Sergey Streltsov.
The Confessions of a Christian. Book 4.
#1
Saint
Nick is friend of mariner,
The
Santa’s friend of little children,
Saint
Nickolas is ever present
In life of ours.
Everywhere
he’s our patron in disguise
Of many names, of many notions.
He
loves us, and he blesses us.
And
many happy brides can intimate
Their sudden fortune.
#2
To Baby Mary.
Saint
Mary came to you from Heav’n
When
you were left by ruthless parents
At mercy of the fatum blind.
And
She- Most Saint- invited you
To
kingdom of forgotten orphans
And
you consented to Her words,
And
you found crown of your new glory
To help me and the other guys.
#3
Saint
George was famous in his age –
Young warrior of highest rank.
He
was martyred by Emperor
Who
wanted him just to observe the cult
Of
the servility and punished
All
free and bold. Recriminations
Were
so severe that Heaven cried
With rain and thunder of Begotten.
#4
Mainstream
of literature of now
Is
fall in awkward miscreation
That
marshals thoughts of fallen nation
And to impress and hand and brow.
The
time is coming. Antichrist
Is
to appear on stage in power
To
shed the blood in awful shower
To
rule in open and disguised.
#5
My
solitude is shared by God,
I’m
hermit in big city His.
I
watch from window what’s beneath
And
from heart what’s above. And what
I
can to spot in jiffy my.
Life
is to scud as feeble cloud
From
East to West in pace unloud
In
run I cannot to deny.
#6
I
love my fate for simple disregard
Of any superficial emotion.
The
life is way of soul’s devotion
That’s
ever long, and ever hard,
Even
if you lived one moment in
The
vanity of world of this-
We
all have many things to miss
In birth and death and in between.
#7
Lock
reason in you bosom clean
Of any vice of wishful thinking.
When
mind’s aghast and is a-blinking
At
any happenstance it’s seen.
I
wish I think of pure conduct
Without reproach from The God.
It’s
wishful thinking of some sort
But
that that never to destruct.
#8
The
Russian Emperor is dead
And
he’s alive in better world.
He
knew his way to go to God
And
was not weakling or just mad.
He
came to rule the shaky crowd
Of
people willing to destroy
His
old Empire that was a toy
To passions shameless, vain and loud.
#9
I’m
wise by wisdom of my father,
There
is a father in the Heav’n.
And
sin’s forgotten and frogiv’n
When silent tear broke out rather.
It
happens. Time to come and go.
I’m
loony loner, goner, wreckage.
And
life and death proceed in package
Of silent thought on friend and foe.
#10
I
like my verse. It’s stupid, boring
And worth for only the deploring.
It
has to be its own breed
Of
only fruit with only seed
To
plant in heart of human race
For
sake of Christ and of His grace
Which
to pronounce the sentence on
The everyone to come and
gone.
#11
My
scruples are suspicious being
Not
for the hearing, not for seeing,
Not
for the power of the mind,
Not
for the heart, the one unkind.
They’re
for the dodging, pleading, crying
For
outliving not denying
The
life as is or as it was
When all was worth of better worth.
#12
My
silly mind is overtaxed
By
wish alone to get relaxed.
It
fights for peace of its stronghold
Which is a being manifold.
It
likes the wine, tobacco, girl –
It
wants a pose and on the whole
When
I will die I rather see
All that I was and had to be.
#13
I’m
worn to blink, it’s strange to see
The
man of thirty something be
So
destitute of healthy sense –
My
thoughts again are filthy dance
That
to pollute my life and name –
It’s
not reality to tame.
It’s
so absurd, so funny, so
Pretentious
in the full of go.
#14
I’m
rattled to the core. Existence
Is to dash off. I fly, I
fly, I fly
To
better worth of solitude in crowd
Of
better notion than of mine
To
live and just to die in time
Of
fame and glory and promotions
To
better status of relax
Of
soul that is possessing wisdom.
#15
My
God is only being that’s above
Creation, life and law. And death
Has
nothing in His way to go
Or in His way to come and stay.
I’m
just to say again that and again
That
God is pure existence of devotion
Of
any name that’s blessed or damned
Or
put to store for future ages.
#16
I’m
gone, I’m gone and to return
With
glory, wine and flowers wild.
For
that I’ll die, for that was borne.
For
that I cried when I was child.
My
fate is usual on the Earth –
First
I have prayed, then have received
What
I have wanted and believed
In early tears, in lately chores.
#17
I
have my song to sing again
Without try of vocal strain.
The
silent music of the reading
Has
her imaginative pleading.
It
pleads the peace on every war.
It
pleads the light of nightly star
To
dash from skies to bed of mine
To share my dream, to bless my wine.
#18
My
mind is freaky store of toys.
There
are the dolls, their clothes, dishes.
And
I have no exquisite wishes
For taste and harmony and choice.
When
I was young I was encouraged
By friends and times to open store.
But
still what for, I say, what for?
To
get and blamed and then disparaged.
#19
I
have no melody in heart.
There
are the wicked old illusions
That wait their day of
prosecution
And
only then they can to start
Be
sweetest dreams of melancholy,
Be
my distinguished pure delight
In
day as well as in the night
And bright, and powerful and holy.
#20
I’m
tried to edge to find solution
How
to prevail o’er revolution
Of
sense as good one as a bad –
The
situation is too sad.
I’m
grieving over stale condition
Of
world that’s wading to perdition
Of
the worst sort when to obtain
The new-borne changes in the chain.
#21
I
look on life as formal way
Of
go and go and go and stay.
We
go when babies, go when young,
We
go when mature to the rank
Of
doing something and we stay
When
life is off and we’re but clay.
When
death is coming to besiege
We’re
to give up without a hitch.
#22
My
way is but too long to sing
The
every day from wink to wink,
Or
every night from dusk to dawn,
Or
battles lost, or battles won.
I disagree that all my worth
Is
song that drawn from mouth of horse –
It’s
bad the wording but it can
To bar the grief, the tear to ban.
#23
I
love my lovely destination
That
was created with Creation.
It’s
final grace, it’s final peace,
It’s
final Godly legalese
Of
absolution from my Lord
Till now unknown and unheard.
The
devil pleads to grant me hell
But in The Heaven I to dwell.
#24
With
Heav’nly Father I’m to speak
When
peace of mind I am to seek.
His
icons old, His icons new
Bring
grace on me, would be on you
When
we’re in grief, when we’re in tears
We
smile with Him, and soul then hears
The voice that’s coming from above.
It’s
voice of wisdom and of love.
#25
I
cry at night when I’m alone.
The
voice is hushed and undertone.
I
look above and see you, Mary.
You’re
kind to me, and kind too very.
I
look below and see the hell,
There’s
anguish I can never tell
About
in word, it’s so unwordly.
And
Lord is blessing all it lordly.
#26
I
hear the words- I’m stupid but I get
The gist of Reasoning of Heaven.
And
then enough on world was said
When
world itself is but forgiven.
I
know that when I die I go
To
better world where's all in Glory.
And
there’s no reason to but worry –
So
pure it is, and blessed it’s so.
#27
I
have no wisdom of the Heaven,
I
have no guts to say It All.
I
blast away to get in stall
When
want the mind be bright and give in.
I
got no sense of here and there,
I got
no wish to come and stare
At
sense of humor of proceedings
That here and there to spread their pleadings.
#28
I
know that when I’ll come to Judge
I’ll
have a mercy all-forgiving.
That’ll
spare my life, that’ll spare my living
Without the damn, without the grudge.
I
have it all in purest dreams.
It’s
solace just to know reaction
That
dreams of my will take the action
Against
my madness as it seems.
#29
My
love to fill my solitude
As
cup that filled with goodish wine.
I
left my home to have to pine
On fate and merciful and rude.
What
I will see again away
From native stead, from golden days?
It’s
hard to say in many ways
But simple in its own way.
#30
My
heart is broken, mind is broken.
And
all my life to go unwoken
With
Royal Chalice to fulfill
The
will unbent with fierce zeal
Accomplishing
the simplest knowledge
That
can’t be learnt in any college –
That
life is paradise to dwell
If not the curse, if not the hell.
#31
My
lyre is rarest gift of God –
It’s
simple as a simple thought
On mores, life and death and Lord.
It
comes to grant the peace, no tort.
It
heals the weakness of all kind
And
absentness of ailing mind
In
instant to grip blatant truth
Without
of which I have no use.
#32
So
what again to find away
From walls of Moscow. Ancient city
Is
scarcely functional but witty
All year around, and night and day.
I
loved to travel to far side
Where
strangers do their due to notion
That
love is mystery of caution
Of easy way, of gracious might.
#33
I’m
to produce another verse
Of
kind so lovable and terse
That
fruity thought be decorated
With
quality not overstated,
Not
understated, but enough
Achieving in the ways of love.
I
hope to see it happy after
In life and death, in cry and laughter.
#34
Then
Caesar built his Rome,
Then
Peter built his Petersburg,
And
I to build my book
With poems short, and sweet, and honest.
And
future generations there to read
About
their heart and soul and mind,
And
present ones to find there omens
Of times of danger.
#35
Misguided
chief of wanton discontent
I
glided through the years and as I went
I’ve
seen creations of distorted mind
Viz. poetry of mine. And of what
kind
I
can prescribe the remedy to them –
To
all my verses – from the stern to stem
There
is a scorn of disposition to
True
word poetic, and are so untrue.
#36
Imbibing
early morning dew
In
silent plains a-far
I’m
memorizing evening star
Of marvelous hue.
No
way to say I’m ready to
Meet
in my path astray
The
miracle of no decay –
The
eyes so tinted, too.
#37
My
walk is lone through city old,
Cars
move along no bother why.
And
Heaven is about to cry
In windy August cold.
I
met the daughter of my friend
With baby in her hands.
The
situation recommends
The age to understand.
#38
Love
is an art to be devote,
To be in hands of fate.
And
happiness is never late
Like blessing of good thought.
I
brood on customs of my times –
They
are so bestial quite
And
rush our fellow to benight
In curse of prose and rhymes.
#39
Intruder
of my dreams is silent ghost.
No
words, no quips, and what is worst –
He silents me in most
obtrusive way.
He
wants with soul of mine to play
The
silent game of utter the despair
But
here to him I must be fair –
He
shrinks from prayer, shrinks from quote
From
Biblical and healthy thought.
#40
My
benevolent angel guards me strong.
And
if I’m wrong, he’s never wrong.
He
tells me truth of days to come
To give me courage, though the some.
I
love his voice, I trust his speech.
He’s
to impede when I beseech
The death to come. He guards my
life
And
sword and torch him help to strife.
#41
My
eyes are weary with the night
That
falls on me. I have to fight
Against
her cruelty and so
I
hope for morning on the go.
In
wreckages of darkness now
I
pore be brave-heart as allow
Me
inconveniences of night
That
fell on me. I have to fight.
#42
The
swallow and the swan are birds of sky.
Both
live at lake and feed on it.
Both beautiful on earth and when they fly.
Both
have in nature own the royal seat.
The
swan is slow, the swallow’s rather quick.
Both
sing their song when time has come to pair.
Both
gracious in the features with own chic.
Both
solace are in hour of despair.
#43
The
passions are to torment dear old heart
In
whirls and tribulations that in turns
To
bother it – one waits when peace returns
With
pure embrace and graceful chart
Of
Heav’nly sentence to live on
Through
waves and billows storming near
To
cast on soul their mortal fear –
The
one I would have overdone.
#44
My
temple fallen is and void,
The
altar covered with the ash
And
boarded with the minute trash
Which my devotion to avoid.
The
fire is now extinguished where
It
used to burn the sacrifice.
My
heart is silent and it cries
On fate unfair, on fate unfair.
#45
With
all commodities of crime
I
hurry up to build new rhyme
That
to unveil in season due
Its sweetness openly to you.
My
reader, do forgive me. I
Was
ever in the ties of try
To
write my poem in respect
Of
things you are not to neglect.
#46
The
loud feelings do me worst
‘Tis presence of the peace too
lost
Just
to be won again when time
Will
come to me in toll and chime.
I
like my being true poetic,
And
poetry when rules prophetic
To
sway the world in the denial
Of revenge at the final trial.
#47
The
poetry is to live on
Through stratagems and tribulations.
It
comes as blessing to the nations
That
nothing other could have won.
I’m
goner for I’ve gone to loose
On
worldly norm of pose and standing,
But
I’ve with reader understanding
The
Heavens choose, The Heavens choose.
#48
My
zeal is lax, I’m not to hone
My rhyme that’s shabby all and borrowed.
But
breast of mine is truly sorrowed
With
sorrows I’m not to postpone.
But why again to cry and smile?
But
why again to pray, be fasting
In
Lent of sorrow ever-lasting,
The sorrow no one to beguile.
#49
All
that I ever would have felt
Was to be poured in prayer when I knelt.
All
that would e’er my breast have filled
Was to be poured in prayer when I kneeled.
I
love to pray though rarely with a book
Of saintly prayers. But, my
reader, look
In
heart of mine, ‘tis prayer all in flames
Of love and grace – ‘tis serious and no games.
#50
I
have no notion, have no notion
Of
line poetic of proportion
Divine
and wholly on the side
That
easy not to blame, to chide
Of
scrutiny in way misguided
That’s
to be blamed, that’s to be chided.
I
never knew my verse by soul –
It’s
mystery of poets all.
#51
Chill
of my heart’s chimera of
My
everlasting Godly love
To
poetry that’s strong and hot
And
it is not what it is not.
It’s
not the chilblain of my soul,
It’s
stove for children in the mall
To
sell the cake of Heav’nly sweet
And
it is it what it is it.
#52
I
love my presence of the mind
When fate is cruel and unkind.
I
love my presence of the heart
When love proclaims on me its chart.
I
love my presence of the soul
When death at me designs its scowl.
I
love my presence of the prayer
When
hardships on in thick the layer.
#53
My
like is similar to song
That’s
ever right and never wrong.
My
like is similar to ode
That
knows what singing and what not.
My
like is similar to hymn
That
cause Divine is e’er to deem
In
every line I’m to propose
To
worshipers of Christ on Cross.
#54
The
defamation oft to bless
Those
are in need, those are in mess.
It’s
crime to think way infidel
That
sin in every soul to dwell.
In
stone of heart we often see
The
mercy of the Godly be.
It’s
crime to think way infidel
That
sin in every soul to dwell.
#55
Sword
has its way,
Prayer
has its use,
Rule
has its sway,
God
has His Truth.
I
have my poetry in hope
That
it will never have to stop.
#56
I
hail my gale – it’s danger, danger, danger.
I
have no hatred to it being no revenger.
I
put no curse on storm. It had to come
With dash and tribulation.
But I’ve some
Kind
word on it – it’s not precisely blessing
But
not curse either, if confessing
In
proper way my inner tune
I
welcome rule of wicked goon.
#57
What’s
poverty? It’s blessing or it’s not?
Is
it the line of life or line of thought?
Is
it the imitation of the Christ
Or
night of sense – the awkward night
Where
are no stars, no moon, no clouds,
No
song and all is wrong and out
Is
only starving child of no regrets
And of pure eyes. It bets! It
bets
With
all the wealth of British Commonwealth –
It
speaks untidy but it tells
The
story of my run among the fields
Of Russian country. Monasteries,
mills –
There
are these all. I just have mentioned some
I
have by blessing that is never gone.
#58
It’s
island with a wooden wharf.
It’s
island little like a dwarf.
It’s
island far, it’s island old.
It’s
Solovky where’s always cold.
It’s
North of Russian Northern Sea.
It’s
land monastic, land of free.
It’s
land of slaves of Stalin’s rule.
It’s
land of tales so beautiful.
#59
I
have no reason to avoid my dream
That’s
in the dark of soul the firing beam
That’s
pointing out the path I am to proceed
In soft of mood, in blessing of the creed.
That
day to come when I’m to meet my love
To
ever after happy be. What’s of
My
heart that lives in purest pleasure
Without the death, without the measure.
#60
Luck
is rare, love is rare –
But
the fate of mine is fair.
In
the danger of the plight
I
have always Heav’nly light
That’s
to give me patience my
For
I never had to cry
When
I meet a cruel thing -
Happiness
is aye on wing.
#61
When
soul is tormented and cries
Do
know that near is paradise.
We
need no worry to appeal
To
One on High to have the feel
Of
grace of love, of blessing new
To
come and to fulfill its due.
When
soul is tormented and cries
Do
know that near is paradise.
#62
Love
is forever on the Earth –
In
regular and peaceful dose
It
to disperse eternal light
To save the hearts from dark of night.
Love
is forever on the High –
We’re
not to die, we’re not to cry
In
paradise of ever-bliss
Where everyone is hatredless.
#63
I’m
lone among my friends. And so
I walk
through life in slowly go
To
watch the times, to hear the news,
To spread the love, to face abuse.
My
heart is wreckage of the way
I’ve
gone so far. But still I say
I
like my fellow even if
He’s
e’er to get and ne’er to give.
#64
Love
is no toy for cruel heart.
And
till the end and from the start
It’s
blessing pure of life to give
On
altar Godly to achieve
The
peace of mind, the peace of heart;
And
till the end and from the start
It’s
sacrifice of dear old soul
To whole the world, to world the whole.
#65
Apostle
John was good and great –
Precise
he did not name the date
Of
Second Coming of The Christ
And
rule created of the fight:
“Watch
out, be vigilant, be kind,
And
save your soul, and save your mind!
Enough
were prophets on the Earth!
And
prophecy’s no labor lost!”
#66
I
love my mind, it’s dear and pure
When I’m temptation to endure.
It’s
wicked when I’m to give up,
But
it is mind whiche’er we dub
Its way or manner, or its likes.
In
darkness of the thought it hikes
Through
years come, through years gone –
It’s
all the same the mind alone.
#67
For
what America is voting?
For
that she likes? For that she’s doting?
I
think it not – the common use
Of
common voting is abuse
Of
rights of common sense by way
The television us to say.
To
have you right don’t vote but pray
And
you will see the happy day.
#68
What’s
pouring rain and thunderstorm?
What
windy days of late the summer?
When
drizzling drops to sing or stammer
Behind the window of my home.
My
city is so passionate
For
riches, cruelty and lust,
But
all of these are but a crust
But
when we know that it’s too late.
#69
Night,
night – you comes to me with gift
Of
sleepy hours when my mind adrift
Is
to the happiness or morbid fetters
Of wicked images. In letters
It’s
hard to recreate my way
I
passed in nightly hours for day –
Day
of the sun and cloud and rain,
Of every joy and every pain.
#70
What’s
inspiration for the odes?
New order of the known words?
Or
inexplicable delight
Beyond the thought, beyond insight?
Or
fight with sin of mortal soul
That’s
summoned by the Heav’nly call?
Or
voice of God of love and grace
We
never know and are to face.
#71
This
world is stumbled on the Cupid
Which was inaccurate and stupid.
It’s
fall from grace of Love Divine
By wicked devilish design.
And
now we’re passionate for curse
Of lust. And life is
in misuse.
But
we are borne for kingdom come
If not the all but surely some.
#72
Last
trace of summer to be gone
At gates of autumn. When it’s
done
We
can proceed to year new
Through winter cold. But would be
you
Have
some to leave in now that be
Soon past forgotten. But would be
You
have to take to future joy
The
Now as pleasurable toy
Of
mind so tired that not to
Excuse
it will be so untrue
To
rules of life as common as
Our
every sin we’re to confess.
#73
It
is no pleasure to be so acute
To know the every name of every mood.
It’s
pain to pierce in every feeling
With
knowing eye of mind not leaving
The
place to the unknown and unobserved
That
is an inappropriate to hurt
With
words and understanding every rank
Of every movement of the soul in joy or pang.
#74
To
prophesy a future love –
It
needs the blessing from above.
In
loveless being it is cure
For heart in pain, for soul obscure.
It’s
injudicious to deny
That
prophecy is often lie
When
not inspired by God of love
In gracious blessing from above.
#75
The
comedy of hatred is in pain.
The
tragedy of love is in no gain
In
world so weak and certainly so dark
That
cruel hatred rules it stark.
Ignorance
of the ways of love misleads
Us
to servility to earthly needs
To
blame each other on that base
That
fellow being is not made for faith.
#76
What’s
magic but the curse?
What’s
miracle but blessing?
And
what is most impressing
That
God behaves as nurse
In
obvious miracle Divine
That
comes to us in way pristine
To heal the soul and body both.
Such
an occurrence devils loathe,
They
ever try to cast the spell
To spread the power of hell.
#77
Getting
rid of strong emotions
Is disastrous and obnoxious.
I
avoid to make the fun
Of the life. Like saintly
nun
Told
me once I clear the mind
Of
the everything unkind.
Love
to rule and not amok –
So
I learnt to think and talk.
#78
Poet’s
being is so ample
As
at home as in the temple
Where
he’s kneeling just to pray –
For
the inspiration’s way
Leads
him onward through the rhymes
When
he hikes and jumps and climbs
For new gift of composition.
He
is always in transition
From
the strength to strength and on
To go where no one had gone.
#79
I
have no wish oblige my reader
To
hold me like the rhyming feeder
Of
discontent on every grief
To
poignant letter to receive
By morning mail or evening mail.
I
have no wish to weep and wail
On
other’s morals, other’s sins –
And
here my inspiration wins
The
cup of merry-making rhymes
By
which my soul with triumph dines.
#80
In
my obituary writer
Will
say that I was stupid blighter
In
fetters of faith obsolete
And rhyming constantly to it.
So why I write? Why put the
plume
On
paper in the such a doom?
My
answer is a simple quite –
To
glorify My God, His Might,
His Saints, His ways, His words, His Truth.
And
there is all my earthly use.
#81
The
dream is blackest of backwaters
That
splash at shore of real life.
It
cuts our strength as sharpest knife
To
bridle minds, exile the mottos
Of
freedom of unreal, unkind,
Unwise, ungood, unblessed,
unhealthy.
Dreams
greedy are and not as wealthy
As
what in real we’re to find.
#82
Let
it go and let it come
As
a wisdom of the sum
Of
the wits my years did bring.
Inspiration’s
on the wing
To
declare the freedom of
Love
that’s free as Heav’nly dove.
Luck
is company to keep
Through
the life just not to weep.
#83
My
lore is of the ancient folks
That
loved and hated, fought and built.
They
were sagacious and good-willed
But rarely mentioned now in talks.
We
talk of money in the credit
From
those who lent them all for greed,
We
talk of fame we cannot beat,
And
of the menaces we wedded.
#84
The
ship is going through the sea
And
held by winds, and waves on way
To far away a shore. And may
Her
forward go is harmless be.
For
not a storm to wreck the sail,
For
not a pirate storm the deck,
For
not a mariner break neck,
For
not an hour there start to gale.
#85
Distorted
face of dreams I’ve seen
When
I was ill and wished to die.
To
go for good was nightly cry.
But life did win.
And
all tears shed I soon forgot.
And
life had come and bright and new.
And
happiness to bring a lot
To me and you.
#86
My
duty is to sing my God.
Not
pretty girl, not precious wines.
This
gift was never priced or bought
By
me myself, it lives in lines.
Forever
not alone I am –
My
loneliness forever shared.
And
just to sing and pray I can
And
that is all I ever dared.
#87
To
be the Christian is a toil
To
pray and to avoid the spoil
Of
shaky shadows of the mind
That leave no trace but
sin behind.
I
hope one day I’m to be saved
From tortures of eternal hell.
And
it is all I ever braved
To have achieved and to foretell.
#88
My
poetry to live for aye
In
every clime, in every part
Because
I ever dared to say
The truth from bottom of my heart.
And
when you’ll see my modest tomb
Don’t
say ‘He’s great!’ or ‘He was brave.’
I
had and will have no aplomb
Ev’n in the grave.
#89
In
God alone we can to heal
The every illness of our soul.
And
when is weak our precious will
We
can to hear the Godly call.
It’s
simple “Love your fellow man!
Love
your Divinity and know
That
even then, that even then
You’ll
have the hardest way to go.”
#90
Twilight
of evening is to tell
That
night is coming and to cast
The
darkness for the shortest spell
And
not forever it’s to last.
I
have no vision of the times,
Of
mutinies, of Acts of God,
Of
changings in the earthly climes,
Of fashions in the modern thought.
And
all I have the evening star
That
came to stay for shortest spell
To
shine on me and from the far
Her tale to tell.
#91
I’m
borne to be the poet of
The
song I’m having from above.
It’s
hard to sing the earthly tune
To
which my heart is so immune.
I
sing of Saints, and heroes gone,
Of
wonders made. And under sun
I’m
singer happiest of all
Because I sing about the soul.
#92
The
world contends about the place
Of earthly glory, might and grace.
I
think it’s weak because we have
Eternal Heaven. What was left
Of
our mankind and womankind
That
they contend this earth unkind?
So
I’m preferring not to think
About this world. I’ve Heav’n
to sing.
#93
We’re
borne to die – no earthly price
Can
bring us peace as fine as nice
As
peace of Godly paradise –
Though
often fellow being lies
That
there’s no God, that there’s no faith,
And no Saint Mary. Why he says
That
he has nothing of belief –
It’s grief, it’s grief, it’s
grief, it’s grief.
#94
The
Christ is only legal child in world
Who proved by acts of law that He is Law.
So
what is law of childhood?
Is
it the loyalty to parents?
Or loyalty to love of God?
Or
some more strange to people
That
cures the souls for good
From any trepidation of the death?
#95
My
worth is ode.
So
why be discontented
With lines to come and then to go?
Why
to oblige the reader by the rule
So ruthless of the rhymes so old?
Why?
Why? And why? I never knew
That
poetry can be as coward
As
verse of mine that’s to pronounce
No
sacred name without the fear of God.
#96
So
why the homily to preach
Forgotten
words for every witch,
Or
senator, or businessperson –
As
one obliterated parson
Of
world that is and soon to go
When
no one waits, and not to know
Though
all’s predicted in due times
By prophets of the prose and rhymes.
#97
My
prayer old is e’er with me
To
make my being happy be,
To
reason out me of the deeds
I’ve
started and which sin completes.
I
hope I knew why all these words
Of
prayer old that came from North
So
healing to my wicked soul –
And
if I knew – I knew the all.
#98
I’m
not much versed in belle versification.
My
verse is ever in prevarication
From every effort of poetic act.
It
has no wisdom and no tact.
It’s
so obscure, so rush, unpolished so
That
every reader in his leisure go
Through
pages mine to point me soon
That
verse was borne with none of silver spoon
In
mouth and it is not prepared
For path most pleasant of the ever fared.
#99
Love,
love – what’s it in life and death?
The rare gift – the one prideless?
Or
pride for children and for wife?
Love,
love – what’s it in death and life?
I
heard the song that angel sang
About
the love – I had to thank
Him
for the words that good for me –
These
words ‘Love be! Love be! Love
be!’
#100
My
critic, don’t blame inspiration.
I
have it all – poetic nation
To
live by inspiration only,
And
we are not indeed so lonely
Who’s living so – the man or boy,
Or
girl, or woman are no toy
For
earthly passions and instead
They
have from Heaven what be said.
#101
What
is democracy but fake
That
has to rule at any stake.
And
only monarchy to rule
With Grace Divine and kind and full.
Lord
Jesus Christ is King of kings,
And
heart of Christian ever sings
His supreme power every day.
And
being poet I’m to say
That
only God can grant donation
Of purest bliss of inspiration.
#102
When
lions fight then ravens dine –
Whole
world is going by this line.
And
only God, and only Saints
Of other kind. And when God
deigns
The
hearts of people are not evil –
The
human kindness not in peril
When
Love Divine’s in power full
By
which the hell will have to cool.
#103
My
love is due, my hatred’s not.
It’s
rule of life to carry on.
I
hated much, I loved a lot –
But
what I won? But what I won?
My
day is close, my fame is near.
I’m
one of many, one of those
Who
wanted only Heaven hear
Been steeped in sin and virtue both.
#104
Love
is trick of discontent
Of
any possible approval
Of her. She wish not
understand
The worldly move of hatred of all.
I’m
just to love. It’s old the trick
To
meet the heart in earthly way
That
is a kind and good and meek,
That I with love am to repay.
#105
What’s
love? The Holy cause Divine!
The cause of grace, the cause of mercy.
And
verse of mine to be much tersy
And sin poetic to deny.
I
have not much of words of love.
My
verse is frightful repetitive.
And
only heart is competitive
With heart of dove.
#106
I never
cried for glory- no!
I
cried for love, and not for gold.
And
God by me was never told
To punish foe.
That’s
so. I wish be saved to all.
And
enemy has right for grace.
I
know that his immortal soul
I’ll have to face.
#107
What’s
purpose of poetic being?
Not
glory- no! Then what?
I
have to say - it’s happiness
Of being short of evil.
And if so – why I’m sinful.
It’s
unpoetic
And
leads not to the Kingdom
Of The Christ.
#108
My
hope is vain when I’m obscure
And
dreaming earthly dream
Of flesh.
My
hope comes true when I am clear
And dreaming dream of Heaven.
I’m
so wicked dreamer
And
never know
What
to dream about.
#109
Seduction
is a burden hard
That
harms the soul, that hurts the heart.
It
kills the life of human race.
It’s
wine of wrath with dash of lace
Of
human errancy and love
To earthly being. From above
It’s
clearly pitied, clearly seen –
Seduction
is an utmost sin.
#110
My
love is tiresome for female –
It’s
always so, it’s old the tale.
I
never learnt to love a woman
Thought
it necessary is for man.
I’m
not a virgin soul at all,
But
I am wholly Christian soul.
And
when I love I have to pray
The Heaven to be there one day.
#111
The
solemn thought of discontent
With
earthly all is to pretend
To be unearthly. But it’s not
For
me – I’m of another thought.
I
think on earth and Heav’n as one
With stars and flowers, sea and sun.
And
if with earth I’m discontented
Then
something false I have pretended.
#112
I
hope to get along through life
Not
having tongue like deadly knife.
That
can cut short of love and grace
To
disappear without the trace
To
place of new to cut again
With deadly word of deadly pain.
I
hope to get along through life
Not
having tongue like deadly knife.
#113
To My Daughter.
My
daughter name is Mary – so
She
baptized was a lot ago.
Saint
Mary blessed her by Her Name
To tame her soul, her heart to tame.
My
daughter’s twelve and to live on
When I’ll be old, when I’ll be gone.
And
Mary Saint at Final Feast
Will meet us both – the girl and beast.
#114
Sometimes
I cry, sometimes I laugh.
But
one a day I’ll have enough
Of
earthly days of laugh and cry –
That
day – I know – I’ll have to die.
But
till it comes I’m to proceed
With
laugh and cry from greed to creed
To
have enough of laugh and cry –
One
day – I know – I’ll have to die.
#115
Ode written in day of death of my mother.
Life
is for ever –
Not
to die
The man, or woman or the child.
There’s
Heav’n,
There’s
God,
There’s
consolation
Of all eternity of Love.
#116
On Death of My Mother.
There’s
none of you
But
still there you are all
In
full of life
And
death is nothing more
Than
separation for the time –
The
time to pray,
To wait the meeting.
#117
To Holy Memory of Nun Caroline Glyn.
Nun,
Artist, Poetess,
And
Holy Soul
That
knew no evil –
God
of goodness
Had
granted her
With
freedom from the sin –
And
now she walks on Heav’n
And
pray of me and you.