If love does not live so that love may live,
Wrecked on rugged rock like a pirate ship;
Tiresias speaks to hearts—no love to give,
Darkness and void with no inspired lips;
If love is quashed short of its golden prime,
Like dinosaurs smashed by a meteorite;
Crushed from its age of blossoming on time,
Like breath strangled from life not to unite!
Then O’ love, send me Pegasus to ride,
Spread your wings—lift us to Zeus in the sky;
Touching constellations with them abide,
Creating cherished crescendos for weepy eye:
Lightning life beaming love from golden clouds
Descending passion upon earth erasing shrouds!
The earth is heaving its last sigh.
Birds twitter in the growing chill.
I wait for wind to sweep the sky.
Like Icarus, though I may fail,
from this green summit, I now spill
myself onto blue heaven’s trail. . .
I am flying higher than high!
Wings carry me to that gold sphere
I wish to touch before I die.
Beneath - beasts cower in the grass.
Soon everything will disappear
and earth become like smooth cold glass.
The earth is heaving its last sigh;
I am flying higher than high.
A Cornish Sonnet
Here we bow down to the Lord of the flies,
making way for elegant hissing gowns,
bejeweled in glittering serpentine eyes,
balancing the luster of crooked crowns.
Alas! We have lost our morality,
so blindly do we serve this filthy swine;
this vile beast bathes in our depravity,
turning our wretched sins back into wine.
At this drunk-fest, the swine ruefully grins,
watching us bow down to our own demise.
Why sit back and watch as the evil wins,
darkness can be vanquished, please realize!
United, we can make our final stand,
and banish this beast from our rightful land.
A bird in hand is worth two in the woods
Teaches us to take care not to be greedy
In the air, quite very easy to build castles
The water and the image are not a reality.
The image of sky and pool, even the wood
This material world is, philosophically, illusion.
We know the way to create imaginary world
We humans can not dispense with illusion.
Now slowly taking the hands apart or aside
The water, the image will disappear soon
It was just an illusion in one’s mind created
We live immersed in dreams and illusion.
“We are stuff as dreams are made on and
Our little life is, with a sleep, surrounded”*
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest : Pick a line any line
6th place win
This sonnet was written earlier by me (The Universe is Maya "Illusion") but
I revised and changed the title of the poem)
*A quote from William Shakespeare
* Maya means illusion in Indian languages.
I did not wish to leave your warm embrace --
I did not wish for our sweet love to end --
And though your chauvinism's a disgrace,
I cannot help but see you as a friend.
Perhaps someday a sweeter girl you'll find,
Who'll do just as you wish for her to do --
A girl who doesn't have a thoughtful mind,
So she can focus all she is on you.
She'll nod her head, and brainlessly agree
With anything you say, to make you smile --
She'll cook your meals and serve you honeyed tea,
And never stop her chatter all the while;
So when your brain cells rot from lack of use,
You've only you to blame, and no excuse.
Beauty always lies,
where fixed are our eyes.
It is with the world outside.
It is with our thoughts inside.
For the hungry, it's in bread.
Great thinkers see it in head.
For the lonely, it's in someone's company.
All the wealthy feel it in money.
Blooming lovers weigh their beauties in lovely cards and flowers.
And every Child all the day,
sees beauty only in his play.
How wonderfully GOD has created beauty!
Some treasure it as possession,
Others take it as obsession.
wandering in thoughts.
promises and hopes.
Hand in hand,
tumbling on slopes.
This is love
Running away from this world.
Warm bodies sliding in sheets,
to find another world.
Burning in cold flames.
No fear ... no shame ... no games
This is love
I met a pessimist walker in Optimist Park,
She walked with a walker and a co-walker
Swaying on either side, not in her mark.
Crippled, stressed, depressed, a fatuous talker.
Troubled by blood sucking winged insects.
‘mosi-ki-toss’ many, many, ‘mosi-ki-toss’
Shouted she in her Serbian accents,
Waving her palm to drive away foes & woes.
Immigrants of different nations & cultures,
Come in search of shades of optimism,
Culminating in the Old Testament adage,
‘HE hath made all things good in their times’
Indulging in the mirage of meliorism,
Things are bad but can be of better advantage.
Eighth Place win in
Contest: First poem on the soup by P.D>
I wrote this sonnet visiting Optimist Park in Windsor-Ont-Canada. It is " thoughts recollected in tranquility"
The poem was posted on 16-6-2005.
The Sacrament of Confirmation
Confirmation perfects baptismal grace
The Sacrament gives the Holy Spirit to root us more deeply in divine filiation
Incorporate us more firmly to Fr. Christ
Strengthen our bond with the Church
Associate us more closely with her mission
Help us bear witness to Christian faith in words accompanied by deeds
Like Baptism imprints a spiritual mark or indeliable character of the Christian soul
For this reason one can receive this sacrament only once in one’s life
A candidate for Confirmation has attained the age of reason must profess faith
Be in the state of grace
Have the intention of receiving the Sacrament
Be prepared to assume the role of disciple
Witness to Fr. Christ, both within the Ecclesial bond
Annointing of the forehead of the baptized with sacred chrism
What motivation drives her infant feet
to push back at the ground she knows so well?
What causes her to suddenly rebel
and with the savage walking world compete?
To pull herself upright on virgin legs -
were years of crawling all too much to bear?
Or was she quite abruptly made aware
that dirty floors are but for she who begs?
How quickly in adulthood we profess
our hatred of the view from there below,
but from the crawl we learn to live with grace:
In knowing well its grave submissiveness,
in wanting to allow ourselves to grow,
we teach our legs to stand firm in their place.