"hymned" poems
XXVI. TO DIONYSUS (13 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I begin to sing of ivy-crowned Dionysus, the loud-
crying god, splendid son of Zeus and glorious Semele. The rich-
haired Nymphs received him in their bosoms from the lord his
father and fostered and nurtured him carefully in the dells of
Nysa, where by the will of his father he grew up in a sweet-
smelling cave, being reckoned among the immortals. But when the
goddesses had brought him up, a god oft hymned, then began he to
wander continually through the woody coombes, thickly wreathed
with ivy and laurel. And the Nymphs followed in his train with
him for their leader; and the boundless forest was filled with
their outcry.
(ll. 10-13) And so hail to you, Dionysus, god of abundant
clusters! Grant that we may come again rejoicing to this season,
and from that season onwards for many a year.
7.8k
MOTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
May I sing to thee
As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae?
Or may I woo thee
In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles
Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
By bards who died content on pleasant sward,
Leaving great verse unto a little clan?
O give me their old vigour! and unheard
Save of the quiet primrose, and the span
Of heaven, and few ears,
Rounded by thee, my song should die away
Content as theirs,
Rich in the simple worship of a day.
1.8k
The little girl hummed the tune over and over
to give hope to the gray room
the sun peaking finally through the blinds
she kept the tune in her mind
her eyes were heaving from moisture and no sleep
the prayer stone imprinted in her hand
giving up control the things she didn't understand
what the little girl didnt comprehend
why this kept happening again and again
when her mom turned into someone else
she felt panic that she may never come back
but just like before she hymned some more
and waited for the dark room turn gray
waited for her mom to moan her name
from the other side of the door
and so just like before
she lay beside her and she hymned some more
“Jesus loves me yes I know, for the bible tells me so”
until they both were in a drunken slumber
no more praying. no more humming...
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 2:58 AM UTC
Chloe
by Michael R. Burch
There were skies onyx at night ... moons by day ...
lakes pale as her eyes ... breathless winds
********** tall elms ... she would say
that we'd loved, but some book said we’d sinned.
Soon impatiens too fiery to stay
sagged; the crocus bells drooped, golden-limned;
things of brightness, rinsed out, ran to gray ...
all the light of that world softly dimmed.
Where our feet were inclined, we would stray;
there were paths where dead weeds stood untrimmed,
distant mountains that loomed in our way,
thunder booming down valleys dark-hymned.
What I found, I found lost in her face
while yielding all my virtue to her grace.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly as “A Dying Fall.” Keywords/Tags: Night, onyx, skies, love, *** sin, thunder, lightning, virtue, grace, moons, lakes, winds, mountains, Chloe
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 12:22 AM UTC
“…things long by catholic consent accounted beautiful”
-Quiller-Couch
An act forbidden now, we go to weep
On Skyros at the grave of that rare youth
Where buried with him are the unities
Of all: the good, the beautiful, the true
For men have flung away their thoughts, their songs
Their verse, their noble instruments of work
And scream abuse at all those forms of art
With which their sires hymned chaos into peace
A cause forbidden now, we work to keep
For all: the good, the beautiful, and the true
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.
mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the
other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages, hymned words.
in two parts, splinter time.
google her remains.
the curator moves
on.
mrs ciano.
sbm.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.
mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the
other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages, hymned words.
in two parts, splinter time.
google her remains.
the curator moves
on.
mrs ciano.
sbm.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
only imagine the place
closed. it is colder this morning.
mrs ciano to be removed, one
part back to the museum, the
other packed and ready to go,
back, whence. she came from
an imagination, all bloodied
bandages, hymned words.
in two parts, splinter time.
google her remains.
the curator moves
on.
mrs ciano.
sbm.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
Four Psalms to be Sung
“Vespers each day has four psalms to be sung”
-Saint Benedict
Soft Vespers is the evening’s liturgical hour
In the natural rhythm of each life
A song of the ordered world now hymned into
The verses of that Song He sings through us
This hour is given to us when sunbeams slant
Across the floor and up onto the Cross
And there we leave the labors of our day
Our works of hand and heart and mind and soul
Eternal truths chanted by every tongue:
“Vespers each day has four psalms to be sung” 1
1 Saint Benedict’s Rule, Ampleforth Abbey
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC