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"patris" 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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The Hippopotamus
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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By the fond name that was his own and mine, The last upon his lips that strove with doom, He called me and I saw the light assume A sudden glory and around him shine; And nearer now I saw the laureled line Of the august of Song before me loom, And knew the voices, erstwhile through the gloom, That whispered and forbade me to repine. And with farewell, a shaft of splendor sank Out of the stars and faded as a flame, And down the night, on clouds of glory, came The battle seraphs halting rank on rank; And lifted heavenward to heroic peace, He passed and left me hope beyond surcease.
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In Patris Mei Memoriam
Dawn breaks. Sliver of light through shutters, wakes Sister Blaise, stirs her from sleep. Bell rings. Chimes loud. She sits up, legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet, wooden floor. Coldness bites. Rubs arms, legs. Crosses herself with middle digit, in nomine Patris. Bright light through shutters slices into floor. Prayer said she rises from her bed. Thoughts race through her head. Drab night gown, grey, long. She walks to the enamel bowl, pours cold water, washes face and neck and hands. Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Lets water run through fingers. Wash me whiter. The Christ on the wall hangs there in His silence. Picture of Christ on her desk, hands out stretched. She runs water through her fingers, wet, cold. Wash me, cleanse me. She dries her hands on the old white towel, rubbing dry fingers, hands, face and neck. Uncle used to. Pushes thoughts of him away, they slip back in place, eel like. Uncle used to touch. Bless me Father. She folds the towel, places it neatly at the foot of her bed. She removes the nightgown. Dresses in her habit. White and black. Mother said nothing. Silence and the turning of the head. Finger pressed against lips. Dressed, she sets about her cell. Tidying, sorting, bed making. Uncle used to touch her. For I have sinned. She opens the shutters, lets light in, opens the windows, fresh air, birdsong, slight breeze. Father used to beat. The Christ hanging from the cross on the wall is silent. Nailed hands, hands curled. She has kissed the nailed feet. Now she stares at the turned head, turned slightly to one side, crown of thorns, wood carved. Sister Clare is in the cloister. She watches her walk. She stops. Looks into the cloister Garth. Flowers growing, neat rows, large bushes. Mother said nothing. Beatings. Lies told about Uncle he said. Sent to bed, no supper. The sun is warm, light on head. She walks from the window and stands in front of the crucifix. His hands curled, nailed, old nails, pins.   Feet one on top of the other, nailed in place. She kisses His feet. Presses soft lips. Uncle used to touch, said our secret, sin to tell, little girl. She presses lips to His feet. Mother weak, said nothing, dying now, cancer, pain, hurts. Father dead. Never make old bones he said. Proved right. She closes her eyes. Touches His legs, runs finger along. Stiff, cold, smooth. Uncle did; she never told again. Father displeased, the beating pleased. The bell rings again. Echoes along cloister. She crosses herself with middle digit. A bird sings. Wind moves branches by window, He calls, must leave, must go.
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May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
SISTER BLAISE BEFORE MATINS.
Dawn breaks. Sliver of light through shutters, wakes Sister Blaise, stirs her from sleep. Bell rings. Chimes loud. She sits up, legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet, wooden floor. Coldness bites. Rubs arms, legs. Crosses herself with middle digit, in nomine Patris. Bright light through shutters slices into floor. Prayer said she rises from her bed. Thoughts race through her head. Drab night gown, grey, long. She walks to the enamel bowl, pours cold water, washes face and neck and hands. Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Lets water run through fingers. Wash me whiter. The Christ on the wall hangs there in His silence. Picture of Christ on her desk, hands out stretched. She runs water through her fingers, wet, cold. Wash me, cleanse me. She dries her hands on the old white towel, rubbing dry fingers, hands, face and neck. Uncle used to. Pushes thoughts of him away, they slip back in place, eel like. Uncle used to touch. Bless me Father. She folds the towel, places it neatly at the foot of her bed. She removes the nightgown. Dresses in her habit. White and black. Mother said nothing. Silence and the turning of the head. Finger pressed against lips. Dressed, she sets about her cell. Tidying, sorting, bed making. Uncle used to touch her. For I have sinned. She opens the shutters, lets light in, opens the windows, fresh air, birdsong, slight breeze. Father used to beat. The Christ hanging from the cross on the wall is silent. Nailed hands, hands curled. She has kissed the nailed feet. Now she stares at the turned head, turned slightly to one side, crown of thorns, wood carved. Sister Clare is in the cloister. She watches her walk. She stops. Looks into the cloister Garth. Flowers growing, neat rows, large bushes. Mother said nothing. Beatings. Lies told about Uncle he said. Sent to bed, no supper. The sun is warm, light on head. She walks from the window and stands in front of the crucifix. His hands curled, nailed, old nails, pins.   Feet one on top of the other, nailed in place. She kisses His feet. Presses soft lips. Uncle used to touch, said our secret, sin to tell, little girl. She presses lips to His feet. Mother weak, said nothing, dying now, cancer, pain, hurts. Father dead. Never make old bones he said. Proved right. She closes her eyes. Touches His legs, runs finger along. Stiff, cold, smooth. Uncle did; she never told again. Father displeased, the beating pleased. The bell rings again. Echoes along cloister. She crosses herself with middle digit. A bird sings. Wind moves branches by window, He calls, must leave, must go.
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Lawrence Hall [email protected] Dispatches for the Colonial Office                             Your Poems as Love-Letters to God           Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether           they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals           seek the truth, and they break with those who don’t love it           sufficiently.                  -Doctor Zhivago, p. 9 in the Pantheon edition You live, you have lived, and you will live And because you live you will engrave your life In elegant scansion, in noble lines That shape chaos into beauty and truth Not into metal or rocks or wood But flung into Creation in gratitude For the sacred life you have been given For the strength of your love and thoughts Each little line is a gathering-gift to God Baptized in the Jordan and in the Hippocrene To God, and to the Muses who smile on you And to great Mysteries beyond the stars Each little line is a gathering-gift to all To read in the light of seven sacred lamps The wisdom of patience and pilgrimage Beside the banks of the river you know You live, and so you write, you must, you must: For there is meaning in tumbling in the grass On a summer day that will live forever Helped along in your written remembrancing You live an eternal meaning in the why Of laughter and puppy-kissings and grass-stained jeans And that is why you must write it all down For others in intellectually-sharpened rhythms You live an eternal meaning in the why Of love, of deeper kissings in the dark Emotional confusions gone crazy-wild Until they are sensed through crafted verse You live an eternal meaning in the why Of recruit training and sometimes war The joys of learning wisdom from great books Tentatively shaping your own new knowledge worthily You live an eternal meaning in the why Of leafy springs and apple-green summers Golden autumns and winters of blue Writing them as hymns of gratitude You live an eternal meaning in the why Of children in a home modest in wealth But rich and layered in love, work, and prayer “Is this poem about me?!” Oh, yes, child You live an eternal meaning in the why Of lonely nights, hospital stays, mistakes Disappearing dreams, disappointed hopes Memories of friends buried in the dust You live, you have lived, and you will live And because you live you will engrave your life Love-letters as your gift to Creation In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti*
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Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
Your Poems as Love-Letters to God
Lawrence Hall [email protected] Dispatches for the Colonial Office                             Your Poems as Love-Letters to God           Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether           they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals           seek the truth, and they break with those who don’t love it           sufficiently.                  -Doctor Zhivago, p. 9 in the Pantheon edition You live, you have lived, and you will live And because you live you will engrave your life In elegant scansion, in noble lines That shape chaos into beauty and truth Not into metal or rocks or wood But flung into Creation in gratitude For the sacred life you have been given For the strength of your love and thoughts Each little line is a gathering-gift to God Baptized in the Jordan and in the Hippocrene To God, and to the Muses who smile on you And to great Mysteries beyond the stars Each little line is a gathering-gift to all To read in the light of seven sacred lamps The wisdom of patience and pilgrimage Beside the banks of the river you know You live, and so you write, you must, you must: For there is meaning in tumbling in the grass On a summer day that will live forever Helped along in your written remembrancing You live an eternal meaning in the why Of laughter and puppy-kissings and grass-stained jeans And that is why you must write it all down For others in intellectually-sharpened rhythms You live an eternal meaning in the why Of love, of deeper kissings in the dark Emotional confusions gone crazy-wild Until they are sensed through crafted verse You live an eternal meaning in the why Of recruit training and sometimes war The joys of learning wisdom from great books Tentatively shaping your own new knowledge worthily You live an eternal meaning in the why Of leafy springs and apple-green summers Golden autumns and winters of blue Writing them as hymns of gratitude You live an eternal meaning in the why Of children in a home modest in wealth But rich and layered in love, work, and prayer “Is this poem about me?!” Oh, yes, child You live an eternal meaning in the why Of lonely nights, hospital stays, mistakes Disappearing dreams, disappointed hopes Memories of friends buried in the dust You live, you have lived, and you will live And because you live you will engrave your life Love-letters as your gift to Creation In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti*
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So lay me down in the coffin beneath the sea, that's exactly where I want to be. Salt water building pressure on the wood like the pressure that you put me under each and every day. Let the wood splinter like so many lost lovers and friends and let the water fill my lungs and ears, bubbles exploding from my mouth like the arguments we use to have to the backdrop of silverware falling on linoleum. Let it fill my body with **** and vinegar and let the light that you cherished so much fade away from my eyes like headlights in the distance.
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Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 9:27 AM UTC
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti
O, Lord forgotten please accept Me upon my mission bereft, I look to the stars in darkness and cry, And teeming with demons I ask you why, And how I can be rid of myself, How may I ask you for help? Please remain with me where others have left, Please linger with me as I conquer each step, Forgive my wrath, forgive my hatred, Please stay in my destitute heart, my Savior. In all my life I shall remember my words, About the others who walk with the heard. Nunquam animadverto paradisum, Omnes perdes qui scitus I, In nomine Patris et Filii, Et Spiritus Sancti.
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Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
My Prayer.
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
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Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
mister religion