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Sonnet: God Wins

God cleanses souls, allowing suffering;
The troubled minds and hearts then seek His aid;
Men offer prayers, turn sacrificing;
Their contrition and penitence gets paid.

Each person has his cup of joys and woes;
No one escapes devils’ torments with ease;
None know ‘forehand, the sprouting of life’s boughs;
Communion with God alone gives peace.

One’s cleverness can’t stall problems for long;
The storms of life can take us by surprise;
Strife makes us sing a plaintive, divine song;
We promise God to give up then our vice.

Devils too help to purify a soul!
The ones misled retrace heavenly goal.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-20-2006

poem by John Celes
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Unforgettable Conscious Actions

Unforgettable conscious actions,
Forgiven with time...
But not from a mind erased.
As those memories come with intent to retrace,
In intervals of intermissions,
As if to stay replayed...
Between wanted acts of forgetting.

It is difficult to pretend,
Not to be affected emotionally by them.
Since unforgettable conscious acts,
Remain in one's mind to be noticed.
And felt to refreshen a sting that hurts.
With a leaving of an effectiveness,
Remembered.

Like the first time one's faith is lost,
In someone loved and seen cheating.
Again! To leave one feeling defeated,
From a repeated beating that does not end.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Extreme Unction

Upon the eyes, the lips, the feet,
On all the passages of sense,
The atoning oil is spread with sweet
Renewal of lost innocence.

The feet, that lately ran so fast
To meet desire, are soothly sealed;
The eyes, that were so often cast
On vanity, are touched and healed.

From troublous sights and sounds set free;
In such a twilight hour of breath,
Shall one retrace his life, or see,
Through shadows, the true face of death?

Vials of mercy! Sacring oils!
I know not where nor when I come,
Nor through what wanderings and toils,
To crave of you Viaticum.

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poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Onwards, Forward

we who are left
have no choice, we go onward
forward, we have nothing to lose,
except the traces of our
erroneous steps

we who are down are lucky too
for we have no other direction except to go up
we cannot stay here
for what choice have we?

those who are there already
i know, shall find nothing as significant as a mole
at their backs
and so what choice have they?
except to come back
and retrace the better past
the excitement of what once
were

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whispers Heard

The weird one,
Out.
An escapee,
From a life deemed scarred...
By the markings of dysfunctions.

Labellings endured but removed.
Bold, brave...
And,
Often rude.
Often moody and with attitude.

The weird one,
Out.
No longer enslaved,
By limited mentalities.
Too goal oriented.
And...
With identity.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bond And Free

Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about--
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

On snow and sand and turn, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world's embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius' disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall

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poem by Robert Frost
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Blossom everywhere

Solitary blossom
I wish it to be faced by anybody seldom
One is having choice to feel it with freedom
But involves no logic or wisdom

Doors are never closed
Problems are always posed
We must have resolve and passion
We are not here waiting for anybody’s compassion

Braves retrace in rare occasion
It is rule out of question
There is no scope for Isolation
As it has found never a space in relation

Heart needs solace
And happiness on face
Rest may follow automatically
As it is joy and happiness really

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Lost Love

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face;
Thy thrilling voice I hear;
And former hours and scenes retrace,
Too fleeting, and too dear!

Then sighs and tears flow fast and free,
Though none is nigh to share;
And life has nought beside for me
So sweet as this despair.

There are crush'd hearts that will not break;
And mine, methinks, is one;
Or thus I should not weep and wake,
And thou to slumber gone.

I little thought it thus could be
In days more sad and fair
That earth could have a place for me,
And thou no longer there.

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poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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When You're Making Up

When you're making up,
Make it good.
Make it to erase.
All things misunderstood.

When you're making up,
Let go and let be,
Don't redo those little details...
Of disharmony.

Dismiss and let it show,
That forgiveness is the key.
Dismiss and let it show,
To forget is to succeed.

When you're making up,
Dismiss to distance what has been.
When you're making up,
Recharge with a redoing to begin again.
When you're making up,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In The Wilderness Of Uncertainty

If I had a singular point to make,
From this one soul...
Coming face to face,
With a host of nameless expressions.
I would wish to appear fearless.

Travel as I wonder,
Which door to pick for a short visit.
Would I be embraced...
When my deepest thoughts are revealed,
Comfortably enough to retrace steps I've taken.

If I had a singular desire,
To inspire feelings of love...
I wish to share.
Would I recognize a caring there...
Communicating hope and faith.

And would that singular point I made,
Be accepted as an invitation...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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