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The King Of Heaven

The King Of Heaven

On the North, the King of Heaven
Is that because the rafter was too short
And broke the prayer
The rafter that holds spheres
On which lived your spirit
No, King of the Heaven
The calligrapher’s hand didn’t make a mistake
Or the eyelids, conceived in sin, gave a birth to note
That there is no a single place in Your home anymore
Why, why, the King
Of Heaven, Who fulfills everything on this world
On the rafter didn’t fulfill your self
Even prayer you did not finish off
On the North
The King of Heaven
In the North flash
Why do you, with heaviness of your spoken word
Out of the time

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poem by Borce Panov
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The Poet

'THE blackbird's in the briar,
The seagull's on the ground-
They are nests, and they're more than nests,' he said,
'They are tokens I have found.

There, where the rain-dashed briar
Marks an empty glade,
The blackbird's nest is seen,' he said,
'Clay-rimmed, uncunningly made.

By shore of the inland lake,
Where surgeless water shoves,
The seagulls have their nests,' he said,
'As low as catties' hooves.'

I heard a poet say it,
The sojourner of a night;
His head was up to the rafter,
Where he stood in candles' light.

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poem by Padraic Colum
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Song IV: Draw Near and Behold Me

Love is enough: draw near and behold me
Ye who pass by the way to your rest and your laughter,
And are full of the hope of the dawn coming after;
For the strong of the world have bought me and sold me
And my house is all wasted from threshold to rafter.
--Pass by me, and hearken, and think of me not!

Cry out and come near; for my ears may not hearken,
And my eyes are grown dim as the eyes of the dying.
Is this the grey rack o'er the sun's face a-flying?
Or is it your faces his brightness that darken?
Comes a wind from the sea, or is it your sighing?
--Pass by me and hearken, and pity me not!

Ye know not how void is your hope and your living:
Depart with your helping lest yet ye undo me!
Ye know not that at nightfall she draweth near to me,
There is soft speech between us and words of forgiving
Till in dead of the midnight her kisses thrill through me.
--Pass by me and harken, and waken me not!

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poem by William Morris
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A Wayside Queen

She was born in the season of fire,
When a mantle of murkiness lay
On the front of the crimson Destroyer:
And none knew the name of her sire
But the woman; and she, ashen grey,
In the fierce pangs of motherhood lay.

The skies were aflame at her coming
With a marvellous message of ill;
And fear-stricken pinions were drumming
The hot, heavy air, whence the humming
Of insects rose, sudden and shrill,
As they fled from that hell-begirt hill.

Then the smoke-serpent writhed in her tresses:
The flame kissed her hard on the lips:
She smiled at their ardent caresses
As the wanton who smiles, but represses
A lover's hot haste, and so slips
From the arm that would girdle her hips.

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poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Love is Enough: Songs I-IX

I1.
Love is enough: though the World be a-waning
.
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
.
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
.
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
.
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
.
And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,
.
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
.
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
.
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.II2.
Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
.

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poem by William Morris
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I'm sick of making bloody history.

quote by Patrick Rafter
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I'm the sort of person who keeps a lot to myself.

quote by Patrick Rafter
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11-11-11

Cast: Timothy Gibbs, Michael Landes, Brendan Price, Denis Rafter, Wendy Glenn, Patrizia Medrano, Benjamin Cook, Montserrat Alcoverro

trailer for 11-11-11, directed by Darren Lynn Bousman, screenplay by Darren Lynn Bousman (2011)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I don't know if Wimbledon's seen anything like it. I don't know if they will again. But it was just - it was electric. The Aussie crowd, I'm really proud of them, the way they conducted themselves. You know they're great losers, as well.

quote by Patrick Rafter
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I Swear It Is!

it's the soul of God,
i swear it is!
hanging from the rafter,
just another kid.

abused for being different,
for daring to be!
the longing inside him,
the i inside me!

who are we to judge?
with our shadows and lies!
with every kid we lose,
our redemption dies!

the hate in the mirror
looks familiar as fear.
we dress false morality,
call the disease the cure!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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