Tag Archives: Poem

The World

lake reflection copy

The world was growing old
but we were growing young.

Holding hands with grew up together
while the world lost its patience

with our ways.

On forts built on the fields of our minds
we stood alone together

as the world went mad.

We took our swords and declared
with valiant bravado

our war.

For it was worth the fight!

Truth was drowning in a faceless crowd
chatting the end of right and wrong.

Beauty was confused for cynicism and honor
had lost its meaning.

We made our stand on the shadows
of giants.

For we were not alone.

All the saints from St. Pious V to
to Joan of Arc awaited at the gates

to make new what the world made old.

Caleb
GTG


The line in GK Chesterton poem in The Man Who Was Thursday that reads:

The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay;” 

The juxtaposition between the rambunctious energy of the youth and the tired and old false promises of the world hunted me ever since I first read this poem. It is a war that has been ranging since the fall of man, between the Good, the true and the beautiful and sin.

The other night this line pop again in my mind. Soon after I found myself writing the verses that made up these poor prose and my 100 post.

The Man Who Was Thursday by GK Chesterton

g-k-chesterton

GK Chesterton is one of the few authors that can bewilder my imagination to such an extend that after he describes a furious and passionate sunset and says that the sky seem so small to contain it…I would nod and agree with him…

If that didn’t tease you enough here is the opening poem to  his detective novel, The Man Who Was Thursday.

Cheers,

Caleb

The Man Who Was Thursday,  A Nightmare by GK Chesterton

To Edmund Clerihew Bentley

A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, 
Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together. 
Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; 
The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay; 
Round us in antic order their crippled vices came — 
Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame. 
Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, 
Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume. 
Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung; 
The world was very old indeed when you and I were young. 
They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named: 
Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed. 
Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; 
When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us 
Children we were — our forts of sand were even as weak as eve, 
High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea. 
Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd, 
When all church bells were silent our cap and beds were heard.

Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled; 
Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world. 
I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings 
Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things; 
And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass, 
Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass; 
Or sane and sweet and sudden as a bird sings in the rain — 
Truth out of Tusitala spoke and pleasure out of pain. 
Yea, cool and clear and sudden as a bird sings in the grey, 
Dunedin to Samoa spoke, and darkness unto day. 
But we were young; we lived to see God break their bitter charms. 
God and the good Republic come riding back in arms: 
We have seen the City of Mansoul, even as it rocked, relieved — 
Blessed are they who did not see, but being blind, believed. 

This is a tale of those old fears, even of those emptied hells, 
And none but you shall understand the true thing that it tells — 
Of what colossal gods of shame could cow men and yet crash, 
Of what huge devils hid the stars, yet fell at a pistol flash. 
The doubts that were so plain to chase, so dreadful to withstand — 
Oh, who shall understand but you; yea, who shall understand? 
The doubts that drove us through the night as we two talked amain, 
And day had broken on the streets e’er it broke upon the brain. 
Between us, by the peace of God, such truth can now be told; 
Yea, there is strength in striking root and good in growing old. 
We have found common things at last and marriage and a creed, 
And I may safely write it now, and you may safely read. 

G. K. C.

A Broken Memory

cropped-dsc_0103-edit-copy.jpgPhoto by Lance Childers

A broken memory
far and lost

barely holding on.

For the though of what you lost
carries such a weight.

Memories fading
into a painful reminder

of what you left behind.

Yet you hope.

For the life in your eyes
to set fire to that that hold you

so tight.

Caleb
GTG


THANK YOU!

Today marks the one year anniversary since my first post: So it begins:

“He is a sane man who can have tragedy in his heart and comedy in his head.”

GK Chesterton
Tremendous Trifles

It has been a wonderful and exciting first year of blogging. I have been blessed of meeting so many great bloggers and be encourage by them.  Thank you for following and all the encouragement.

God Bless,

Caleb

I had no right

I had no right.

But  words kept coming like ghosts creeping from shadows past.

Shifting thoughts shuffling through words
all wasted in a swift breath.

There is no right way to break a heart.

You try to hide the weight of thoughts in your eyes
but they can’t lie, for I have seen them cry.

If only I could…

But there is no time to waste
Youth is watching you pass by

In time Truth will heal.

Caleb
GTG

Sweet Hope (An Advent Reflection)

O sweet Night!

How the prophets wished
to hold you still.

O sweet Virgil!

Hope of hopes let your face
shine upon us.

O sweet Night!

Make way for the boy King
and let the heavens declare:

Divinity has kissed the Earth!

O sweet Virgil!

Let that joyful cry
proclaim for all eternity,

Emmanuel!

Caleb

Dedicated to the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary today December 8.

For a great article by Journey towards Easter, about the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary please read:

The Root of Jesse and the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady

Still a Small Voice

You yearned for fulfillment

but there is no meaning
in the light of your eyes

just thoughts whispered in the sand.

For you ripped apart the law written in your heart
and made for yourself an idol

out of your own desires.

You grew weary and pretended
that everything is alright

closing your mind ever so deeply
to the storm stirring in your heart.

A feeling you can’t loose.
A yearning you can’t ignore.

For you never felt at home in the muck.

Still a small voice that whispers
into your heart:

You were made for more.

A small voice that trembles
through your bones

Tear down all you got.

For you are not the sums
of your failures…

but the sum the Father’ love for you*.

Caleb
GTG

*Authors note: The last two verses are straight from Saint John Paul II 17th World Youth Day homily. A moving exhortation to today’s youth facing what Pope Benedict XVI called the dictatorship of relativism embedded in today’s culture.