"nobis" poems
The Atlanta Falcons , defender of the city in a sport of the passionate ! A longtime cold weather tradition of the Peanut State with youth , high school and university alike ......Memories that conjure Van Brocklin , Nobis , Humphrey , Van Note , Bartkowski and Ryan . Fall is for dark green numbered fields , pageantry , struggle as tactician , athlete and opponent mired in battle , bestowing honor , emotion , and pride in the warriors of yesteryear , locked in the spirit of competition , sportsmanship and Georgia folklore !...
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:42 PM UTC
my eyes, too blind from the light of hell to see
pray for you to choke the blasphemy out of me
ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae
you misread my plea and loosen your holy grip
and more sins spill from my ****** lips
ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae
my tongue is heavy with heresy
but still i babble hypocrisy
ave maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum. benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, iesus. sancta maria, mater dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae
amen
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
The fall of Rome is upon us.
I have spied it from my window,
i dare not intrude.
venimus
vidimus
vicimus
(ourselves)
The slaves are in revolt;
the Colliseum burns,
flames tenderly licking
destruction and freedom,
a beacon in the
dark autumn night;
Carthage has embraced
its high sodium diet,
it now seeks equality;
the Senate lies in ruin,
much as it always has,
now bereft of contributors.
Ego autem relictus solus devius,
faciamus nobis effugium.
Come, fair plebian lady,
get in my chariot,
i will 'Billy Ocean' you
all the way
to the end of the world,
because some things never change.
veni
vidi
vici
NOTHING
per memet
ita reliqui,
empty-handed
my new fair plebian in tow.
Roma victa.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Teen angst poetry
dribbled in red pen.
Well, ideally.
I only have black type.
In fact, I never have experienced
teen angst. I only have
the perpetual piece of blackandred
corners me alone
The beast beneath my bed ceases
whenever daddy checks
but I never had a daddy
only a mommy valiantly battling the
blackandred demons her daddy
never scared away either.
and in the
end we feel nothing nothing can
touch us. We are the empty rusty
pail crying out from the Dripdripdrip of
our loneliness because no one comes in
because, in the foggy glass, no one can see each other
and coldandclammy jostling elbows
do Not touch- NeverNever
We hope the redhot heart of the
lovers we hold so closely will defrost
our windshields to the world and let in
Lightlovehopejoyhappiness
Contentment
AND THEN
I have hope enough
that the monsterinmycloset
cannot grip my dangling elbow. Hope that the steep
fall of bladeandblood and littleroundpills
Always stays a few feet away
I call and pray for stray sunbeams.
Later- I pull
out the quicksilver shards of glass
from my eyes and under my polluted
fingernails.
I shrug off their sodden coats.
I won't borrow burdens. Anymore.
So that my light may shine encore
Abeaconpillar of radiance
Est deus in nobis
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
a thousand eyes follow you from newly waxed floors
and trail after me with form-filled labels, white on gold
take as needed; do not operate machinery; relax.
the shadows follow our steps, ***** and blood next to God’s poster love.
pin it to the bathroom wall: peccavi, peccavi
two years, fifteen minutes, miles of scars.
we sleep through the days, and whisper
of nights before the hurricane
("what happened to those two?")
("Deus misereatur, the storm took them.")
I daydream of sinking my teeth into the flesh of redemption,
to rip muscle from immaculate bone.
can we not move on?
copper denial drips from our jaws.
and Deo gratias, they say, you survived.
limbless and naked on tiled floors.
Deo gratias et Deus mortuus est.
survival is in our veins.
I watch you waiting in LCD purgatory
as you see my fingers bleed into the vinyl shielded couches of the 12am ER
perception through observation — I let you reveal who I am.
what am I feeling? how do I act?
breathing through each other with liquor in our lungs.
I know how the bile tastes in your throat,
and you know the burn of the whiskey on my tongue
why do we still reach for walls
where cicada-shell notices cling with scotch tape?
take a number and restore the riches;
leave the room and tear them down.
who but God can build over the ruins of fallen cities, fallen worlds?
and ora pro nobis, He is yet unwelcome here.
we are holy, in our own names we pray, and Hallelujah, we are saved
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 6:18 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
Converte nos, Sister Teresa whispered, leaning forward in the darkness of the church; convert us, she repeated, sensing the infirmarian nun beside her, hearing the breath and muttered prayers. She had insisted on being wheeled into the church for Compline; had got her way; was pleased she was in the pew where she'd sat for the last ten years. She loved the silence before it all began; the sense of space; the soft opening of the Confiteor, the movement of bodies like a wave of water over the blacked-out walls and high roof of the church. She brought her arthritic hands together; dug deep for a fresh prayer, but all was used; all had done before; all spread wide over her life of contemplation; in and out of her light and alternating darkness. The infirmarian muttered something. Sister Teresa shrugged her shoulders; inclined her ear; moved her head and unseeing eyes. Was it Sister Bernadette? Or was it another? She couldn't tell; all were the same in her darkness, except the touch; hand on hand; whispered words. Long ago, Jude or Judas had kissed; had betrayed. The sound of footsteps on flagstones; the rustle of habits and clicking beads; a sense of breathing and life; entering into the shared darkness and blackness, except for the red altar light to inform of the Crucified's presence and the all-seeing-eye. Sighed. Waited. Held breath. Reached for the sister's hand or arm to reassure, to sense she was not alone in the dark and that she had not died and sunk to dimness and damnation of another dark. The infirmarian tapped her hand. Relief. Converte nos, she mumbled, convert us, she repeated. The Confiteor opened up as if the whole world had breathed out in one voice; had poured out the world's sins in a soft eruption of voices. She breathed in. Clutched her hands. Wanted the closeness and nearness of all; wanted to be held; to be kissed; wanted to see the face of the sister beside her who sat close and whispered her own Confiteor. Ora pro nobis, she whispered, pray for us, let me not be lost in this darkness. Where was Papa? Where is Mama? Clare where are you? she muttered, her eyes searching the blackness, reaching out with a hand into the empty space before her. Hand on hand. Whispered voice. The chant rose and fell like a gentle sea carrying the prayers of the black-robed sisters. Jude or Judas and the kisses and betrayal. Dead now; all dead; all gone. Left here, she muttered, like a beached fish, flapping on the emptying sands of my hourglass like a whimpering child. She clutched her breast; sensed a pain. Leaned her head neatly on the sister's shoulder; sank slowly into her arms like a child searching for its mother's breast and the comforting embrace of warmth and love. Stillness. Peace. Darkness. Light.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
The second amendment might
As well be the sixty-ninth, for all
The life-long days it saves by
The transparent and glossy shields
Adorning blue-skied uniforms.
The strike zone is limited to the
Mobility-enhanced limbs, out of
Reach of the cardiac plateau, in
A line guarded by “I heart NYC”
Leftover campaign buttons.
Crowds question the timeless yet
Disintegrating rhetoric, and they
Sing along with misspelled threats
To sanguine attempts at love and
War, while grade schoolers watch.
What’s missing from this libretto
Is a slogan like “if they go low, we
Go high” and the money to borrow
It, or the right to use the copyright,
As long as it doesn’t get ******
“Now hear this,” bellows the man in
The crow’s nest, stepping in front
Of his stepson who brandishes a
BB gun proudly in his arms, “the
Curfew starts at midnight!”
Dona nobis pacem, a canon of
Faith, is hummed by the last ranks
Of veterans in camouflage, hoping
To initiate a temporary calm among
The bleak and ****** crew.
A clown-faced poet attempts to draw
A smile, as she calls for an absentee
Ballot, a circuitous frontage road
Away from destiny, some think,
And a short breath of recess.
“Take away their weapons,” hollers
A very pregnant woman, who goes
Into labor, blaming the guns for her
Untimely reward, and for a moment,
Just minutes, the midwifery begins.
All this while a small coterie of men
Gathers, silently taking in the show,
Unnoticed in their pretense, but
Sporting the heritage caps of the
NRA, stars and stripes in their lapels.
The disingenuous players in this sad
Drama are about to fold their tents,
To chicken out, to return to tacos
And beer, when stillness breaks,
So much so that crickets rule.
A small boy crosses the street, his
Smile contagious, his gait strong
As he approaches the men and
Says “I am you before now, be
Of peace and good cheer.
“My commandments have no
Amendments, no magic exceptions,
No golden calves, no wicked step-
Mothers, only a heart and soul,
I am the moral of your story.”
© Lewis Bosworth, 2016
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Rey de los hidalgos, señor de los tristes,
que de fuerza alientas y de ensueños vistes,
coronado de áureo yelmo de ilusión;
que nadie ha podido vencer todavía,
por la adarga al brazo, toda fantasía,
y la lanza en ristre, toda corazón.Noble peregrino de los peregrinos,
que santificaste todos los caminos
con el paso augusto de tu heroicidad,
contra las certezas, contra las conciencias
y contra las leyes y contra las ciencias,
contra la mentira, contra la verdad...¡Caballero errante de los caballeros,
varón de varones, príncipe de fieros,
par entre los pares, maestro, salud!
¡Salud, porque juzgo que hoy muy poca tienes,
entre los aplausos o entre los desdenes,
y entre las coronas y los parabienes
y las tonterías de la multitud!¡Tú, para quien pocas fueron las victorias
antiguas y para quien clásicas glorias
serían apenas de ley y razón,
soportas elogios, memorias, discursos,
resistes certámenes, tarjetas, concursos,
y, teniendo a Orfeo, tienes a orfeón!Escucha, divino Rolando del sueño,
a un enamorado de tu Clavileño,
y cuyo Pegaso relincha hacia ti;
escucha los versos de estas letanías,
hechas con las cosas de todos los días
y con otras que en lo misterioso vi.¡Ruega por nosotros, hambrientos de vida,
con el alma a tientas, con la fe perdida,
llenos de congojas y faltos de sol,
por advenedizas almas de manga ancha,
que ridiculizan el ser de la Mancha,
el ser generoso y el ser español!¡Ruega por nosotros, que necesitamos
las mágicas rosas, los sublimes ramos
de laurel Pro nobis ora, gran señor.
¡Tiembla la floresta de laurel del mundo,
y antes que tu hermano vago, Segismundo,
el pálido Hamlet te ofrece una flor!Ruega generoso, piadoso, orgulloso;
ruega casto, puro, celeste, animoso;
por nos intercede, suplica por nos,
pues casi ya estamos sin savia, sin brote,
sin alma, sin vida, sin luz, sin Quijote,
sin piel y sin alas, sin Sancho y sin Dios.De tantas tristezas, de dolores tantos
de los superhombres de Nietzsche, de cantos
áfonos, recetas que firma un doctor,
de las epidemias, de horribles blasfemias
de las Academias,
¡líbranos, Señor!De rudos malsines,
falsos paladines,
y espíritus finos y blandos y ruines,
del hampa que sacia
su canallocracia
con burlar la gloria, la vida, el honor,
del puñal con gracia,
¡líbranos, Señor!Noble peregrino de los peregrinos,
que santificaste todos los caminos,
con el paso augusto de tu heroicidad,
contra las certezas, contra las conciencias
y contra las leyes y contra las ciencias,
contra la mentira, contra la verdad...¡Ora por nosotros, señor de los tristes
que de fuerza alientas y de ensueños vistes,
coronado de áureo yelmo de ilusión!
¡que nadie ha podido vencer todavía,
por la adarga al brazo, toda fantasía,
y la lanza en ristre, toda corazón!
1k
Christmas Eve mass
The Ave Maria begins to play
Images start to run through my mind
Some of now and some not of this time
Ave Maria
I see the Manger before me with our dear Lord as a babe
It quickly switches to a stranger letting her babe be aborted away
*Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena*
I see our Lord speak of peace
Then see our soldiers defending another's keep
*Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum*
I hear the mortar shells as they fly through the air
I hear our soldiers whisper their prayers
*Benedicta tu in muli eribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris*
I see Jesus take someone in
Only then to see someone not give a second look at the homeless man
*Ventris tuae, Jesus
Ave Maria*
A mother and child searching for shelter
Dressed only in thin clothes in a harsh winter
*Ave Maria
Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Ora pro nobis
Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus*
I see Him hung upon the cross
To now seeing a man beheaded for proclaiming his Christianity is not lost
*Nunc et in hora mortis
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Et in hora mortis nostrae
Ave Maria*
The song has now ended and my eyes are wet
The tears I let fall all for remembrance
Lest us not forget
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
*"Through grim and void we march towards freedom,
we are all proud by serving the original Vow.
Confronting the dreams of solitude and awe,
our eyes will burst with tears by remembering home."*- Spoke the youngest of all, and the elders listened.
*"Our smiles will freeze like an old photograph,
and that burden is expected decay and colapse some day.
Finding two men alive from five, saving two souls by killing ten. It ain't worth it.*" - Said the captain to the *****
"Our children will forgive you for being a murderer."- She replied.
"Will we ever forgive ourselves for being murerers?": The enemy thought before he walked into the tent and killed them both.
*"There's no phoenix rising, only a lifetime of carrion
and a hostile wind that will carry our ashes across the battllefield."*- Said the drinking middle aged man to the Bartender.
"We curse them, they curse us, there is no good side neither bad, sir, just a special feeling of threat, and some kind of love for killing. It's unforgiving, but it doesn't matter at all. We still die."- Interrupted the youngest of all.
And from the distance was heard:
*"Let us cut through the ominous throat of the land!
Let us march upon destruction in the name of love!
Fatal wounded, disarmed, violated, murdered, we don't care!
Because we are laughing at the grave of a lost friend,
we conceive destiny and grin to the blood moon.
Oh! Mater Bellum ora pro nobis.
Nobis hoc ostenderent. Sancta pulchra bellicum.."*
And the land was painted in red, the men dead and a strange smell crawled in the air. The songs stopped, the laughs went silent. There was nothing and nothing happened . Just one red drop in the sea of blue.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC
The Austrian monk,
stopped by the church doors,
made the fingered sign
of the cross,
sunlight on my head
as I walked the cloister,
bell chimed the one hour,
the office of Sext to begin,
blessed are they
who go by the pure path,
Dom Henry had said,
that time in the gardens
as I mowed the lawn,
she kissed me
so tenderly,
so softly,
I entered the church,
fingered the stoup,
watered I crossed myself,
Brother John,
sour faced,
eyed me as I stood
in the choir stall,
who walks in the Lord's path
are blessed,
Dom Henry said,
I mowed by the monk's cemetery,
molehills by the graves,
her neck smelt of flowers,
taste here, she said,
taste and see,
the abbot tapped on wood,
the chant began,
the sunlight flowed
through the high windows,
ora pro nobis,
the monk opposite,
eyed his book,
turned the page
with thin fingers,
I tasted her, salt and fish,
a splendid dish.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
And the old abbot aged
and pulled down with cancer
walked the cloister,
et aestu saeculi nobis,
even though cloistered
and of God,
I swept the landing
after the office of Terce
with large broom
and dustpan and brush
and there was a huge spiderweb
in a window,
Salve regina audi nos,
Dom Kenneth sorted
the altar cloths and plates
and holy cup where
the Crucified's blood is sipped,
and she welcomed me in
and sat me down
and unbuttoned my flies
and took out the feller,
the deeds you do
may be the only sermon
some persons
will hear today said Francis,
au travail est de prier
the French monk said
as he helped me
with the refectory
cleaning up before lunch,
George cast his stone
further that the rest of us
after the office of Sext
and our lunch
and sitting
on the abbey beach,
don't let your sins
turn into bad habits
Teresa said,
mine almost did back then
and with her
Yochana that is
not Teresa,
bell ringing
as Hugh showed us
his thin frame and arms
but the tolled bells
carried to far and wide,
parlare con Dio
ed egli vi ascolterà
the Italian monk told me
but my prayer life
was less than his,
we are twice armed
if we fight with faith
said Gareth quoting Plato
and I had only read
the Republic that far,
Dom Joe(dear Bunny)
said to me
God has something special
in line for you
but I never found it
least not then,
πλέουν στη θάλασσα στο Θεό
a visiting Greek monk said
and Dom Charles
translated for me
but it went over
my young man's head.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 2:11 AM UTC
Arsiana - este valentis caoleste,
memento incredia axare?
Arsiana - et non revetermur
millenia ecrides existenco?
Nobis ecalea in monti vidimus et stellas.
Arsiana - solo est valentis expectabo domum redire,
redire et domum, Arsiana.
Solo est caonillum neo,
e momentum:
stella vivere, vivere stella ecridia
Memento, Arsiana?
Memento incredia axare?
Millenia veo amorphia et inma caonillum, Arsiana.
Qualentis elara nobis in monti streo caenma
Aeonis, aeonia, arinme:
Onmia et estera.
Memento, Arsiana?
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
you scare me, a hidden gem
i am afraid of what could happen
i wonder where you walk and i wonder what you think
has the cross corrupted you
who has turned you so cold
i will be there when you get your wings
and the soothing echo of those classical sounds will pass
into a new choir of faith and acceptance
maybe then when all becomes bright, i will see your eyes
for what they truly are
a black ocean with enough depth to deceive me
into thinking i am only stepping into a shallow pool
a bitter tongue with the tonality of an angel
you can rest your voice as the tears take over
dómine fili unigénite, iesu christe,
dómine deus, agnus dei, fílius patris,
qui tollis peccáta mundi, miserére nobis;
qui tollis peccáta mundi, súscipe deprecatiónem nostram
i will be with you until you find yourself
if you are lost
i will be lost with you
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Dei in nobis,
5am bell from cloister
woke from slumbers
to dim light
of dawn's kiss,
Dom James said
he missed his cigarettes
and would roll up
a leaf and pretend
to no real end,
the cloister garth
haunting in 5.30am light
as I walked
by the low wall
seeing the dark green
and first birdsong,
she slid my finger
upon her valley of Eve
and said this
could be yours
if you wish
and I wished,
for at all times
we must so serve Him
with the good things
He has given us
that he may not
Benedict said,
the peasant French monk
pondered the tall grass
needing the cut
from his scythe
and spat on his palms
and rubbed together,
senza Dio non
siamo nulla
the Italian monk said
lighting the candles
in the church before Mass,
I watched the dawn light
above the bell tower
like an angel
spreading bright wings,
take me from the rear
she said enter me
with passion before
my husband's return,
Dom Joe(dear Bunny) spoke
of God's mercy
in his soft tones
his rubbery lips
projecting the words
with a gentle finality,
Gottes Liebe
ist unermesslich
the Austrian monk said
as he helped me
pick apples
from the abbey orchard
before the office
of None,
good people
need not laws
to inform them
to act responsibly
while bad people
seek a way around
the laws Gareth said
quoting Plato
as we sat on the beach
by the abbey grounds
after lunch,
I closed the large
Latin breviary
with a slow slam
and dust erupted
in the air,
dawn's bright light
over the cloister wall,
bells tolled
from the abbey
pulled by George and me
echoing outward
like ripples
from the stone cast
into the nearby sea.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
Lonely voices tear at me,
Sibilent whispering with no end.
Caress my collarbone,
Taste every inch of the skin.
Asinine bleeding, lost on me,
Raging fire inside my skull.
Corrupting and rusting
my being inside.
Beautiful afflictions **** the mind,
Rancid and fleeting, indiscriminate.
In nobis mortuus deambulatio,
Morbus animorum detracta.
Requiem lost among the dead,
Dreamers lose hope after drought,
Rectifying the overdose.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
Dona nobis pacem,
the priest intoned.
Harry stood in the third pew
from the back with his wife.
A girl two pews ahead,
had long brown hair
over her shoulders,
had a trim figure
and a well rounded behind.
They knelt as the priest
intoned more Latin.
The girl's head was bowled,
hands together in prayer.
I wouldn't say no. If the old *****
in front would move her large
carcass to the right, I'd have
a better sight. His wife nudged
him with her pointed elbow,
raised her eyebrows, signalled
with a finger for him to close his eyes.
He closed his eyes, allowing thin
slits of sight to peruse the girl's
head and shoulders, as the old
***** had knelt low into the pew.
The priest lifted up the host
and muttered Latin with raised
eyes above him. The old *****
removed sight of the girl from view.
He shut his eyes for real, imaging
the girl's rounded behind, reaching
out with pretend fingers like one blind.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
Ora pro nobis !
I.
Ma fille, va prier ! - Vois, la nuit est venue.
Une planète d'or là-bas perce la nue ;
La brume des coteaux fait trembler le contour ;
À peine un char lointain glisse dans l'ombre... Écoute !
Tout rentre et se repose ; et l'arbre de la route
Secoue au vent du soir la poussière du jour !
Le crépuscule, ouvrant la nuit qui les recèle,
Fait jaillir chaque étoile en ardente étincelle ;
L'occident amincit sa frange de carmin ;
La nuit de l'eau dans l'ombre argente la surface ;
Sillons, sentiers, buissons, tout se mêle et s'efface ;
Le passant inquiet doute de son chemin.
Le jour est pour le mal, la fatigue et la haine.
Prions, voici la nuit ! la nuit grave et sereine !
Le vieux pâtre, le vent aux brèches de la tour,
Les étangs, les troupeaux avec leur voix cassée,
Tout souffre et tout se plaint. La nature lassée
A besoin de sommeil, de prière et d'amour !
C'est l'heure où les enfants parlent avec les anges.
Tandis que nous courons à nos plaisirs étranges,
Tous les petits enfants, les yeux levés au ciel,
Mains jointes et pieds nus, à genoux sur la pierre,
Disant à la même heure une même prière,
Demandent pour nous grâce au père universel !
Et puis ils dormiront. - Alors, épars dans l'ombre,
Les rêves d'or, essaim tumultueux, sans nombre,
Qui naît aux derniers bruits du jour à son déclin,
Voyant de **** leur souffle et leurs boucles vermeilles,
Comme volent aux fleurs de joyeuses abeilles,
Viendront s'abattre en foule à leurs rideaux de lin !
Ô sommeil du berceau ! prière de l'enfance !
Voix qui toujours caresse et qui jamais n'offense !
Douce religion, qui s'égaye et qui rit !
Prélude du concert de la nuit solennelle !
Ainsi que l'oiseau met sa tête sous son aile,
L'enfant dans la prière endort son jeune esprit !
Juin 1830.
345
For the Faithful Departed
Do we all holy rites.
Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum
-Henry V, 4.viii.115-116
Workmen approved indeed1, from far away
Like Abraham, exiled from the fields of home
But leaving here in their adopted land
Their blessings always, through family and faith
And so we ask Our Lady in several voices -
Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe
Notre-Dame de LaSalette
Our Lady of the Americas -
To welcome Luis and Oscar to God’s Home,
That promised Place of refreshment, light, and peace2
1 2 Timothy 2:15
2 from several Catholic prayers for the departed
Of your kindness pray for the repose
of the souls of Luis Castro and Oscar Rivera
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC