Heart, thou art Translated

O mind, thou art changed!
Holy Spirit, bless my soul!
Mine heart translated!

written in response to The Daily Post prompt – “translate” – and loosely inspired by A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III Sc I

‘Age, thou art shamed’ – Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare (Act I Sc II)

‘Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honors that are heap’d on Caesar.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Now in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham’d!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age since the great flood
But it was fam’d with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome,
That her wide walks encompass’d but one man?
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O! You and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d
Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.’

– Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II

Muse of Fire

‘O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention’

– William Shakespeare, Henry V Act I Scene I

‘When the day of Pentecost came,
they were all together in one place.
Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven
and filled the whole house where they were sitting.
They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire
that separated and came to rest on each of them.
All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit
and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them.’

– Acts 2:1-4

The Immortal Sea #NaPoWriMo2016 #GloPoWriMo2016


Today’s National/Global Poetry Writing Challenge 2016 is completely appropriate to the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death – to write a sonnet.

Traditionally, sonnets are fourteen-line poems, with ten syllables per line, written in iambs (i.e., with a meter in which an unstressed syllable is followed by one stressed syllable, and so on). There are several traditional rhyme schemes, including the Petrarchan, Spenserian, and Shakespearean sonnets. But beyond the strictures of form, sonnets usually pose a question of a sort, explore the ideas raised by the question, and then come to a conclusion. In a way, they are essays written in verse!

Here is my attempt, The Immortal Sea

Will eternity simply have no end
Or transport man’s mind to its beginning?
Is infinite life removed from time’s clasp,
Unravelling history’s weave and weft?
Outside the dimensional ebb and flow,
Beyond all perception of time and tide,
Riding out waves on an immortal sea,
Unsinkable lifeboats sail where they will;
Alpha and Omega never constrained,
Existing outside of space-time’s confines;
The Spirit of all ages never contained,
No bondsman to earth-cycle wax and wane;
Safe in the presence of the great I Am,
Eternal life cedes not to mortal coils.


Remembering Shakespeare

Today mark’s the anniversary of William Shakespeare’s birth (in 1564), and death 400 years ago in 1616.

“I commend my soul into the hands of God, my Creator, hoping and assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ, my Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting.”
― William Shakespeare

” . . . Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
Under thy own life’s key: be cheque’d for silence,
But never tax’d for speech. What heaven more will, 65
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;”
― the Countess of Rousillon, All’s Well That Ends Well (Act I, Scene I)

“But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch’s knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.”
Sonnet LXXIV

What do you read, my lord?


Written following this week’s Haiku Challenge on RonovanWrites – “Rare and Harsh” :

Kind words seem too rare
Harsh words are too plentiful
God’s Word is enough