call their kindred to them,
on the strange new shores where they range.
They hunt them on the hills and in the hollows;
they hunt them even in the outer void
where some try to hide from their Parents, from themselves, and even from being itself.
They call them with their own authority:
not the domination of other wills, but
the authority of a love, born of wonder and delight, that is stronger than force,
a faithfulness that outlasts death, and
a mercy that overwhelms darkness and bewilders unholiness.
By this everlasting authority they release them from their fear of being found
and set them free to range
in the express image and likeness of their Parents.
By Jared Cook

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 06 Sep 2019, 13:21
by Roy
John of the Cross – The Dark Night of the Soul – The Poem:
One dark night,
fired with love’s urgent longings
– ah, the sheer grace! –
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.
In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
– ah, the sheer grace! –
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.
On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.
This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
– him I knew so well –
there in a place where no one appeared.
O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.
Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.
When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.
I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.

John of the Cross
This one is less self explanatory. It was written by the 16th Century Spanish Poet, Roman Catholic mystic and Carmelite priest, Saint John of the Cross.

"The night in which the journey takes place represents the hardships and problems the soul meets in detaching from the world to achieve union with the Creator, represented by the light.
Successive stanzas relate the steps in this night journey. Central is the painful experience people endure in order to grow in spiritual maturity and union with God.
There are two phases of the dark night: first is a purification of the senses, and second the more intense purification of the spirit."

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 10 Sep 2019, 14:03
by Roy
dande48 wrote:
29 Mar 2018, 12:27
The last time I really, strongly felt the Spirit was a few weeks ago when reading a favorite poem of mine, "The Garden of Proserpine", by Algernon Charles Swinburne.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
I don't know if there is a life after this one, but I don't think there is. Yet, even if there is no life after this one, if I were to die this very moment, I would die happy. I once heard that misery lies in the gap between what we hope to happen, and what we fear might happen; that once we come to terms with the worst that could happen, no matter what everything is going to be okay. All that we have is a gift, and when those gifts are taken away, there is no reason to complain; only gratitude for what we were given.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 10 Sep 2019, 14:26
by Roy
FaithfulSkeptic wrote:
20 Jul 2016, 16:20
I love Carol Lynn Pearson's poem, "Pioneers."
My people were Mormon pioneers.

Is the blood still good?

They stood in awe as truth

Flew by like a dove

And dropped a feather in the West.

Where truth flies you follow

If you are a pioneer.

I have searched the skies

And now and then

Another feather has fallen.

I have packed the handcart again

Packed it with the precious things

And thrown away the rest.

I will sing by the fires at night

Out there on uncharted ground

Where I am my own captain of tens

Where I blow the bugle

Bring myself to morning prayer

Map out the miles

And never know when or where

Or if at all I will finally say,

“This is the place,”

I face the plains

On a good day for walking.

The sun rises

And the mist clears.

I will be all right:

My people were Mormon Pioneers.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 05 Oct 2019, 21:10
by Daughter1
Wow! I got busy at work last month and Roy filled up the thread with so much great stuff. Thanks!

Here's one I love. I think I only have part of the poem. I briefly got to look through a book of poems by Minnie Louise Haskins who is most known for her poem "God Knows" that was quoted by the King of England during WWII. That poem was in a book called "The Desert" and this is the titular poem from the collection and my favorite.
Fate led me to a desert bleak and bare,
My back on light and hope, and turned my face
Towards trackless wastes – and bade me journey there
As one apart from all my kind and race.
And so I journeyed – weary and alone
With dull quiescence meeting Fate’s decree,
With hands hung limp and heart’s flesh turned to stone,
And eyes that sought in vain Love’s track to see.
The night came down upon the sandy waste,
The beasts that prowl in darkness passed me by,
God saw and sent the stars to shine in haste,
God saw and stooped Himself to catch my cry:
“I need a lonely place from men’s haunts free,
To weep,” He said, “Come, walk the plains with Me.”

Relentless night – which wraps the plains in gloom,
Relentless day – with noontide’s scorching glare,
Relentless everything which makes our doom
And gives us pain of dark or light to bear:
And so – relentless God, we cry at last,
As pitiless the scourge of life we feel,
“Keep off, Thou Infinite,” we faintly gasp,
“And give us time our lives to mend and heal.”
The dull night darkly keeps its funeral pall,
The hot day swiftly trims her burning lamp,
And Doom’s black finger grimly touches all
As time moves onward in her steady tramp;
And God – relentless – weeps upon the plain
And leaves the sand red-spotted with a stain.

The tears of God and man together flow
For what has been and what has still to be;
Man weeps because he cannot truly know,
And God because He must both know and see.
The woes of ignorance and knowledge meet;
The pangs of doubt and throes of certainty
Co-mingle in the desert air and greet
The footsteps of unfaltering destiny.
The long waste stretches widely on before,
The long waste stretches widely from behind –
God’s heart drops blood – and human feet are sore,
Hope lost – and death alone as seeming kind:
But for God’s heart no kindly death can wait,
And man with God walks on to meet his fate.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 06 Oct 2019, 06:21
by Gerald
My contribution:
Abou Ben Adhem
By Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 06 Oct 2019, 10:12
by Daughter1
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This is the poem I ended up using in the talk that inspired this thread. The talk was about faith and hope.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
Gerald, thanks for adding that. I haven't read it in years but absolutely love it. Gave me chills to read it today. :)

Re: Poetry Corner

Posted: 08 Oct 2019, 21:37
by mom3
It's been a very long two weeks and I needed these.

Thank you everyone. I mean it.