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 The Pilgrim

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Romana
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PostSubject: The Pilgrim   Sat Sep 19, 2009 7:18 pm

Some friends and I just gathered today to celebrate the upcoming Fall Equinox, which brought to mind this poem, written by an acquaintance in Florida who goes by the name Charlemagne. It captures the idea of balance, associated with this time of year.

The Pilgrim

In shadowed place, by shadows bound
Where Shadows move, but make no sound
A moment's wait brings clear to sight
The borderland of Day and Night.

Upon this plain of place between,
With Dawn's horizon sharp and keen,
A Shadow paused on shadowed way
To see the kingdom of the Day.

He found a world of many hues
Unlike the oceanic blues
That ruled the realm of shadows deep;
The place that is the home to sleep.

The Shadow Pilgrim felt the air,
Knew sights and sounds and textures fair.
He heard the words the waking speak;
Felt sunlight fall on Shadow cheek.

Green of forest! Tawn of grain!
The sizzling scent of Summer rain.
Beauty in her daylit guise
Brought shadow tears to shadow eyes.

But swiftly . . . far too soon, it seems . . .
Daylight gave away its dreams.
With sad precision shadows know,
He marked the fading sunset glow.

Then Shadow left the world so bright,
Returning to the arms of Night.
And never spoke a shadow word;
Nor ever shadow footstep heard.

But night would never wear as old,
And stars would never shine so cold.
For all, he knows, has much to say;
And Night's the other half of Day.

. . . In shadowed place by shadows bound,
A thoughtful shadow may be found,
Who casts what shadows as he might;
A Shadow with a soul of Light.
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Thu Sep 24, 2009 7:46 pm

From Paul Revere's Ride, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- one of my favorite poems.

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,---
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Sun Sep 27, 2009 8:40 pm

From "Springing Up" by R. Kaldera

The sun blinds me
as I watched you ascend to the new dawn
your destiny draws you out
while mine clutches at the hem of my robe, whispering
whispering like dry bones
rubbing together
that kindle only dark fire

and I did not know how much
pain would lance me
seeing you run as joyfully back to her
(that goddess who bore you
and gave you your name)
as once you had run joyfully into my arms,
my hands black with the soot of a thousand cremations
your hair something of sunrise and something of clay
and something of waving poppy blooms

and maybe you waved back once
at the threshold of dawn
and maybe you did not - I will never know
because the sun had blinded me
or had it just been tears............
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Sun Oct 18, 2009 12:06 am

Anonymous poem about Cerridwen

I give you life
I give you death
it is all one
You travel the spiral path
the eternal path
that is existence
ever becoming
ever growing
ever changing
Nothing dies that is not reborn
nothing is born that does not die
When you come to me
I welcome you home
then I take you into my womb
my cauldron of transformation
where you are stirred and sifted
blended and boiled
melted and mashed
reconstituted then recycled
You always come back to me
you always go forth renewed
Death and Rebirth are but points of transition
along the Eternal Path
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Tue Oct 27, 2009 11:10 am

Twas the Evening of Samhain - by Cather Steincamp

'Twas the evening of Samhain, and all through the place
were pagans preparing the ritual space.
The candles were set in the corners with care,
in hopes that the Watchtowers soon would be there.
We all had our robes on (as is habitual)
and had just settled down and were starting our ritual
when out on the porch there arose such a chorus
that we went to the door, and waiting there for us
were children in costumes of various kinds
with visions of chocolate bright in their minds.

In all of our workings, we'd almost forgot,
but we had purchased candy (we'd purchased a LOT),
And so, as they flocked from all over the street,
they all got some chocolate or something else sweet.
We didn't think twice of delaying our rite,
Kids just don't have this much fun every night.
For hours they came, with the time-honored schtick
of giving a choice: a treat or a trick.

As is proper, the parents were there for the games,
Watching the children and calling their names.
"On Vader, On Leia, On Dexter and DeeDee,
On Xena, on Buffy, Casper and Tweety!
To the block of apartments on the neighboring road;
You'll get so much candy, you'll have to be TOWED!"

The volume of children eventually dropped,
and as it grew darker, it finally stopped.
But as we prepared to return to our rite,
One child more stepped out of the night.

She couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen.
Her hair was deep red, and her robe, forest green
with a simple gold cord tying off at the waist.
She'd a staff in her hand and a smile on her face.
No make-up, nor mask, or accompanying kitsch,
so we asked who she was; she replied "I'm a witch.
And no, I don't fly through the sky on my broom;
I only use that thing for cleaning my room.
My magical powers aren't really that neat,
but I won't threaten tricks; I'll just ask for a treat."

We found it refreshing, so we gave incense cones,
A candle, a crystal, a few other stones,
And the rest of the candy (which might fill a van).
She turned to her father (a man dressed as Pan)
and laughed, "Yes, I know, Dad, it's past time for bed,"
and started to leave, but she first turned and said
"I'm sorry for further delaying your rite.
Blessed Samhain to all, and a magical night."
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Mon Nov 30, 2009 8:23 pm

Carol with Variations by Phyllis McGinley

"The world now has 7,600,000 men under arms, excluding navies, as against 5,000,000 in 1913." -- News item printed in The Sun, Christmas week 1936.

Oh! Little town of Bethlehem, how still we see the lie;
Your flocks are folded in to sleep, and sleep your little ones.
Behold, there is a Star again that climbs the eastern sky,
And seven milling living men are picking up their guns.

Hark, the happy cannons roar --
Glory to the Dictator,
Death and fear, and peace defiled,
And a world unreconciled!

Once more the bells of Christendom ring out a proclamation
Of joy to all the universe, and mercy, and good will;
While brother shoots his brother down, and nation scowls at nation,
And seven million uniforms are decorate at drill.

Hail to Dupont and to Krupp!
Steel is strong and going up.
Let the tidings glad be sent --
'Tis the Morn of Armament.

God rest you merry, gentlemen, whose will these armies are.
Go proudly in your colored shirts, let nothing you dismay.
(Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how fades your shining star?)
While seven milling fighting men stand up on Christmas Day.

Sing hosanna, sing Noel.
Sing the gunner and the shell.
Sing the candle, sing the lamp,
Sing the Concentration Camp.
Sing the Season born anew,
Sing of exile for the Jew,
Wreathe the world with evergreen.
Praise the cunning submarine.
Sing the barbed and bitter wire,
Poison gas and liquid fire,
Bullet, bomb, and hand grenade,
And the hearts of men, afraid.
Christ is come, the Light hath risen.
All our foes are safe in prison,
And the Christmastide begets
Seven million bayonets.

Hear the carol once again --
Peace on earth, good will to men.
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Sat Dec 05, 2009 12:25 am

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Thu Jan 28, 2010 10:29 pm

Remember the day I borrowed your brand new car and I dented it?
I thought you'd kill me. But you didn't.
And remember the time I dragged you to the beach, and you said it would rain, and it did?
I thought you'd say, "I told you so." But you didn't.
Do you remember the time I flirted with all the guys to make you jealous, and you were?
I thought you'd leave me. But you didn't.
Do you remember the time I spilled strawberry pie all over your car rug?
I thought you'd hit me. But you didn't.
And remember the time I forgot to tell you the dance was formal and you showed up in jeans?
I thought you'd drop me. But you didn't.
Yes, there were lots of things you didn't do.
But you put up with me, and you loved me, and you protected me.
There were lots of things I wanted to make up to you when you returned from Viet Nam ...
But you didn't.

~ Author Unknown
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Fri Jan 29, 2010 5:40 am

Very poignant poem.
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PostSubject: Re: The Pilgrim   Sat Mar 06, 2010 10:06 pm

Sing me to sleep dark angel
Cradled in sweet safety’s arms
Spread your wings around us
Deliver to me the night skies

Sing me to sleep dark angel
Under the twinkling blankets of night
Whisper never-ending hymns of peace
With notes as numerous as the stars

Sing me to sleep dark angel
On grass as soft as the sky
Brush me with silent murmurs
Of fresh dew in the morning sun

Sing me to sleep dark angel
With the rhythm of fresh rains
Harmonious tones that create
Drooping eyes and
Sing me to sleep dark angel

~Erin Schober
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