Quotes about basilica, page 2
Anonymity for history?
I do not want to be seen.
(Can you appreciate what I mean?)
I want to be invisible among the crowd,
not loudly laughing, not outstanding,
not too hushened, not too loud,
not the one with blue-burning eyes,
or the rabbit-in-headlights look of suprise;
I wish to engage with history....
so many things I desire to see
and to be
a part of them,
absorb them;
and I ask myself:
just when
will I take myself back to earlier London,
to Waterloo Bridge,
Londinium,
[...] Read more
poem by Tara McH
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Transition In Building Worship Utilization
Aya Sophýa Istanbul
church built to honour our God
became prime model
for all mosques to honour Allah
Hagia Sophia Greek
Holy Wisdom
Sancta Sophia Latin
Sancta Sapientia Turkish
designed by the Greek
scientist Isidore of Miletus
who taught physics
in Alexandria Egypt
then Constantinople Bosporus
and Anthemius of Tralles
a Greek professor of Geometry
in Constantinople Byzantium
string construction of ellipse
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Not Topless In The Vatican
Not topless in the Vatican,
a woman tried
to topple Benedict. You can
my words deride
because I was misreading “topples”
to signify
the revelation of her nipples.
You wonder why?
If such mistakes make you annoyed,
please do not whip
this poet, for it’s Sigmund Freud
who caused the slip.
Among the Pope’s fine homilies,
“Be vigilant”
applies to such anomalies.
Be diligent!
Rachel Donadio (NYT, December 25,2009) reports how a woman caused Pope Benedict XVI to topple after jumping the barriers of St. Peter’s on Christmas Eve. The headline of her article is “Woman Topples Pope at Mass, But He Isn’t Hurt”) . I misread the headline as saying “Topless Woman at Mass”. Intrigued by my error I asked Linda to glance at the headline, and she made the same slip. WE both made the same Christmas midrash.
ROME — Pope Benedict XVI delivered his traditional Christmas blessing on Friday after an “unbalanced woman” jumped the barriers in St. Peter’s Basilica and knocked him down as he walked down the main aisle to begin Christmas Eve Mass on Thursday. The pope quickly got back on his feet after the incident and celebrated Mass before thousands of the faithful, urging them in his homily to become “truly vigilant people.” Television images showed a woman in red leap toward Benedict,82, as he began to walk up the central aisle, as the police and bodyguards scrambled to his aid. The woman also knocked down Cardinal Roger Etchegaray, said a Vatican spokesman, the Rev. Federico Lombardi. Cardinal Etchegaray,87, fractured his hip and will be operated on at Gemelli hospital in Rome, Father Lombardi said Friday, according to The Associated Press. Father Lombardi identified the woman as Susanna Maiolo,25, a Swiss-Italian national with psychiatric problems, The Associated Press reported. He said Ms. Maiolo, who was not armed, was taken to a clinic for necessary treatment. She was the same woman involved in a similar incident at last year’s Midnight Mass, Vatican officials said.
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poem by Gershon Hepner
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Our Lady of Health, Vailankanni (Lourdes of the east)
Devotees walk upon their knees,
On sandy paths that's burning hot,
Unmindful of the scorching sun,
To see the Mother miraculous.
They show their faith and gratitude,
Through arduous journey from their homes;
And have a glorious glimpse of her -
The Virgin Mary, Christ's mother.
Throughout the year, millions throng here,
To see the one, who calmed the sea,
for sailors who had prayed for help,
and built a chapel, thanking her!
The shrine has turned Basilica,
Attracting pilgrims world-over;
Promising miracles to those,
Who put their trust on Mother dear.
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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Roosters
At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first cock
just below
the gun-metal blue window
and immediately there is an echo
off in the distance,
then one from the backyard fence,
then one, with horrible insistence,
grates like a wet match
from the broccoli patch,
flares,and all over town begins to catch.
Cries galore
come from the water-closet door,
from the dropping-plastered henhouse floor,
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poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Catholic Contradictions
This Poem will speak to Peter,
Of the priest and the folly,
This poem doubts not the sincerity of true worshipers,
It will speak to the cult, the club, their Peter, the images of idolatry
This poem will address the indoctrination, the assumptions and contradictions,
This poem will expose and explode,
This poem will speak of the council of Valencia and the “forbidden book”
This poem will speak of the mass “hoc est enim corpus meum'
And the continuous re-enactment of the Death of Jesus
This poem will smite the conscience, rend the hearts, and heal the willing
This poem will speak of purgatory
Of priesthood
Of indulgences
Of penance
Of confessions and the “confessors”
Of papal decrees
And of the mortal and venial sins,
This Poem, this poem will speak of the “Virgin Mary” and the harlot,
This poem will confirm the marriage of Christ’s Peter
Of the Roman Universal contradictions and papal infallibility
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poem by Macaulay Akinbami
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Sola Christos, Sola Scriptura, Sola Gracious, Sola Fide' and the Priesthood
This Poem will speak to Peter,
Of the priest and the folly,
This poem doubts not the sincerity of true worshipers,
It will speak to the cult, the club, their Peter, the images of idolatry
This poem will address the indoctrination, the assumptions and contradictions,
This poem will expose and explode,
This poem will speak of the council of Valencia and the “forbidden book”
This poem will speak of the mass “hoc est enim corpus meum'
And the continuous re-enactment of the Death of Jesus
This poem will smite the conscience, rend the hearts, and heal the willing
This poem will speak of purgatory
Of priesthood
Of indulgences
Of penance
Of confessions and the “confessors”
Of papal decrees
And of the mortal and venial sins,
This Poem, this poem will speak of the “Virgin Mary” and the harlot,
This poem will confirm the marriage of Christ’s Peter
Of the Roman Universal contradictions and papal infallibility
[...] Read more
poem by Macaulay Akinbami
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Viva Perpetua
Now being on the eve of death, discharged
From every mortal hope and earthly care,
I questioned how my soul might best employ
This hand, and this still wakeful flame of mind,
In the brief hours yet left me for their use;
Wherefore have I bethought me of my friend,
Of you, Philarchus, and your company,
Yet wavering in the faith and unconfirmed;
Perchance that I may break into thine heart
Some sorrowful channel for the love divine,
I make this simple record of our proof
In diverse sufferings for the name of Christ,
Whereof the end already for the most
Is death this day with steadfast faith endured.
We were in prison many days, close-pent
In the black lower dungeon, housed with thieves
And murderers and divers evil men;
So foul a pressure, we had almost died,
Even there, in struggle for the breath of life
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poem by Archibald Lampman
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Cantos From Dante's Paradiso
(Canto XXIII.)
Even as a bird, 'mid the beloved leaves,
Quiet upon the nest of her sweet brood
Throughout the night, that hideth all things from us,
Who, that she may behold their longed-for looks
And find the nourishment wherewith to feed them,
In which, to her, grave labors grateful are,
Anticipates the time on open spray
And with an ardent longing waits the sun,
Gazing intent, as soon as breaks the dawn:
Even thus my Lady standing was, erect
And vigilant, turned round towards the zone
Underneath which the sun displays least haste;
So that beholding her distraught and eager,
Such I became as he is, who desiring
For something yearns, and hoping is appeased.
But brief the space from one When to the other;
From my awaiting, say I, to the seeing
The welkin grow resplendent more and more.
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Christmas-Eve
I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
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poem by Robert Browning
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