"jesu" poems
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
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'But that was nothing to what things came out
From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.'
'What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?'
'Nothing at all of any things like that.'
'What were they, then?'
'All sorts of queer things,
Things never seen or heard or written about,
Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar
Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch,
Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation,
All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes,
All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour,
Though all came moving slowly out together.'
'Describe just one of them.'
'I am unable.'
'What were their colours?'
'Mostly nameless colours,
Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce
Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish.
Some had no colour.'
'Tell me, had they legs?'
'Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.'
'But did these things come out in any order?'
What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week?
Who else was present? How was the weather?'
'I was coming to that. It was half-past three
On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining.
The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu
On thrity-seven shimmering instruments
Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund.
The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth,
Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth,
Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them
First in good Welsh and then in fluent English,
Twisting his fingers in his chain of office,
Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand,
Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward
Silently at a snail's pace. But at last
The most odd, indescribable thing of all
Which hardly one man there could see for wonder
Did something recognizably a something.'
'Well, what?'
'It made a noise.'
'A frightening noise?'
'No, no.'
'A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?'
'No, but a very loud, respectable noise ---
Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning
In Chapel, close before the second psalm.'
'What did the mayor do?'
'I was coming to that.'
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I
Awake, glad heart! Get up and sing,
It is the birthday of thy King,
Awake! Awake!
The sun doth shake
Light from his locks, and all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.
Awake, awake! Hark, how the wood rings,
Winds whisper, and the busy springs
A consort make;
Awake, awake!
Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.
I would I were some bird or star,
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far
Above this inn
And road of sin!
Then either star, or bird, should be
Shining, or singing still to Thee.
I would I had in my best part
Fit rooms for Thee! Or that my heart
Were so clean as
Thy manger was!
But I am all filth, and obscene,
Yet if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.
Sweet Jesu! will then; Let no more
This ***** haunt, and soil Thy door,
Curse him, ease him
O release him!
And let once more by mystic birth
The Lord of life be born in earth.
II
How kind is heaven to man! If here
One sinner doth amend
Straight there is joy, and every sphere
In music doth contend;
And shall we then no voices lift?
Are mercy, and salvation
Not worth our thanks? Is life a gift
Of no more acceptation?
Shall He that did come down from thence,
And here for us was slain,
Shall He be now cast off? No sense
Of all His woes remain?
Can neither Love, nor sufferings bind?
Are we all stone, and earth?
Neither His ****** passions mind,
Nor one day bless His birth?
Alas, my God! Thy birth now here
Must not be numbered in the year.
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I. awoke to crest fallen clouds so heavy with water ,
and wind as wild as what was left in my heart .
Intrepid it was not .
Fearful of God it had become ,
Starved of joy ,
Peace ,
For if a man is left to starve he must go hungry and thirst for food ,
For it is all he can think of .
If a man cannot find water he must thirst .
If a soul finds God and does not find rest in his word ,
and looks for it not ,
Then his fields and trees may wither ,
What was once beautiful become ugly and dry .
I stood on a mountain ,
I stand on a hill ,
With other boys beside me
the Kite master stood still .
With a Kite he stood ,
With grey sky's above ,
and released that Kite to soar above .
Thick dense clouds it soared past thicket , trees and woods .
I watched as the bird flew out of view .
The masters call
, is the faith to know ,
I stood there waiting ...
Once where serindipidy stood ,
Somewhere between luck and chance dance ,
and fortune lights up a toast to all above ,
the Kite turned back ,
Spread its wings for home .
with Faith ,
Hope and love it spread its wings .
It's master called once again
For the flies you swotted when you were young
now reside in peerless sky's ,
in The Concert halls of God
Playing Jesu joy of mans desiring .
on miniature grand pianos ,
In honor of their creator .
So pray ,
and seek ,
For I saw that Kite many hours in flight ,
as the evenings Sun sank ,
and darkened clouds asailed. It not ,
The kite in evening shadow returned ,
And even if all my friends had gone ,
The Kite masters call ,
how long the wait
It's never to late ,
And Christ is Lord of all ,
to the Glory of God the Father .
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 4:40 AM UTC
In numbers, and but these few,
I sing Thy birth, Oh, Jesu!
Thou pretty Baby, born here,
With sup’rabundant scorn here:
Who for Thy princely port here,
Hadst for Thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for Thy court here.
Instead of neat inclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies,
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly Stranger,
As Gospel tells,
Was nothing else,
But, here, a homely manger.
But we with silks (not cruels),
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily-work will dress Thee
Of clouts; we’ll make a chamber,
Sweet Babe, for Thee,
Of ivory,
And plastered round with amber.
The Jews they did disdain Thee,
But we will entertain Thee
With glories to await here
Upon Thy princely state here,
And more for love, than pity.
From year to year
We’ll make Thee, here,
A free-born of our city.
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for now I feel the full weight of your words
back bent muscles ready to snap
and as I stagger along a flint strewn road
my feet cut bruised blue black
the shouts of tormentors reach my heart
once again the world crucifies a man
just a man, a mans truth embodied
you too stand in the crowd, and witness
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Just past dawn
She toddles out in
A flour-sack apron,
A hatchet in her
Pocket.
Beside the upright
Log, its bark aging,
Leans a potato sack
With one white
Cackling hen inside.
The woman is all
Business, this job
Nothing new,
Dinner comes soon.
The log is capped
With two rusty nails
About 2 inches apart.
The hen continues
Her song, ignorant
Of her fate.
The woman grabs
The hen in her left
Hand, the hachet
In her pocket.
With deft attention,
The woman places
The hen’s neck between
The nails.
The cackling becomes
A maniacal squawk,
But no one is there
To grieve.
One quick stroke
Is all it takes, and
The hen’s head is
On the ground.
The stump is full
Of blood, and the
Proverbial body
Is running around,
Minus the squawk.
The woman grabs
The hen and shoves
Her back into the
Potato sack, minus
Its head.
The task is done,
Five minutes max.
Time to take her
To the kitchen for
The plucking of
Feathers and the
Saving of edible
Internal organs.
The woman and her
Hen are ready for
The family’s Sunday
Dinner, only hours
Away.
The hen’s head
Rests outside, its
Comb, beak and
Wattle the worse
For wear.
The woman sings,
Rehearsing:
*Komm, Herr Jesu,
Sei unser Gast….*
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Spirit fooled, my roots are blue now…
a birth insemination façade, it’s all really just a departure station
Blood is overrated like heirlooms now,
my earth interpretation of the Son is really just a miniature statue
From good to bad, popped the lid off by shoplifting,
Coz’ I’m from the hood and glad I can prop what I pulled off by uplifting.
This conniving side, Kundalini said it’s critical…
I remember the pain of discomfort in jail...
Sleeping inside that biting minky next to a Criminal clustered my praying effort to make bail. Spitting fire across with rage, the only love I can feel is from my Mother, so beware of blind fury...My Siblings’ wires are crossed with age, they only love what they can feel from Matter and Affairs , as if bewitched by Muti. I don’t have friends, rather Associates, there’s nothing like a relationship controlled by a timely device. The Real Ones are under the Sand, I call them Appropriates…She was ahead of her Creation ship but opposed by a tide of an untimely demise. Now I’m in solitude on this table surrounded by demons, but Jesu still breaks bread…A Soldier should learn to stay stable even though his bound to say “Yes” to deal with fake Men.
So fasten your seatbelt and countdown the launch sequence
Ready to blast off this sieged land compound, notch the frequence…
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Continue to say AMEN until u are tired. From now Henceforth, As I Prayed with You both In Body And In Spirit that.... We shall be Great IJN. ..........,..................................Amen We shall be Fruitful IJN. ..........................................Amen We shall be Victorious IJN..................................... Amen We All shall be Celebrated IJN. ...................................Amen We shall be Successful IJN................................... Amen We shall be Favored both On Earth And In Heaven IJN........................................ Amen We shall be Blessed in Abundance IJN. ..............Amen Whether the Devil likes it or not, We All shall be Prosperous IJN. .................................Amen Joy shall be Ours All IJN. ......................................Amen We shall have Peace And Love beyond Limits IJN. .............Amen We shall Make It IJN. .............................,.........,.....Amen We All shall Be Testify IJN...................................... Amen We shall be Lifted High beyond Falling IJN.......... Amen We shall Excel in all Ratification Of Life and In All we Do IJN.................. Amen We shall be Called Wonderful IJN. .................. Amen Where the Road is Thirsty of Flesh and Blood, We and Our Loved Ones will not be a Partaker in It IJN. .....................................,.....,..,.,............,..............Amen The evils that will Happen upon thy Earth will not know Our Dwelling Place IJN. ............Amen Death messengers will not know Our Address IJN. ...................................Amen The Miracles in this Year and Years to Come shall Locate Our Household IJN. ........,.....,..........Amen Our Heart Desires will not be Cut-Short IJN. ....................................,...........Amen I will not Cry because of You IJN. ......,,...............................,...........................Amen I pray with You that thy Best Picture will not be used for Obituary IJN................................ (AMIN Ni Oruko Jesu) Send it to 24 most important people in your Life within 24hr, including me if am included. GOD Is Our Strength... GOD Is Love... GOD With Us.!!!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
persecution will come
Truth said as much
so why be surprised
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
Lord, my soul with pleasure springs
When Jesu's name I hear:
And when God the Spirit brings
The word of promise near:
Beauties too, in holiness,
Still delighted I perceive;
Nor have words that can express
The joys Thy precepts give.
Clothed in sanctity and grace,
How sweet it is to see
Those who love Thee as they pass,
Or when they wait on Thee.
Pleasant too to sit and tell
What we owe to love Divine;
Till our bosoms grateful swell,
And eyes begin to shine.
Those the comforts I possess,
Which God shall still increase,
All His ways are pleasantness,
And all His paths are peace.
Nothing Jesus did or spoke,
Henceforth let me ever slight;
For I love His easy yoke,
And find His burden light.
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When I think of you
I see nothing but putrid filth
Your heart is blacker than the darkest night
And your soul-substitute is filled with pus
Filthy foulness oozing from wounds
Suppurating with germs and graveyard worms
Christ Jesu I beg on my bony knees
In the deserted cemetary of my heart
That He will make you burn in Hell
Slowly inserting blazing steel knives in your eyes
While evil demons rip your guts out
And eat your colon before your living eyes .
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
a maniac keeps knocking my window in the depth of night
has done so on and off for four years
I cannot decide on security cameras or a good old fashion man-trap
either way I find it hard to be Christian about it and admit I am far from turning the other cheek.
There is a great blessing here somewhere, and to be persecuted, even though it may seem trivial in the great scheme of persecutions, a faith tested never beyond what you can handle, and taken as a healthy sign of the authentication of faith, is the one only true consolation.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:00 PM UTC
Disobey them.
Keep your secret place, behind the stairs,
Make sure you hide there, at lunchtime
They will never find you.
Take a book
You will remember these moments, far into the future
The teachers and your parents are all wrong
You do not need the others
They will only cause you pain.
In a little while
Your purse will be stolen
And the £5 you needed to buy a mother's day present, will be gone.
A kindly caretaker will lend you the money,
You'll agree to pay it back, £1 per week.
Don't go back on your promise.
Don't hide from him, so you can keep your pennies.
He will die, unexpectedly of a heart attack
You will sing 'Pie Jesu' for him, in front of the whole school
Knowing you still owed so much
Never able to pay it back.
Never get the 370 bus.
One day, a group will surround you there while waiting,
And cover you with spit.
They'll twist your arms behind your back
Burn you with cigarettes,
And send you fleeing back to school
Crying, with phlegm-flecked spittle in your hair.
You will never get over it
So always walk a half mile further
And take the other bus.
And finally,
This will all be over sooner than you think
The supposed best days of your life, your living hell.
One day you will be beautiful,
Really beautiful
You will have beautiful, dramatic dilemmas
You'll dance and laugh and have so many friends
(When it's your TIME to have friends
Not when told to find some)
You are beautiful now,
But no-one else can see.
Soon, soon sweet girl, they'll see
Stay strong, get through it
I promise it gets better.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
I tried to assemble
The pieces of Osiris
But all the stars aligned so
That i should fail again
I tried to revive the
Body of Lazarus
but the tomb had swallowed
The words of the messiah.
Long rang the bell
My soul had come to bitter end
Desperate chants
blood does glimmer on their hands
Hammers dance on nails
They urge the dead to stay contained
Slayer eats the slain
Til the end of time til last of days
I struggle to awaken
I'm morally brain dead
But all the ****** effort
sticks me to the ground
The burden of Atlas
Lays on my two shoulders
if I drop my sky
will anyone notice
Long live the king
The reaper hand in hand with me
choir commence to sing
heaven weeps for apathy
Hades take away
All the strife and all the pain
*Pie Jesu Domine
dona eis requiem*.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
have you ever grappled with despair
not in imagery, symbolism or portrayal.
I mean, have you ever felt the elevator drop
the watery weakness that extenuates breath
a depth of fatigue that makes lying on the floor a burden
an aching pounding in your chest,
the broken-glass dryness in your throat
the gritty ache in your eyes
that makes you want to close them forever?
Struggle no more, leaden limbs,
free the weary weight.
Eyes that struggle, release the light.
The body begs to no more fight.
In a blur of sluggish thought,
I whisper sleep's sweet name.
The will has dropped.
The yearning stopped.
I’ll rest on that distant shore.
.
.
Songs for this:
Nessun Dorma by Sarah Brightman
Caruso (Live at "Pavarotti International" Charity Gala Concert, Modena 1992) by Luciano Pavarotti, Aldo Sisilli
Pie Jesu by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Sarah Brightman & Paul Miles-Kingston
0730.0722
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 7:01 AM UTC
Maria! Maria!
I’m drawn to great art
Maria! Maria!
Theotokos my heart
Maria! Maria!
Please help with my vices
Maria! Maria!
In silence like spices
Maria! Maria!
Por favor me amor
Maria! Maria!
I need courage galore
Maria! Maria!
True like Jesu
Maria! Maria!
Steadfast for you
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 5:53 AM UTC
As you were lavishly embracing Morpheus, like the ***** of Babylon,
I was caressing the smoke from my cigarette with my tongue and lips.
This serpentine tongue,
This usurper of words and promises;
Fraudulent emotional serpent-
Never to be trusted.
I made loops with my tongue, and the smoke was like a circus acrobat,
While my lips were burning with grotesque desire;
They were craving your delirious nectar.
I stood there like an unmoving rock
Like Maria Magdalena next to crucified Jesus.
I stood there like a monk bending in front of the temple altar
I made an offering to you - myself
Under the veil of black lace I coyly waited for an answer.
Pious towards you, yet profane to the world
I counted your every heartbeat
So that my heart was in tandem with yours; it did not dare do otherwise.
This heart that pumped cold reptilian blood.
Who knew I can feel?
I swore this would be the last time.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
tell me what you desire
I desire to imitate my King;
You indeed shall drink my cup.
Jesu; bestower of desire.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
*Waltzing Jude
I quietly see you in my mind
in silent moments of reflection.
I see the white dress
of our wedding day
the soft hair flowing
under the veil.
a breeze showing it loose freedom
that I will soon feel.
The old pipe ***** plays Bach
Jesu lord of man’s desire
We dance in waltzing circles
Around and around
spinning spinning spinning.
The constellations in the starlit sky
call your shining eyes to join then.
You are singing to me
from the book of love.
I love it when you sing to me.
Even after all these years.
You must know this my love.
Our love is like a waltz
spinning forever in circles
and it goes on and on and on.*
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 5:21 PM UTC
Wage-slave, renter, debt-ower doer
of nothing now, but consumption
- I consume power
- I use power another might
- I listen to the news, I seldom read
I tried, I tried, said the tennis worker,
whose name caught my ear-
Stefanos Tsitsipas, sounds
like Sisyphus, my happy
reminder.
We push our way
to new places, or we may
pay our pointy gnosis snif ifery
attention to sign-if-icant curiosis
need, to know way to go. At tend to,
that, we all need that
one thing,
one needful thing, one thing
we do,
that none other may do, we
see one thing- this is me, my bit of us,
we bubble with joy when doing this,
doing this, and that,
another doing that,
and, indeed, we do as we
see one thing…
form
a point to life, poetry, the mythic force.
Eustacy, joy's veritable power,
swells with a feeling now called pride.
Joy is not the pride that comes
before the fall.
Joy, heartfelt,
next-worldly joy, you know,
Joy bell bubbling soul joy,
sensational, subtle, so soft sometimes,
whispers wish wish wish
sweep away the first formed fear, now,
know the need to know
is not a treasure to be horded
omagod.. jagonnasayit jesu
save us, all the treasures, cried to the priest,
the host, cried out to Na'amah,
some tales tell,
is it true?
--maybe, but, it's a retell of a retold tale,
--In this story, Na'amah is Noah's wife,
-- she who bhor alone the knacks of Cain
--- live lyve liv e set free for future use
--- gibberish, you wish, but future use
telley-osis-echo-ist ping ping ping
scrub jay emphasizes, earth time, listen
there are maybes that never are,
scrub jay saying, here am I, there are you,
this is what we do.
-- then a breeze of if-I-knew asked me for a lift.
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 2:56 PM UTC
If ever a body was going to follow the Way of The Cross
It was
Your Church
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC