Best Ambrose Poems
ELIZABETHAN LOVE PASTICHE
I will pluck Parmenter from your orchard bower
And taste it’s Ambrose and the scented flower
There we shall pass a brief but blessed hour
While I sup your essence sweet piquant and sour
Lest passing time should look on us to glower
And curse us so no more we may have power
To circumvent the fates and they devour
Our consecrated rapture that they scour
16 July 2019
Today’s’ another day unlike yesterday I am told.
But each one is unique in the troubles that it holds.
To solve all my problems I call on all those good old Patron Saints.
The Catholic Church has Patron Saints I can pray to for everything.
As I get up each morning I pray to St. Martha the protector of housewives.
I need St. Christopher while going to the door, to safely find my way.
Then St. Camilla is handy if I trip and fall getting there, needing aide.
And when I write my poems its St. Cecelia to whom for words I pray.
As my children leave for school its St. Pancras to get them there and home safe.
And when they give me a headache I ask St. Dennis to make it go away.
I pray to St Ambrose as my learned children bring report cards home from school.
And as my children’s music gets loud its St. Cecelia I beg to change it into
something good.
When in trouble my kids like St. Gerard since they were falsely accused.
And with any time out, I send St. Hippolytus to guard their prison room.
Each month as I pay the rent it’s to St. Margaret I look… so as not to be homeless
soon.
And when I face my crazy neighbor… its St. Eustace to calm me down, it’s true.
When the dogs misbehave… I ask St. Roch to stop them just once more.
And when I’ve had a bad day its St Dymphna I ask… why I shouldn’t run away.
I’m not Catholic but I like to hedge my bets you see…
I wouldn’t need any of these saints if just one wasn’t my best friend… truly.
St. Murphy from Murphy’s Law sits upon my shoulder each and every day.
He keeps telling me not to worry… if it can go wrong it will go wrong any way.
He’s my Patron Saint who loves me intensely… most of all!
And I can see why the Catholic Church won’t claim him… no… not at all.
Written 4-20-2011
Note to self: Never again read 'The Monk'
by Mathew Gregory Lewis
before drinking myself into a diabetic coma...
...All night long
The Wandering Jew requested directions to salvation;
That is to say,
Whenever I wasn't being pursued by the Bleeding Nun
- She seemed like a good enough sort
For being just another figment of my horrific imagination;
It would appear she only wanted a sanitary napkin:
"Leave me alone" I kept telling her,
"I rarely have a spare Tampon!"
...Even in my dreams I can't seem to relate to women...
...At least I'll always be immune to Matilda's seduction...
...Because I'm only a "borderline heterosexual"
- I'm really more of a "feline enthusiast"
- Kinda like William S. Burroughs, I guess?
...This was quite possibly the worst nightmare I've had
Ever since dreaming about
Ambrose Bierce's 'The Damned Thing'
- I wish I never had to sleep again...
...I'm terrified to dream of 'The King in Yellow'
by Robert W. Chambers!
I have been condemned to a fate worse than Poe!
And H.P. Lovecraft is sooo-oh-oh-oh,
Ridiculously jealous of me too!
So don't start to panic - It isn't just you...
(Inspired by: Mother Liniel Ambrose)
The sadist sings no songs to God
They dance to bells they ring
'Till one mightier within them sing
They'll sit in the land of nod.
Sad people's songs affords them might
They see the hands of God
Carving providence from heavy logs
The weak is made strong, that's right.
They sing because singing is prayer
Or t e s t i m o n i e s, too
Their converse with the Source chases blues
Sooner than soon, God will appear.
Sad singer's song does reach new heights
They hear the voice of God
Serenity is gem He affords
Most of all, He gives delight.
*
(J.P. Hopps, 1831-1911) Petitioned thus:
*
"Father, lead me day by day
Ever in Thine own sweet way
Teach me to be pure and true
Show me what I ought to do.
When in danger, make me brave
Make me know that Thou canst save
Keep me safe by Thy dear side
Let me in Thy love abide.
When I'm tempted to do wrong
Make me steadfast, wise and strong
And when all alone I stand
Shield me with Thy mighty hand.
When my heart is full of glee
Help me to remember Thee
Happy most of all to know
That my Father loves me so..."
(Mother Liniel Ambrose signature song
When she felt lonely in London, as Missionary...)
"50 Words for Poe: The Wicker Man"
Lost in the fire of his own mind
Lost in the fire of his own heart betrayed
Lost in the fire of his own life arraigned
Lost in the absence of Love, always
No Home
Man on Fire
Afraid
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own sorrow
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own soul
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own today n’ere tomorrow
Freedom to be found in the fire of his own higher-self to remember
Time now to let go
Time is not borrowed
Burn the past to find Home
The Ocean calls him Home calls him Home calls him Home
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
for Cerberus
off-page guarding his heart
https://youtu.be/NZ1o3mBbhws
"Man on Fire"/Gerrard
“It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.” Tolkien, The Silmarillion
“Ocean, n. A body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man — who has no gills.” Ambrose Bierce, The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary
AND PASSING INTO HOLY SOULSFROM AGE TO AGE
SHE PRODUCES FRIENDS OF GOD
PROPHETS
WISDOM 7:27
IF YOU GO TO MILAN in northern Italy
You probably head first to the Duomo
The massive Gothic Cathedral in the center
After you tour it and walk amid the spires on its roof
You might sit on the piazza steps eating gelato with scores of others
Then you might descend to the subway, ready for another adventure
As you hurry through the hallway to catch a train
You’ll pass a locked door with a small window
If you look
You’ll see mounds of dirt and stones
But if you return to the church
You can visit that underground space by going down some steps in the back
Amid the excavations is an octagonal-darkness
Alone
Contemplate the font where St. Ambrose washed
St. Augustine in the living waters of baptism
Then you can return to the bustling
Brightness, centuries later
But still held in the e3mbrace of the same Wisdom they sought
Found
Lord, open my soul to your wisdom and truth
Readings and Gospel
Wisdom 7:22, 8:1 * Psalm 119:89-91, 130, 135, 175
Luke 17:20-25
Hortense and Gertrude
Priscilla, Imogene
Once-popular names
no more to be seen
Isadore, Cornelius
Cyrus and Mortimer
Back in the day such
names courted her
You never know though
when a name may return
Such as Ambrose, Edsel
Penelope or Fern
Eternal life is immortally forever lived, only to see things forever to give, only love for life to be positive. The lost of love ones, for love we give must remain to be positive, for which life can speak, forever lived immortalized indefinitely. May the powers that lyse within our selves, be discovered by you, insainity is a step away from you too. Eternally I lived to see many things coming, for which road i walk I start running, like a shadow behind me, a destination, for a population, for human kind, with a spiritual mind, eternal living is hard to find. May the sky look like tommorow, to estimate the essence of time for tommorow. The lesson of life is learned the longer you live, only to remain humble for every second you live. Only to breath you must need oxygen, it be danger like toxigents, the arrival of life is full of beliefs tommorow it rain, today it's sunny. Eternal living speaks to the world, only to be immortalize to turn in a swirl, only to fall through a tunnel , to only be with an asumble form of love, may shall you live, only to be discreet, for life you meet to remain positive. The power to live eternalize the mind the longer you alive exercises your mind, immortal in time, life after death, an entrance to another life, eternally lived for life of tommorow.
The estate of Ambrose Rose is released from probate.
To receive their inheritance, the stooges can't wait.
Ichabod Slipp is the executor holding the money.
What this crook is doing to the stooges isn't funny.
Each one gets a beating from Slipp in an altercation.
On a night train is where Slipp has made a reservation.
Moe, Larry, and Shemp board it for a confrontation.
Are you curious about where this story will go?
All you have to do is watch the video.
Based on the 1947 Columbia Pictures short subject "Hold That Lion"
starring the Three Stooges.
Cloaked in a Civil War Cape
Swaggered the fierce
And fearless and cavalier shape:
Proud Ambrose Bierce.
Editor, author and wit,
Bierce had the zest
And courage and cunning to fit
Well in the West.
Then when his days dwindled lean,
Bierce rode away;
Old Mexico swallowed him clean,
Gulping her prey.
Cynics like him are the last
Men to seek fame,
So bitterness out of the past
Still dims his name.
(This is a brief summary of the Battle of Fredericksburg that occurred from December 11-15 in the year 1862. The American Civil War was raging on and mistakes made by Maj. Gen. Ambrose Burnside resulted in one of the Union Army's worst defeats during the war.)
In 1862, Burnside had a plan of attack.
He marched his army across the river Rappahannock.
It was a foolish move.
He should have known it then.
But he ordered his troops across a field that became known as the Great Slaughter Pen.
Partly this is one of his dream that he is catching up with as if a shooting star he's captured like he captures my luminary sense as well as my blindsight
beautifully done
his foot ran eagerly with courage,
which i notice with heed
his hands willing and able to utilize,
yet i know of his patience
his strength admirable like showing a blind eye to catch a glimpse of light
regardless
his courage along with his precious foot carry him to fulfill a dream beyond perception
priceless
his smile captures my soul
regardless of whether
his feet moved yet he threw that ball with more than a smile
and courage but with growth
GOOD JOB JOQUINN AMBROSE CHARLEY BELIN ... 1-9-20
In the dark cell of the monastery
Brother Ambrose chants his chant alone
With blue blood flowing through his arteries
And Holy Fire burning in his bones
Incense smolders with a mystical fragrance
And candles flicker before the Icon
But wet fog falls over God's creation
Caught in the coils of Satan's python
It coils and coils around the Earth
Crushing those bones and spilling that fire
Under the scalpel, the Planet gives birth
And the Celestials sing in an evil choir
Brother Ambrose whispers and whispers his prayer
Yet none hear their cry, save the Lord of the Air
Ample Ambrose amplified
Artistic expression until he died
Leaving a legacy of art works galore
All of them fresh, his parents swore
He did not sell one piece when he was alive
Last week his brilliant mother sold eighty-five
How are you so successful we asked her
Easy, she replied. I am a trained marketer.
Ambrose spent his life pursuing his love.
I bet he is enjoying this from above.
He was never one to sell his art.
They were his babies from the start.
Lost consciousness,
Awakened
Ages later.
Pain
Followed by pressure,
Appeared to flash,
To beat
Like streams of fire.
Sensations,
Unaccompanied by thought.
Power only to feel;
Feeling was torment.
Conscious of motion.
Encompassed in a cloud.
Swinging,
Like a pendulum.
Terrible suddenness.
Light shot upward,
Noise of splash,
Frightful roaring,
Cold and dark.
Power of thought restored.
Rope had broken,
Fallen into stream,
Opened eyes,
Gleam of light above.
Rising,
Realizing,
“That is not so bad.”
-from An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce