Here is something I wrote thought y'all would enjoy. I couldn't remember if I posted it before... I couldn't find it anywhere so I guess I did not. its a play on Alfred Tennysons "the charge of the Light Brigade" but I have never actually read "the Charge of the Light Brigade" I have only heard it a couple of times......
On the cold pavement could
could be heard the gallop of there feet
"Charge!" cried the head one
as they thundered down curb steep
And charge they did out of obedience to there king
for there deaths shall not be remembered and of them no-one shall sing
Over the pavement they thundered
crushed by Good-Year tall and strong.
Some cried "stop you damnded fools
or your charge it will not be long!"
Over the road of death
did charge the light Four-score
smashed form right and left
by black and Grey Four-doors
Half-a-yard, half-a-yard, half-a-yard onward.
Through the pavement of death the leaves they did thunder.
Charged they over the medion
Charged without rest
Charge they cried
as the next curb came abreast.
again downwrd they stormed
with the wind at there back
"Give 'em blood and thunder!"
cried they at attack.
Then came a Fifteen passenger,
with a large sliding door,
and that was the death
of the remaining two score.
Half-a-yard, half-a-yard, half-a-yard onward.
Through the pavement of death the leaves they did thunder.
and on cold winter nights,
when the trees they do sigh,
is remembered the leaf brigade
and how they did die.
could be heard the gallop of there feet
"Charge!" cried the head one
as they thundered down curb steep
And charge they did out of obedience to there king
for there deaths shall not be remembered and of them no-one shall sing
Over the pavement they thundered
crushed by Good-Year tall and strong.
Some cried "stop you damnded fools
or your charge it will not be long!"
Over the road of death
did charge the light Four-score
smashed form right and left
by black and Grey Four-doors
Half-a-yard, half-a-yard, half-a-yard onward.
Through the pavement of death the leaves they did thunder.
Charged they over the medion
Charged without rest
Charge they cried
as the next curb came abreast.
again downwrd they stormed
with the wind at there back
"Give 'em blood and thunder!"
cried they at attack.
Then came a Fifteen passenger,
with a large sliding door,
and that was the death
of the remaining two score.
Half-a-yard, half-a-yard, half-a-yard onward.
Through the pavement of death the leaves they did thunder.
and on cold winter nights,
when the trees they do sigh,
is remembered the leaf brigade
and how they did die.
A happy and blessed Easter to you all! Here's another hymn-translation to celebrate the Feast:
All together, joyfully
Making woe and sadness flee,
Let the Church be joined to raise
Mary's honour and her praise:
Virgo Maria!
Who in joyful, glad surprise
When the Lord again did rise
Flowered like the lily mild,
Seeing her arisen Child:
Virgo Maria!
Whom with glad united lays
All the choirs of heaven praise;
So we join the heavenly throng
In a new and gladsome song;
Virgo Maria!
O thou Queen of Virgins fair,
Hear thy children's humble prayer;
When the strife of death is o'er
Grant us life forevermore,
Virgo Maria!
O thou glorious Trinity,
Undivided Unity,
By Maria's merits free
May we saved forever be:
Virgo Maria!
May you all be filled with the joy of the risen Lord and may He shower you all with His grace! From the Sequence in today's Mass:
Forth to the paschal Victim,
Christians, bring your sacrifice of praise:
The Lamb redeems the sheep;
And Christ the sinless One,
Hath to the Father sinners reconciled.
Together, death and life in a strange conflict strove.
The Prince of life, who died,
Now lives and reigns.
What thou sawest, Mary, say,
As though wentest on the way.
I saw the tomb wherein the living one had lain,
I saw His glory as He rose again;
Napkin and linen clothes, and angels twain:
Yea, Christ is risen, my hope, and He
Will go before you into Galilee.
We know that Christ indeed has risen from the grave:
Hail, thou King of Victory,
Have mercy, Lord, and save. Amen. Alleluia.
Since today is Laetare Sunday, here is the sonnet I wrote last year, based on the Introit and its Psalm (121), plus one verse of Psalm 124. I wish I remembered exactly how I connected the other Psalm to this Introit; but they seem to fit together very nicely. The original Latin is below; the parenthesized phrase is the one I couldn't quite fit into the rhythm/rhyme scheme.
Laetare Ierusalem
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, rejoice!
Let all who love her be united here;
Ye who in sorrow once did lift your voice,
Rejoice, rejoice with gladness and great cheer,
That you be filled from comfort's breast! Be glad,
Jerusalem; her lovers, gathered be;
Ye who before were wretched, weeping, sad,
Exult with merriment and gaiety!
I was made glad by what was said to me,
Into the dwelling of the Lord we go!
And let abundance in your towers be;
Let holy peace be in your strength, also.
O, they who trust in God shall ever be
As Sion's Mount - unmoved eternally.
Laetare Ierusalem: et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam: gaudete cum laetitia, qui in tristitia fuistis: ut exsultetis, et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestrae.
(Psalm 121) Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus. Fiat pax in virtute tua, et abundantia in turribus tuis.
(Psalm 124) Qui confidunt in Domino, sicut mons Sion; non commovebitur in aeternum, (qui habitat in Ierusalem.)
Edited to add: the "Fiat pax" and "Qui confidunt" are added to the "Laetatus sum" in the Gradual. (Three cheers for my faithful Liber...)
I translated this wonderful ballad of St. Teresa the year before last, for my 'Creative Writing: Translation' class. In this Lenten season, perhaps it is fitting that I post this beautiful prayer for complete resignation to God's holy Will.
THINE AM I.
Thine am I, I was born for Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
Majesty most sovereign,
O Thou wisdom without end,
Goodness, to my soul a friend,
God most High, that e'er hast been,
Look on the vileness and sin
That today sings Love to Thee.
What is Thy command for me?
I am Thine, that Thou didst make;
Thine, redeemed, O Lord, by Thee;
Thine, for Thou didst suffer me;
Thou didst call; my self, then, take.
Saved by thee from hell's dark lake,
I went not astray from Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
What, good Lord, dost Thou command
That this worthless servant do?
O, what work is given into
This, Thy sinful servant's hand?
See, sweet Lover, here I am,
Lover sweet, I come to Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
See my heart, O Lord - I place
It within Thy hand. My soul,
Entrails, life and body whole,
All I fix upon Thy face;
Sweet Redeemer of our race,
Since I gave myself to Thee
What is Thy command for me?
Give me death or give me life,
Health or sickness give to me,
Honor give or infamy,
Give me greater peace or strife,
Strength or weakness to my life,
I accept it all from Thee…
What is Thy command for me?
Wealth or poverty be given,
Consolation, misery;
Joy or sorrow give to me,
Give me hell or give me heaven,
Scorching sun or joy of living,
I surrender all to Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
If Thou wilt, give prayer to me,
Or give dryness in its stead;
Pour devotion on my head,
Or if not, sterility.
O Thou sovereign Majesty,
I find peace in none but Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
Wisdom, knowledge, grant to me,
Or for love, give foolishness.
Give me years of thy largesse
Or of starving scarcity;
Cloudy days or clarity,
Whirl me hither, thither, free.
What is Thy command for me?
Wouldst Thou have me leisure lie?
I will laze for love of thee;
If my labor thou wouldst see,
Laboring for thee I'd die.
Tell me when, where, how and why,
Tell, dear Lover, tell to me,
What is Thy command for me?
Calvary's pain or Thabor's light,
Desert land or fruitful rest;
Be I Job in deepest plight,
Or John at his mother's breast;
If a fruitful vine I be
Or unfruitful, pleasing Thee,
What is Thy command for me?
Be I Joseph bound in jail
Or as Egypt's ruler great;
David suffering great travail,
Or David in royal state,
Be I Jonah in the whale
Or from his dark prison free,
What is Thy command for me?
In my speech and silence too,
Be I fruitful, be I not,
Let the law show me my fault,
Let me joy in Gospels true;
In my joys and in my woe,
Thou alone, come live in me;
What is Thy command for me?
Thine am I, I was born for Thee;
What is Thy command for me?
-- St. Teresa of Avila -- tr. Inés de Erausquin. Oct. 19, 2008.
Hey Howdy, here's a poem I wrote on my way back from a trip to Tomball(North Houston). Sorry for some reason my line spacing is weird. Enjoy.
Here I sit in silence killing,
the Whiteness of this pageI'm stealing.
all for rhymes that equal what?
Here I sit with no direction
giving random word selection,
saying things that equal what?
I could use this time of writting
to write on ships or seagull sightings,
but alas in Tomball I can not.
Maybe I could write of that forest wall
built of pine trees straight and tall,
but instead I sit here writing squat.
I don't claim to be a poet... nevertheless with the World Cup approaching, I thought I would share this amusing piece I wrote in late June 2006. It was in preparation for hosting a mid-summer sodality meeting with several professional gentlemen--and myself, at my home. One of the attendees to my mid-summer soire, which included smoked pork ribs Chez Kokenge, is an Argentine and kickball--uh, I mean soccer lover.
The photo is that of Nolan Ryan, the all time strikeout king (5,714...#2 on the list has 4,875 and he is retiring) after having taken a baseball off the face. . .
It’ll be the fifth day of Juillet
and none a cent to pay
to eat, drink and be merry
no world cup talk shall I carry
the boredom! please take it away!
The drone and talk of the ‘universal’ game
really, no point scoring its just quite lame
‘The Germans will surely win the cup!’
the home turf the krauts won’t give up
Boca, River, AFA, no reason for shame
Men and boys in powder blue stripes
gave it their all, Maradona’s old yikes!
Italians, and Aussies, Poles, and Croats
Fans from all over, eating their brats
Watching for a ball between the pipes
90 minutes 3 times a day
Please kick a goal, we pray!
For heaven sakes, it’s a game
But, not a yellow or red how lame
Turn off the TV and walk away
Come to my house if you understand French
I got a grill in the back and a white painted bench
make sure you get the date right
and try with all your might
cease the talk of the sport perfect for a wench!
Where’s the barrister of the gov’ment
Sullivan come to our aid in this moment
Please all baseball lover’s unite
and give this futbol’er’ a fright
To say soccer’s glorious I’m hell bent
A man's sport requires speed
leather, pine tar, bats is what you need
or a ball up and in now that's intimidation
a deuce on the ribs, even music to the chin
could make a man a boy and take heed
Gibson, Koufax, Williams, and Ruth,
men with real guts, an example for youth
not running incessantly and kicking a ball
all that action and no scoring at all
Futboler's are actors y’all know it’s the truth
Gehrig, Maris, Hornesby even Shoeless Joe
they'd never settle for that sort of show
faking it and making it seem like a trip
and that long hair they wear is just not hip
Psst! Beckham’s really a girl I hope you know
The poet returns! This one was inspired by the awesome winter sunsets, all pink and purple and gold... what else would a Catholic think of but the liturgical colors? :)
How glorious is the sky, though chill the air!
A liturgy celestial I behold;
A heavy curtain, violet, rose and gold,
Is draped across the towering branches bare.
Darkness is setting in; we must beware,
For in the dark of midnight and the cold
Our evil enemy, our foe of old,
Roams round and round, to see whom he may snare....
But we who love Our Lord will not fear night;
In blackest dark, we better see the light
That sprang from a poor stable's lowly stall,
And turned the night of fear to one of joy:
The Babe is born that will all sin destroy,
And be the loving Savior of us all!
--- Dec. 10, 2009
I was looking through some stuff and I found something of interest, it was an earlier piece I wrote; it was my fist stab at symbolism, tell me what you think. and plus now that the weather is cooling off I thought it appropriate. you'll have to forgive me it was I think the 4th poem I ever wrote; so its not very good, but its wintery......
Searching for true Happiness
By
Tom
The wind howled through the frozen vale,
or is that the wolves? no one can tell.
We trudged through snow five feet deep.
Oh how many lives did that winter reap!
Of fire we do dream,
of warmth, and home 'n many things
We left these in search of what?
something that this world can give us naught.
Oooohh yah and while we're on the subject of winter here is another one that I really like and I don't think is half bad, but its very short and has no title, please enjoy.
His body was stiff as frozen steel,
his face was clouded gray,
as he entered into eternal sleep
caused by the wounds received that day.
well y'all asked for posts so here was my little colluage of frozen pieces.
By
Tom
The wind howled through the frozen vale,
or is that the wolves? no one can tell.
We trudged through snow five feet deep.
Oh how many lives did that winter reap!
Of fire we do dream,
of warmth, and home 'n many things
We left these in search of what?
something that this world can give us naught.
Oooohh yah and while we're on the subject of winter here is another one that I really like and I don't think is half bad, but its very short and has no title, please enjoy.
His body was stiff as frozen steel,
his face was clouded gray,
as he entered into eternal sleep
caused by the wounds received that day.
well y'all asked for posts so here was my little colluage of frozen pieces.
The Viking's posting of "Black and Tan" reminded me of this song... the very definition of sarcasm! I love it... Lyrics below the video.
Oh, I'll tell you a tale of peace and love
Whack fol the diddle o the die do day
Of a land that rules all lands above
Whack fol the diddle o the die do day
May peace and plenty be her share
Who kept our homes from want and care
Oh, God bless England is our prayer
Whack fol the diddle o the die do day
Chorus:
Whack fol the diddle o the die do day
So we say 'hip hooray'
Come and listen while we pray (1st chorus only)
Whack fol the diddle o the die do day
Now our fathers oft were naughty boys
For pikes and guns are dangerous toys
At Ballinahabwee and at Peter's Hill
We made poor England cry her fill
But old Brittania loves us still
God bless England so we pray (remaining choruses)
Now, when we were savage, fierce and wild
She came as a mother to her child
She gently raised us from the slime
And kept our hands from hellish crime
And she sent us to heaven in our own good time
Well, now Irish men forget the past
And think of the day that's coming fast
When we shall all be civilized
Neat and clean and well advised
Oh, won't mother England be surprised?
I was born on a Dublin street
Where the royal drums did beat
And the loving English feet walked all over us,
And every single night
When me father'd come home tight
He'd invite the neighbors outside with this chorus:
Oh, come out you black and tans,
Come out and fight me like a man
Show your wife how you won medals down in Flanders
Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away,
From the green and lovely lanes in Killeshandra.
Come tell us how you slew
Them ol' Arabs two by two
Like the Zulus they had spears and bows and arrows,
How you bravely faced each one
With your sixteen pounder gun
And you frightened them damn natives to their marrow.
Chorus
Come let us hear you tell
How you slandered great Parnell,
When you thought him well and truly persecuted,
Where are the sneers and jeers
That you bravely let us hear
When our heroes of sixteen were executed.
Chorus
The day is coming fast
And the time is here at last,
When each shoneen will be cast aside before us,
And if there be a need
Sure my kids will sing, "Godspeed!"
With a bar or two of Stephen Behan's chorus.
After enjoying all those deep posts on modesty, though not necessarily because of them, I came up with a sonnet to Our Lady under one of the many wonderful invocations of the Litany of Loretto, which seems apt for the pianists because we play on it all the time.
Turris Eburnea
Thy glory is too great for pen to write,
Thy heart too high for mortal speech to say;
Thy grace too grand, thy soul too shining white
For us to praise, who are too poor to pray.
Our voices dare not sing to thee, whose song
Was the Magnificat; O how can we,
Without a fear of offering some wrong
To such a singer, sing thee worthily?
Nay, wordless is our prayer; on gleaming keys
Of that material made more noble by
The name thou'rt given in the prophecies,
We let our hands, to give thee honor, fly,
And name thee Lady of our minstrelsy,
Queen of our keyboards, Tower of Ivory.
Oct. 19, 2009
Assumpta est Maria in coelum, gaudent angeli, collaudantes benedicunt Dominum. Maria virgo assumpta est ad aethereum thalamum, in quo Rex regum stellato sedet solio.
Here is an old poem resurrected in honor of the day, our parish's Patronal Feast.
Mary, what can I say in praise of thee?
All words fail to describe thy holiness;
Royal scion of David's noble tree,
Your beauty doth surpass all loveliness.
Many have sought to praise thee worthily
And better poets than I have fallen short;
Repeatedly I fail to praise enough,
Yet still I strive to praise thee as I ought.
Mother above all Mothers loving, sweet,
Above the Angels brilliant white in grace,
Rose of the world, Lily of purity,
Your glory glorifies the human race!
Mary, O hear my prayer, my Mother dear,
As thou art pure, help me to stay unstained,
Remember me, help me, till by thy aid
Your side, and your Son's footstool, I have gained.
Oh Sleepover, oh Sleepover, You are a cherished thing,
That sends young hearts flying like bird upon the wing,
If someone doth ask why, the reason is apparent-
For "sleep" is just a code-word, to fool the guileless parent.
Instead of sleep there are other, better things that take place-
Such as putting a marker message on some sleeping innocent's face!
Oh, but it is just light-heartedness, or maybe too much candy-
Soda at outrageous hours can sometimes come in handy!
For there are times when sleep indeed doth threaten to occur,
But the mighty sugar rush rushes out to vanquish her!
Axis and Allies, Monopoly, Stratego and Parcheesi,
Intense games such as these can make the strongest hearts turn queasy.
And for the very brave a midnight snack is a delight,
The way all freeze when sound is heard is such a splendid sight!
And then, for fun and relaxation of the mind
Makeovers are just the right way to pass the time!
When games run out, it may just be a blessing in disguise,
For then turns are taken, ghoulish stories to devise!
There's always singing (not too loud!) and chatting in the dark,
That is the last that happens, and it ends the long night's lark,
For one by one the sleepy ones go dropping off like flies,
The last not long before the first hints of a sunrise.
Oh, Sleepover, oh Sleepover, you are the best of things,
Such things as you are the envy of cabbages and kings.
Ok I am now able to finish typing it up. This is a poem I wrote awhile ago 02/15/08.
This is about when you were young and every thing is adventures and big. tell me what y'all think.
There in the forest with trees so tall;
there lies an ancient shattered hall.
Are these the halls of ancient kings,
with jeweled, crowns and golden rings.
or are these the halls of dwarves of old,
With weapons fierce, and hoards of gold.
Or are these the houses of elven lords,
who are rich with song, and poetic words!
but perhaps, these are the dungeons that of evil wreak;
Where creatures of evil, and darkness sleep.
(sigh) Really its not but stone from houses old,
none weapons beautiful, or treasured gold.
there lies an ancient shattered hall.
Are these the halls of ancient kings,
with jeweled, crowns and golden rings.
or are these the halls of dwarves of old,
With weapons fierce, and hoards of gold.
Or are these the houses of elven lords,
who are rich with song, and poetic words!
but perhaps, these are the dungeons that of evil wreak;
Where creatures of evil, and darkness sleep.
(sigh) Really its not but stone from houses old,
none weapons beautiful, or treasured gold.
something funny is that, people I have showed this to, thought I was showing them something I found in one of Tolkiens books =) I aint that good, lol
I wrote this 02/15/08, So its probably, not very good =/.
I just found out Conrad and Erin, were married Saturday, and Ines wrote a very pretty piece; which reminded me of a piece I wrote almost 2 years ago. It is very bad, but I thought I'd post it, to contribute to such a celebratory occasion. ( haha now you can see how bad I was =P)
God bless you, Mr. and Mrs. Conrad.
Wedding Day
The road was bleak, and dreary
the sky was cloudy gray
But I was jovial as ever, as I went upon my way.
Not all the rain, and cold, and wind could make me sad this day;
for I am getting married, to the love of my life today.
Her Dress, will be silken white, my tux will be black, not gray;
And I'll be the happiest man alive, as I walk down the aisle today.
The road was bleak, and dreary
the sky was cloudy gray
But I was jovial as ever, as I went upon my way.
Not all the rain, and cold, and wind could make me sad this day;
for I am getting married, to the love of my life today.
Her Dress, will be silken white, my tux will be black, not gray;
And I'll be the happiest man alive, as I walk down the aisle today.
We shall live life as one, Viva Cristo Rey.
I don't know the spelling on that last phrase, but that's how I found it, if any one can show me the spelling I'd welcome it. Maybe Glo, can write something on marriage, and happiness, n' stuff; But this is all I got, Congratulations Conrad, hope to see in NY.
