"spikenard" poems
---
the Man
sat crosslegged
on a mat of
green reeds
the woman
gulped and
wept as she
broke the
beautiful bottle
and poured out the
oil of spikenard
(worth a year's wages)
onto the head
of the Man
grumbling from
the thief as he
saw the chance
for his fortune
running
down
the
beard
of
the
Man
he
valued
less
than
dust
but i set
these words
down in
rememberance
of this deed
for her
she valued Him
more than
her most prized
possession
more than her
own temple of flesh
she had perfumed
and so
she
prepared
the
Man
for
leaving
His
own.
in DEATH
soulsurvivor
(C) 8/17/2015
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
How can I choose but love and follow her
Whose shadow smells like milder pomander?
How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come
The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?
1.4k
Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum,
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells
Sweet as the Vestry of the Oracles.
I’ll tell thee:—while my Julia did unlace
Her silken bodice but a breathing space,
The passive air such odour then assumed
As when to Jove great Juno goes perfumed,
Whose pure immortal body doth transmit
A scent that fills both heaven and earth with it.
1.4k
Never seen one this lovely, gladdened with the purity of the midnight rain, magnificent she is in all her graces
The whirlwind gave way when her haunches swayed
With palms as soft as the pine, a touch from them sent me on a flight of fantasy
Her peats stood firm as the atlas
To honey no other compare,for it is the sweetest but then you should taste her rosy lips
And if the zephyrus was mild, then you should hear her speak
The stars were bright but her eyes were the brightest for in them I saw the reason for rainbows
Her face shone so much radiance like the full moon at the peak of her aphrodisiac
Every wisp of her hair was of the finest silk and when she smiled the world took form
Her aura so distinct as the scented ointment of spikenard
This beauty is all I want to know,for it ignites a quivering sensation in my bones springing forth the passions of my meek soul
For you I would pick the roses of the empyrean
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:39 PM UTC
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.
Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.
All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.
Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?
970
Quote: If I tell you that I have a gem folded in the palm of my hand, the question
of belief arises, but if I unclench my fist and show you the gem, it will not...
Buddha
A Fistful Of Diamonds Or Colored Sand
A fistful of diamonds or a handful of colored sand
God blew a breath and scattered me all over town
I don't own airborne wings I don't live in fairyland
but when I see I only see reflections of His gown
A clear cut glass edged and polished with shine
another object of valor dulls before His stars
Sotto voce, an invisible sign of His Divine
I can either accept the vision, or decline
The mayhem of the worlds chaos just a blow
I'm soak in the reflection of His quiet calm
Spikenard anoint and flowers bloom and glow
He is my diamond in the raw my soothing balm;
A fistful of diamonds or a handful of colored sand
He's the love I crave for, in the palm of my hand.
June 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC