Quotes about penance, page 15
Twins, The
``Give'' and ``It-shall-be-given-unto-you.''
I.
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables---flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
II.
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, ``We're poor!
III.
``Poor, who had plenty once,
``When gifts fell thick as rain:
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poem by Robert Browning
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A Visit To Krishnapuram Temple
Who knows about my special heart
That knows about those special hearts
Who specially welcome my every visit
With special smile as if of real humans
In linguistic hush to my heart's questionnaire..
Who never emote evil or sorrow
And whom I can lean on supportedly
In blissful divinity on par with Perumaal
Who in silent encouraging watch
Posits His all-knowingness in His elvish eyes..
One in wandering elegance dances
In my soul all over
While abducted prince and princess enact
All for a rescue bewildered
And Arjun showing a way on deep penance
Hardship isn't easy to win Paasupada
And hence Veerabadra guards with ministry
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Prisoner
Convicted I am now of an offense called 'Love'
The prison I am in is but a broken heart
The penance I must serve is to forever weep
With the aid of this poem, I am trying to escape
I clearly remember the offense that I had
I attempted to steal another woman's love
A love not half as much as that for you I feel
A love I never thought, would end my every dream
To reenter your heart, truly I did repent
With the hope that once more, your love I will regain
Sorrow was unto me, when I knew in the end
That the door of your heart for me is tightly sealed
And instead here's what happened you have imposed on me
A penalty much more than death, I've to serve painfully
The plaintiff were your lips, the jury is your mind
And your heart is the judge who tries me and decides
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poem by Pacific Hernandez
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Confessing Sins
when guilt is full
there comes a time when we think of
the possibility of confessing our sins,
the usual sins of omissions
more than our sins of commissions,
to a friend perhaps, but you doubt
for he has more sins than you have
and it might as well end
on the reverse, you the listening tree
and he the barking dog,
or perhaps to a religious group but
you shy away because of their number
and you might as well at the end be the
subject of their gossip
in town for a week or so,
and so you become a catholic again
on a Sunday before your parish priest
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-31
Brahmakamalam, Nishagandhi
(Orchid cactus, Jungle cactus,
Night blooming cereus, Dutchman's Pipe)
(Epiphyllum oxypetalum)
Who knows, may be she's on a penance..
In silent bloom in nightly spiritual exile
To self hers alone known of her presence..
But I hunt and wait in all her secret while
In eerie hours rising slender her u-neck
Bearing seemingly her musing closed face
Awaits from its leafy platform a beck
As I try awaiting Nisha's florescence
My patience's prediction there she blooms
Flashing perfuming stunning rich all around
Like a goddess attired from heavenly looms
Bleaching my mind, heart, soul fully deterged
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!'
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don't you think to shut the door?'
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poem by William Brighty Rands
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The Dracula Flower
The flower was stretching
It's hand to find a honey-bee
To be embraced and kissed!
The flower remained
In meditation to invoke God
To sent her groom
As she bore the nectar
To be sucked and emptied
By the trunk of a honey-bee
The long hairy hands
Of the flower frightened
The butterflies move wantonly
The caterpillars jumping
In quest to quench the thirst!
As the flower in penance
Heard the humming
Of a honey-bee unseen
She opened her eyes
In search to up and sides
And she was enthused
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poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Resurection
When from sin we were first forgiven,
Asleep at the foot on frosty bed wake,
Look for locks to open the gates of heaven,
And change the sheet we take.
To hastily dress in graceful dignity,
And mortal things upon which are frown,
Lay in silent arbors to bequeath the clay,
Which made the dust our temporary home?
In walking, and talking, soon we’ll be taken,
Since we came into the world with nothing,
We inherited sin, but by grace we are given,
And receive hope to make a new beginning.
Although death, subdue for a moments glow,
In resurrection this world will be renew,
And the weak will live; and rise, and grow,
Immortalize with wind and breath and dew.
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poem by Gerry Legister
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While Yet we may
Ancient, wrinkled dames and jealous -
They whom joyless Age downcasts -
And the sere, gray-bearded fellows
Who would fain re-live their pasts -
These, the ancients, grimly tell us:
'Vows are vain, and no love lasts.'
Fleeting years fulfil Fate's sentence,
Eyes must dim, and hair turn gray,
Age bring wrinkles, p'rhaps repentance;
Youth shall quickly hie away,
And that time when youth has went hence,
We - and love - have had our day.
Let the world, and fuming, fretting,
Busy worldlings pass us by,
Bent on piles of lucre getting -
They shall lose it when they die;
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poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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Blood Road
The Old Year groaned as he trudged away,
His guilty shadow black on the snow,
And the heart of the glad New Year turned grey
At the road Time bade him go.
"O Gaffer Time, is it blood-road still?
Is the noontide dark as the stormy morn?
Is man's will yet as a wild beast's will?
When shall the Christ be born?"
He laughed as he answered, grim Gaffer Time,
Whose laugh is sadder than all men's moan.
"That name rides high on our wrath and crime,
For the Light in darkness shone.
"And thou, fair youngling, wilt mend the tale?"
The New Year stared on the misty word,
Where at foot of a cross all lustrous pale
Men raged for their gods of gold.
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poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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