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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 1/27/2008 5:52:36 PM | After-Thought
by Lord Alfred Tennyson
I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide,
As being past away. -Vain sympathies!
For backward, Duddon! as I cast my eyes,
I see what was, and is, and will abide;
Still glides the Stream, and shall not cease to glide;
The Form remains, the Function never dies;
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise,
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied
The elements, must vanish; -be it so!
Enough, if something from our hands have power
To live, and act, and serve the future hour;
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower,
We feel that we are greater than we know. | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 2/1/2008 5:13:27 AM | Spirits of the Dead...
Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
by Edgar Allan Poe | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 2/1/2008 5:46:35 AM | LIGHT
by: John Milton (1608-1674)
AIL holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproachèd light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath
That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal'd with them in renown.
Blind Thamyris and blind Mæonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledge fair
Presented with a Universal blanc
Of Natures works to mee expung'd and ras'd,
And wisdome at one entrance quite shut out.
So much the rather thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight. | |
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| MYSTICISM
Posted: 6/28/2008 9:02:40 AM | By intuition, Mighty Things
Assert themselves – and not by terms –
“I”m Midnight” – need the Midnight say –
“I”m Sunrise” – Need the Majesty?
Omnipotence – had not a Tongue –
His lisp – is lightning – and the sun –
His Conversation– with Sea –
“How shall you know”?
Consult your eye!
by
emily dickinson | |
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| MYSTICISM
Posted: 6/28/2008 9:15:13 AM | Mystic Analysis
The air is a mill of hooks --
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer.
I remember
The dead smell of sun on wood cabins,
The stiffness of sails, the long salt winding sheets.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Once one has been seized up
Without a part left over,
Not a toe, not a finger, and used,
Used utterly, in the sun's conflagration, the stains
That lengthen from ancient cathedrals
What is the remedy?
The pill of the Communion tablet,
The walking beside still water? Memory?
Or picking up the bright pieces
Of Christ in the faces of rodents,
The tame flower-nibblers, the ones
Whose hopes are so low they are comfortable --
The humpback in his small, washed cottage
Under the spokes of the clematis.
Is there no great love, only tenderness?
Does the sea
Remember the walker upon it?
Meaning leaks from the molecules.
The chimneys of the city breathe, the window sweats,
The children leap in their cots.
The sun blooms, it is a geranium.
The heart has not stopped.
by
sylvia plath | |
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| I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Posted: 6/28/2008 3:26:31 PM | I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
Maya Angelou | |
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| I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Posted: 6/28/2008 4:01:28 PM | I love this thread. I come back oft to read the beauty that shines through in all of your words.
Each step that takes me closer to death brings me back to the view that I want to live every moment, squeeze in every laugh, every child's smile I can see, every hug that wraps it's arms around me, every sparkle of a friend's eye, every person that is soul deep, wrought in friendship, sealed in love.
and music is a must. Spirit in the Sky is a great one...happy songs. I loved the idea of Jim Henson's passing becoming a huge celebration. I also love that some people in New Orleans make a passing a party.
Isnt' it?
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| I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Posted: 6/28/2008 4:02:09 PM | jesyka, ^^^ wow! i was just looking for this book in my collection to reread it. frequencies, frequencies and more frequencies.
i love it! | |
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| Restless Farewell
Posted: 6/28/2008 4:35:05 PM | Oh all the money that in my whole life I did spend,
Be it mine right or wrongfully,
I let it slip gladly past the hands of my friends
To tie up the time most forcefully.
But the bottles are done,
We've killed each one
And the table's full and overflowed.
And the corner sign
Says it's closing time,
So I'll bid farewell and be down the road.
Oh ev'ry girl that ever I've touched,
I did not do it harmfully.
And ev'ry girl that ever I've hurt,
I did not do it knowin'ly.
But to remain as friends and make amends
You need the time and stay behind.
And since my feet are now fast
And point away from the past,
I'll bid farewell and be down the line.
Oh ev'ry foe that ever I faced,
The cause was there before we came.
And ev'ry cause that ever I fought,
I fought it full without regret or shame.
But the dark does die
As the curtain is drawn and somebody's eyes
Must meet the dawn.
And if I see the day
I'd only have to stay,
So I'll bid farewell in the night and be gone.
Oh, ev'ry thought that's strung a knot in my mind,
I might go insane if it couldn't be sprung.
But it's not to stand naked under unknowin' eyes,
It's for myself and my friends my stories are sung.
But the time ain't tall,
Yet on time you depend and no word is possessed
By no special friend.
And though the line is cut,
It ain't quite the end,
I'll just bid farewell till we meet again.
Oh a false clock tries to tick out my time
To disgrace, distract, and bother me.
And the dirt of gossip blows into my face,
And the dust of rumors covers me.
But if the arrow is straight
And the point is slick,
It can pierce through dust no matter how thick.
So I'll make my stand
And remain as I am
And bid farewell and not give a damn. | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 5:10:00 PM | Remembered Joy......
Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all...
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss...
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life's been full, I've savoured much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief—
Don't shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow. | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 5:25:12 PM | awesome idea for a thread....made me think of this write off tops....not the one i'd have at my funeral......but still....
When I Die
when i die i hope no one who ever hurt me cries
and if they cry i hope their eyes fall out
and a million maggots that had made up their brains
crawl from the empty holes and devour the flesh
that covered the evil that passed itself off as a person
that i probably tried
to love
-Nikkie Giovanni | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 5:41:54 PM | I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty,
if nothing is neglected,
and if the best arrangements are made,
as they are being made,
we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home,
to ride out the storm of war,
and to outlive the menace of tyranny,
if necessary for years,
if necessary alone.
At any rate,
that is what we are going to try to do.
That is the resolve of His Majesty's Government-every man of them.
That is the will of Parliament and the nation.
The British Empire and the French Republic,
linked together in their cause and in their need,
will defend to the death their native soil,
aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength.
Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule,
we shall not flag or fail.
We shall go on to the end,
we shall fight in France,
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air,
we shall defend our Island,
whatever the cost may be,
we shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender,
and even if,
which I do not for a moment believe,
this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving,
then our Empire beyond the seas,
armed and guarded by the British Fleet,
would carry on the struggle, until,
in God's good time,
the New World,
with all its power and might,
steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.
from "We Shall Fight on the Beaches" - Sir Winston Churchill
..........................................................................June 4, 1940
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 8:23:39 PM | Sickle
Soon comes the Reaper.
At what price is our harvest?
Uncertain yield of hope
Tiled in another time,
A gentler season.
What seeds are left
On cracking ground?
Who mows the bearded grasses
Fragrant in the Summer's sun?
Such heavy fruits remain
To feed those lovers left behind.
Windfall bitter tart
With metal's tang.
The lush to pick so sweet with
Lifetimes' ripened flesh.
The scythe is of the cycle.
Weary shoulders ache to burning.
Cut to die.
T. Thorn Coyle | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 8:23:54 PM | I would ask for any one of these to be read:
____________________________________________
The Blue Wind (by Nadja a surrealist poet 1902-1940)
I am the thought on the bath in the room without mirrors
***
Time is a tease – because everything happens in its own time.
***
With the end of my breath, which is the beginning of yours.
***
The lion’s claw embraces the vine’s breast.
***
I want to touch serenity with a figure wet with tears.
***
Why this scale which wavered in the darkness of a hole full of coal pellets?
***
Not to weigh down one’s thoughts with the weight of one’s shoes.
***
A game. Say something. Close your eyes and say something. Anything, a number, a name. Like this: Two, two what? Two women. What do they look like? Where are they? In a park…and then, what are they doing? Try it, it’s so easy…You know, that’s how I talk to myself when I’m alone, I tell myself all kinds of stories. And not only silly stories: actually, I live this way altogether.
***
The blue and the wind, the blue wind.
***
I cannot be reached.
______________________________________________
Recognition (by Alejandra Piznarnick)
You made the silence of lilacs swaying
in the tragic breezes of my heart.
You made my life a tale for children
where deaths and shipwrecks
are pretexts for splendid parties.
_____________________________________________
Bird dressed as solitude and tears... (by Jeannette Miller)
Bird dressed as solitude and tears,
I see your body elapse.
After the flows
After the bitter tears,
the song of the leopard in your eyes of wind.
________________________________________
Shadow Of Things To Come (by Alejandra Piznarnick)
Tomorrow
they will clothe me in ashes at dawn
they will fill my mouth with flowers.
I will learn to sleep
with the memory of a wall
with the breathing
of an animal that dreams. | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/28/2008 10:34:13 PM | When I die
Laugh
Think of any time
That brings a smile
Then Laugh
You can't look at me
For I'll be ash
Mix me up with water
In a douche
Run Me through
One last time
With a sweet woman
That drinks life
And Laugh | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/30/2008 7:11:56 AM | Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles.
To me the sea is a continual miracle;
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships,
with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
~ Walt Whitman
(in a last attempt to encourage others around me see the greatness in it all) | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/30/2008 10:08:33 AM |
Which poem would you want recited in your honor?
Mama plucked all the feathers off her guardian angel
God sent more angels
…She teased them unmercifully
Finally in His Grace
He took her home
Now she finally resides at God’s feet
He better give her the answers
…unless He wants hell for eternity
I hope my children know how to laugh through the tears, there’s nothing like writing your own eulogy  | |
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/30/2008 1:45:35 PM | "God alone is enough."
Let nothing upset you,
let nothing startle you.
All things pass;
God does not change.
Patience wins
all it seeks.
Whoever has God
lacks nothing:
God alone is enough.
by
St Teresa Avila | |
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| MYSTICISM
Posted: 6/30/2008 1:52:24 PM | Confused and Distraught
Again I am raging, I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow; I am all
reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn; whatever
side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error; it is not surprising to speak in error in this
state, for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the "divs"; I, the madman,
am a Solomon with the "divs", by your soul.
Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart, by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs
comes back; neither you are that, by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.
Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi, through wakefulness or
nightrising, like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.
by Rumi
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| If you where Dying, At your funeral...
Posted: 6/30/2008 3:53:17 PM | I would want someone to read this to inspire the living:
The Dash
I read of a man who stood to speak,
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
from the beginning…to the end.
He noted that first came the date of her birth
and spoke of the following date with tears,
but he said that what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
that she spent alive on earth
and now only those who loved her
know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own
the cars…the house…the cash…
What matters is how we live and love…
and how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard;
are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real…
and always try to understand
the way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives…
like we’ve never loved before
If we treat each other with respect
And more often wear a smile…
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read…
with you life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say…
about how you spent your dash? | |
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