"soules" poems
Once
A man with broad vision
dreamt...
About the land of pures
Then
a man with excellent leadership skills
stood up to fulfill
the first man's dream
he gathered the scattered people
he fought for what was
righyfully ours
he turned the rouges into NATION
Togather they
suffered
sacrificed
bled
but yet the remained strong
holding each others back
against the cunning enemy
they were pure by heart
they had the golden soules
faith was running in their veins
thus they were granted
after years of hardship
with the most beautiful gift
the first man's dream was now a reality...!!
the man who dreamt IQBAL
the man who lead JINNAH
the land of pure PAKISTAN
the nation created PAKISTANIS
and this is OUR story !!
Independence Day !!
PROUD TO BE A PAKISTANI !!
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
On The Proposalls Of Certaine Ministers At The Committee For
Propagation Of The Gospell
Cromwell, our cheif of men, who through a cloud
Not of warr onely, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith & matchless Fortitude
To peace & truth thy glorious way hast plough’d,
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reard Gods Trophies, & his work pursu’d,
While Darwen stream with blood of Scotts imbru’d,
And Dunbarr field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worsters laureat wreath; yet much remaines
To conquer still; peace hath her victories
No less renownd then warr, new foes aries
Threatning to bind our soules with secular chaines:
Helpe us to save free Conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves whose Gospell is their maw.
1.8k
Being The Shortest Day
’Tis the yeares midnight, and it is the dayes,
Lucies, who scarce seaven houres herself unmaskes,
The Sunne is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
The worlds whole sap is sunke:
The generall balme th’ hydroptique earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar’d with mee, who am their Epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers bee
At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
For I am every dead thing,
In whom love wrought new Alchimie.
For his art did expresse
A quintessence even from nothingnesse,
From dull privations, and leane emptinesse:
He ruin’d mee, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darknesse, death—things which are not.
All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
Life, soule, forme, spirit, whence they beeing have;
I, by loves limbecke, am the grave
Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
Have wee two wept, and so
Drownd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow
To be two Chaosses, when we did show
Care to ought else; and often absences
Withdrew our soules, and made us carcasses.
But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing, the Elixer grown;
Were I a man, that I were one,
I needs must know; I should preferre,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means; Yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love; All, all some properties invest;
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
But I am None; nor will my Sunne renew.
You lovers, for whose sake, the lesser Sunne
At this time to the Goat is runne
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all;
Since shee enjoyes her long nights festivall,
Let mee prepare towards her, and let mee call
This houre her Vigill, and her Eve, since this
Bothe the yeares, and the dayes deep midnight is.
1.8k
Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,
The intelligence that moves, devotion is,
And as the other Spheares, by being growne
Subject to forraigne motion, lose their owne,
And being by others hurried every day,
Scarce in a yeare their naturall forme obey:
Pleasure or businesse, so, our Soules admit
For their first mover, and are whirld by it.
Hence is't, that I am carryed towards the West
This day, when my Soules forme bends toward the East.
There I should see a Sunne, by rising set,
And by that setting endlesse day beget;
But that Christ on this Crosse, did rise and fall,
Sinne had eternally benighted all.
Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see
That spectacle of too much weight for mee.
What a death were it then to see God dye?
It made his owne Lieutenant Nature shrinke,
It made his footstoole crack, and the Sunne winke.
Could I behold those hands which span the Poles,
And tune all spheares at once peirc'd with those holes?
Could I behold that endlesse height which is
Zenith to us, and our Antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood which is
The seat of all our Soules, if not of his,
Made durt of dust, or that flesh which was worne
By God, for his apparell, rag'd, and torne?
If on these things I durst not looke, durst I
Upon his miserable mother cast mine eye,
Who was Gods partner here, and furnish'd thus
Halfe of that Sacrifice, which ransom'd us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye,
They'are present yet unto my memory,
For that looks towards them; and thou look'st towards mee,
O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree;
I turne my backe to thee, but to receive
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O thinke mee worth thine anger, punish mee,
Burne off my rusts, and my deformity,
Restore thine Image, so much, by thy grace,
That thou may'st know mee, and I'll turne my face.
1.8k
There's something i don't understand
why people are this bad ?
Why everybody is so mad and trying to make me sad ?
Why can't we all just be friends ?
Untill the time ends and the peace blends
with our soules and our actions commands
why would you care if i'm poor week or simply black ?
and why to me you turn your back ?
even thow of love i never lack.
Why would you neglet me cause i'm young ?
is it because you think that to you i don't among ?
or simply you like making my misery days so long ?
Why would you say that you love me ?
and tomorrow so far away you throw me ?
is it because you like hurting me ?
Or you think that my feelings are comedy ?
Why do you enjoy hurting people so much ?
do you use it like a crutch ?
because you know that hapiness you'll never touch ?
well let me tell you somthing useful...
In life you should always be to yourself truthful
and belive me that's not lethal...
© Sùkeey
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 7:41 AM UTC
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . . ."
I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted
was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?
and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words
that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back
to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit
streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory
your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words
and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance
I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words
and here
a great reckoning
not in a little room
but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow
and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins
a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood
alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death
indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me
from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so
"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard
"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side
ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me
"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"
Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"
"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"
I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"
I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer
who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees
ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death
"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"
I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth
I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.
and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away
and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive
"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
Sunlight flits in. Not on its own, sneakily
yet bravely upright, saddling motes of dust
You open the curtains to look out on the garden
But all there is, is a grey brick wall staring back
and last time you checked, it was just the same: grey
And really, last week when you checked it was grey brick, too
It just doesn’t make any sense at all, though
why you’d face a window at such a plain thing
At some time, at some point, there had to be something there
A wooden boardwalk for bandying, lazy teens
Or a park with a bench for walked on, weary soules
It wasn’t born grey brick; out of nothing, ‘til today
And if there was something beautiful before
it might find time to come back home and visit
But who’s to say? So one more time you close the curtains
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 1:59 AM UTC
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . "
I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted
was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?
and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words
that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back
to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit
streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory
your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words
and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance
I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words
and here
a great reckoning
not in a little room
but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow
and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins
a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood
alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death
indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me
from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so
"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard
"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side
ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me
"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"
Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"
"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"
I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"
I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer
who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees
ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death
"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"
I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth
I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.
and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away
and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive
"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC