Verses N Quotes

As far as I am concerned, poetry is a statement concerning the human condition, composed in verse.

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

From CATS ARE KIND "A man said to the universe, 'Sir, I exist!' 'Excellent,' replied the universe, 'I've been looking for someone to take care of my cats.

Whenever you see, in an official lectionary, the command to omit two or three verses, you can normally be sure that they contain words of judgment. Unless, of course, they are about sex.

Mealtime "A mousie squealing in a trap Woke me from my morning nap. Wasn't he so very sweet To tell me it was time to eat?" (From A CAT'S GARDEN OF VERSES)

DETCHANT (n.) That part of a hymn (usually a few notes at the end of a verse) where the tune goes so high or low that you suddenly have to change octaves to accommodate it.

You can never know where I am or what I am, But I am good company to you nonetheless, And really do regret I broke your inkwell." (From Meow of Myself, from LEAVES OF CATNIP)

I situate myself, and seat myself, And where you recline I shall recline, For every armchair belonging to you as good as belongs to me. I loaf and curl up my tail I yawn and loaf at my ease after rolling in the catnip patch." (From Meow of Myself, from LEAVES OF CATNIP)

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, ‘O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?’ Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Behold the day-break! I awaken you by sitting on your chest and purring in your face, I stir you with muscular paw-prods, I rouse you with toe-bites, Walt, you have slept enough, why don't you get up?" (From Meow of Myself, from LEAVES OF CATNIP)

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

From CATS ARE KIND "I saw a dog pursuing automobiles; On and on he sped. I was puzzled by this; I accosted the dog. 'If you catch one,' I said 'What will you do with it?' 'Dumb cat,' he cried, And ran on.

Come, let us hasten to a higher plane Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn, Their indices bedecked from one to n Commingled in an endless Markov chain! I'll grant thee random access to my heart, Thou'lt tell me all the constants of thy love; And so we two shall all love's lemmas prove, And in our bound partition never part. Cancel me not — for what then shall remain? Abscissas some mantissas, modules, modes, A root or two, a torus and a node: The inverse of my verse, a null domain. - Love and Tensor Algebra

The noisy jay swoops by and reviles me, he complains of my meow and my malingering. I too am not a bit subdued, I too am uncontrollable, I sound my splenetic yowl over the roof of the house." (From Meow of Myself, from LEAVES OF CATNIP)

Let us roam then, you and I, When the evening is splayed out across the sky [...] Paths that follow like a nagging accusation Of a minor violation To lead you to the ultimate reproof ... Oh, do not say, 'Bad kitty!' Let us go and prowl the city. In the rooms the cats run to and fro Auditioning for a Broadway show." (From The Love Song of J. Morris Housecat)

The End of the Raven "On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain was downward slanting I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch mice for. Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found quite craven, Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the chamber door. 'Raven's very tasty,' thought I, as I tiptoed o'er the floor. 'There is nothing I like more.' [...] Still the Raven never fluttered, standing stock-still as he uttered In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his two cents' worth -- 'Nevermore.' While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh, so silently I crept up, Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing on the feathered bore. Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little blood and gore -- Only this and not much more.

Abyssinias "I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: A huge four-footed limestone form Sits in the desert, sinking in the sand. Its whiskered face, though marred by wind and storm, Still flaunts the dainty ears, the collar band And feline traits the sculptor well portrayed: The bearing of a born aristocrat, The stubborn will no mortal can dissuade. And on its base, in long-dead alphabets, These words are set: "Reward for missing cat! His name is Abyssinias, pet of pets; I, Ozymandias, will a fortune pay For his return. he heard me speak of vets -- O foolish King! And so he ran away.

Ah, fish, there is no fare Quite like a flounder! They surely will not miss A piece or two from stacks of sole like this; I'll steal a few, but leave the lion's share. Look! the lamplight on the lane is pretty They're back from walking out on Dover Beach. I think I'll hide and spare myselpf the speech, For we are in a world untouched by pity Where ignorant humans curse the kitty." (From Dover Sole)

Beware ground on loose rock. Beware hale strangers. Beware sudden silence. —Tablet One, “On Survival,” verse three

Certainly not! I didn't build a machine to solve ridiculous crossword puzzles! That's hack work, not Great Art! Just give it a topic, any topic, as difficult as you like..." Klapaucius thought, and thought some more. Finally he nodded and said: "Very well. Let's have a love poem, lyrical, pastoral, and expressed in the language of pure mathematics. Tensor algebra mainly, with a little topology and higher calculus, if need be. But with feeling, you understand, and in the cybernetic spirit." "Love and tensor algebra?" Have you taken leave of your senses?" Trurl began, but stopped, for his electronic bard was already declaiming: Come, let us hasten to a higher plane, Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn, Their indices bedecked from one to n, Commingled in an endless Markov chain! Come, every frustum longs to be a cone, And every vector dreams of matrices. Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze: It whispers of a more ergodic zone. In Reimann, Hilbert or in Banach space Let superscripts and subscripts go their ways. Our asymptotes no longer out of phase, We shall encounter, counting, face to face. I'll grant thee random access to my heart, Thou'lt tell me all the constants of thy love; And so we two shall all love's lemmas prove, And in bound partition never part. For what did Cauchy know, or Christoffel, Or Fourier, or any Boole or Euler, Wielding their compasses, their pens and rulers, Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell? Cancel me not--for what then shall remain? Abscissas, some mantissas, modules, modes, A root or two, a torus and a node: The inverse of my verse, a null domain. Ellipse of bliss, converge, O lips divine! The product of our scalars is defined! Cyberiad draws nigh, and the skew mind Cuts capers like a happy haversine. I see the eigenvalue in thine eye, I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh. Bernoulli would have been content to die, Had he but known such a^2 cos 2 phi!

Hamlet's Cat's Soliloquy "To go outside, and there perchance to stay Or to remain within: that is the question: Whether 'tis better for a cat to suffer The cuffs and buffets of inclement weather That Nature rains on those who roam abroad, Or take a nap upon a scrap of carpet, And so by dozing melt the solid hours That clog the clock's bright gears with sullen time And stall the dinner bell. To sit, to stare Outdoors, and by a stare to seem to state A wish to venture forth without delay, Then when the portal's opened up, to stand As if transfixed by doubt. To prowl; to sleep; To choose not knowing when we may once more Our readmittance gain: aye, there's the hairball; For if a paw were shaped to turn a knob, Or work a lock or slip a window-catch, And going out and coming in were made As simple as the breaking of a bowl, What cat would bear the houselhold's petty plagues, The cook's well-practiced kicks, the butler's broom, The infant's careless pokes, the tickled ears, The trampled tail, and all the daily shocks That fur is heir to, when, of his own will, He might his exodus or entrance make With a mere mitten? Who would spaniels fear, Or strays trespassing from a neighbor's yard, But that the dread of our unheeded cries And scraches at a barricaded door No claw can open up, dispels our nerve And makes us rather bear our humans' faults Than run away to unguessed miseries? Thus caution doth make house cats of us all; And thus the bristling hair of resolution Is softened up with the pale brush of thought, And since our choices hinge on weighty things, We pause upon the threshold of decision.

To a Vase "How do I break thee? Let me count the ways. I break thee if thou art at any height My paw can reach, when, smarting from some slight, I sulk, or have one of my crazy days. I break thee with an accidental graze Or twitch of tail, if I should take a fright. I break thee out of pure and simple spite The way I broke the jar of mayonnaise. I break thee if a bug upon thee sits. I break thee if I'm in a playful mood, And then I wrestle with the shiny bits. I break thee if I do not like my food. And if someone they shards together fits, I'll break thee once again when thou art glued.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, 'O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?' Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

And indeed there will be time To wonder, 'Do I shed?' and, 'Do I shed?' Time to turn back and stretch out on the bed, And give myself a bath before I'm fed -- (They will say: 'It's the short-haired ones I prefer.') My flea collar buckled neatly in my fur, My expression cool and distant but softened by a gentle purr -- (They will say: 'I'm allergic to his fur!') Do I dare Jump up on the table? In an instant there is time For excursions and inversions that will make me seem unstable." (From The Love Song of J. Morris Housecat)

Si on bouge sans cesse, on impose un sens, une direction au temps. Mais si on s'arrête en se butant comme un âne au milieu du sentier, si on se laisse emporter par la rêverie, alors même le temps s'arrête et n'est plus ce fardeau qui pèse sur nos épaules. Si on ne le porte pas il verse, il se répand tout autour comme la tache d'encre que ma plume faisait toute seule, droite en équilibre sur le buvard, pour retomber ensuite, vide.

Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse," said the Hatter, "when the Queen bawled out 'He's murdering the time! Off with his head!'" "How dreadfully savage!" exclaimed Alice. "and ever since that," the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, "he wo'n't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now.

If you can try to nap where someone's sitting, Although there is another empty chair, Then rub against his ankle without quitting Until he rises from your favorite lair; If you can whine and whimper by a portal Until the bolted door is opened wide, Then howl as if you've got a wound that's mortal Until he comes and lets you back inside; If you can give a guest a nasty spiking, But purr when you are petted by a thief; If you can find the food not to your liking Because they put some cheese in with the beef; If you can leave no proffered hand unbitten, And pay no heed to any rule or ban, then all will say you are a Cat, my kitten. And -- which is more -- you'll make a fool of Man!

The author extols the power of having significant portions of God's Word read in public worship with the following analogy. He says that by reading a few short verses, we are like someone glimpsing nature through window from across the room. But by taking in more lengthy passages of Scripture, we are like someone who, intrigue, gets right next to the window to take in more of the view that it offers, basking in more of the arc of the whole the whole narrative.

when Jesus tells His followers not to resist evil people, He uses a word that suggests a violent resistance. In fact, New Testament scholar N. T. Wright translated the verse “Don’t use violence to resist evil” to remove all ambiguity.6 Put simply, when Jesus says, “Do not resist the one who is evil,” He specifically prohibits using violence to resist evil.

I wonder how it feels like to be a tiny fish what flitters n darts so free. I wonder how it feels to be the cool, clear water what runs without bein chased.

La vie peut être si imprévisible, n'oubliez jamais cela ! La pluie peut tomber à verse, et le vent peut souffler avec force, balayant les moments de paix que vous avez vécus. Ce n'est jamais la fin du monde lorsque les choses tournent mal. Gardez confiance en vous-même et ne renoncez jamais aux objectifs que vous souhaitez atteindre. Ne lâchez jamais vos rêves et ne laissez jamais l'espoir s'éteindre.

The Prologue to TERRITORY LOST "Of cats' first disobedience, and the height Of that forbidden tree whose doom'd ascent Brought man into the world to help us down And made us subject to his moods and whims, For though we may have knock'd an apple loose As we were carried safely to the ground, We never said to eat th'accursed thing, But yet with him were exiled from our place With loss of hosts of sweet celestial mice And toothsome baby birds of paradise, And so were sent to stray across the earth And suffer dogs, until some greater Cat Restore us, and regain the blissful yard, Sing, heavenly Mews, that on the ancient banks Of Egypt's sacred river didst inspire That pharaoh who first taught the sons of men To worship members of our feline breed: Instruct me in th'unfolding of my tale; Make fast my grasp upon my theme's dark threads That undistracted save by naps and snacks I may o'ercome our native reticence And justify the ways of cats to men.

The first ayât (verse) of Al-Fatiha (the most important chapter in the Qur'a-n) firmly establishes that the two names Al-Rahmân and Al-Rahîm refer to Allâh, the Supreme Power, and to Allâh exclusively. The two names' etymology stems from the same root: RAHM, which can mean "womb" or "place of origin". There is a hadîth qudsî that specifically addresses that: Allâh says, "I am al-Rahmân. I created the womb and I derived its name from My name. I will be connected to whoever stays connected to it, and I will be cut off from whoever stays cut off from it.

There is scriptural evidence to prove, the key to unlocking God’s power, favor and blessings in our lives, is speaking the Word of God. The world was formed from the spoken Word of God. Psalm 33 verse 6 declares, “By the word of the Lord were the heavens made and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth.

Io ti ho nominato regina. Ve n'è di più alte di te, di più alte. Ve né di più pure di te, di più pure. Ve né di più belle di te, di più belle. Ma tu sei la regina. Quando vai per le strade nessuno ti riconosce. Nessuno vede la tua corona di cristallo, nessuno guarda il tappeto d'oro rosso che calpesti dove passi, il tappeto che non esiste. E quando t'affacci tutti i fiumi risuonano nel mio corpo, scuotono il cielo le campane, e un inno empie il mondo. Tu sola ed io, tu sola ed io, amor mio, lo udiamo.

The rising sun is red, and also red at setting. The great will look the same in good times and in bad.

The Lord don't need a ribbon to hear your mama's prayer, she says, n you don't need a ribbon to remember your mama. The things what we love, we keep buried in our hearts.

Everything old people say about time is true. For starters, it flies. As a kid living through semi-eternal summer vacations, this is hard to believe. But as an adult? Get married. Have children. And then sit back, stunned, watching an absolute roar of gorgeous moments and hilarious moments and exhausting moments disappear—quickly and in tragedy or marching off at the traditional pace, but disappear they must. Snap a photo or two. Read verses about futility. Watching one’s small humans age and grow up packs a serious punch. It’s like being stuck in a dream unable to speak, like being a ghost that can see but not touch, like standing on a huge grate while a storm rains oiled diamonds, like collecting feathers in a storm. Parents in love with their kids are all amnesiacs, trying to remember, trying to cherish moments, ghosts trying to hold the world. Being mortals, having a finite mind when surrounded by joy that is perpetually rolling back into the rear view is like always having something important on the tips of our tongues, something on the tips of our fingers, always slipping away, always ducking our embrace. No matter how many pictures we take, no matter how many scrapbooks we make, no matter how many moments we invade with a rolling camera, we will die. We will vanish. We cannot grab and hold.

N'y a-t-il pas de gracieuses similitudes entre les commencements de l'amour et ceux de la vie? Ne berce-t-on pas l'enfant par de doux chants et de gentils regards? Ne lui dit-on pas de merveilleuses histoires qui lui dorent l'avenir? Pour lui l'espérance ne déploierait-elle pas incessamment ses ailes radieuses? Ne verse-t-il pas tour à tour des larmes de joie et de douleur? Ne se querelle-t-il pas pour des riens, pour des cailloux avec lesquels il essaie de se bâtir un mobile palais, pour des bouquets aussitôt oubliés que coupés? N'est-il pas avide de saisir le temps, d'avancer dans la vie? L'amour est notre seconde transformation.

According to Shaivism, anupaya may also be reached by entering into the infinite blissfulness of the Self through the powerful experiences of sensual pleasures. This practice is designed to help the practitioner reach the highest levels by accelerating their progress through the sakta and sambhava upayas. These carefully guarded doctrines of Tantric sadhana are the basis for certain practices, like the use of the five makaras (hrdaya) mentioned earlier. The experience of a powerful sensual pleasure quickly removes a person’s dullness or indifference. It awakens in them the hidden nature and source of blissfulness and starts its inner vibration. Abhinavagupta says that only those people who are awakened to their own inner vitality can truly be said to have a heart (hrdaya). They are known as sahrdaya (connoisseurs). Those uninfluenced by this type of experiences are said to be heartless. In his words: “It is explained thus—The heart of a person, shedding of its attitude of indifference while listening to the sweet sounds of a song or while feeling the delightful touch of something like sandalpaste, immediately starts a wonderful vibratory movement. (This) is called ananda-sakti and because of its presence the person concerned is considered to have a heart (in their body) (Tantraloka, III.209-10). People who do not become one (with such blissful experiences), and who do not feel their physical body being merged into it, are said to be heartless because their consciousness itself remains immersed (in the gross body) (ibid., III.24).” The philosopher Jayaratha addresses this topic as well when he quotes a verse from a work by an author named Parasastabhutipada: “The worship to be performed by advanced aspirants consists of strengthening their position in the basic state of (infinite and blissful pure consciousness), on the occasions of the experiences of all such delightful objects which are to be seen here as having sweet and beautiful forms (Tantraloka, II.219).” These authors are pointing out that if people participate in pleasurable experiences with that special sharp alertness known as avadhana, they will become oblivious to the limitations of their usual body-consciousness and their pure consciousness will be fully illumined. According to Vijnanabhairava: “A Shiva yogin, having directed his attention to the inner bliss which arises on the occasion of some immense joy, or on seeing a close relative after a long time, should immerse his mind in that bliss and become one with it (Vijnanabhairava, 71). A yogin should fix his mind on each phenomenon which brings satisfaction (because) his own state of infinite bliss arises therein (ibid., 74).” In summary, Kashmir Shaivism is a philosophy that embraces life in its totality. Unlike puritanical systems it does not shy away from the pleasant and aesthetically pleasing aspects of life as somehow being unspiritual or contaminated. On the contrary, great importance has been placed on the aesthetic quality of spiritual practice in Kashmir Shaivism. In fact, recognizing and celebrating the aesthetic aspect of the Absolute is one of the central principles of this philosophy. — B. N. Pandit, Specific Principles of Kashmir Shaivism (3rd ed., 2008), p. 124–125.

~We were here~ We were here years ago Dusk swept away the white day departing monotonous sun to sleep “You came out of abyss or on High?” The scent of her willingness breasts I breathe ! Eyes closed ! Naked bodies sailed in colour, sound and smell her swan-like arms coiled The shadowy light of lamp the flamboyant bits of dying coal sighed in air Blood depurated the tawny flesh of bodies Beside on a table words scattered like flock of birds grief, dejection and melancholy b r o k e n bones of free verse In contrivance of our sweetest submission words rupture; secret message deciphered unrhymed metamorphosed to rhymes they read our skins like first love poem besotted in warm delighted air flying high as kite You were coaxed to sing in flow; I danced wobbly Wary sky above the roof ceased in our devout brittle embrace.

When a general examination of the rhyme scheme in the Qur'an is made, we see that around 80% of the rhymes consist of just three sounds (n, m, a) consisting of the letters Alif, Mim, Ya and Nun258. Excluding the letter "Nun," 30% of the verses are rhymed with "Mim," "Alif" or "Ya." The formation of rhymed prose with just two or three sounds in a poem of 200-300 lines may give that work an important quality, sufficient for it to be described as a masterpiece by literary critics today. However, bearing in mind the length of the Qur'an, the information it contains and its wise exposition, the extraordinary manner in which its rhymed prose system is used becomes even clearer and more beautiful. The Qur'an indeed contains an ocean of information relating to a wide variety of subjects. They include: religious and moral guidance, lessons from the lives of the peoples of the past, the message of the prophets and messengers of Allah, the physical sciences and historical accounts of important events. But all of this, although wonderful in itself, is delivered with the most fantastic literary rhythm and excellence. It is simply not possible for so much rhymed prose by use of so few sounds in the Qur'an, with its varied and knowledgeable subject matter, to be achieved by human endeavour. From that point of view, it is not surprising that Arab linguists describe the Qur'an as "very definitely inimitable.

Perhaps because the Beatles commanded enormous space across the country’s newspaper real estate, Bob Dylan seemed the far more likely music figure to assume the mantle of bard, or at the very least start issuing volumes of poetry. Already, Dylan attracted British esteem as a “poet,” long before this debate started up in America, and allowed skeptics to disdain Lennon as a mere pop star while Dylan still wore his acoustic folkie halo. Many writers gloss over how Dylan’s leap to rock ’n’ roll during the coming season came as a far greater shock to British sensibilities than it did to American ears. For Lennon to issue verse in book form ahead of Dylan had a kind of weird British advance revenge to it, as though they could not just conquer American music but best them at the word game as well, and who better to do so than the giant pop star whose brains were obviously way too advanced for this rock stuff he would surely grow out of? Lennon and Dylan began to spar in the British imagination, the antic Scouser who always threatened to go round the bend against the oddly prolific American whose epic abstractions quite nearly absolved him of being Jewish. Since In His Own Write’s release on April 7, 1964, reviewers had gone overboard to praise Lennon’s unlikely literary success while conservative scribblers—like that old man on A Hard Day’s Night’s train—lambasted yet another example of youth’s ingratitude. In His Own Write became another Beatlemania sideshow that gave Lennon’s pop stature heft.

WHEN on the Magpies' Bridge I see The Hoar-frost King has cast His sparkling mantle, well I know The night is nearly past, Daylight approaches fast. The author of this verse was Governor of the Province of Koshu, and Viceroy of the more or less uncivilized northern and eastern parts of Japan; he died A.D. 785. There was a bridge or passageway in the Imperial Palace at Kyoto called the Magpies' Bridge, but there is also an allusion here to the old legend about the Weaver and Herdsman. It is said, that the Weaver (the star Vega) was a maiden, who dwelt on one side of the River of the Milky Way, and who was employed in making clothes for the Gods. But one day the Sun took pity upon her, and gave her in marriage to the Herdboy (the star Aquila), who lived on the other side of the river. But as the result of this was that the supply of clothes fell short, she was only permitted to visit her husband once a year, viz. on the seventh night of the seventh month; and on this night, it is said, the magpies in a dense flock form a bridge for her across the river. The hoar frost forms just before day breaks. The illustration shows the Herdboy crossing on the Bridge of Magpies to his bride. A Hundred Verses from Old Japan (The Hyakunin-isshu), tr. by William N. Porter, [1909],

Whenever you see, in an official lectionary, the command to omit two or three verses, you can normally be sure that they contain words of judgment. Unless, of course, they are about sex. But

A Beautiful verse takes birth when "U"n"I" VERSE.

confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart, and that’s what I meant when I said you have to believe it with your whole heart, you can’t just try it out to see if you like it, with the heart, man believeth unto righteousness and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. And on down in verse 13, For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord, shall be saved. “See, my friend. It’s that simple. God made it simple so everyone could understand it. We’re sinners, we deserve hell forever, but God bought us the free gift of eternal life, and all we have to do is accept it, believing with our whole heart, and we will have it. That, my friend, is life eternal in Heaven with God and your mother. Would you like to do that?” Hoback hung his head again, then lifted his tear-filled eyes to Tate, “Yassuh, I would.” Tate led the big man in a simple prayer, asking God’s forgiveness and asking for the free gift of eternal life. When the amens were said, Hoback lifted his face, smiling and reached out to shake Tate’s hand. Tate looked down to see his hand disappear in the big ham-hock fist of Hoback and grinned, as Hoback said, “Thank you, thank you.

That famous verse (10.45), drawing together Isaiah 53 and Daniel 7, is not, as so often imagined, a detached statement of atonement-theology, but rather the clinching point in this devastatingly counter-imperial statement about power. That does not mean that it is not about (what we have come to call) ‘atonement’. Rather, it is an invitation to understand atonement itself – God’s dealing on the cross with the sin of the world – as involving God’s victory not so much over the world and its powers (as though God were simply another cheerful 1960s anarchist) but over the worldly ways of power, the ways in which the powers that were created in, through and for Jesus Christ have rebelled and now themselves need to be led, beaten and bedraggled, in his triumphal procession, in order eventually to be reconciled.

Judge all by their usefulness: the leaders and the hearty, the fecund and the crafty, the wise and the deadly, and a few strong backs to guard them all. —Tablet One, “On Survival,” verse nine

Put no price on flesh. —Tablet One, “On Survival,” verse six

[Verse] Walked through fire felt the rain Heart on sleeve felt love n' pain Whispers behind like thorns they sting Face yer life take what it brings [Verse 2] Shadows crawling doubts arise Broken dreams in your eyes Dust yourself rise again Life won't wait for your plans [Chorus] Stronger than that fightin' back Hands like steel heart can't crack Stronger than that never fold Face to the storm heart of gold [Verse 3] Walkin' roads that twist n' turn Scars n' bruises lessons learned Whispers fade in the night Own your soul win the fight [Bridge] Heartbeat thunder in your chest Ain't no test you ain't bested Pain n' fire just a phase Rise up high leave your blaze [Chorus] Stronger than that fightin' back Hands like steel heart can't crack Stronger than that never fold Face to the storm heart of gold

can·tor   n. 1 an official who sings liturgical music and leads prayer in a synagogue. Also called HAZZAN. 2 (in formal Christian worship) a person who sings solo verses or passages to which the choir or congregation responds.  mid 16th cent.: from Latin, 'singer', from canere 'sing'.

When water is being filled in a pot, the sound we hear is a function of the pot, not of the water. Same water makes different sounds in different pots. Each of us, described in Sanskrit as Ghata, meaning pot, responds in a unique way to the stimuli from the surrounding environment. Do not be surprised when the response of another appears entirely different from yours. The pot has created the illusion of a wall, of mine and other. Once you become aware of that illusion, otherness melts and the universe becomes a unified verse again, with apparently diverse responses becoming part of the same symphony.

through his scalp.  What was with these people at In-N-Out?  And why, after all these years, was he suddenly noticing these verses—the night before…? Pete pulled out his iPhone and googled the verse.  Like a heavy blanket, dread fell over him.  It read: Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me. “Gimme a break!”  He slid his iPhone back into his pocket and didn’t give it another thought.  He had a job to do, a reputation to protect. 

Sweet Jane" Standing on the corner, suitcase in my hand Jack is in his corset, and Jane is in her vest, and, me I'm in a rock'n'roll band. Huh Ridin' in a Stutz-Bearcat, Jim Y'know, those were different times Oh, all the poet, they studied rules of verse And the ladies, they rolled their eyes Sweet Jane! Whoa! Sweet Jane, oh-oh-a! Sweet Jane I'll tell you something Jack, he is a banker And Jane, she is a clerk Both of them save their monies, ha And when, when they come home from work Ooh! Sittin' down by the fire, oh The radio does play The classical music there, Jim "The March of the Wooden Soldiers" All you protest kids You can hear Jack say, get ready, ah Sweet Jane! Come on baby! Sweet Jane! Oh-oh-a! Sweet Jane Some people, they like to go out dancing And other peoples, they have to work. Just watch me now And there's even some evil mothers Well they're gonna tell you that everything is just dirt Y'know that, women, never really faint And that villains always blink their eyes, woo And that, y'know, children are the only ones who blush And that, life is, just to die And, everyone who ever had a heart, oh That wouldn't turn around and break it And anyone who ever played a part, whoa And wouldn't turn around and hate it Sweet Jane! Whoa-oh-oh! Sweet Jane! Sweet Jane. Sweet Jane Sweet Jane. Sweet Jane

In my own academic field, it is much easier to get a doctorate in biblical studies if you do a relentlessly left-brain analysis of a small part of the text, whereas if you attempt a fresh vision of the big picture, within which it might all make sense, someone is bound to ask you, in tones that reflect only too accurately the cultural assumptions that lie behind them, “But where is that in the text?”—meaning, “Give me one verse that says precisely what you’re saying,” whereas the answer often lies not in a single verse (as if one’s interpretation of a great painting could be narrowed down to one square inch of the canvas!) but in the full sweep of the chapter, the book, the collection of books in question. I have argued elsewhere that it is time for a fresh integration of different modes and methods of study, taking full account of these cultural assumptions and allowing the texts themselves to offer their own challenge, their own alternative points of view.

Thus, N. T. Wright says, “I think it highly unlikely that these verses are a sad commentary on the temporary nature of exorcisms. ... Rather, as Matthew’s closing sentence [v. 45], and Luke's context, seems to indicate, this is a kind of parable about Israel. Here is the link between the exorcisms and the overall mission of Jesus ... the exorcisms themselves were signs that this god wished to deliver Israel herself from the real enemy who is now pitted against her: satan.” Wright then proposes that the ‘house’ in the parable is the Temple and speculates on the nature of the ‘exorcism’: “If specific movements are in mind, we might perhaps think of the Maccabaean revolt, when ‘the house’ was ‘swept and put in order’; or perhaps the Pharisaic movement as a whole, attempting to cleanse the body and soul of Judaism by its zeal for a purity which in some ways reflected that of the Temple; or possibly Herod’s massive rebuilding programme, which produced a ‘house’ that was magnificent but in which (according to Jesus, and probably many of his contemporaries) YHWH [God] had no inclination to make his dwelling. ... Nothing short of a new inhabitation of ‘the house’ would do.” This new habitation of God was eventually understood to be in the Church and in the hearts of the faithful. As St. Paul wrote, “Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” (1 Cor. 3:16).

ACATALECTIC  (ACATALE'CTIC)   n.s.[  Gr.]A verse which has the compleat number of syllables, without defect or superfluity.

day, the trigger was an older woman with deep wrinkles. To this day, I cannot be certain about what caused her to react so strongly. Perhaps she had used up her patience simmering in the sun for hours at the back of the line. Perhaps she had some desperately hungry grandchildren who she needed to get back to. It is impossible to know exactly what happened. But after she received her allocation of wheat, she broke the established rules of the feeding site and moved toward Bubba. She looked up at him and unleashed a verbal attack. Bubba, as gentle as ever, simply smiled at her. The more he smiled, the angrier she got. I noticed the commotion when our Somali guards suddenly tensed and turned toward the disturbance. All I could see was Bubba, head and shoulders above a gathering crowd, seemingly unperturbed, and smiling down at someone. His patient response only fueled the woman’s rage. I heard her sound of fury long before I spotted the source when she launched a long stream of vile curses at Bubba. Thankfully, he didn’t understand a word that she was saying. It was now possible to understand her complaint. She was upset about the quality of the “animal feed” that was being distributed for human consumption. She was probably right in her assessment of the food. These were surplus agricultural products that United Nations contributing members didn’t want, couldn’t sell, and had no other use for. As this hulking American continued to smile, the woman realized that she was not communicating. Now, furious and frustrated, she bent down, set her plastic bag on the ground, grabbed two fistfuls of dirty, broken wheat, grain dust, dirt and chaff. She straightened to her full height and flung the filthy mixture as hard as she could into Bubba’s face. The crowd was deathly silent as I heard a series of loud metallic clicks that indicated that an entire squad of American soldiers had instinctively locked and loaded all weapons in readiness for whatever might happen next. Everything felt frozen in time as everyone waited and watched for Bubba’s reaction. A Somali man might have beaten the woman for such a public insult—and he would have considered his action and his anger entirely justified. I knew that Bubba had traveled half-way around the world at his own expense to spend three months of personal vacation time to help hurting people. And this was the thanks that he received? He was hot, sweaty, and drained beyond exhaustion—and he had just been publicly embarrassed. He had every reason to be absolutely livid. Instead, he raised one hand to rub the grit out of his eyes, and then he gave the woman one more big smile. At that point, he began to sing. And what he sang wasn’t just any song. She didn’t understand the words, of course. But she, and the entire crowd, stood in silent amazement as Bubba belted out the words to the 1950’s Elvis Presley rock-n-roll classic: You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog Cryin’ all the time You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog Cryin’ all the time Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit And you ain’t no friend of mine. By the time he started singing the next verse, the old woman had turned and stomped off in frustration, angrily plowing a path through the now-smiling crowd of Somalis to make her escape. Watching her go, Bubba raised his voice to send her off with rousing rendition of the final verse: Well they said you was high-classed Well, that was just a lie Ya know they said you was high-classed Well, that was just a lie Well, you ain’t never caught a rabbit And you ain’t no friend of mine.

SpottieOttieDopaliscious [Hook] Damn damn damn James [Verse 1: Sleepy Brown] Dickie shorts and Lincoln's clean Leanin', checking out the scene Gangsta boys, blizzes lit Ridin' out, talkin' shit Nigga where you wanna go? You know the club don't close 'til four Let's party 'til we can't no more Watch out here come the folks (Damn - oh lord) [Verse 2: André 3000] As the plot thickens it gives me the dickens Reminiscent of Charles a lil' discotheque Nestled in the ghettos of Niggaville, USA Via Atlanta, Georgia a lil' spot where Young men and young women go to experience They first li'l taste of the night life Me? Well I've never been there; well perhaps once But I was so engulfed in the Olde E I never made it to the door you speak of, hardcore While the DJ sweatin' out all the problems And the troubles of the day While this fine bow-legged girl fine as all outdoors Lulls lukewarm lullabies in your left ear Competing with "Set it Off," in the right But it all blends perfectly let the liquor tell it "Hey hey look baby they playin' our song" And the crowd goes wild as if Holyfield has just won the fight But in actuality it's only about 3 A.M And three niggas just don' got hauled Off in the ambulance (sliced up) Two niggas don' start bustin' (wham wham) And one nigga don' took his shirt off talkin' 'bout "Now who else wanna fuck with Hollywood Courts?" It's just my interpretation of the situation [Hook] [Verse 3: Big Boi] Yes, when I first met my SpottieOttieDopalicious Angel I can remember that damn thing like yesterday The way she moved reminded me of a Brown Stallion Horse with skates on, ya know Smooth like a hot comb on nappy ass hair I walked up on her and was almost paralyzed Her neck was smelling sweeter Than a plate of yams with extra syrup Eyes beaming like four karats apiece just blindin' a nigga Felt like I chiefed a whole O of that Presidential My heart was beating so damn fast Never knowing this moment would bring another Life into this world Funny how shit come together sometimes (ya dig) One moment you frequent the booty clubs and The next four years you & somebody's daughter Raisin' y'all own young'n now that's a beautiful thang That's if you're on top of your game And man enough to handle real life situations (that is) Can't gamble feeding baby on that dope money Might not always be sufficient but the United Parcel Service & the people at the Post Office Didn't call you back because you had cloudy piss So now you back in the trap just that, trapped Go on and marinate on that for a minute

If we continue reading Matthew's story in chapter 26 verse 26, we find all things explained. The previous year, teaching His disciples Jesus had said that they must drink His blood; now He gave them wine He had blessed, saying: “Drink this. This is my blood.” (remember He did not say, this wine is my blood) So now all was made clear.

You’ll find that you can read the Bible, even the same verse, over and over again, but God always has a new revelation for you in due season.

L'ordonnance et le pronostic que je pourrais faire pour moi sont les suivants : dès que j'aurai eu raison de mes parents - mes "parents" -, dès qu'ils me seront devenus indifférents, je serai guéri et sauvé. Mais cela m'est encore très difficile, tant que la mesure des blessures qui me sont infligées n'est pas encore pleine mais, au contraire, ne fait que croître. Je pourrais oublier le dommage subi si je l'avais déjà entièrement derrière moi. Mais il n'est pas entièrement derrière moi, il continue à agir sur moi, maintenant, ici, sans cesse. Je ne verse pas une seule larme sur mon passé malheureux et je me sens en mesure, sinon d'oublier tout ce qui est passé, du moins de le surmonter. Mais que tout ce qui m'a tourmenté dans le passé ait encore lieu dans le présent, cela m'accable trop pour que je puisse le prendre à la légère ou même ne pas en tenir compte. Ce n'est pas ce que j'ai vécu de pénible qui me chagrine mais que cela continue encore à agir, encore et toujours, encore et toujours, encore et toujours. Ce n'est pas le poids du passé qui pèse mais qu'aucune fin, non plus, ne se laisse entrevoir, c'est ce qu'il est impossible de surmonter. (p. 275-276)

types of behaviour out there, and the gospel message of Jesus, through which God’s glory is truly revealed (verse 11), is just as much opposed to them as the Jewish law is. But don’t imagine that by teaching the Jewish law you will do more than put up some more signposts warning people about these dangers. What’s far more important is to explore the gospel itself, the message which was entrusted to Paul and the other apostles. When the law was given in the first place, God also revealed his glory to Moses (Exodus 32–34), despite the fact that the people had already broken the law. Here, as in 2 Corinthians 3 and 4, Paul declares that, however good the law is, it is the gospel, not the law, which reveals God’s glory.

Ad – Add               Ail – Ale               Air – Heir               Are - R               Ate - Eight               Aye - Eye - I                 B                            B – Be - Bee               Base - Bass               Bi – Buy - By – Bye               Bite - Byte               Boar - Bore               Board - Bored                 C               C – Sea - See               Capital – Capitol               Chord – Cord               Coarse - Course               Core - Corps               Creak – Creek               Cue – Q - Queue                 D               Dam - Damn               Dawg – Dog               Days – Daze               Dew – Do – Due               Die – Dye               Dual - Duel                 E               Earn – Urn               Elicit – Illicit               Elude - Illude               Ex – X                 F               Fat – Phat               Faze - Phase               Feat - Feet               Find – Fined               Flea – Flee               Forth - Fourth                 G               Gait – Gate               Genes – Jeans               Gnawed - Nod               Grate – Great                 H               Hair - Hare               Heal - Heel               Hear - Here               Heard - Herd               Hi - High               Higher – Hire               Hoarse - Horse               Hour - Our                 I               Idle - Idol               Ill – Ill               In – Inn               Inc – Ink               IV – Ivy                 J               Juggler - Jugular                 K               Knead - Need               Knew - New               Knight - Night               Knot – Naught - Not               Know - No               Knows - Nose                 L               Lead – Led               Lie - Lie               Light – Lite               Loan - Lone                 M               Mach – Mock               Made - Maid               Mane – Main               Meat - Meet               Might - Mite               Mouse - Mouth                 N               Naval - Navel               None - Nun                 O               Oar - Or – Ore               One - Won                 P               Paced – Paste               Pail – Pale                            Pair - Pear               Peace - Piece               Peak - Peek               Peer - Pier               Pray - Prey                 Q               Quarts - Quartz                 R               Rain - Reign               Rap - Wrap               Read - Red               Real - Reel               Right - Write               Ring - Wring                 S               Scene - Seen               Seas – Sees - Seize               Sole – Soul               Some - Sum               Son - Sun               Steal – Steel               Suite - Sweet                 T               T - Tee               Tail – Tale               Team – Teem               Their – There - They’re               Thyme - Time               To – Too - Two                 U               U - You                 V               Vale - Veil               Vain – Vane - Vein               Vary – Very               Verses - Versus                 W               Waive - Wave               Ware – Wear - Where               Wait - Weight               Waist - Waste               Which - Witch               Why – Y               Wood - Would                 X                 Y               Yoke - Yolk               Yore - Your – You’re                 Z

Come fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of repentance fling: The bird of Time has but a little way To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing. "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness— Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow. "Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regrets and future Fears: To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years. "I sent my soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my Soul return'd to me, And answer'd, "I myself am Heav'n and Hell: "Heav'n but the vision of fulfill'd Desire, And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on Fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

(Verse 1) In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. (Chorus) **Grab your hat and dance in the rain,** **Kick off your boots, forget the pain,** **Laugh with friends, under the sun's reign,** **Life's a sweet ride, hop on the train!** **Raise your glass to the stars above,** **Sing with heart, push and shove,** **Every little moment, fit like a glove,** **It's the simple things that we love!** (Verse 2) A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. (Bridge) **Lights down low, we're just starting up,** **Fill up the tank, let's raise our cup,** **To the moments that feel like a live wire,** **Simple sparks igniting our fire.** **Sync to the beat of the city's pulse,** **Every little win, every single result,** **We're living loud in the here and now,** **In the simple life, we take our bow.** (Verse 3) **Under the wide-open sky so blue,** **Life's painting scenes, each one anew,** **A simple hello, a wave goodbye,** **In these little things, our dreams fly high.** **With every sunrise, we start again,** **Finding joy in the whisper of the wind,** **A hearty laugh, a warm embrace,** **In the simple life, we find our grace.** (Chorus) **Turn it up, let the bass line roll,** **Simple life's got that rock 'n' roll soul,** **Snap your fingers, tap your feet,** **Living for the moment, life's so sweet.** **Catch the vibe, let it take control,** **These little things are how we roll,** **From the heartland to the city's grip,** **It's the simple life that makes us flip.** (Verse 4) **The jukebox plays a tune that's bittersweet,** **Echoing tales of love and deceit,** **But in the neon glow, we find our truth,** **In simple things, we reclaim our youth.** **A twist of fate, a turn of the key,** **Life's full of surprises, as we can see,** **A chance encounter, a new beginning,** **In the simple life, we keep on winning.**

Jessica regarde autour d’elle, verse comme par réflexe quelques doses de désinfectant sur ses paumes, qu’elle frotte fort l’une contre l’autre. Elle n’a pas spécialement peur des bactéries, après tout elle a passé pas mal de temps dans des hôpitaux et des morgues pour son travail. Mais ce dont elle a peur en ce moment, c’est l’inaction totale, l’attente les mains dans les poches. Depuis la veille, elle se sent à nu, à découvert, comme une cible : c’est pour ça qu’elle ne veut pas s’arrêter, qu’elle reste en mouvement. Il est plus difficile d’atteindre une cible en mouvement. Toutes les victimes lui ressemblent d’une façon ou d’une autre : elles sont plutôt jeunes, brunes, élancées. En outre, elle sait qu’elle a des ennemis. En octobre dernier, Jessica est devenue relativement célèbre après avoir mené comme inspectrice en chef une affaire où deux jeunes d’un groupe de motards avaient été incarcérés pour présomption de meurtre. Mais plus elle y réfléchit, plus elle se dit qu’il n’y a aucun motard aigri derrière cette histoire de sorcières, ni personne d’autre, dont Jessica se serait attiré la colère à la suite d’une incarcération. Au contraire, la vision de la silhouette cornue sur la glace lui a rappelé quelque chose qu’elle essaie d’oublier depuis près de quinze ans.

Sang bleu rougeâtre Moi, en tant que fils de rois, De princes et de nobles, Tous de la haute noblesse, Sanctifiée par Dieu, sang divin, Ou, peut-être, Ne suis-je pas Dieu lui-même, ou, Qui sait, suis-je au-dessus de lui? La métadivinité bourgeoise, Cette divinisation de la saleté la plus immonde, Et ils regardent le peuple : Oh Dieu ! Pourquoi as-tu fait Cette populace insensée ? Cette masse, souriante, Qui se bénit de bonheur, Trouve dans les égouts, Si moi, Ni tout l'or africain, Ni toute la beauté des femmes de l'Orient Ne me satisfont plus, Ni la bonne odeur de l'encens, ni les palais, Ah, comme je déteste la populace, Alors que je verse mes larmes en regardant les tragédies, Ils rient de la comédie la plus burlesque, Que veux-tu ? Ô Souverain du Monde ? Rappelle-moi que je viens de ces créatures, Que ma blancheur vient du charbon, Que ma lumière de l'obscurité, Que mon sang n'est que de l'eau, Tu veux me rappeler que je ne suis que de la poussière vaniteuse, Sages étaient les Romains, Qui, lors des festivités, Transformaient les esclaves en patriciens, Et les patriciens en esclaves, Pour se rappeler l'ancienne règle, Le vieux pacte lupin, Car tous faits d'argile, Et lavés dans le sang... César, mon cher César, N'oublie pas que, Ainsi toujours les tyrans, Et, ainsi, toujours les patriciens, Tous tomberont, Et dépériront, Car Celui qui a vécu, Dans sa mort, N'est pas encore revenu.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life! [...] what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

14As n,Wobedient children, do not o,Xbe conformed to the former lusts which were yours in your Yignorance, 15but p,Zlike the Holy One who called you, q,Abe holy yourselves also Bin all your behavior; 16because it is written, “CYOU SHALL BE HOLY, FOR I AM HOLY.” 17If you Daddress as Father the One who Eimpartially Fjudges according to each one’s work, conduct yourselves Gin fear during the time of your Hstay on earth; 18knowing that you were not r,Iredeemed with perishable things like silver or gold from your Jfutile way of life inherited from your forefathers, 19but with precious Kblood, as of a Llamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ. 20For He was Mforeknown before Nthe foundation of the world, but has Oappeared sin these last times Pfor the sake of you 21who through Him are Qbelievers in God, who raised Him from the dead and Rgave Him glory, so that your faith and Shope are in God. 22Since you have Tin obedience to the truth Upurified your souls for a t,Vsincere love of the brethren, fervently love one another from uthe heart, 23for you have been Wborn again Xnot of seed which is perishable but imperishable, that is, through the living and enduring Yword of God.

Count your blessings one by one see how much as bible says to boost you.

Il y a chez nous de verts sapins, Des champs soyeux, des papillons ; Il y a chez nous tant de tristesse, Tant de peine, dans nos maisons. Les rossignols viennent de loin, Ils aiment nos chants et nos fleurs ; Chez nous on chante la doïna, Et on verse beaucoup de pleurs... [La noi sunt codri verzi de brad Și cîmpuri de mătasă; La noi atîția fluturi sunt, Ș-atîta jale-n casă. Privighetori din alte țări Vin doina să ne-asculte; La noi sunt cîntece și flori Și lacrimi multe, multe...] (Noi, en français par Olga Gălățanu)

The War of Gog and Magog will be unlike any other war in human history,” Birjandi told his students. “No nation will come to Israel’s defense. Not the U.S., not the U.N., not NATO—nobody. But Israel will not be alone. Ezekiel tells us that the God of Israel will go to war on behalf of the children of Israel and against her enemies, with devastating results.” Birjandi directed them to consider verses 18 through 20 of Ezekiel 38. “What does the text say will happen to the enemies of Israel?” Ali took a moment to read the passage. “It looks like there will be a huge earthquake,” he said. “Correct,” Birjandi affirmed. “‘All the men who are on the face of the earth will shake at My presence,’ the Lord says. The epicenter of the earthquake will be in Israel, but its shock waves will be felt around the world. What else?” Ibrahim read, “‘I will call for a sword against him on all My mountains. . . . Every man’s sword will be against his brother.’” “Right,” said Birjandi. “In other words, in the ensuing chaos, the enemy forces arrayed against Israel will begin fighting one another. The war will begin all right, but Russian, Iranian, and

The powerful play goes on and on, and you may contribute a verse.

Read John 14:1-31. Why does Jesus feel the need to reassure the disciples at this point (v. 1)? 2. What bold claim does Jesus make about himself in verse 6? 3. Why does this kind of claim often make people uncomfortable?

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

The dead have no wishes. —Tablet Three, “Structures,” verse six

Wealth has no value when the ash falls. —Tablet Three, “Structures,” verse ten

Hello? I know I’m not talking to myself. You wanna add an ass whuppin’ to this order?” “N-no, ma’am. I’m here.” “Uh-huh. We’re going to have a conversation when you get home, young lady.” “Yes, ma’am.

You keep those eyes lookin up that's where the good lord n his angels live

What we do possess is an important piece of external evidence from the thirteenth century bce that makes explicit reference to “Israel.” It is the Merneptah stele, a stone inscription that describes, in verse, the triumph of an Egyptian king, Merneptah, over a number of groups in the land of Canaan. The final line relates: “Israel is laid waste, his seed is not.” It is not clear what battle the stele is describing, but it seems to be referring not to a place name but to an ethnic group. Indeed

La rue de l’enfance I. C’est une rue humble et ignorée, en bordure de la ville. Elle ne caresse pas l’œil avec des méandres de rivières parées de verdure ni ne séduit le pas avec un pavé sonore. Elle est étroite et nue, elle n’est que terre et pierres. Les autres rues se précipitent, pressées les unes contre les autres, coude à coude, pour atteindre le plus vite possible la grande rue, au ventre en forme de place, à laquelle elles amènent le vacarme amassé sur leurs dalles de pierre. Elle, elle est solitaire. Elle a recueilli pieusement le silence dont ne veulent pas les autres rues, elle s’est écartée d’elles. Elle désirait peut-être sortir de la ville, se diriger vers la montagne, être là-bas un sentier parmi les sapins. Mais ses forces l’ont abandonné à la lisière de la ville et elle s’est allongée à la hauteur de l’église et des quelques maisons tranquilles à côté de la demeure de nos grands-parents et de la nôtre. Elle y est restée. Jadis, sur ces parages, régnait un village laborieux. Alors les rues d’aujourd’hui n’étaient que des terres, des sillons qui vivaient fraternellement et se couvraient de moissons. Dans ce village se trouve l’origine de la ville ; dans ces sillons, l’origine des rues, origines oubliées et méprisées. Maintenant, les rues éloignées de la terre sont comme des ennemies ; elles se querellent entre elles quand cesse le bruit des charrettes et des voitures et se harcèlent, s’arrachant l’une à l’autre des poignées de poussière grise. Ma rue est paisible, silencieuse. Elle est rarement troublée par l’irruption des gens de la ville. Des chars à bœufs la parcourent, venant de la campagne. Leur cheminement tranquille est comme une prière tombée de ses lèvres et la poussière qui les accompagne est comme un doux sourire. Les rues principales de la ville ont leurs serviteurs : des balayeurs qui les peignent, des arroseurs qui les lavent, des ouvriers qui les fardent de goudron et d’asphalte. Elle, elle, se sert elle-même. Elle se verse de l’eau de pluie dans ses rigoles. Les moineaux lui font une chevelure. Et son visage est naturel. Fières de leur nom, les autres rues ont contraint les portes des maisons à l’apprendre et à le prononcer constamment. Et les portes aux bouches de fer ou de bois l’ont à tout instant sur les lèvres. Elle, elle a à peine murmuré son nom à notre maison, à notre maison seulement. Mais les pluies l’ont effacé ; la porte l’a oublié ; et aussi l’a oublié. C’est une rue humble et ignorée en bordure de la ville. (traduit du roumain par Mario Roques)

[N.B : « Mihne et la sorcière » est une légende historique dont la traduction a été effectuée par l'auteur lui-même (cf. « Brises d'Orient » éditions Dentru, Paris 1866) et qui ne respecte donc pas rigoureusement la version originale en roumain. Métamorphosée en sorcière, la mère d'un jeune soldat tué à la guerre jette un mauvais sort à son souverain, Mihne, tyran sanguinaire des Carpates. Ne pouvant transgresser les dernières volontés de son fils, qui refuse la vengeance, elle tente de se servir des démons de l'enfer afin d'attraper Mihne. Au terme d'une terrible cavalcade, ces démons sont sur le point d'y parvenir quand l'aube se lève les réduisant à l'impuissance. Les vœux du soldat sont ainsi exaucés.] La vieille – « J'ai promis de te dire, ô seigneur, l'avenir ; C'était pour te contraindre, ô mon maître, à venir. Écoute si tu peux : j'avais dans ton armée Un fils dont la bravoure eut de la renommée, Pur comme un ciel serein et beau comme la fleur ; Pour lui seul je restais en ces lieux de douleur. Il était mon seul Dieu ! Pour lui, dont j'étais fière, Je me suis transformée en horrible sorcière. Il est mort, il est mort ! Tu fus son assassin ! Veux-tu mon sang encore ? Tiens, frappe donc ce sein ! Des à présent ma vie est affreuse et flétrie. Oh ! Que ne puis-je boire et ton sang et ta vie ! À son dernier soupir : « Mère » a dit mon enfant, « Pardonne. » Contre moi son pardon le défend. « Mais, as-tu toujours soif ? dit la sorcière à Mihne ; Prends ce vase écumant dans ta main assassine ; Meurtrier, bois le sang vivant de mon fils mort ! Qu'il verse dans ton sang le poison du remords ! » [...] La cime du rocher par degrés se colore, Et déjà le jour luit ! La cohorte vaincue, aux rayons de l'aurore, Retombe dans sa nuit.

[N.B : « Michel au banquet » est une légende historique dont la traduction a été effectuée par l'auteur lui-même (cf. « Brises d'Orient » éditions Dentru, Paris 1866) et qui ne respecte donc pas rigoureusement la version originale en roumain. Michel le Brave, prince de Valachie (1593-1601), vainqueur de l'armée ottomane lors de la bataille de Călugăreni (1595), parvient à réunir pour une brève période, sous sa domination, les trois provinces roumaines. Victime d'une trahison, il est assassiné par son allié le général Basta.] La lune s'élevait comme une sphère d'or, Et l'armée au sommeil s'abandonnait encor. Sur un sombre rocher, sous la céleste voûte, Dans un banquet, Michel, silencieux, écoute ; Il est assis à table avec ses capitans, Et se rappelle encore le cours de ses beaux ans. Quand l'espoir nous sourit, la vie humaine passe Comme les fleurs des champs qu'un doux soleil efface. Ainsi coulait le temps, et tranquille et joyeux, Et les sombres soucis s'étaient éloignés d'eux. La lune répandait sur eux sa clarté pure Et l'auster caressait leur large chevelure. On verse dans la coupe un vin couleur de sang, On boit à la santé du prince tout-puissant. Michel prend une coupe et parle de la sorte : – « Ce toast, ô mes amis, à la mort je le porte ! Car la vie ici-bas, amis, sans liberté, Est un jour sans soleil, une nuit sans clarté. Ceux qui, malgré le jour, s'attachent à la vie, Ne seront inspirer ni l'amour ni l'envie ; Le Roumain ne veut point des champs vastes, sans fleurs, Des jours longs et mêlés de tristesse et de pleurs. Ainsi, le roi des airs, ayant l'aile brisée Doit préférer la mort à cette vie usée. Ainsi sont les Roumains, et j'aime mieux mourir Que de porter le joug et vivre pour souffrir. »

De cette assise sortent les spirales des liserons à cloches blanches, les brindilles de la bugrane rose, mêlées de quelques fougères, de quelques jeunes pousses de chêne aux feuilles magnifiquement colorées et lustrées ; toutes s’avancent prosternées, humbles comme des saules pleureurs, timides et suppliantes comme des prières. Au-dessus, voyez les fibrilles déliées, fleuries, sans cesse agitées de l’amourette purpurine qui verse à flots ses anthères presque jaunes ; les pyramides neigeuses du paturin des champs et des eaux, la verte chevelure des bromes stériles, les panaches effilés de ces agrostis nommés les épis du vent ; violâtres espérances dont se couronnent les premiers rêves et qui se détachent sur le fond gris de lis où la lumière rayonne autour de ces herbes en fleurs. Mais déjà plus haut, quelques roses du Bengale clairsemées parmi les folles dentelles du daucus, les plumes de la linaigrette, les marabous de la reine des prés, les ombellules du cerfeuil sauvage, les blonds cheveux de la clématite en fruits, les mignons sautoirs de la croisette au blanc de lait, les corymbes des millefeuilles, les tiges diffuses de la fumeterre aux fleurs roses et noires, les vrilles de la vigne, les brins tortueux des chèvrefeuilles ; enfin tout ce que ces naïves créatures ont de plus échevelé, de plus déchiré, des flammes et de triples dards, des feuilles lancéolées, déchiquetées, des tiges tourmentées comme les désirs entortillés au fond de l’âme. Du sein de ce prolixe torrent d’amour qui déborde, s’élance un magnifique double pavot rouge accompagné de ses glands prêts à s’ouvrir, déployant les flammèches de son incendie au- dessus des jasmins étoilés et dominant la pluie incessante du pollen, beau nuage qui papillote dans l’air en reflétant le jour dans ses mille parcelles luisantes ! Quelle femme enivrée par la senteur d’Aphrodise cachée dans la flouve, ne comprendra ce luxe d’idées soumises, cette blanche tendresse troublée par des mouvements indomptés, et ce rouge désir de l’amour qui demande un bonheur refusé dans les luttes cent fois recommencées de la passion contenue, infatigable, éternelle ? Mettez ce discours dans la lumière d’une croisée, afin d’en montrer les frais détails, les délicates oppositions, les arabesques, afin que la souveraine émue y voie une fleur plus épanouie et d’où tombe une larme ; elle sera bien près de s’abandonner, il faudra qu’un ange ou la voix son enfant la retienne au bord de l’abîme. Que donne-t-on à Dieu ? des parfums, de la lumière et des chants, les expressions les plus épurées de notre nature. Eh! bien, tout ce qu’on offre à Dieu n’était-il pas offert à l’amour dans ce poème de fleurs lumineuses qui bourdonnait incessamment ses mélodies au cœur, en y caressant des voluptés cachées, des espérances inavouées, des illusions qui s’enflamment et s’éteignent comme des fils de la vierge par une nuit chaude.

Ces centaines de livres poussiéreux, lus jadis et qui n'ont laissé en moi aucune trace. Gavage de l'intellect et dénutrition de l'âme. Disproportion terrifiante entre le dit et le vécu. L'histoire de la pensée humaine fait songer à un tonneau des Danaïdes qui, non seulement ne retiendrait pas l'eau qu'on lui verse, mais dont les douves rétives en resteraient à peine imprégnées ...

Romans 10:9-11, That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For the scripture saith, Whosoever believeth on him shall not be ashamed. And verse 13, For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” The

In fact, don’t believe most of what you read about the Rapture. Many Christians, particularly in North America, have been taught for the last century and a half that when Jesus returns he will come down from “heaven” and that his faithful people (i.e., Christians) will then fly upward into the sky to meet him and be taken to heaven with him forever. Books, movies, a million radio and TV shows, and tens of millions of sermons have drilled this picture into the popular imagination. Indeed, for some people today the Rapture is more or less the center of their faith. But it’s a complete misunderstanding. It’s based on a misreading of what Paul says about the return of Jesus in 1 Thessalonians 4:14–17, just four verses, with the idea of a “rapture” in only one, as the basis for a complete theory of everything: