"magnificat" poems
I was enriched, not casting after marvels,
But as one walking in a usual place,
Without desert but common eyes and ears,
No recourse but to hear, power but to see,
Got to love you of grace.
Subtle musicians, that could body wind,
Or contrive strings to anguish, in conceit
Random and artless strung a branch with bells,
Fixed in one silver whim, which at a touch
Shook and were sweet.
And you, you lovely and unpurchased note,
One run distraught, and vexing hot and cold
To give to the heart’s poor confusion tongue,
By chance caught you, and henceforth all unlearned
Repeats you gold.
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Her soul proclaimed the greatness of the Lord
who dwelt within her belly, and her mind.
The light shines on, the humble are restored,
and food and mercy given to mankind.
That day she saw the everlasting light
she memorised, and treasured up inside,
investing for the fading of her sight
the hope that living light had never died;
till hope itself within her arms lay dying,
a frozen journey, ready to embark,
and nothing more is left for her but trying
to comprehend the greatness of the dark;
yet somewhere shines the light, in spite of that,
and silently she sighed magnificat.
Jun 7, 2010
Jun 7, 2010 at 4:05 PM UTC
A marble stone perspires
Naked among a hall of flames
Its soul slowly expires
Melting under the fires
Art among a hall of all blames.
Marred, o meandering mind
Attached, and tainted by human kind
Grazed and abused by God's gold gaze
Numbed and mumbling in a maze
Irked, taken by the moral bind
Fearing this fool felony
Idling to be once loved again
Collapsing in agony
At you goes this poetry
Trying to tear apart your pain…
March 20, 2013
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
502 Bad Gateway
________________________________________
nginx/1.1.19
Dear Friends,
This has been fun, but with the late changes I can make nothing of the HelloPoetry site. If I can manage to submit this, please know that you can continue to read my scribblings on my own poorly-accomplished – but functional – site, Reactionary Drivel at reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com. It’s not really reactionary, tho’ it’s often drivel! And if you will send me the name of your site, I will follow you there.
Cheers,
Lawrence
Good-bye, Poetry?
Oh, Eliot, what has happened to your wonderful site
Your gift of poetry to a suffering world?
Did some Morlock in an unhappy hour
Break into spring to make it winter again?
Who has torn and scattered the pages
And thus obscured the words so carefully shaped
By the fugitive keepers of dreams
Who seek for them again in the wilderness?
There once was a workshop for poor scribblers –
A studio of dreams – may it be restored!
Well Done, Thou Good and Faithful Cat
for Calvin
Yes, surely there will be another cat
But not this Cat, not this Big Orange Dust-Mop
Lounging “with abs of steel and *** appeal”
At his window, hungry for hummingbirds
Or lurking there behind that door to swat
His Sarah, who served as his household staff,
For failing to render due obeisance
To him, the superior MagnifiCat
Dear Calvin –
For now, farewell, until that better World,
O happy, leaping, loving childhood friend
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
Wondering if I am still there
Wondering if me will survive
Wonder if I will be deliberate.
Us, together, senses are gone.
My senses are definitely gone
Myself is nothing in lonesome
My soul, really, did evaporate
Me and my self is merely gone;
Us, together, senses are gone.
I hold you and travel the rain
I never feel spiking drops of rain
I off a coat for you and no pain
I and you begrudge and no vain.
Us, together, senses are gone.
We slip, fall and we feel nothing
We sleep in huts and its nothing
We and the dearth, it is a belonging,
And love is our best daily teller
Us, together, senses are gone.
I do not even feel how cold snow is
I only feel how soft your thenar is
I am insouciant to how sharp critique is.
Us, together, our senses are gone.
Turn to me when hate tortures you
Living with love is now a routine
Telling me again that you still care
Tickles me and burst into laughter
To let it go will be very intricate.
Us, together, the senses are gone.
I undoubtedly love you.
Gelase Magnificat
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:18 AM UTC
Le dernier coup de vêpres a sonné : l'on tinte.
Entrons donc dans l'Église et couvrons-nous d'eau sainte.
Il y a peu de monde encore. Qu'il fait frais !
C'est bon par ces temps lourds, ça semble fait exprès.
On allume les six grands cierges, l'on apporte
Le ciboire pour le salut. Voici la porte
De la sacristie entr'ouverte, et l'on voit bien
S'habiller les enfants de chœur et le doyen.
Voici venir le court cortège, et les deux chantres
Tiennent de gros antiphonaires sur leurs ventres.
Une clochette retentit et le clergé
S'agenouille devant l'autel, dûment rangé.
Une prière est murmurée à voix si basse
Qu'on entend comme un vol de bons anges qui passe.
Le prêtre, se signant, adjure le Seigneur,
Et les clers, se signant, appellent le Seigneur.
Et chacun exaltant la Trinité, commence,
Prophète-roi, David, ta psalmodie immense :
Le Seigneur dit... » « Je vous louerai... » « Qu'heureux les saints.
« Fils, louez le Seigneur... » et, vibrant par essaims,
Les versets de ce chant militaire et mystique :
« Quand Israël sortit d'Égypte... » Et la musique
Du grêle harmonium et du vaste plain-chant !
L'Église s'est remplie. Il fait tiède. L'argent
Pour le culte et celui du denier de Saint-Pierre
Et des pauvres tombe à bruit doux dans l'aumônière.
L'hymme propre et Magnificat aux flots d'encens !
Une langueur céleste envahit tous les sens.
Au court sermon qui suit sur un thème un peu rance,
On somnole sans trop pourtant d'irrévérence.
Le soleil lui faisant un nimbe mordoré,
Le vieux saint du village est tout transfiguré.
Ça sent bon. On dirait des fleurs très anciennes.
S'exhalant, lentes, dans le latin des antiennes.
Et le Salut ayant béni l'humble troupeau
Des fidèles, on rejoint meilleurs le hameau.
Le soir on soupe mieux, et quand la nuit invite
Au sommeil, on s'endort bien à l'aise et plus vite.
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