Long Scholarship Poems
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Over the 2000 year period since the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, thousands of people have toured the 'Holy Sights' in Jerusalem and The Holy Land. One of those sights is a garden known as Gethsemane at the foot of or near the Mt. of Olives. However, the exact location of Gethsemane is not clearly known.*
The title question and theme is really not intended to be a search for the literal garden called Gethsemane, but rather the identity and whereabouts of our spiritual Gethsemene. We are not looking to locate the physical Gethsemane but rather to experience an encounter with God. The trip by Jesus and his apostles was taken rather often, but Let's imagine ourselves in the background looking in on the night that Jesus went into the Garden of Gethsemane accompanied by 11 of his 12 apostles. On that night, we would have clearly seen Gethsemane as:
A place of SANCTUARY where we seek stillness, peace, and quiet
A place of PRAYER where we meet with God and converse with Him
A place of WAITING where we obey His orders and move at His commands
A place of SLEEPING. Sleeping is not the purpose here and should be avoided
A place of TEMPTATION. "Pray, that you do not enter into temptation"
A place of SWEATING. Prayer is 'not a day in the park' but 'an engagement of warriors'. A place of AGONY and WARFARE where we engage, fight, endure, and never quit. A place of SERENITY. God gives us a 'free will' and asks us to 'surrender it freely'.
04052019PoSoupContest, Favorite Poem From Last Week (March 31-April 6, 2019) Poetry Contest, Lu Loo; Original Title, Where Is Gethsemane
*Wycliffe Bible Encyclopedia, "Gethsemane",p.675, 1975, ISBN 0-8024-9697-0 There are four[6] locations claimed to be the place where Jesus prayed on the night he was betrayed.
1. The Church of All Nations overlooking a garden with the "Rock of the Agony". 2. The location near the Tomb of the Virgin Mary to the north. 3. The Greek Orthodox location to the east. 4. The Russian Orthodox orchard, next to the Church of Maria Magdalene.
Modern scholarship acknowledges that the exact location of Gethsemane is unknown
Bestowed by God with faith according to Scriptures
I do strive to seek Him, begging for His guidance
Believing His wisdom, always perfect and right…
Divine intervention --- such I desire so well.
1985…
Toward college degree, yet away from my home
Scholarship gained along academic freedom
Yet Bible studies’ truth brought me to the Saviour…
Divine intervention --- my soul redemption set.
1991…
Alighting from the bus; then sprawling on the street
My body rested there… along that busy road
No vehicles passed by as I managed to stand…
Divine intervention --- the Lord guarded me well.
1996…
Teaching career flourished in great institution
Voluntary service versus secular job???
My choice must be resolved for full-time reaching-out…
Divine intervention --- The Master granted peace.
2003…
Ministry adjustments for orphanage venture
Government compliance and license to cope with
Another course-challenge; my heart yielded fully…
Divine intervention --- The Almighty gave joy.
2018…
Desirous for global poetry publication
My persistence fainted; but was soon ignited
Since providentially, I came across PS*…
Divine intervention --- Sovereign endowment.
2019…
My Daddy wished to leave the hospital alive
Doctor handed waiver as prayer was fervent
No to euthanasia; yes, I loved Dad so much…
Divine intervention --- Creator took him home**.
2021…
Our special child’s milestones definitely highlight
Miracles so wondrous despite pandemic blow
Diagnosed to progress toward retrogression***…
Divine intervention --- reflects God’s grace at work.
I thank the Lord indeed; His eyes**** watch over me
His hand remains outstretched to secure my footsteps
Blessing my trust in Him, blocking me from wrong moves…
Divine intervention --- His love’s affirmation.
*My Poetry Soup membership commenced on April 9, 2018.
**My Dad went to be with the Lord on January 2, 2019.
***Our special son is now 12 years old.
****2Chronicles 16:9 For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him…
December 22, 2021
Narrative in modified Alexandrine form
6th place, "DIVINE INTERVENTION" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on on 1/4/2022.
A PACKET OF LIES
I will build houses on the oceans
And you shall have no cause to
Cry again like those without shelter;
I will build an Estate and make it
Free of charge for all masses.
I shall declare my assets naked
When you vote for me this time.
All students shall go on scholarship,
I will build schools and hostel for them,
All the beggars shall dine on my table;
No more beggars strike, all are free to beg no more.
When the rain fall, it shall drench none,
The sun shall not harm our children.
One plate of food twice a day for all public school
Children in the country, is that not a change?
All the children shall be well taken care of
Because they are the leaders of tomorrow.
I will take care of the widows in the land,
I shall be their husband day and night,
None shall be barren in this land of hope;
For there shall be plenty to eat and leave.
The widows shall be elevated in my courtyard,
None shall cry over their lost husbands.
Henceforth, I shall do my own share
In the building of this great nation,
I shall attend to matter of the state,
Great delicate diplomatic issues shall I solve.
The roads shall smile and rejoice when I assume office.
I shall share the national cake equally,
I will repair the refineries and fight corruption in the state,
I shall play my own role in the nation building.
Insurgency shall be no more,
Killing and terrorism shall end,
BH shall I conquer within three months in office,
Vote for me! vote for change!! Vote for me!!!
I know the way to the BH's heart which we know.
I shall stand for everyone in the country,
For I shall go against my own grain to satisfy your
Mutual quest of corrupt free country.
Freedom shall be for the Bus-drivers,
The market women shall testify and rejoice,
I will make our currency higher than the pounds.
I am for everybody and not for anyone,
Vote for change not transformation,
Vote for united nation not for disunity.
Vote for freedom of the press,
Vote for social amenities,
I wll serve those that vote for me and those
That didn't vote for me because everyone has his choice to make.
I will turn the country round to favour all,
The hunt and the hunted, and the hunter.
Abundance of bread shall we all live in,
I promise not to fail you when you vote for me.
(C) JCV
Ernie was a hell raiser
A daredevil of sorts.
He was popular in school,
A natural at sports.
A kid in a candy store
Is the way Ernie felt.
All he had to do was smile,
And every girl would melt.
But he had eyes for Sally,
The only girl for him.
She was aces in his book,
A beauty, tall and slim.
They married after high school,
The Fall of thirty eight,
Ernie earned a scholarship,
At Arizona State.
While he worked for his degree,
Sally clerked at a store;
But their dreams were cut short by
The Second World War.
Ernie became a Captain
In the Army Air Corps.
He proudly served his country,
Like his father before.
Sally trained to be a nurse,
She wished to do her part.
Then word reached her that Ernie
Had earned the Purple Heart.
He’d engaged the Japanese,
Out in the Philippines.
Shot down at Corregidor,
News came from the marines.
The next three years passed slowly,
And Sally tried to cope.
But something would not let her,
Lose faith or give up hope.
Then in early November,
Of nineteen forty five,
The Army called to tell her,
Ernie was still alive.
Parachuting from his plane
He broke one of his knees,
But still avoided capture,
By hostile Japanese.
He joined with the resistance,
A ragged, motley band,
And offered his assistance,
Though he could hardly stand.
The rebels had a medic,
Who tended to his knee;
But without proper treatment
It wasn’t meant to be.
He would always have a limp,
And Ernie knew the score.
His future would be different,
Than what he knew before.
Somehow it didn’t matter,
If this wound changed his life,
If upon returning home
He’s greeted by his wife.
For she is what he fought for,
For her he would have died,
Only she can ease the pain
Of his next labored stride.
The ship made port in Richmond,
And Ernie said a prayer.
Then through tear filled eyes, he saw
His Sally waiting there.
For a moment, time stood still
Every detail defined,
Imprinted like a snapshot
Upon each of their minds.
And like an old time movie,
They met in an embrace.
End credits rolled as Ernie
Wiped tears from Sally’s face.
They drove into the sunset,
Holding hands and grinning,
Though tales end, we know this is
Only the beginning.
SONG CREDITS :
Song : Mon Karigor
Singer : Tahsan
Lyric : Robiul Islam Jibon
Tune : Imran Mahmudul
Music : Imran Mahmudul
Album : Mon Karigor
Label : Cd Choice
Cast : Azim Uddula & Saowla
Director : Chandan Roy Chowdhury
Lyrics:
The foreshadowed clouds , wanderer within the sky
Not an easy one to tame through dispersing whisk
A faded glory wither down the colors, once held dear to heart
Once a plethora, a handful of gatherer bestowed, inner, introvert
Living through a mistaken grace
Rusty salty warm tears , a brimming trace
Genesis you said, Xanthosis, through these emotions, lingering long, worldly boom, recess
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
A painstaking lump some pain, overwhelming drowning a pour
Speechless a corridor and an ambling, nonetheless, lo and behold! None to hold accountable.
Wishful a mirror , a thousand whims
Ambivalence and a croon, tricking down the chicks of time, on lime.
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
The sand castle dream , too fragile a misfit, a shore the lively stream
Morbid a shore, enacted, plays along the indifferent acted upon, among the walks of dream
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
||END||
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Bob Robinson had been born in the ghetto,
and his childhood was not a nice thing,
single mother, just a teenager herself,
in a neighborhood known for gang-banging.
But Bob was a truly tenacious soul,
he got his first job and didn’t look back,
determined he’d never let himself become
a welfare case stuck addicted to crack.
Though he never had culinary schooling,
he learned much at the restaurants he worked,
until, at thirty, he opened his own,
his own place, his own menu, his own turf.
He had a great spot right by the highway
near a suburb that housed much big tech,
he just called it ‘Bob’s,’ and soon was known
for serving up the town’s finest Tex-mex.
Bob usually liked to be the bartender,
he met all sorts of near people that way,
life went smoothly, at least it did at first,
until his nephew was sent out to stay.
Jamal was the first of the family
to receive an offer to go to school,
a local four-year gave a scholarship,
since Jamal was anything but a fool.
Now Jamal did not want to wait tables,
but Bob fed him, since he was family,
and not long after he started classes
he began to behave aggressively.
Began to say folks were out to get him,
that the ‘system’ was rigged to his loss,
then pale-skin folks were all ‘keeping him down,’
would never let folk like him be the boss.
Now all this seemed quite bizarre to Bob,
he himself had seventeen employees,
but Jamal kept saying he was ‘oppressed,’
that he would fight as a minority.
For the first year Jamal was quite active,
never missed a rally of protest march,
but then when he got himself arrested
Bob worried the his path soon would get dark.
When he got off with community service
it seemed just to invigorate Jamal’s rage,
he started calling for ‘reparations’
for the actions of a dead and gone age.
He started spewing out Socialist tripe,
said private property only oppressed,
that all who took part in it were ‘slave-drivers,’
it all left Bob feeling more and more vexed.
Then when Jamal jabbed a finger at him,
and cussed out his fiancé for being pale,
Bob threatened to cut him off for his crap,
but his threats seemed to be of no avail...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
When you are young your life is not about you
You it owe to them for love, for sacrifice and rent
Youth is the margin of our parents ever do
The young know their life only by old consent
My father was doctor with animals in his care
The blackest and the first of them in that space
My mother was the Jill of every trade, a rare
Exhibit of beauty in a working class of grace
He out of the dry parish, made ladder with brains
And climb to wring the clouds of dreams. He
Matured from church school teacher, got the reins
Fathoming figures, Maroon boy in ascendancy:
Policeman, black sergeant, parting the waves
Clerk of the Court while colonials made war
Thespian for Vere John, the black hole craves
Everything it cannot be like a wounded star.
He did well when the war was done though. Some
Whites came back alive, and their substitute yield
So they coud find their sinecure. He got a ransom
From gruelling things too, a cut above the common field
His lettered mind scholarship him there
And this society that prevented cruelty to beast
Gave that astute mind its golden stair.
From slum investments father rose to feast.
He loved rebellion, it was his poetry, yet not he
But mother was the rebel, leaving father's house
Breaking bonds with tradition and its morality
To bring my sister weddingless, to choose her spouse
And refuse them regardless. Family's wealth
She forsook, and took the rudder of her life
Compassless to sea. All winds and surge she felt
Survival was the only fun in her fracture strife.
It walloped her, the storm of winds and fire
Three children and no way back through flames
Churning like a sword, waist deep wading mire
Her soul unshaken its sovereign pride proclaims
My own daily lessons that core my manhood
Father's love of learning, mother's pride
And I drifting in that Ark since the old flood
Left me in a barren place where wants divide
Jacques Daviel
A brilliant eye specialist Jaques Daviel,
does his cataract field at all ring a bell?
the word cataract used with utmost respect,
on his vision and foresight I duly reflect
Francisus Donders
In the same branch was Francisus Donders,
in ocular tracts the man worked wonders,
some Dutch streets bare this specialist's name,
Tilburg his birth place blessed by his fame
Joseph Forlenze
With regard to eye matters Joseph Forlenze,
became popular during French Empire let’s say,
a healer of others among them big names,
the poor got his expertise true legend claims
Allvar Gullstrand
Nobel prize winner Swede Allvar Gullstrand,
I select in this eye treatment pantheon grand,
his scholarly efforts portraying the ‘schematic eye’,
whose model of measurements to this day still apply
Herman Von Helmholz
Notable surgeon and physicist Herman Von Helmholtz,
whose top stunning feats in science fill massive vaults,
those numeric concepts on colour, sight and vision,
profound in their scope and far beyond derision
Jules Gonin
Retinal pioneer Switzerland don Jules Gonin,
prestigious eye treatment award he just didn’t win,
he earned a distinction for study of butterflies,
among his achievements and valid career highs
Charles Schwepens
Founder of Eye Research Institute Charles Scwepens,
who hailed from mouscron Belgium as it happens,
to begin with he opted for course in high maths,
before veering towards life long optical paths
Thomas Pashby
Safe sports eye care advocate Thomas Pashby,
not alone for that but prevention of spinal cord injury,
invited to Canada’s sports revered fine hall of fame,
this man knew the score and demands of the game
Tsutomu Sato
Deviser of glass scleral lens Tsutomu Sato,
a vision rich breakthrough in terms long ago,
never a widely used product this creative lens,
incipient story or tale where the eye never bends!
Thomas Von Leber
The first to spot rare eye disease Thomas Von Leber,
eternally grateful we are for this eminent favour,
German society scholarship named in his honour,
a fitting reward for this knight in shining armour
The orphan boy and old man shared a stare.
The orphan had no one to give him love,
"I am alone." This thought held tight his mind.
The older man pondered aloud "Like me!"
"But I am old, too old to raise a child."
The old man looked to God to help him see.
A purpose for his life this boy could be.
Kindness, this old man showed this orphaned child.
To share with him, his home and share a life.
He placed the boy a bed in his bedroom.
So started life anew -a tie was born.
Morning lay the boy asleep on the floor.
With puzzled face the old man ask "For why?"
He held the little boy in aging arms.
"A monster, I fear lives underneath my bed.
I was safer, as I slept close to you."
"Monsters give us much dread." the old man said.
"We must remove this monster right away!
We're off to town to find a monster bat.
That beast we'll drag from underneath your bed.
And beat that monster all about his head"
Returning from town the old man had a plan.
"I will slide you under your bed and then
You grab ahold of monster by trunk or limb.
Then I will pull you out monster and all,
Then you can beat that monster with a bat."
The boy thought about the old man's plan,
With nod of head the battle then began.
The old man slid the boy under the bed
The boy quickly latched on a woolly leg
The man pulled monster and boy clear of the bed.
Up jumped the boy and took the bat in hand.
The bat he swung above his head and then
A Teddy Bear was all that lay in sight.
The old man's face was all wrinkles and grins.
"A lesson did we learn about monsters?
Such brave a lad to face-up to his fears."
The boy was now in his last year in school.
A collage scholarship the boy had won.
A man gave thanks to a very old man
For sharing home and life and lessons learned.
For teaching about life, love, family.
By now the old man's time was drawing short.
One more lesson he had to teach his boy,
The old man looked to God to help him see.
Through his tears through his pain, the young man smiled.
That death was not to fear but was to face.
Last words on earth this old man ever said.
"death is just the monster underneath the bed."
Louise Imogen Guiney – Poetess and Writer
Louise Imogen Guiney sought a certain poetry of
perfection that rang true with a real radiance in her
poetry, that also bespoke a passion and feeling for
its lyrical nature as it was amply reflected with an
aura of spontaneity, a noted élan, and a sense of a
mystical moral verve. Guiney fashioned much of
her work around traditional poetic themes with a
distinct concern for both style and content.
Guiney’s profound religious orientation and desire
for this spirited feeling, along with her notion of a
certain perfection was defined and embellished by
her underlying concern with the Catholic tradition
in literature, and by her masterful view and concept
that brought the notions of heroic gallantry and
moral rectitude to the forefront of her scholarship
with regard to her poetry and her various literary
and historical studies.
The entirety of Guiney’s work and the mystic nature
of her poetic and literary endeavors imbued her with
a type of an early modernist touch similar to that of
T. S. Eliot, whose influence was twenty years into the
future, as he helped to bring the modernist movement
to fruition with the help of Ezra Pound and other poets.
All of these experiential forces, at hand, helped Guiney
to achieve her unique nature and brilliance over time as
a fine New England poetess of letters and scholarship,
and her poetry was all-inclusive of a grand and glorious
vision of English poetic traditions par excellence.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 22, 2018 (Narrative)
Author’s Note: Certain poems from Louise Imogen Guiney
have been reprinted in 2020. However, the complete and
definitive collection of her poetry: Louise Imogen Guiney –
Her Life and Works 1861-1920 was masterfully assembled
by the author-writer E. M. Tenison in 1922, and it was, in
1923, published by Macmillan and Company, Limited in
London. Tenison had indicated in a “personal note” that
Guiney had read this book in complete draft form before
her untimely death in 1920. This book is a collector’s item.