Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |
I realize we have not met,
other than the guy next door
but that doesn't really count
cause that was just to put up a fence between us,
and I have met Marvelously Mad Mike,
behind me, on the River,
but primarily because I could not run away fast enough.
I want to invite you over
for kind of a potluck neighborhood open house party.
Just come as you happen to be at the moment,
bring something to drink
and, oh yes,
something to eat that you would consider politically and economically
and, oh yes,
But not to worry,
we will have political correctness exams
at the front door,
prior to gaining admission,
unless you would like that of course,
in which case
perhaps I should mention,
so as not to become justly accused of hidden agendas,
I would prefer to disclose
a politically correct completely open agenda,
and that probably goes for your porky political
and/or porkless spiritual beliefs too.
If you want to talk about how I really should get myself Born Again,
if only for the life insurance values,
I will almost certainly agree
that I hope to dream deep rich baptisms of fire
and wind every night
to be reborn again each morning,
except on those too-rare occasions
when I could theoretically have baptized myself
in erotic dreams
to awake feeling less reborn,
Nor would I drop a jaw
were you to explain to me
why I should aspire to transcendent mysticism,
the rather imprecise feedback
I get from my defiant kids
right after they rob me blind
or lie to me as if I were senseless
and preferably more transcendent
and mysteriously preoccupied with larger issues
of climatic change
in Great Political-Economic Scientific-EcoTherapeutic Transition,
and not so much
these smaller political and economic
most uncooperative and unmindful transactions.
Lest you fear I may have some hidden political,
or, god forbid,
some cultish religious-fundamentalist agenda,
rather than a party smorgasbord
and self-entertainment and -governance menu,
with issues that march along
some more Traditionally Orthodox Party Line,
perhaps scripture lessons on how to invest heart beats
and wise inhale-exhale breaths of bicameral mindfulness,
allow me to expose
my polypathic proclivities as a Taoist-Christian.
This T-C is a hybrid line,
somewhat like U-U,
which is, for some weird regenetic reason,
also dialectically like dipolar U-C nutritional health balance,
going back to both Eastern and Western shamans.
So, nothing is supposed to surprise us
except the absence of bad news,
and even then
we are not to let on,
pretending that we have been predicting this,
the continuing advent of good TaoBalancing news all along,
sort of permaculturally,
only to those who would be most certain
not to take us seriously,
too radically through fundamentally fractally,
so long as they treat us as shamans
and not the more totally insane polypaths,
terrorized by emerging voices of climatic anger
and silos of echoing foggy fears
about ego's future emptiness,
absence of life-becoming.
So, not to worry,
Taoist lies before the hyphenatic Christian,
meaning Radical Revolutionary Christian.
We are so radically revolutionary
that we believe Christianity should declare its mission statement
as 100% self-perpetuatingly regeneratively replete,
and now move on to more globally optimizing multicultural issues,
like investing in more cooperatively nutritious politics
and active-cooperative-invested economic choices,
more teleologically ecologically bicamerally informed
by sacred-humane nondual TaoBalance
YangLeftHealthyNature-YinRightSpiritBiLateral EcoMentoring MessiahLight.
Tao EarthLoving Christians are so radically revolutionary
we believe good nature is always nutritionally kind
and we don't believe we should even (0)-sum ego-exist.
So, not to worry,
no evangelical intentions are allowed by Yin,
much as Yang would love to love you to death
with the LeftBrain Wisdom
of multicultural truths
as harmonic fractal-crystal beauty
of econconsciousness in fertile-octave light bilateral-cross-messianic frequencies.
Just come as you are
in your own light
with whomever you happen to have
hanging around at the moment you finish reading this.
Feel free to bring your pets
and any tools you might have to share,
or just a list would be fine,
and I'm wondering if we want to exchange email addresses,
so there will be a sign-in sheet for those who want to include that,
and those who don't,
and please check off if you might be interested in collaborative gardening
this next spring coming up.
And if you or any of your accompanying tribe
has any skills or talents,
songs, dances, readings,
other musical instruments,
except maybe not a tuba
because I'm just not that musically evolved
and I realize you could not laugh with me
while playing your foghorn of a tuba,
bring anyone or anything except a monopolistic tuba,
which really isn't a party instrument anyway,
for our cooperative skills and talent show.
Stay as long as we all like,
and can afford to live together.
I'm sure we have much to co-invest and celebrate about.
OK, you can bring that damned tuba, if you must.
Maybe I am being invited to evolve in some foghorn kind of way.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
James Long | Details |
~ Morning Wheat ~ (A Pros Poetry Works) ~
mercy joy belief,
humility and true absolution,
who themselves do not desire
or cry out from within, for the
solace and security of this... ?"
"For I have felt and seen,
that gracious, love exults the very
principals ... and generous surrender for
all eternity of their open will."
inspiring and relative to this; far
beyond the normal a true originality
stands alone, lives Honestly boldly,
Openly Willingly, remains connected,
centered and free, is confined
never within itself,
looks for a perfect home amid
the mix revealing for all the goodness
frosting the butter cake welcomes the
test of time stays at home within the
heart of what is real; challenges only
itself offers its hope to another
to live a life; as irrefutable
I believe true
humility is innocent
and free; evolving through
life continually aspiring before
God and man to move in gratitude;
and being Heavenly, and gracious,
tenderly aware; it is always
surrendering itself to
faithful to this principal;
and overtly willing to abide in
peace and passionate unity with
the World around it; thereby
being recreated; itself; before
the brevity of it's days given
whatever, the limitation;
hopefulness and liberty overt
from the day they were born, raging
winds could not defile because docile,
they remain amenable, an endearing vision
of truth, though however fragile."
"No greater joy is there for me, nor
anything more divine, bridging the
expanse, between bitter abhorrence ... my
own tendentiousness ... unbridled greed,
a genuine ... injustice, and
"So taken in by the wheat fields
supplicating mid conciliate winds, teeming
I tarried to view them as I did amble along
amid the swaying stalks so very felicitous to
be alive, and in quiet reverence, to my Father;
touched by their faithfulness
I offered again to Him
for His promise
Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Sergio Silveira | Details |
'We have a future king to make,'
Said the deep, resounding voice.
'But it is not a proper fit for everyone.
For a king must know first how to obey than to command,
And to abide rather than reign.'
'And thus, I need a volunteer.'
The eager little voices swiftly gathered ‘round.
'To have a throne and my own crown,' said a little voice with delight.
'A great palace for my home,' cried another, 'or a castle with tall ramparts.'
'I’d be above all others,' said yet another, 'that would surely ease one’s comparing mind;'
'And best of all, to be revered by everyone and through all time!'
'Don’t fool yourselves with thrones and crowns,' said a little voice from the side,
'Do not haste into a choice you may regret for all your life!
I’d rather risk oblivion and even want, but be free to choose my fate,
What is precious life for but to discover one’s gift and thirst?
You take that crown and throne, and you forever renounce the greatest prize you own!'
There were no volunteers at hand for that grand, distinguished life.
The once lively little voices now stood silent, with cautious glances in their eyes.
Yet they began to move a little, but not to volunteer their fates;
Someone was slowly coming forward all the way from far behind.
Soon, one single little voice stood ahead of all the others, and with a thoughtful stare, it spoke:
'I overheard a story once
Of a vast and balmy river
That braves across cold, stormy seas
So it can meet a fabled shore
And become one with it.
'Wearied from its long voyage,
It crashes beneath the sheer cliffs.
And as its froth caresses the jagged rocks,
It echoes the green, velvety meadows above
Which gently cuddle the harsh precipice.
'The wee, babe-in-arms coming king
Will hold that fabled shore in him.
For he, though one sole man
Will stand for an entire land.
And in choosing this destiny
Of that fabled shore I also shall be,
For it will be a part of me,
And I, humbly, of it.
'And then, there is the brave lad who in sheer fright,
Gathered all his nerve and leaped into the dark night
Over the unknown enemy’s laird.
Oh, how I would leap into the dark along with thee!
Though he is now long gone, he will live in me,
And I, humbly, in him.
'And the family who huddled deep beneath the ground
Through the terrifying shudder of the enemy’s raging rounds.
Then, to rise again, and not concede.
I was in that shelter along with them,
And so were a million others who were yet to be!
'Such as the young boy now walking to school on a quiet country lane,
To learn his Scott, his Shakespeare, his Milton, and his Keats.
I will follow him close behind, and my own feet shall grow within his footprints.
It takes no less than each of them to make a king,
And not more than lacking one to lessen him.
For a king, though one sole self, stands for all,
And all do stand for him.
'I know that in choosing this path,
I’ll forever relinquish command of my compass,
And may never find out what I could’ve become on my own,
Or what my true talent may be.
I will follow, instead, a course that has long been set,
By others, and not by me.
'But I have a strong hunch
That if I don’t put myself first,
Or what I feel I’m entitled to do and to have,
And choose, instead, to be fair, as best as I possibly can,
To those for whom I’ll be honored to stand,
I’ll eventually know who I really am;
And will meet, one day, the man I am meant to become.'
'Thus, I volunteer
To be the child who’s one day to be king.'
A newborn day blazed in the distance,
And a transformation was about to take place,
As momentous as the invasion of spring,
The rising of the harvest, or a mighty winter gale.
Nearly two thousand babies were coming to life on that land,
From that land, to that land, for that land,
And a single one amongst them exalted all.
Half a world away, a vast and balmy river
Was setting out on its long voyage to a fabled shore,
And nearby, radiant sunlight battled gray, stormy clouds,
So as to break through and paint in brilliant and broad brushstrokes
The lofty Highlands below,
And thus, be reborn as shimmering glens and moors.
Copyright © Sergio Silveira | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Taoi Chanan | Details |
Earth dwelling mongeese are neither toys nor coins and pedalling backwards then forward is not considered the primary way of jet propulsion off a very high hill. So one two ping means fried rice coming? How long for? Will it rest a while? On a sofa or a couch? It is not particular. When passing trade tickles the fancy if the local gentry then sentries can be posted at doors. And savouring a little bit of currant pie is a fantastic idea in an afternoon soiree. Quite pleasurable really. Resolution reaching radiuses rather radically. How observant is a door frame. How sectioned are the audio reactive wave arches? A temple in a bean burger and a pistol in a frilly night gown. Oooh look a diamante leaf tiarap bending and freeing captured twigs. How rather nice and polite it is. Framework fashioned fixated first fleeces found foundations. And the tail arch from a tailrace is very very very quick and versatile too. Mingle with the moons in a bowl of white leaf soup. And dip feet into puddles to correct erosions of toes. Then upon rising chanting to windows can often display a timely workout in a garden gym. Pushing plants. Wearing weeds. Standing soils. All whilst wearing a Bhatia hat of fine distinction. But to ascertain whether the verb flies south is to organise a noun in a pleasure dome. Not fun. Not good or useful. In fact it is quite unnecessary. In an era measuring two minutes it is wise to be a bee than a mildew. And a tidal force can operate the machinery. So never rely on the symbolic codes on a screen. Point now. Go on point. It is the point that places the cuckoo clock. On the hour song. On the hour chime. Spare not a dime nor a pound for a disturbed crocodile face on a yacht. Travelling. In a pair of white shorts and shirts. Pristine. Cleaned daily. Ha ha said the passing whale. It would be great to knock into the boat and spill the red drink over the oversized frames of those greedy obnoxious humans. They sail around whilst people on the ground over there forage for fodder on the floor like ants. Such fun. Then whale glides away. Monotony does not sit well with whales you see. And a flurry in a hurry is a passing shoal. Ants attempting a backflip to entertain should be stripped and whipped and put in front of the high queen. Then doomed to a life underground removing faeces from carnage brought by the open dwellers. Link not a laughter. And heel clicking is best performed upside-down in the artic circle in a thunderstorm. Plaintiffs plainly play political polo politely and the zoo opens the doors to the wilds for the flood arrives when temperatures dip. The incessant chatting from the thermometer changes and argues with the satellite dish. Woof said the dog in a garden bake sprawled. By a small square empty pool. With a crack. Boil no brow said a fountain in the town. It is here I stand proud. Although I was erected upon ancient graves. I do not care for that. I am delicate and handsomely carved. Curators cheat chickens chatting charging chimes chopped. And the wide angled dish of tomatoes can be located at the west of the supermarket. Ding dong. Eastern smell and a drafty curtain bringing spices unto the streets. Wow. Generalistic genocide gearing gaining goblets. And a wide tooth or pincer works best in the snow than a tongue. Please do be aware that when an eel dons snow boots it is time for the skiing competitions. Worldwide. Of course worldwide. No country is ever omitted in a nature contest. And nowhere to be seen is the mangled mish mashed heaps of fortified blaming brigades. Duel duality daring deviations during denominations. And joining in wisdom spanning decades appropriately. Tailoring hop of a seven foot cloud. Grinning angelic and demonic orchestrations of a circular formation dancing. Whirling. Wow. Fantastic isn't it. Free souls of men. Radius of watery eyes weaving. Hahahaha bookings boy bootjack boots. Hahahahahahah wisdom whirlpool xxxxxxx coniferous clambering clam xxxxx deforestation destitution z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Shaila Touchton | Details |
Jesus is the word of God, through him all things are made
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God,
And the Word was God
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us
So that we could behold God's glory
He came to the world to love us and deliver us from all sins
God was revealed visibly through Jesus Christ
He is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners, exalted above the heavens
He redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us
He shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners
The sacrifice of animals could never take away our sins
Jesus offered the perfect sacrifice for the sins of the world
Jesus received blasphemous false accusations from the world
He was denied, abandoned, mocked, was arrested and bound.
He was rejected by his own hometown and was asked deceitful questions.
He was ridiculed by his own family members, he was blindfolded, beaten
Struck with blows, was arrested, wounded, bruised unaccompanied by his accusers
He was falsely charged, chastised, endured stripes, oppressed, led to the slaughter
Cut off from the land of the living, he was abused by the roman soldiers
He was scourged, put on a crown of thorns on his head, a reed in His right hand
Struck Him on the head with the reed
The soldiers striped him and divided His garments, nailed on the cross
He bore his own cross and was crucified.
The chief priests with the scribes mocked and sneered at him
Jesus paid a debt of sin that He did not owe
We owed a debt of sin that we could not pay
Jesus came to serve, to take away the sins of many people
He willingly paid the ultimate sacrifice for the sins of the world
Our sins had to be paid with Jesus blood
Without shedding of His blood there is no remission of sins
He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows
He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities
He died on the cross as our perfect, unblemished, unspotted substitute
Who did not suffer for his own sins, but for the sins of others
Like a lamb that is led to the slaughter
He is the perfect Lamb without spot and without blemish
He is The Lamb of God who took away the sins of the world
He made a peace between God and man through His death.
To reconcile to Himself all things,
Whether things on earth or things in heaven
Through His blood shed on the cross
We have been made holy through his one perfect sacrifice
We are saved and redeemed by His blood
Our sins are forgiven and we are justified through His blood
We have eternal life, communion and fellowship with God
Through His blood
He who follows Him shall not walk in darkness,
But have the light of life
For He is the way, the truth, and the light
The resurrection and the life
He is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever
He is the one who baptized with the Holy Spirit
Jesus is our advocate, our comforter
He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation
He sent us ANOTHER comforter which is Holy Spirit
Lord Jesus Christ is the comforting Holy Spirit
And we must not grieve the Holy Spirit of God
For we are sealed unto the day of redemption.
For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form
But laid aside his mighty power and glory,
Taking the disguise of a slave and becoming like men
God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit,
Seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles
Believed on in the world, received up into glory
He was manifested to take away our sins
And in him there is no sin
For Jesus Christ is in the Father and the Father in him
The Holy Spirit is the spirit of God which is the spirit of Jesus Christ
For Father and Jesus are One
And Salvation is found only in Jesus Christ.
Copyright © Shaila Touchton | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Taoi Chanan | Details |
A synchronised swan chime is very pleasant in a cool breeze but sampling an electric blanket supper is just not that amazing. Nor is it justifiable in a spring turreted garden. Gardeners grabbing gates greedily getting geraniums. And general gnome stands up to fish. Oh great. Sheer divine luxury in a field of a bed. Beetroots should be avoided at all costs less they should have talons and talons are takers and takers are tyrannical tyrant types who typically talk in a stripe. So pit on a lilac coloured long tall dress and kiss the buds from the growth. Undergrowth spots a curl in a divinatory weave. Oh woven ones please rise to assist the mud who is baking in an incorrect pattern. Circular chant of effortless cloud clapping. Release no dog to a disco bowl. And cease to chin a chin in a china cup. Wow. Noodles niggling. Giggling. Wiggling. But no worm. Clouds of patterned miscellaneous information swings north south and east in a fabric turret of inner mind. How rather acrobatic. Wow. Wield no weapon of a teaspoon for the trays will become very upset and cry. It is the contemporary contemplation of a benign fruit tree standing in the middle of a busy road. How loud the traffic flow. How hard the concrete claves. Always put the paintings in a point. To create shields. Now waltz in a semi circle and sing sha la la la to a very large bird with an ample bust. Wise wishing waiting wanton womanly whisk. And a printed floral avenue of curses. Should be rather entertaining and remarkable really to underpin an underworld to gain insight and access albeit briefly, to a televised monstrosity of noise emblems. Seas of ice cream served. Countries are clapping. But no caps. No capped interest, deficit or percent. And no taxable income ever really moves in a room so don't put papers in a heaped conical format. Rather like a radio. Rather like a fusion of fishes. Swirling. In riots worldwide. Police no hockey boards. And clasp no metal orifice either. Translate transaxle twice transferring the taco's tracking trailers. Mystic sin bin. Wow. Now put on a very smart hat and smile. Interesting isn't it? And fat jackals on drums can never be trusted with any drawing pins. Ever. So ever decreasing circles reach the plasma beta waves of the patio where is the fountain. There are some doors here. Sages and magi and other religious deities are here. Knock then. Go on knock. Here is Alteron. He is dressed in a long garment. With a flowing white beard. Quite ornate really. Hello alteron. How are you after all these years? Tha k you for the waters from your fountain which have replenished. And now i can see into the flames. The water. The ground. And the sky. Aerodynamics of atmospherical aura then. That bull is writing nonsense. And that mongoose is travelling the wrong way down the waters. How very rude of it. So now is to see and to see is not to shove, shunt or brake. Nor is it to bake a loaf of bread whilst carrying a jug of jiggling wine. Bayaha bang bang bang. But no boom. And no bookshelf looking at the carpets. Hahaaa many a teapot leap from a high shelf. Haha no drawing room draws. Xxxxx horticultural z. And that was the latest news from the p Y Q REPORTING ON THE APPROPRIATE MOTORWAY xxx z. Z.
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Nina Mindova | Details |
Wave a sea softened
and a pain and a tenderness
throw dreams in fascination
of the blue.
And let shave the waves of
Your eternity , oh, weigh
oh,weigh a coast of years.
Carry far in azure, spiral
with bulging little abdomens,
flutter with mahagony pinions
and already in vain expect you
to stop the scales harbours
with hot flames for You are
Far away, far away ,far away,
heart and frank await the
hymn of June.
All sea sisters are dressed in
embroidered of kiss of
In the morning hunts them
fishermen and revive with
breath of their man’s hands.
In the evening girls wash
their black tunics,
in their blue hearts,
their feet white ,who cadge
The night is squeezed enigma
predatory like a bat pecking
of scarlet fig.
Sea sisters, sea sisters,
remember His steps
which go through you noiselessly,
and ou swing like
hold in His fingers Herod,
Pilate washes his hands,
in Yours heirs
and they bristled like winter
icicles bristles of innoncent blood .
There at Golgotha
hearing terrible cry,
blood gushes like
wounded river disappear
like Easter roses,
in weeds of flushed
to open way of
Who is He?
Do you heard
His name ?
He is Messiah,
Like little sheeps,
clouds of candy floss,
they welcome festivaly.
Barefooted are feet
of lovely swarthy steps
of the sun, came to bow,
before You , Creator.
The sea throws his
magnificent silver flesh,
blue like heavently lace,
to swallow all stars
pretty like uncreated
like an apple of not
Copyright © Nina Mindova | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Mike Liquori | Details |
I Held Mary’s Hand
I held Mary’s hand as John covered his face,
Faded are the slapping sounds of the whip against his flesh,
Gone now are the shrieks as his crown was pegged into her child’s head,
I felt her hand, as it twists into mine,
Dry, strong to the touch.
As the arms release, her grip is firm, ridged,
As if hers are the spiked arms being released, free from pain
Her tears roll,
As her son is now
Shrouded body moves like a holy ghost,
The linen and cotton, dotted with the sin of man,
Mary awareness, that they not know what has been done,
Presented in their presence and decided with each lash mark,
Each step of the walk with 300 pounds of wood nailed to fashion the Christ cross,
Foretold this day to her,
All the years before
I held Mary’s hand as we walk to the tomb of our King of King’s.
I see her resolute,
No fear of our future,
Brilliant in the light of God,
Mourning the natural,
Her Son, her boy, her baby
Now Devine providence for us all,
In his sacrifice,
Her sacrifice, as told to her all the years before,
I held Mary’s hand,
As the Stone closed,
Sealing in the body,
Releasing the spirit of the Christ-Child,
Tears dry by the kicking sands and dust of which all men will return.
Stoic we look upon the dotted trail,
Our long winding road back thru perdition
I held Mary’s hand as she leads me,
Pulls us to our destination,
Resolute our steps gain purpose.
Divinity and destiny intertwine to our hope’s yield,
Step by Step,
The confidence and purpose,
Re-delivered as if the Spirit,
Advising of the greatest of gifts,
Would be delivered from Mary,
As the vessel,
To one day go back to the Alter of God,
Each step rekindles the awareness,
The divine need for all this to happen,
For the upcoming Majesty,
Behold the power of Gods mighty hand,
As told to her all the years before,
In the light of the spirit,
Of the holy divinity to come
I held Mary’s hand
As we eat unleavened bread, sipping from the cup,
Waiting and listening, the shock of her son’s disciples,
Explaining the sight their eyes will not believe,
When the arm extended,
Hands open and out,
I held Mary’s hand as we move past time, space and place.
I show her the words of her son, spreading across the lands,
I show Mary the hymnals,
We hear the choirs of angles singing,
Wrapped in their robes,
The praised sounds that are holy ode’s of joy
I held Mary’s Hand,
As we enter….
Together seated next to God.
Copyright © Mike Liquori | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Madhavi Sarjare pagare | Details |
The Intensifying love story by
I simply adore you, my Mesmerizing
As you are my first love.
Who lighted my heart with full of pride and
Who ignited the ecstasy towards lovely life.
Who relieved my pains and took sorrows
You made me fall sick in your love when I
see your madness.
I like the way,
The way you gazed at me and my smoky
The way you smiled at my mystifying and
The way you every time praises me.
The way you galvanized me and proved
the meaning of life.
You are the one,
Yes, you are the one who aroused my
feelings, my emotions.
Yes, you are the one who explored my
passion of love, flaming in my charismatic
Yes, you are the lovely treasure which god
had baptized me.
Yes, you are the one who turned the page
of my life.
Eureka, I found my true love!!!!
Bewilderedly I did not know, where is my
love taking me to ??
But still I like the way,
Like, the way you clutched me into your
Like, the way you kissed my palms.
Like, the way you hugged me, caressed
Like, the way you rubbed your fingers on
Like, the way you tickled me on my neck.
Like, the way you squeezed my cheeks.
Like, the way you holded me up towards
Like, the way when you inspired me to fly
Tears dropped from my eyes and the very
next moment I realized that it is my
sensational love. My true love. Then I
decided that no one had right to do this
except you. If you want to know the
reason?? If yes??
Yes, because I seriously fell in love with
Yes, because you are the one to whom god
had assigned me to.
And here comes the Swifted instance
When, the moment you wore the golden
ring in my finger and I was happily waving
Just can’t forget the time when our long
lasting friendship turned into lifetime
It was just the blooming of two lover’s
indicating the herald of the marriage. It
means a lot for any girl in this amazing
And yes, you will always find my heart
topped with love showered only for you.
And till my last breathe, my heart beats,
beating for you, only for you SUYOG!!
In fervour I wanted you to be mine forever,
We both sojourned in each other soul so
deeply that we just can’t wait for a single
second, unless and until, we share what is
running in our mind. It’s just because we
are so much accustomed to each other
I Love you, adore you, adore you forever
Copyright © Madhavi Sarjare pagare | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
liam mcdaid | Details |
She who is the light and hope in love complete
I kneel in your grace
A story that really gripped me deeply
as my mother told me with such pride in her voice
Protectress of the most Holy living rosary
she has preformed countless miracles
A young virgin who was martyred at the age of 13
She willingly gave her life to the heavenly sacrifice
daughter of light you shine heroic
Blessed with the virtues of purity,obedience and humility
the anchor of hope in deep dark despair
I promised someone really dear to me
precious in my heart with love
to write this story
She was the daughter of a prince stunning beautiful
coming from a small state in Greece
who her family became Christians
in baptism she became the daughter off, light
One day while in the city the family went for an audience
with the great emperor, when he saw her
he appeared possessed in his mannerism
during the whole time within conversations
Now her father was dazzled with his honor
he willingly accepted his proposal of marriage
her father and mother tried everything to induce her to yield
to their demands she turned to them and said
I never break a promise once made
in the one she had made to Jesus
saying her virginity belongs to him
No longer can I dispose of it
They tried everything in their power
her father began attacking her in his own shame
in violent rage and anger and her mother tried to induce her to yield
they tried everything with her that was possibly know to them
Until both her parents fell on their knees begging
with tears that were overwhelming their eyes
pleading with her to please take pity on them
No was her answer final on the subject
she had vowed herself to God and her kingdom is in Heaven
She was brought before the emperor at the time
he flew into a mad violent fit of anger mixed with rage
influenced by the devil himself
He flung her into the palace prison
thinking to himself with pain and suffering
and with great shame in her courage he constantly attacked her
some which were almost fatal to her purity of blessing
had it not been for the hand and grace of God
Her prayers supported her
those she made to the love of Jesus
and to her most holy mother with her only son
now being held in captivity 37 days in total
always in a heavenly mist of light
Our Blessed most Holy Mother supreme through the eyes of all women
bride of our Lord the Father God the creator
our Blessed Mother appeared in a vision
this story continues on next write 3 chapters this all held me captive
Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014