Quotes about latch, page 7
Crucial Questions 0927 April 2005 Version
All life is link in chain which must evolve -
new day and night spin round the seasons' clock.
Karmic question: How can Mankind mock
its cycle which leaves little space to solve
the crucial questions before we dissolve
as dust, forgotten, before we mortals stock
answers up from counter culture shock?
None know ‘Why? , When? ' intrinsically involve
ken uncertain, self-fed, can't resolve
if lies are truths which life's latch may unlock.
Though sects upon 'Truth's' door may claim to knock
all misinterpret cause/effect revolve.
Ankh wisdom from within may find through Way
it asks itself if true to self can stay
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Down from the Mountain
As down Mount Emerald at eve I came,
The mountain moon went all the way with me.
Backward I looked, to see the heights aflame
With a pale light that glimmered eerily.
A little lad undid the rustic latch
As hand in hand your cottage we did gain,
Where green limp tendrils at our cloaks did catch,
And dim bamboos o'erhung a shadowy lane.
Gaily I cried, "Here may we rest our fill!"
Then choicest wines we quaffed; and cheerily
"The Wind among the Pines" we sang, until
A few faint stars hung in the Galaxy.
Merry were you, my friend: and drunk was I,
Blissfully letting all the world go by.
Confessional Truth
Liquefied version of pain has started working.
human material constructs
a floating emotion at last.
One by one I rediscover
the children of sorrow
among the ruins of ancient prayers.
The fear lurks
under the trees,
under the stones.
I can read it,
unwashed stillness of a revolution.
It was real yesterday,
but collapsed on the rim of today.
My wrinkled faith gets
ready for a proliferation of rites.
The land suffers.
My solitude remains unmeasured.
In despair I latch on to
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poem by Satish Verma
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Already Open!
are we called to love?
or driven, by an unseen hand?
are we the fire,
or the memory of?
is it he who plants the seed,
or the seed itself?
are we alone,
or do we walk with the dead?
concepts! mental cages.
who builds the cage?
who fights against the latch?
in lonliness we struggle,
never knowing ourselves.
painting the picture
of the bird in flight...
not knowing we are the bird,
the flapping of wings,
and the sky!
not knowing, not knowing...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sonnet- Prepare Thy Heart for God
Latch your heart's door 'fore Sin's burglar breaks in;
Keep windows open for God's grace- Sunshine;
Take cob-webs off and clean room-dust of sin;
Set the table neat for the Lord to dine.
Wash the floor, removing stains of misdeeds;
Plug the wall's cracks and paint them with good thoughts;
Fill the vase with flowers and Christ's bruised reeds;
The Lord will change to wine, water in pots.
Let fragrant air of atonement breeze through;
Switch on the lights of wisdom that God gives;
Let darkness eternal of sin not woo;
For heart renewed is house wherein Lord lives!
And fortify the walls with fortitude;
And heed His Calls in prayerful solitude.
poem by John Celes
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Death Of Calenders
It is me, inside & outside,
movement of sensuous self.
Time sails through the mind,
a silken thread unbroken in names.
If only the death would erase the fear.
If only the other self meets my roots
and stir up the inner sap.
Reaching the end,
you tell me to remember
your name to latch on to memories,
to collect all the pieces
of conceptual loss & gains.
How we were fooling ourselves?
Nothing is left between us
to celebrate the dreams.
All the stray thoughts
could not give us insight
we were dusted off from start
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poem by Satish Verma
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Here is the Little Door
Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift!
We need not wander more but enter with our gift;
Our gift of finest gold,
Gold that was never bought nor sold;
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;
Incense in clouds about his head;
All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep.
But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.
Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift;
See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift!
For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword
(Defend with it Thy little Lord!),
For incense, smoke of battle red.
Myrrh for the honoured happy dead;
Gifts for his children terrible and sweet,
Touched by such tiny hands and
Oh such tiny feet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Kail Yard Bard
A very humble pen I ply
Beneath a cottage thatch;
And in the sunny hours I try
To till my cabbage patch;
And in the gloaming glad am I
To lift the latch.
I do not plot to pile up pelf,
With jowl and belly fat;
To simple song I give myself,
And seek no gain at that:
Content if milk is on the shelf
To feed the cat.
I joy that haleness I possess,
Though fame has passed me by;
And see such gold of happiness
A-shining in the sky,
I wonder who has won success,
Proud men or I?
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poem by Robert William Service
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I Finally Found Forever
i finally found forever...
in the laughter of a small child,
in a raindropp rolling down the window.
in a flower that opened and closed
in one fleeting day.
in the embers of a fire going out.
in the door latch opened,
the shadow walking across the room.
in the old woman dying,
her face peaceful and calm.
in the smile of the young boy cuffed
in the back of the police van...
in the revolver unloaded,
and put back in the drawer.
in the box of clothes
left on the doorstep.
in the cup of coffee shared,
the plate, the fork, and the smoke.
in the moment of eyes engaged,
and talking without words...
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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I years had been from home,
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,--just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
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poem by Emily Dickinson
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