A SELECTION OF POEMS OLD AND NEW
Index of first lines
Introduction
" A kaleidoscope can fascinate for hours: each turn of the end of the tube causes new arrangements in the tiny shards of coloured glass refracted in the mirror-lens, so that relationships between the fragments shift, change, realign themselves, and no two patterns are ever quite the same. Individuation - the attempt by each individual to see and understand his or her unique, inner self more clearly - implies a like process that is at once exploratory, revelatory, never-ending, and distinctly (to use one of Helen M. Luke's favourite terms) numinous.
Images of light and colour - and an attempt to find meaning in their symbolic resonance - have always been essential to Helen Luke. In her unpublished autobiography, she recalls the earliest dream of her childhood, in which she was swept along the arc of a rainbow. Late in life the dream recurred, but with a difference:
I glimpsed a rainbow river of life, in which I was not swept away afraid and unknowing, but which flowed within, flowed without, and which seemed to 'resound' with beauty. I woke with this strange word in my mind - sound and vision in one image."
ROB BAKER, Introduction to Helen M.
Luke, Kaleidoscope - 'The Way of Woman' and other
Essays
Parabola Books, New York, 1992, p. 1.
" Ryle was an unusually tolerant, uncensorious person. He liked people on the whole, some less than others, but he did not demand or expect too much of anybody, and had no inclination to draw a line between the saved and the damned. He held naturally, I think, what he calls in one of his papers 'the Aristotelian pattern of ethical ideals,' which he found also in his favourite prose writer, Jane Austen - a pattern that represents 'people as differing from one another in degree and not in kind, and differing from one another not in respect just of a single generic Sunday attribute, Goodness, say, or else Wickedness, but in respect of a whole spectrum of specific week-day attributes.... A person is not black or white, but iridescent with all the colours of the rainbow; and he is not a flat plane, but a highly irregular solid; He is not blankly Good or Bad, blankly angelic or fiendish; he is better than most in one respect, about level with the average in another respect, and a bit, perhaps a big bit, deficient in a third respect. In fact he is like the people we really know....' But if for Ryle persons were not black or white, the things that they did - and the distinction is entirely Aristotelian - occasionally were. In fifteen years as his colleague at Magdalen, I remember only two occasions when he forcefully intervened in the conduct of the college's business (during much of which, in fact, he was prone, very sensibly, to sleep). On the first occasion what was at issue, as he saw it, was justice; on the second occasion what was at issue was truthfulness. He could be, and on those occasions was, very formidable indeed."
J. WARNOCK, Preface to Gilbert
Ryle, On Thinking
Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 1982, pp. xiv-xv.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on.
Before I lay me down to sleep
I give my soul to Christ to keep.
Four corners to my bed,
Four angels there aspread,
Two to foot, and two to head,
And four to carry me when I'm dead.
I go by sea, I go by land,
The Lord made me with His right hand.
If any danger come to me,
Sweet Jesus Christ deliver me.
He's the branch and I'm the flower,
Pray God send me a happy hour,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray that Christ my soul will take.
_________________________
Note: The editor of this Preliminary Selection of Poems - none of them taken from Sir George Trevelyan's helpful Magic Casements - The Use of Poetry in the Expanding of Consciousness ((Coventure, London, 1980), but for the most part reproduced from Kate A. Wright (Mrs. Athelstan Mellersh), Sweet Songs of Many Voices (George G. Harrap & Co., 1912); R. M. Leonard The Pageant of English Poetry being 1150 Poems and Extracts by 300 Authors (Oxford University Press, 1916); Walter de la Mare, Come Hither - A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of all Ages (new edition, Constable, 1928) - gratefully acknowledges permission to reproduce the prose passages above from: Mr. Rob Baker and Parabola Books; Professor Geoffrey Warnock and Basil Blackwell. He also gratefully acknowledges permission to include copyright poems from: the late Mr. A. C. Benson and Mr. John Lane; the late Miss Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler and George G. Harrap & Co.; the late Miss E. Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake); the late Mr. Eric Mackay; the late Mr. G. K. Menzies and Messrs. W. Blackwood & Sons and the Proprietors of Punch; the late Mr. T. W. Rolleston and Messrs. Maunsel & Co. Ltd; Professor Jose Argüelles and Bear & Company, Santa Fe.
I shine in the light of God.
His likeness stamps my brow.
Through the valley of death my feet have trod,
And I reign in glory now.
No breaking heart is here,
No keen and thrilling pain,
No wasted cheer where the frequent fear
Hath rolled, and left its stain.
I have reached the joy of heaven.
I am one of the sainted band.
For my head a crown of gold is given,
And a harp is in my hand.
I have learned the song they sing
Whom Jesus has set free,
And the glorious walls of heaven still ring
With my new-born melody.
No sin, no grief, no pain,
Safe in my happy home,
My fears all fled, my doubts all slain,
My hour of triumph come!
Oh! friends of mortal years,
The trusted and the true,
Ye are watching still in the valley of tears,
But I wait to welcome you!
Do I forget? Oh no!
For memory's golden chain
Shall bind my heart to the hearts below
Till they meet to touch again.
Each link is strong and bright,
And Love's electric flame
Flows down like a river of light
To the world from whence I came.
Do you mourn when another star
Shines out in the glittering sky?
Do you weep when the raging voice of war
And the storm of conflict die?
Then why should your tears run down
And your heart be sorely riven
For another gem in the Saviour's crown,
And another soul in heaven?
A dream came to me
at deep midnight
when humankind
kept their beds
- the dream of dreams
I shall declare it.
It seemed I saw the Tree itself
borne on the air, light wound about it
- a beam of brightest wood, a beacon clad
in overlapping gold, glancing gems
fair at its foot, and five stones
set in a crux flashed from the crosstree.
Around angels of God
all gazed upon it
since first fashioning fair.
It was not a felon's gallows,
for holy ghosts beheld it here,
and men on mould, and the whole Making shone for it
- signum of victory.
Stained and marred,
stricken with shame, I saw the glory-tree
shine out gaily, sheathed in yellow
decorous gold; and gemstones made
for their Maker's Tree a right mail-coat.
Yet through the masking gold I might perceive
what terrible sufferings were once sustained thereon:
it bled from the right side.
Ruth filled my heart.
Affrayed I saw that unstill brightness
change raiment and colour
- again clad in gold
or again slicked with sweat,
spangled with spilling blood.
Yet lying there a long while
I beheld, sorrowing, the Healer's Tree
till it seemed that I heard how it broke silence,
best of wood, and began to speak.
“Over that long remove my mind ranges
back to the holt where I was hewn down;
from my own stem I was struck away;
dragged off by strong enemies,
wrought into a roadside scaffold.
They made me a hoist for wrongdoers.
The soldiers on their shoulders bore me,
until on a hill-top they set me up;
many enemies made me fast there.
Then I saw, marching towards me,
mankind's brave King.
He came to climb upon me.
I dared not break or bend aside
against God's will, though the ground itself
shook at my feet. Fast I stood,
who falling could have felled them all.
Almighty God ungirded Him,
eager to mount the gallows,
unafraid in the sight of many:
He would set free mankind.
I shook when His arms embraced me
but I durst not bow to ground,
stoop to earth's surface.
Stand fast I must.
I was reared up, a rood.
I raised the great King,
liege lord of the heavens,
dared not lean from the true.
They drove me through with dark nails:
on me are the deep wounds manifest,
Wide-mouthed hate-dents.
I durst not harm any of them.
How they mocked at us both!
I was all moist with blood
Sprung from the Man's side
after He sent forth His soul.
Wry wierds a many I underwent
up on that hill-top; saw the Lord of Hosts
stretched out stark. Darkness shrouded
the King's corse. Clouds wrapped
its clean shining. A shade went out
wan under cloud-pall. All creation wept,
keened the King's death. Christ was on the Cross.
But there quickly came from far
earls to the One there. All that I beheld;
had grown weak with grief,
yet with glad will bent then
meek to those men's hands,
yielded Almighty God.
They lifted Him down from the leaden pain,
left me, the commanders,
standing in a sweat of blood.
I was all wounded with shafts.
They straightened out His strained limbs,
stood at His body's head,
looked down on the Lord of Heaven
- for a while. He lay there resting -
set to contrive Him a tomb
in the sight of the Tree of Death,
carved it of bright stone,
laid in it the Bringer of victory,
Spent from the great struggle.
They began to speak the grief-song,
said in the sinking light,
they thought to set out homeward;
their hearts were sick to death,
their most high Prince
they left to rest there with scant retinue.
Yet we three, weeping a good while
stood in that place after the song had gone up
from the captains' throats. Cold grew the crose,
fair soul-house.
They felled us all.
We crashed to ground, cruel Wierd,
and they delved for us a deep pit.
The Lord's men learn of it,
His friends found me…
It was they who girt me with gold and silver…”
Anonymous 7th-century Anglo-Saxon poem quoted by
Lois Lang-Sims
in The Christian Mystery - An Exposition of Esoteric Christianity
George Allen & Unwin, London - Boston - Sydney, 1980, pp. 87-90.
Spring breaking fresh on the wave,
Lullaby plays to an innocent babe.
Green sudden in deepest places.
The lip of the sea in crimson laces.
Sea-horses treading the blue grey hue
Riders of the salt wave dew.
Mist upon shade through darkest fathom,
Pirates and sailors in sea-witches' cavern.
Mingled grey and blue and white,
Shipwrecks and treasure beneath wave bright.
Liquid empire of ocean roar -
Love is no stranger to your shore.
Dancing in patterns with ebb and flow,
Frills of foam and lace an' low.
Kingdom of Neptune, shell and fish,
Will hold you captive, once for a wish.
The dark green sea in silence yet -
Voice of the wind, and gull overhead.
When I behold upon the heavens' face -
White flossy clouds
With storm shafts interlaced.
I think of you,
Dear friend who was once mine,
When the paths of life converged,
Our footsteps intertwined.
Upon the stars was written once our love.
Our friendship formed as if by God above.
But storm clouds came in autumn's guise -
And coloured all our dreams with evil eyes.
Yet still I wait mid weeds of lush and sheen
For the magic promise - the vows of fairy green.
For though the days be bitter,
The years be long -
A voice is always singing -
the sweetness of love and song.
by
Nasira Alma
Copyright © Catholic Apostolic Church of Antioch
Malabar Rite 1994
(1)
in church
the darker
the better
dark
makes the candles
bright
high high high
above a child's head
vaults where pigeons fly
drop a quarter
in the Offer Box:
light one light for
when I take my heart home
the candle flickers
an on-and-off star
to honour the Lady
who steps on the snake
who cinctures the world
when you die, you die
when you lie
you ung-d
Mass starts
sanctus
sanctus
sanctus
the angels sing
the snake was one
till the snake said
I will not
will not
will not
serve
holy holy holy
the altar-boy
lifts the bells
puts his whole arm
into shaking them
rings, rings the bells
fills heaven and earth
with the shimmering Glory
I cannot
cannot
cannot
serve
Holy Mass
probably didn't
do his homework
but he gets to
ring the bells
I can't
can't change that
can't change that can't
what's in
the souls of boys
G-d left out of
the souls of girls?!
where's the good of
G-d loves me
when He made me
missing what's needed
to ring, ring the bells
fill heaven and earth
with the radiant Glory -
Hosanna in the highest!
the girl who couldn't be
an altar-boy
became a nun
who couldn't be a priest
left the Consecration
one Easter
and the convent
took back the heart
they said was unwhole-
some
for Holy Orders
therefore I said
there is no G-d
the snake is my brother
I will not
will not
will not
affirm
what
denies me
ring, ring the bells
out of my hearing
I close my heart
to the Glory
lying,
I will ung-d
and be myself
in the dark
of the inner church
where like a candle
I burn, burn, burn
- watch out!
one day the Greater G-d
Who transcends gender
will brighten in me
holy holy holy
a Never-Ending Fire
holy holy holy
I will cauterize
the patriarchy
that infects the world
I will ascend
to the altar
say the G-d-bringing words
when I raise the host
an altar-girl
will lift the bells
put her whole arm
into shaking them
she will ring
ring the bells
filling
heaven and earth
with the Ineffable Glory -
Hosanna in the Highest!
The shepherd is an ancient man,
His back is bent, his foot is slow;
Although the heavens he doth not scan,
He scents what winds shall blow.
His face is like the pippin, grown
Red ripe, in frosty suns that shone;
'Tis hard and wrinkled, as a stone
The rains have rained upon.
What tempests sweep the dripping plain,
He stands unmoved beneath the hedge,
And sees the columns of the rain,
The storm-cloud's shattered edge.
When frosts among the misty farms
Make crisp the surface of the loam,
He shivering claps his creaking arms,
But would not sit at home.
Short speech he hath for man and beast;
Some fifty words are all his store.
Why should his language be increased?
He hath no need for more.
There is no change he doth desire,
Of far-off lands he hath not heard;
Beside his wife, before the fire,
He sits, and speaks no word.
He holds no converse with his kind,
On birds and beasts his mind is bent;
He knows the thoughts that stir their mind,
Love, hunger, hate, content.
Of kings and wars he doth not hear,
He tells the seasons that have been
By stricken oaks and hunted deer,
And strange fowl he has seen.
In church, some muttering he doth make,
Well-pleased when hymns harmonious rise,
He doth not strive to overtake
The hurrying litanies.
He hears the music of the wind,
His prayer is brief, and scant his creed;
The shadow and what lurks behind,
He doth not greatly heed.
ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON
Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour:
But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you that are the sovereign of my heart,
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joy low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.
CHARLES BEST
A TEAR IS AN INTELLECTUAL THING
But vain the sword and vain the bow,
They never can work War's overthrow.
The hermit's prayer and the widow's tear
Alone can free the world from fear.
For a tear is an intellectual thing,
And a sigh is the word of an angel king,
And the bitter groan of the martyr's woe,
Is an arrow from the Almighty's bow.
WILLIAM BLAKE
THE NEW DISPENSATION
Jesus was sitting in Moses' chair.
They brought the trembling woman there.
Moses commands she be stoned to death.
What was the sound of Jesus' breath?
He laid His hand on Moses' law;
The ancient Heavens, in silent awe,
Writ with curses from pole to pole,
All away began to roll.
WILLIAM BLAKE
How did I get here?
On the backs of a million million lives
From where did I come?
Out of the prehistoric slime
I oozed into amœbic life.
Thence into fish with budding limb
On, on, on through æons and oceans
Then up, up, up I was thrown
Sliding, helpless, scorced and starved
I died, died, died and died again
Until those feet emerged to crawl
Through mating, birthing, suckling, dying,
Evolving, changing, ceaselessly,
'Til I emerged a two-legged creature
Erect and cunning, unknowing, free,
Brighter and broader grew my reason
Warmer and deeper felt my heart.
I could laugh and I could weep,
I could love and later - later,
Crooned endearments to my babe
Female! fertile! I was worshipped
And with care I chose my mate.
Only the strongest male could seed me
But selection proved my doom.
Bigger and stronger grew my menfolk
Bigger and stronger than I their Queen.
They raped and ruled me for millennia
Now with bombs and germs and warfare
Still they control my babies' world.
Whilst I am passive, held in thrall,
Conditioned by cant and religion,
Imprisoned by my erstwhile treasure
Held captive by that fertile womb.
Out of the prehistoric slime
By way of a million, million lives
That is the way I came to die here.
PHILLIPA BOWES
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
LORD BYRON
Books are not seldom talismans and spells,
By which the magic art of shrewder wits
Holds an unthinking multitude enthralled.
Some to the fascination of a name
Surrender judgement, hoodwinked. Some the style
Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds
Of error leads them by a tune entranced.
With sloth seduces more, too weak to bear
The insupportable fatigue of thought,
And swallowing, therefore, without pause or choice,
The total grist unsifted, husks and all.
WILLIAM COWPER
O thou undaunted daughter of desires!
By all thy dower of lights and fires;
By all the eagle in thee, all the dove;
By all thy lives and deaths of love;
By thy large draughts of intellectual day,
And by thy thirsts of love more large than they;
By all thy brim-filled bowls of fierce desire;
By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire;
By the full kingdom of that final kiss
That seized thy parting soul, and sealed thee His;
By all the heavens thou hast in Him
(Fair sister of the seraphim!);
By all of Him we have in thee;
Leave nothing of myself in me.
Let me so read thy life, that I
Unto all life of mine may die!
RICHARD CRASHAW
O blessed letters! that combine in one
All ages past, and make one live with all.
By you we do confer with who are gone,
And the dead-living unto council call;
By you the unborn shall have communion
Of what we feel and what doth us befall....
What good is like to this,
To do worthy the writing, and to write
Worthy the reading, and the world's delight?
SAMUEL DANIEL
expression through deprivation
regression from saturation
the creation of light in darkness
the peaceful violence
and delirious fury
of fatal amorphism
zero entropists cannot fall
in a supreme nihilist conquest
the optically active anaesthetist
anticipating oblivion
mutability defies definition
multiply by dividing
catalyze didactic catalepsy
The heartbeat resounds, strangely alien and discorporate, in the empty, membranous caves of thought. Futile hopes for a Carthaginian ancestry, and dutiful surrender to the fate of the fiery abyss, with no option but to be sacrificed to the mind entity of ages. But here in this century's parafilm nightmares, where the legend enforces free-will - unwanted when all is in an elliptical dimension. And what will become of the banished child of technology, crushed by mechanistic inevitability, in arcane envy? For to be free is, paradoxically, untenable. Awaiting the point of conclusion for Kronos mutated, in a steady pulse of infinity. And so the corridor continues, spiralling back to primordial images. Ten thousand configurations to be explored, but all aspirations are far-reaching and reject the tracks that have passed, overtaxing all future possibilities. For mortality could not withstand the projection implied if infinity proved worthless to the terminal search - the fate that a mortal mind could not even possess a concept for. Back in the void the reckless voyage continues, on the energy-level that guarantees sanctuary from the sub-consciously realized knowledge, in the perpetual daytime of the committed. The treacherous path that can only lead to some extra-kinetic dimensionless void. Coagulating thoughts with the randomless organization of cells are clustered together and mutate, unaware of their carcinogenic inheritance, giving rise to new teratogenic probability-factors. The dramatic irony in the truth that is hinted at only in the mania of feverish, turbid nightmares, from which to return with garbled senses and mind overtaxed is momentary release until scanning the inhabitants of the waking room, the reality held in dreams is discovered in the chill, overbright irradiance of a day. The experimentation continues without mercy, imposing variable stresses to weaken life's slender threads: the treacherous invitation of the initiator to sink below the waves of an incandescent oblivion, where explanation is unnecessary; the vital spark of existence arcing suddenly, with an ozone-tainted air of anticipation, while destiny enforces the necessary vision, bringing the source of a life-strength long overdue in the random fate of the terminal investigation.
awaiting the micro-encapsulated threat to all mankind random probability directs action.
extrapolation links the dead past and the hypothetical future, whose forms flicker through myriad possibilities as mortal decisions are enforced.
the one who can track these images must attempt to equalize until the knot in time is reached where the paths have no turn-off. accepted fate takes on more sinister meanings as the stars wait to fall when all have seen the errors of prediction. the watcher from outside waits, held in the stasis of science, a smile gracing the iron features eroded by the seas of mortality. holding back the intent intruders of the wasteland, until the moment arrives when the radiance of destruction can create a new purity.
the systems orientate, and on further study distort to a seething mass of inconstant morphyllaction. the strangest forms of Manichean synchronous psychimages follow through to a point unattributable to coincidence. implausible synergy of the discrete existences implies that this communion has always existed and will continue through time in its subliminal realization through a communication impossibly intense saprophytically aware of the host that lies behind an image external projected in light.
for there is pride in a borrowed ancestry that calls when its message can only be submerged and incomprehensible. with all the wheels in motion and the desired energy unattainable the fragments of memory cannot describe the sad glory of the intended projection. when secret thoughts and unrecalled dreams are exposed to an uncaring exterior, imagining all yet conceiving nothing. rejected thoughts spin through the ether, causing despondency to reign supreme. imagined enemies close in from all sides, but responses are slow from fear-numbed nerve-endings - the scattered debris of life implies normality complete, but still life creeps in to illuminate the one break in the pattern detecting thought, the machines provide distraction with ambiguity, the one saint of our time.
generally regenerated the light returns to the previously unilluminated atmosphere of the cave-like ice-dome. subject and object are strangely merged in a unique duality in a moment when all realize their formulation, and rule their own destiny. trapped in wondrous contemplation of the new ambience, the path appears between the annihilating opposites that once seemed unsurmountable and unendurable.
in anticipation of the unenduring premonition that can only be willed aside under a duress that is taxing to an unbearable extreme - the subterranean upheavals that even the most optimistic of humanity can no longer ignore; there is nothing remaining but the volcanic cataclysms of the final stages and, approaching the ultimate, merciful catalepsis. but therein lies only the point of departure, the underlying conquest inherently masked by the fear of the unknown recesses that lie within, to challenge the profound internal destinies. but still duty must prevail to allow the sublunar existence to continue and remain constant, the return to recognitive lands the only imperative - to know the reason behind the final quest for downfall from the depths of reason.
cryptogrammatical intensity of one creature, its mark captured for ever on smooth granite, once raw and pliant, now old and hardened, crumbling away, taking with it the message that has outlived its creator, in a subcultural idiom whose wisdom is lost to mankind and its feverish staccato manoevrings, the historic thoroughfare through locked gates of the dead past, abstraction of the bright continental images of an age having a dramatically intransient effect on the grey survivors ex machina of the static age, the cumulative effect of the neoteny of man.
“Grugyn, Gorthyn, Garthwys, Morien
Bradwen, Gwenabwy, Addonwy, Bleiddig
Breichior, Llifiau, Merin, Tudfwlch
Marchlew, Gwædnerth, Madog, Cynon
Cynhafal, Nai, Bubon, Urfai
THESE AND MANY, MOST UNNAMED
Eithinyn, Gwrhafal, Edar, Gwawrddur
AND MYNYDDOG, THE CHIEF OF ALL.
Cibno, Ywain, Cadfannan, Gwefrfawr
SO MANY HERE, SO MANY CAME.
Hyfaidd, the son of Bodgad, Rheithfyw, Neirthiad
ANEIRIN CANNOT LET THEM FALL.
Erthgi, Cyfwlch, Blæn, Gwrfelling
Cynri, Cynrain, Cydywal, Graid
Buddfan, Isag, Ceredig, Caradog
Gwrien, Gwyn, Gwriad, Pyll
ANEIRIN AT THE MIDNIGHT OIL,
Ieuan, Gwgon, Gwion, Cynfan
INDEFINITE DARK THE ONLY VIEW.
Peredur, Gwawrddur, Æddan, Gwlyged
RELENTLESS COLD, UNBROKEN TOIL
Rhufon, Gwid, the son of Fferog, Gwyddien
TO SEE THE WAR-BAND SWEETLY THROUGH.
Gwynfyd, Cenau, Heilyn, Rhys
Cynwal, Morial, Merin, Cynddilig
Moried, the son of Ceidio, Taflœw, Tyngyr
Geraint, Eiddef, Gwair, Cynan
Teithfyw, Cynfelyn, Mældderw and one”.
PETER DENT
Of this fair volume which we World do name
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of Him who it corrects and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare:
Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending everywhere,
His justice which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same.
But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleased with coloured vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold:
Or, if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.
WILLIAM DRUMMOND
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When Nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
Arise, ye more than dead!
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound.
Less than a god they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
The trumpet's loud clangor
Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger
And mortal alarms.
The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries 'Hark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!'
The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute.
Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair disdainful dame.
But oh! what art can teach,
What human voice can reach
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.
Orpheus could lead the savage race,
And trees uprooted left their place
Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher:
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appeared -
Mistaking earth for heaven!
Grand Chorus
As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the blest above;
So, when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky.
JOHN DRYDEN
He was the Word that spake it;
He took the bread and brake it;
And what the Word did make it,
I do believe and take it.
QUEEN ELIZABETH I
Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-fame,
Plans, credit, and the Muse, -
Nothing refuse....
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture's hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Though her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive;
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas uttered in Hell,
And echo caught softly the sound as it fell;
In the confines of earth 'twas permitted to rest,
And the depth of the ocean its presence confessed;
'Twas seen in the lightning, 'twas heard in the thunder,
'Twill be found in the spheres when they're riven asunder;
'Twas given to man with his earliest breath,
It assists at his birth and attends him in death,
Presides o'er his happiness, honour, and health,
'Tis the prop of his house and the end of his wealth;
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,
With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crowned;
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost in the prodigal heir;
Without it the soldier and sailor may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home;
In the whispers of conscience it there will be found,
Nor e'er in the whirlwind of passion be drowned;
It softens the heart, and though deaf to the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear;
But in shades let it rest, like an elegant flower,
Oh! breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.
CATHERINE M. FANSHAWE
All ye woods and trees and bowers,
All ye virtues and ye powers
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,
Move your feet
To our sound
Whilst we greet
All this ground
With his honour and his name
That defends our flocks from blame.
He is great, and he is just,
He is ever good, and must
Thus be honoured. Daffodillies,
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies,
Let us fling,
Whilst we sing
'Ever holy,
Ever holy,
Ever honoured, ever young!'
Thus great Pan is ever sung.
JOHN FLETCHER
What wonders sunshine works upon the world!
It turns the hillside to an emerald throne,
The sullen ocean to a sapphire stone,
The clouds to crimson bannerets unfurled:
Beneath its spell the meadows are be-pearled
With dew-drops bright in glory not their own;
The land is girded with a golden zone;
The rose's dainty petals are uncurled.
When sunshine doth such wondrous beauty bring
As makes our worn old world awhile to glow
With brightness borrowed from the realms above,
It typifies to us that higher thing
Which makes this earth a very heaven below,
The Sunshine of the soul - we call it Love.
ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER
Sparkling jewel of the starry night,
Enlightened stone that begs delight,
Deep in the heart of a lover's knot
Are poems the sages have forgot -
Music on air to shed a tear
For hungry children everywhere.
Where is Jesus, the babe of blood,
Who died on the cross in the name of love?
Where are the elders, where are the wise
Whose voices have drowned as a bird that cries?
The promise of fortune beckons the bold
With elfin lore and tales of old.
Where are the prophets? Where is the king?
The chanting of monks, as they pray and sing?
Rain falls, as the rainbow arches high -
Dismal days, and the child who must die.
G-d forgive us our foolish ways,
Punish the evil, honour the brave,
Bring to the Earth a better way.
Venus eclipse the harsh light of day,
May the trees be sacred, the forests grow
Goodwill among men as the ancients know.
YASHA HAMER
Monsieur Shakespeare
Of inky quills on tattered page
Feathered plumes on actors' stage.
How shall I address your wisdom?
Your flair or charm in all Christendom?
Beyond words to express
The measure of your greatness
Suffice to say my humble self -
Will try my best by meagre stealth!
Squire and wench exchanging glances,
Wit or fool, thy plays enhance is,
Dreamer of dreams.
Subtle schemes,
Illusion, delusion, or various themes,
Thought's most inner potency -
Words spun on wheels of soliloquy,
Plots to make us laugh or weep
Tragic or comic in poetry deep.
Queen's patrnage - cup of mead,
Skilled at knowing how to please!
Garlands decked with færy dew,
Flowers and bowers of dappled hue.
King of Jest, Master of song,
Beloved of England and beyond.
Creator of magic and myth,
Lord of pun, couplet and pith -
Much of grace was in thy pen.
Brightness of a risen Sun
Ends of Earth salute
Monsieur Shakespeare - Absolute!
YASHA HAMER
What is life?
A kiss, a whispher, an embrace?
A shell, an egg, a piece of lace?
What is this thing we live?
Is it a dream - a birth - a death?
Is it to suffer or not care less?
is it a dance, a lark, or a laugh?
A dog, a cat, a Roman Bath?
Is it found in love that excites the passions?
With poor folk and their meagre rations?
Political, historical, a mere play? -
“Listen to what the wise say..”
The wise? Are they still alive? Do they exist?
Changing from age to age,
“The truth” can alter with the sage.
Can truth change?
Be affected by season, chance, or clime?
Or only understood by minds sublime?
They do say the child is wise,
Can pierce the truth and see through lies.
Maybe only the brave confront the truth
And take it to the grave with them.
But what of truth? Is it Art?
Is it subjective? objective? relative or absolute?
Animal, vegetable or mineral?
Is it in the winds, leaves or Sun?
Is it with soul, sea, or Christ?
Is it sex? sin? or vice?
Is it a Spirit or a micro-cell?
Or only found where the hermits dwell?
The peasant seemed to know the truth
By nurturing his vegetable roots.
Old women used to read the cards
And tell our present, future, past.
Monks vowed they did commune with G-d
While sowing seeds and growing pod.
True love may be a type of truth -
But promiscuity needs a sleuth!
Last of all: time, deacay and change - enough!
I shall never know the secrets of the Earth -
Or of the Universe for that matter,
They do say, we're all certain of is the grave.
But, G-d willing, there'll be tomorrow.
YASHA HAMER
Ages old is the Earth from which we arise:
The murk or mud and the darkling skies.
We are part of the throb and pulse of time,
Part of the fish, sea and slime.
Deep from the dirt of the bowels of the globe
We naked ants - children of Jove.
Lightning flash, thunder roar
Inheritance of ancient lore.
Part of the cells dancing madly
Joy and pain and human tragedy.
From the juice and sap of creation
Breath of life, and copulation.
The animal kingdom of which we are part
Runs in the veins and throbs in the heart.
Raging winds and elemental drive
Most of us struggling to survive.
Our brothers are the forest green
Plants and flowers and patterned gene
Force of stars - galactic power,
G-d's citadel and heavenly tower.
Are we born from dust of the universe,
Nature pushing from death to birth?
Do our souls arise when we expire,
Part of the infinite cosmic fire
Or slumber and not awake
To meet the Lord's handshake?
Eternity is a mystery,
But whatever Spirit wrought “the world”
Is far greater than can be verbalised.
YASHA HAMER
Wild seas of change
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ winds of Tide -
gushing, rushing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ with my soul combine
palette of greyish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ slush murky tone
wistful wave music -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ endless moan
foam flecked white
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ azure moment of cloud
distance 'twixt us
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ is like a shroud
from the window
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ people pass my flat
my cat's performing acrobats!
Music from radio
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ hints of civilisation
Eye's inner survey
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ of realisation
that approaching fifty
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I'm alone.
Hand of love,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ unwritten poem,
sweet saga
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ of kiss and sigh
limbs entwined
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ proof I'm alive -
is there a harbour
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to anchor my frail craft?
a witch to find?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ a love Time will last?
or will I be all ways
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ with the Tide
a heart without a key?
In my mind I see you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ like a port,
a tree growing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ in my thought.
Should I be brave,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ cast you from my arms
or remain spellbound,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ imprisoned by charms?
So, the sea,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ passing to and fro
its aimless search
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ of witch my soul knows
the quest for
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ spirit and flesh,
is as a sailor's jest -
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the wish for companion
ship
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ as old as Time.
YASHA HAMER
Fragranced of mint and warm mulled wine
Hint of raindrops - scent of pine
Soft fallen snow and air like champagne!
Roses of amber - gold and flame
Music flowing from strings of sound
The stirring of plants deep underground
Pleasure of love and lips on fire
gentle and tender hearts' desire
Waters magical swirling gush -
Rustling leaves speckled and lush.
Laughter echoing fring on ring
The world seems a goodly place therein.
But a sober thought invades my soul -
Is life's pleasure the only goal?
What of the beggar in the street?
What of children with nothing to eat?
What of a girl all black and blue ?
What of animals caged in a zoo?
Of the diseases too numerous to name,
Of injustice that isn't a game?
Seems there's no answer; all's unfair
Enough to drive you to despair.
But then I thought I'd say a prayer,
Lift my voice to someting out there -
Then felt a bit easier, less alone.
As if my prayer had somehow atoned,
Gradually the dark clouds shifted,
My mind grew clear - despair had lifted.
YASHA HAMER
or
Psi No More
O all you clever scientists!
When will you reach your goal
Of seeing that it's
All opposites
Conjoin to make the Whole?
See from the Centre, One and All -
The Centre of the Wheel
Of wHoly Life
Where free from strife
All Think is One with Feel.
You only need a network,
Until all, ALL connects;
Then every soul
Is One White Whole -
Each part the Whole reflects.
To understand this wHoly Truth,
Seek first within, for you
Must learn to BE
This Truth to see
You're in the Oneness too.
So psimplify, dear pscientists!
You'll not be wHoly wise
Until your brain
Is One again -
There IS no Bridge of Psis.
From John Hemming's Light without
Gravity
Lilian Sessions, 1994. ISBN: 1-85072-140-8
- Shalom & Welcome! - 
© The Neith Network Library 2003
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Updated 04:48 12/8/2003.