"angelus" poems
*
What an "ANGELUS" time it is
These times of LOVE
The "SALATS" of the moment
embraces everything around us
Is it the "FAJR" of birds kissing?
Is it the "ASR" of cats stretching?
Is it the "MAGHRIB" of peacocks screams?
Those are the sound of LOVE I suppose
I can see on the cheeks
The wetness of the kiss
That has not dried yet
Who is the LOVE
(BELOVEDz / LOVERz) who causes
The tears swell in the eyes
Of the one who LOVES?
Why is the eagerness to touch
The bare shoulders so enticing?
Why the heart longs to
drown into LOVE
(BELOVEDz / LOVERz) core?
Placing one's face on the lap
The flower smells jasmine rains
Close eyes and experience my LOVE
When I seal your pores with my lips?
Can I sing you lullabies
When you sleep besides me peacefully?
Can I snap a new art sculpture
Out of your hair every morning?
Forget your thoughts
While feeling my LOVE
By being in LOVE with me
Why the words become worthless
When we share
A common breathing between our lips?
Who is listening to the music
Of our heart-beats?
Why do roses rain over us
When we share our chromosomes?
Who are they?
There, below the waterfalls
Behind the mountain caves
The two magical unicorns in LOVE?
Who will pray "TEFILLAH"
When we are in
Ultimate union of LOVE?
Who will "TENEBRAE" our lives
To illuminate our souls?
So that we "THEOPHANY" the
LOVE deity of ONENESS
Now tell me...
Will the clouds answer our LOVE-call?
Will the first ray of sun ever find us?
Will the moon ever illuminate dark lives?
Will the stars sparkle over our springs?
Will the dew drop give birth to seedlings?
To save the cosmos & planet EARTH
Let us embrace into
Single semantic of LOVE
*
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 12:04 AM UTC
for a writer to be lovesick
is my only required ethic
in creating a work of heart
so when i skimmed your
saint kissed mouth
and moonlight eyes
indeed my first thoughts were— ah! art!
there it was
cupid’s finely-poised dart!
draw, aim, fire!
o, so sweet, a sinful desire
lovesick! lovesick! lovesick!
i wish to write you a work of art, angelus dulce!
you smiled
you whispered with ferocity
“love is an illusion, chèri.
but illusion is the first of all pleasures”
and at that moment
i dipped my body in your delusional paradise
and praised the saints for giving me the ****** wine to drink
illusion is the first of all pleasures.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
"O WORDS ARE POOR RECEIPTS FOR
WHAT TIME HATH STOLE AWAY"
The summer sky
tried me on to see
if it fit
or I fitted it.
It was not used to being
a 7 year old boy.
I quite liked the exchange
to have clouds for eyes
birds flying
though all my thoughts
wearing a rainbow
in my hair.
To have a heart
that shone like the sun.
The summer of '63
ran about my bedroom
looked out windows
ran down stairs
three at a time
kicked a ball against a wall
swopped comics
marbles and conkers
recited "I remember, I remember"
to itself
until it could
remember it.
Absolutely loved me Da
being its Da
the kisses of my Ma
the laughter of a brother.
Oh what a thing it was
being human.
I, in due course
was an about-to-be
thunderstorm
clumping about the evening
like hobnail boots
on marble tiles.
Thunder and lightning
the whole works.
I could have gone on
for a forever
chasing horizons
making up the days to come.
But the summer sky
had taken all it could
take of being
a little boy.
So many thoughts
running about a head
that was only just
about 7
so that it fell asleep
and when it awoke
it was no longer me
but itself
the summer of '63.
I too had released
the sky back to the how
it should
and has to be.
My thoughts scattered like birds
by a chance church bell
telling time
its Angelus
or a knell
to end it all.
I still remember all of it
as if
it had really really
happened.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
Somethings can touch you deep inside
Can make you want to cry,
Emotions that you can't describe
No matter how hard you try,
The touch of a tiny baby's hand
The fragrance of a flower,
The simplicity of a grain of sand
Or the significance of an hour,
To see the twinkling stars at night
Or taste the fresh homemade pie,
Who needs to question how or when
Who needs to know where or why?
To hear the angelus ring at six
To know that evening is nigh,
We know there's got to be
Somebody bigger than you and I.
2.7k
On love and astral travelling,
Through the stars we're wandering,
On the universe we're pondering,
My eternal love, Napoleon,
Intangible man, but full of fun,
Our jewelled cloak of stars,
We've journeyed from afar,
Shape shifting, glittering,
On love and astral travelling,
I'm no Carlos Santana,
I have no scarlet bandana,
I am the oestrogen,
Old Josephine,
Where haven't we been?
I have no testosterone,
You're my "Yes, master!" Napoleon---
On love and astral travelling,
Sentimentally wandering,
Are you Angelus or Incubus?
Reminiscing, reflecting,
Comical groupies for loving,
On love and astral travelling......
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
There should be wings of a hundred birds
to churn this scorch with breeze
to dry sweat
shade glare
to soothe the ache
of a post-noon day
There should be varied
and a thousand greens
with all betweens
of innumerable trees
till the blue of sky
blends their deference
And the river heaves its way along
ever on
eternal mission of earth
and...
...Heaven-- sure misses so much some days
Cool remote
Transcended as it be
Replete with rains
and relief of clouds
The Angelus in the distance....
with its affluent affinity for air
Revelers leave their party debris
for those making sure
not a sign is left....
We sort and fold, collapse and pack
Somehow between chairs, tables
cans and bottles, assorted trash
They come--
crouch on the levee
wander and stare
aimless amid tall dry weeds
Inhabit a bench, a moment--
Wild
filtering through our fabrication
Wind to dissipate our purpose
Trees invading abandoned fields
“The poor you have with you always”
“I'm not drunk,”
she drunkenly proclaims
to no one
except maybe….
Leaning over her opened beer
seated on bench adorably painted
with joyful hands
Who fondly held or hoped for her?
Before....
days of dirt troweled a shadow
in the sweat between her *******
Filthy tank that barely covers
derelict denial
How they find themselves established
as we make to leave
WE, of our homes and cars and jobs
and plans of escape
They--
of always
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
my heart is on fire
one half cup espresso, a vape
and a song that drapes my heart in a purple fire,
with the same purple glow inside the go go bar
where that dancer handed Bukowski a dried lily
But only for a moment.
lesson #104 and the
music rides a sine wave into
my left ear.
I sat upon a lotus pad and kept
a straight back
the Angelus Novus couldn’t (insert link)
close its wings against
the winds of Paradise so
elated were the Gods by the
progress of man.
so high the rubble of the wreckage the
view from its summit rivaled the
vantage gained from
standing atop the Six Grandfathers within the
Four-headed Dog from across the pond.
national broadcast in the jungle and
all the box would do is
talk
and all the cockroaches would do is
persist
and all the machetes would do is
hack
and all the bodies burned
and Felicien Kabuga was kindly granted asylum by the West
and remained at large for over 25 years.
THANKS A LOT SWITZERLAND.
(insert link)
Aug 12, 2020
Aug 12, 2020 at 6:22 PM UTC
Regret is not
The fleeting deferral of
some brief romance
Regret is
the inability to react
to the irreversible moment
of something created
slipping away
(My boy Jamie being led
into that bitter cold by
a hand that should have
been none
but my own)
Photographs
faded pulpit dark and
winter noon grey
are but the same as
extinguishing candles
to mark , instead , what
could have been done
for the world
(I thought they were better off
being together
with their own kind
so I used to hurry past
them waiting for the trains
their children tidy and
smiling, nevertheless)
And the Angelus bell
will continue to ring
long after we all rot.
And the ghosts we share
will take all but their
names with them, to
be dug up for some
purpose of record
to fissure a cause for disquiet
along the nuns' walk wall.
(Before that, she had been
such a carful girl
and these days I
wince at the sound
of giggles which
remind me of hers.)
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Carpe diem/A poem written in very odd Latin!!
Carpe Diem,
Angelus obscurus suni,
Quaque nocte, diglossios,
Pavor Nocturnus,metus,
Sominum,
Scribo carmen poeta,
Vita amnia fides,
Omni vincit omnia!
Well that was fine fun **
Full permission granted to those who wish to laugh!!
For,I believe I have written,
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seize the day, (I know that's right),
I am the dark angel, gloomy,
Every night I don't sleep, because I have breathing difficulties!, fear,
leads to night terrors, daydreams,
writing poems,
Life and trust,
Love conquers all!
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Kind regards, Livvi,
Apologies for the somewhat odd content!!
Couldn't work out suitable phrases!!
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC
Her eyelashes
turn into little shy rainbows
when the sunlight
kisses the windowpanes of her soul,
& the pots of gold
are the simple dimples
that nestle in the quiet hues of her cheek,
Like a cool evening breeze...
She is.
The wispy butterflies
that playfully flutter within my hollow chest acknowledge her presence,
their wingtips scraping my paper rib cage
& knocking loose the flickering light bulb
that calls itself my beating heart,
So set apart...
Is she,
that diamonds line the inside of her thighs
& i just happened to find
traces of gold
in the scars that saunter down her spine.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
The old monk
with Parkinson’s disease,
bug eyed
through thick lenses
spectacles,
his fingers
shaking the host,
is unable to find
the tongue
in sick monk’s
static mouth.
I weeded
the cloister Garth
flower bed,
back aching,
God
at my young
bent shoulder.
The youngest monk,
squat and black robed,
holds the ewer,
while the abbot
holds between
knobbly fingers,
the aspergillum,
to bless the monks
in the choir stalls,
after Compline,
before
the Angelus calls.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
Satietatem potare dulci nectare tua desiderium ego
Ad nos transeat, usque mane
Nostra corpora convol
Corpora nostra lusibus
Sol ortus, Sitis commoratur
Amorem vivere devora tua suavita
Vitae caelestis
Nostra ad et aut angelus diaboli
Quod viget, vitae singulis nobis,
Retorta peccatorum gaudium de salute nos
Corpora *** carnis luxuriam
Tenebrae concupiscentiis saginatus
Dolorem voluptatem servus
Impium impium fames
Sanctus diversitas peccatorum
Ita et nos, in manus nostras et amore peccatorum nos
Nos ad unum corpus est cor
Translation Latin to English
I drink my fill of sweet nectar of your desire
To pass to us until morning
Our bodies roll
Our bodies dance
The sun rises, thirst lingers
Love, live, eat your sweetness
heavenly life
Our call to the devil or an angel
That is active, the life of each of us,
Twisted sins, the joy of our salvation
Bodies with carnal lust
Dark desires fed
Pain and pleasure slave
wicked, wicked hunger
Holy diversity of sins
Even so we, in our hands, and the love of our sins
We are one body and heart
~Wes Noneya
My Latin isn't the best but I gave it a go. I like both versions.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
Wrapped in your wool
with that will in your eye
She's firm but she's gentle
she loves you it hurts
breakfast eight sharp
then lunch at half-twelve
you come down for your tea
and the Angelus bells
We ran in bare feet over stones
and the thorns
that was cross-country running in
County Clare
I look at them now
sandaled and layered
your walking-frame
smiling in the glare
I can't understand your
need for the news
news is at eight, nine, ten
and eleven
lunchtime news
and more at seven
News at nine before you sleep
a paper a day and the radio beep
I know,
we grow
and you can't remember
if it's me or I'm her
or we're seventeen
You know that's it's raining and
there's war over there
so you hold on to that
but how much do you care?
It's not your fault.
your papery hands clasped
in your little lap
It's too fast
and it spins and it spins
and we are spinning away
I'm trying to hold on
to hold you
I help you up
I sit you down
I can't help with this
I'm sorry gran.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
The squat,
Yorkshire monk,
pulls on the rope
and tolls
the Angelus bell;
his smooth hands
allow
the rough rope
to rub against
his skin,
rough on smooth.
I flushed the latrines
of the abbey,
having cleaned
with a stiff brush;
I recall her
mouthing my fellow;
her dark eyes
closing
as a dying moon.
The old French monk
scythes the tall grass,
his cutting swoop wide,
a studied look,
a prayer moaned
inside.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
within my mind; an angel's light,
to guide me through the endless night,
within my heart; an angel's soul,
dispelling evil's dark control,
Within my arms; an angel's form,
protection from the demon swarm,
Within my bed; an angel's love,
to lift me to the skies above.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
The tall
young monk
by the bell rope,
in the cloister,
by the refectory door,
off to Rome
the following day.
I tolled the bell
for Angelus,
rope between hands,
words between lips.
The peasant monk,
fading tonsure,
swept the cloister,
black habit dusty,
humble,
soft prayer,
inaudible mumble.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Sogno d'un dì d'estate.
Quanto scampanellare
tremulo di cicale!
Stridule pel filare
moveva il maestrale
le foglie accartocciate.
Scendea tra gli olmi il sole
in fascie polverose;
erano in ciel due sole
nuvole, tenui, róse:
due bianche spennellate
in tutto il ciel turchino.
Siepi di melograno,
fratte di tamerice,
il palpito lontano
d'una trebbiatrice,
l'angelus argentino...
dov'ero? Le campane
mi dissero dov'ero,
piangendo, mentre un cane
latrava al forestiero,
che andava a capo chino.
871
I, Angelus, bring you Good News this day,
Joyous the world, one blessed day,
Infant King born on Christmas Day,
Now we only see the Nativity in a play,
While commercialising Christmas Day,
Good excuse for a holiday,
Celebrated in diverse ways,
Too much cant in Christmas Day?
Baby Jesus still blesses us,
As the world turns, spake I, Angelus,
Let' s worship our Infant King with giving,
Life is, indeed, for the living,
The future is for the young,
Their world has now begun,
Jesus spreads His healing love,
Let's bless our lives like peaceful doves,
I, Angelus, bring you Good News this day,
Every day National Peace and Happiness day,
We ain't dead yet, I, Angelus, does say,
From bad shall come good one day,
God blesses us on this Holy day,
This, the true meaning of Christ on Christmas Day,
I, Angelus, bring you Hope and Good News this day.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
Sometimes I mine for echoes
Ghosts of sounds within me still
Cicadas and the clash of boules
Soft voices from the hill
Two young boys tongue-tied in the sun
Barefoot on summer's shore
Soft feet licked clean by freedom's whim
With oceans to explore
My mother nurtured flowers
Drowning shadows out with paint
The brightness of geraniums
The patience of a saint
My father cut the grass too much
And ran to clear his mind
Until the echoes of the Angelus
Beseeched him to unwind
My brother lined his time with books
He tore through Willard Price
And towed me just behind him
Through the fronds of paradise
Marauding hornets launched their raids
From castles in the attic
While Stanley mined for longwave gold
From seams deep in the static
And all the while
My granny kept her patience in the shade
Her deck of cards adorned with birds
Their feathers slightly frayed
The swallows scythed through open skies
Back home where they belonged
And like Narcissus, swooped from height
To kiss the surface of the pond
The wasps built paper palaces
The geckos froze on sight
And midwife toads woke from their doze
To tune up for the night
As daytime took its leave
We sought out satellites and stars
Then lay in quiet contemplation
Watching Venus waltz with Mars
I remember cowboys’ breakfasts
With my father by the lake
Freewheeling with the moon roof open
For freewheeling's sake
We wore our bike tyres paper thin
Climbed castle walls unseen
Dived into lakes to race for ducks
And ruled the world at just thirteen
We fashioned bows and arrows
From the saplings in the wood
Sprung ambushes from chestnut shade
And fell dead where we stood
We roamed the dust-filled houses
On the back streets off the square
An ageless band of soldiers
Feigning death without a care
We raced around the wood yard
Sometimes scuffled in the dust
We traded glances with the neighbours' girls
And felt the nascent tug of lust
We sought out mischief in the hills
Stole naughtily from shelves
Smoked roll-ups in a Dutch girl's car
Unclipped our wings and helped ourselves
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC
I never feared death
I welcomed her with open arms
To take my last breath
Thrown into the ways of harm
And death was my console
Slowly sinking into the abyss
An invitation to my soul
The life I lived remiss
Jul 16, 2021
Jul 16, 2021 at 8:16 PM UTC
You are the sun,
Calling lowly to the galaxy,
Tragic and celestial,
40 billion light years from the closest star,
And the moon rings like a bell;
Earthquake vibrations across the vacuum of space,
Echoes roll over your skin, just whispers of what once was,
Like a house that has already been burned down,
Alarm still shrieking into the shell
That this is danger,
This is living,
But the moon is too far to hear a warning over
the bell tolls,
An angelus to Sirius and Orion and
Pyxis,
And the sun is farther still, drowning in a sea of silent stars,
Baying softly of loneliness and terror to the empty night,
I am the moon,
You, the sun.
In the end, we are all just houses,
Waiting to be burned down.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
The bridge is breaking
which side to should I run
my question is
why is the bridge breaking
As the treaty is over
and now I can act and say my way
why now my brothers and sisters
why now is the bridge breaking
No matter what you try to do to me
I have a come back with no discrepancies
oh pity you and the guards that did nothing
it's our time now, for the bridge is breaking
They now know her part of art
planned to not break this apart
for glory to life we are now fighting
as we see the bridge is breaking
Prima mors
vestri optimus inferrent
propter hoc Angelus
significat ad vos distroy
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
"I spoke to an Angel.
As a matter of fact i shook his hand.
He said a couple i knew asked him to pray over my wife Jo Anne.
Six months was all she had left. No cure was in sight.
So we prayed, and asked Our Father to help us with this fight.
I walked Pastor De Angelus to the door to give thanks, and said goodnight.
He then shook my hand, and said. "Don'y worry, she's going to be alright.
The visit had ended, i'm home, and on the phone.
Talking to the couple giving thanks, and feeling so alone.
For they have no recollection of Pastor De Angelus, and my wife even being their.
Chills went through my spine, as the Pastors name went through my mind.
De Angelus, De Angelus, i questioned myself twice.
The Angel, The Angel, was the answer that came to me that night.
Months went by, and my wife became well.
Doctors could not understand, and Pastor De Angelus was never found.
Never able to tell."
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
Let's talk about the picturesque beauty of autumn
Of the chiming bells of the Angelus
Of the flowers once pretty and strong, on the lawn
Oh! Autumn, you are a very superb season!
Let's talk about the petals and sepals fallen from the sky
Where the trees are stunned and almost undressed
And the astonished birds which have fallen from the clouds
Oh! Autumn, I love your wondrous and natural smile.
The season of autumn has a sensational scene
A warm and comfortable freshness and a solemn tone
It is the gold of the evening that falls all day long.
It’s the multi-colored leaves and flowers on the vents
Oh! Autumn, you give us much to imagine
And show us how to mimic mystic and golden moments.
Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 1:26 PM UTC