Posts tagged prayer

The sea is merciless and vast,

And though I find myself here cast

There is no gulf I can not ford,

Within the Havens of The Lord.

The world has harrowed me since birth,

Tried the full measure of my worth,

Though I’m a man, I’m but a ward,

Within the Havens of The Lord.

The tempest hath destroyed my craft

And as I turn my eyes abaft,

I shall not fear the gnashing horde,

Within the Havens of The Lord.

I sing as the muezzin sings,

My voice, a bird of faithful wings,

I know my prayers are not ignored

Within the Havens of The Lord.

And when this mortal body’s gone,

My soul shall live forever on,

All that I’ve lost will be restored

Within the Havens of The Lord.

For in my mind I shall record,

That even as the tempest roared,

I knew that I was safely moored,

Within the Havens of The Lord.

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 Copyright 2013 by Mustafa Demiri

Image: The Gulf Stream by Winslow Homer  (1899)

My pensive thought is of the broadest scope,

I pray it will not break.

My tortured heart endures with hope,

I pray it will not break.

The solace I find in prayers of peace,

I pray it will not break.

I think upon this sacred lease,

I pray it will not break.

The endeavour to which we are all consigned,

I pray it will not break.

God’s patience with humankind,

I pray it will not break

For our ourselves, our children and their children’s sake,

I pray it will not break

As a skater upon the ice clad lake,

I pray it will not break.

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Ann says:  This feel like a universal prayer.  I too hope the ground beneath our feet, this beautiful planet we inhabit, will not be broken due to our lack of foresight.

Copyright 2013 by Mustafa Demiri.

Image:  The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch  by Henry Raeburn.

The men from the village
Came and marked me.
I am old. I expected it. The young ones
Under me have attained
Good measure, height and spread.

The men from the village
Came with whetted and honed tools
To deliver me for resurrection.
The young ones need free air
To breathe, become canopy, to drop seeds

To grow old, as their young also will
Grow and realize good measure.

The men from the village
Will come to mark them then
Clearing the old, towering growth
The metal-to-wood sound of whetted tools
Will begin the manufacture of their resurrections

Hauling their moist carcasses
To town to mill transformations:
Homes to build and ships to launch
From scaffolds and false frames
From cradles and coffins

The X mark they paint on us is no sacred cross
But our rood of doom, the briefest sentence
Summing lives of growth, of bearing fruit and shade
Until the well-honed tools cut swift and deep
Through the rings of lives. So we shudder and fall
To the music of our backs breaking and the men from the village
Singing warnings and praise of our might and worthiness
And the wood, in honor of the fallen, is full with silence.

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Copyright 2012 by Umar Hassan.  All rights reserved.

Image: Let’s Go Digital

From Pagan high priestess Shara:

When you see a road-killed animal, make the sign of the five-pointed star (symbolizing earth, air, fire, water, and spirit), then the sign of the Horned One (index and pinkie fingers raised). Repeat this blessing to yourself:

“May the Horned Lord gather his wild creatures to his heart.”