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Poetry - Soul | ||||||||||||
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BAHÁ-U-LLÁH* As I listen to Thy Poetry: How can I pick up a pen and write; When there is nothing left But an awesome, blissful, beautiful silence? Set my heart aglow. Make my soul a fire And let Thy love Be my desire. *The Glory of God
J. G. Again I walked into that glass door I was always pleased to see you And hoped you’d stay for a coffee But a stranger came to pick up a child And seemed to like no one Nothing is left You are out there somewhere In a ocean of memory…
RUNNING FOUNTAIN A finch, a robin and a lark Singing sweetly in the park Running Fountain giving dreams To all who listen to its streams Lovely roses grow in peace Tall chestnuts sleeping in the breeze Rusty cherries fall to ground Singing blackbirds gather round Lonely people walk the street Longing for someone to greet There’s Man Drinking from a can Old clothes smelly and torn Odd shoes holey and worn No bed for the night Hidden light – out of sight A finch, a robin and a lark Singing sweetly in the park Running Fountain giving dreams To all who listen to its streams December 24th ’02
JOHNNY I got some fright: I was picking periwinkles And I just fell over. It was a weird feeling I thought I was going to die That night I removed the clock from my room And when everything was still I thought I’m going to think Search out all mistakes And put them right I'm being careful now: I don’t drink So much whisky or brandy I even cut back on the coffee I won’t do much to day I’ll have a little bet And a drink or two
LITTLE GIRL Pink handbag in her hand; Isn’t she looking very grand? Little seas clear and blue So much love flow from you. Are those curls locks of gold? There’s sent from angels I am told. Your lovely smile, its kind and shy, It’s the apple of your parent’s eye. Never wander very far, You’re their shining little star. Now, remember little flower, When you grow and begin to ask why No one really know the answer, We just try.
NIMROD PLANNED IT The night was a silvery grey, Perfect for scattering the restless sound of voices. The orange moon shone on dark waters And watched as words fell and splashed But, she could not bear it, She beckoned clouds to hide her face. “Why do these people stare? They of One God are mad; they lack character. Their knowledge increase unreality: Their mirrors are but a show, its mere magic. Pressed lips: What greater pleasure could passion bring? At midnight, man and woman upon a bed, Its makes character.” Ah! But now that man is dead, He sighs he weeps,
“Lord! I did not know. I blindly followed my forefathers. My Lord, Nimrod planned it.”
THE APPLE TREE
I’m old now, And my bark is chipping. The fruits of my being Are few and far between. In the autumn busy fingers Picked - and in winter Disposed of my leaves. They came and took But forgot to nurture me. August 10th ’02
THE COMERAGH
The mountains
Look so lovely in May They yield salutations To us on our way With humbleness The Earth shows miracles And our eyes See the sweetness Of another day And our tongues Tremble with nought to say Joe O’Brien
WORDS
I never said I wouldn’t miss you. You know why You have to go... You made The right decision What more Is there to say? July 9th ’02
DARK CAVE Silence changes the cave Like waves on a brilliant sea In darkness It moves And shapes Here Lovers once Sheltered from the grave On dark walls Bison and man Hunter and spear Horn and hide Inside A celebration of life Frozen in one pose Who could unearth A mine and fail to work it? Is this art An act Of Faith?
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