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Literature
Encounter
Who is she, coming with stars in her hair,
a bright smile on her tired face, worn and lined with care,
who once wore her sorrows as a veil of tears
but now stands, shining stronger than all our fears?
--I am the Queen of Heaven and Earth
who knows pain and sorrow, laughter and mirth,
and I bore the living God, broken and killed,
who rose on Easter morn, a promise fulfilled.
And who is he, rising with the sun on his face,
whose body bears the scars and scarlet trace
of a wicked fate, now marching like an army in array,
setting light to the whole world on his way?
--I am the root and stock of David, the bright morning star,
from whom came all things that were, will be, and are;
I am the love giving all I have to give,
I am the promise fulfilled, and I live.
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Literature
Distraction
She explains her problems in a roundabout way:
all symbols, equations, all adding up to say
from this angle, her tiny side of the universe,
all the terms had aligned and delivered a curse
to her doorstep--but that was no reason to stop.
It's fine. There's no other way but up.
And I'd smile, so happy to see she'd solved
the problem around which her hour revolved--
and thankful, grateful: at least for today,
at least for a while, I could steal away,
silent, sure-footed like a night-time thief,
from my room of sorrow, my house of grief.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
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Literature
Storytelling
Tell me about how you guys met
one day in a café, or better yet,
give me all the details, set the scene:
the whisper of paper, the coffee beans
bubbling bright and hot like the summer sun
—but no promises yet: this is Chapter One.
Tell me about that very first date
and about the night before, staying up late,
your hair and clothes a puzzle and a riddle to solve,
the mystery around which the cosmos revolved;
then tell me about the bright smile on your face
that evening, when everything just fell into place.
And then tell me about what happened next:
the jokes, lunch, meet-ups, and texts
through the following weeks and months and years,
and the two a.m. arguments and choking back tears
and how that wasn't how it all ended, no
—it's just the middle of the story, though.
Give me paths I can follow with my own two feet
and lines to know and remember and repeat
to myself when alone; and teach me how
to believe in forever and fairy-tales and vows
again, by story, song, and co
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Literature
St. Therese the Timeless
We thought that honor was an alien name
from a foreign land, in this age of fame;
that it died long ago, long before our birth,
when the Spirit of Christ used to walk on this earth.
But Therese smiles in Carmel, an argument unsaid,
every motion a prayer as she rises from bed
to an armor of foil and flag of holy mark,
and summons the chivalry of Joan of Arc.
We thought God was dead by the thinkers' hands
and thought that His Spirit no longer walked the land
in the age of the train track and telephone,
enlightened by lights no longer His own.
But Therese heard Him, felt Him, deep in her soul,
a Love that burned brighter and hotter than coals
as she numbered the Paters and Aves on a cord
and her little soul magnified the glory of the Lord.
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Literature
What Isn't There
Staring into the cold stillness of space,
I see one shining star
Bright, as the smile once was on your face,
And I wonder where you are.
I still remember your sad, dark eyes
From a far and foreign clime,
Remember every smile and sigh
From once upon a time.
And I remember a promise made:
A silly, crazy vow
That lapsed, unfulfilled, as neither stayed—
That was then, but this is now.
Sometimes, I have this crazy thought,
Returning now and then,
That tells me maybe one day I ought
To call or text you again.
"Hey you, remember me?" I'd say,
Just like the radio song.
But it's just too late by years and days—
Too late, too long, too wrong.
I'm here—a year and a world away
Or maybe even more.
No calls, no messages: I'm okay,
And I don't miss you anymore.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
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Literature
Dear Friendly Dreamer
To J.M.Q.
Dear Friendly Dreamer, smiling at the world
With your eyes shining at your fair fortune unfurled,
Free to choose and travel your own way and course:
Captain and commander--'cause all the world is yours.
You're standing at the crossroads, with your life ahead of you,
But everything will be alright as long as you are true:
True to your own vision--so stand firm, Jo,
And everything will turn out fine; that's all you need to know.
And so, friendly Dreamer, on your birthday I pray
That you never lose your guiding star, the star that shows the way
Beyond the veiled illusions that are never as they seem,
To your dearest desires and deepest dreams.
Maybe the sky isn't clear right now
But you're strong and smart, you'll get there somehow.
Today's just the start of your tale, not its end,
So happy birthday, Jo, and good luck, dear friend.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
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Literature
Remembering in September
I fled from you
a world away, and yet
I turn and I find
you, all around me.
You are the stars
smiling as I lay my head down
to rest; but there is no comfort
in your smile. Not anymore.
You are the wind,
the laughter singing in the breeze--
the silver sound that soared once
for and in spite of me.
You are the voice in my dreams:
the song in the silence I listened to,
that I wanted to turn from, though
each time I try, I fail.
You are . . .
You, it seems,
are the universe spinning above me
still.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 1 3
Literature
Message Sent
Go, I whisper with a smile,
to where I cannot be. Go and be with her,
my words:
you are my hope that she
is safe, my faith that she
will remember me.
I send you, scattered
on the winds; perchance you find her
tell her
she is my promise:
I fled, returning in impermanence;
I will return, only, more so.
You are me now, my words,
being where I cannot be.
Shattered, scattered and thrown afar,
you will be my avatar: embrace, smile, all,
even sharp sorrow as your insistence
meets sweetly smiling silence.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 0 2
Literature
Haiku
I. Attempt
This is me trying
to write at least one haiku.
Is it working, though?
II. Letters
So much depends on
these still and silent papers
singing their stories.
III. Start of Summer
Summer starts with rain:
a veil of wind and water
hiding me from you.
IV. Returning
Farewell! Like these lines,
I'll return once more to you
in impermanence.
V. Stars
Stars shine on the sky--
I wonder, do you see that
same star on the sky?
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 0 0
Literature
Unspoken
And now you are going, and I wish you well
For out there is a world where we never can tell
Which way the wind will blow, or if we'll have a chance
To live out a tale of high romance.
When you leave, I will give you one last smile
To remember and forget again after a while--
For wherever you are, and wherever you may be,
Your thoughts will never quite turn to me.
But take it, for it is all I have to give:
A smile, a promise, a life to live.
Wrap it around you like a scarf to keep you warm,
Like a prayer to keep you safe from harm.
Then let your journey come, and let it be
The extension of the break between you and me
When you leave--and I won't know how, or when,
Or even if you'll ever come back again.
And let me be the silence that doesn't speak,
The wonder always wondering what it seeks,
And the promise once made, to which I will be true:
No matter how long it takes, I will wait for you.
Farewell, dear _____, and wherever you go
I hope and pray that you'll always know
That nothing wi
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
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Literature
Not Just Someone
If I ever learn, in some casual way
Like a quiet hint not spoken out loud,
That you, dear princess, are not okay
As I pass you by in this rushing crowd,
Then I hope I could talk to you, just for a while—
Hopefully it will not trouble you so—
I wish I could somehow make you smile
Because I'm your friend, your knight, you know?
I wish I could somehow, some way, chase
Away the storm clouds from your eyes,
Bring back the bright smile to your face
And hear your laughter, not your sighs.
And you ask for truth, and rightly so:
You are not just someone I used to know.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 0 0
Literature
Just One Star
I've always liked the cloak of night,
That time of silk and candle light;
Of dreams and moonbeams on sandy bars
Beneath a dome of silver stars.
I like to feel that cool, crisp breeze
That blows and brings from over the seas
Some trace of lands I don't know of, true,
But some day I know I'll get there, too.
But I am in the city now,
And bound by a higher, purer vow
I stay, though my city sky at night
Is a mere cold mirror of city lights.
When I'm weary of noise, of trains and cars,
Lord, won't You give me just one star?
A star to sparkle like a friendly poem,
A prayer to lead me safely home.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 2 0
Literature
Christmas Once Again
Now when it's Christmas, and the evening air is cold
And the paper star lanterns wink back at you like gold,
Somehow the stars shine with a certain special glow—
Perhaps like that guiding star from many years ago.
Once again God is homeless, and abroad He roams
Where He is homeless and we are at home;
Asleep in Mary's arms under the watchful eye
Of the carpenter Joseph as they pass by.
Once more the Magi go from lands they rule
As wise men off on an errand for fools,
To follow a star and a fate unfurled,
A king whose kingdom was not of this world.
Once more we hear the song that stirred
The sleeping shepherds of the hillside herd:
The first Christmas carol sung by angel choirs,
Heralding the Child who would set the world on fire.
In a swish of cloth and incense smoke, the years fall away:
Once again we're standing at an earlier day
When the Word was born in Bethlehem, sent from God above
To set the world aflame—and that Word was Love.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 1 0
Literature
Not Just Words
On a friend's letter
The words on this page are not just words for me
Though that may be all that other people see.
To me, it's not just ink and paper here,
It is the voice of someone I hold dear.
When I open this page, I see your smile
And though we're apart by a thousand miles
I feel you beside me, and I know it's true
That I'm not alone, because I'm with you.
I can hear your voice, though I'm not sure how,
Just that it's like you're with me right now,
Telling me these things I'd never known--
A memory I hold to me when I feel alone.
So let this puzzle spin and revolve
For you are the mystery that I can never solve;
For now I have your letter, written by your pen,
And I'll hold it close to me till we meet again.
Until that day comes, my prayers will be true,
Asking God always to watch over you.
I hope you remember me, I hope that you know
You'll always be my friend wherever you go.
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 2 0
Literature
Someone I Used to Know
If I should pass you on my busy way
When I'm off to class with my head in the clouds
And all the while, when everything seems okay,
We're suddenly together in this rushing crowd,
There won't be a need for a "Hi" or "Hello,"
No need for a wave or your brightest smile;
You're neither my best friend nor mortal foe,
Just someone I'm here with for a little while.
Though I wish I could talk, it's just too late
And neither of us really want a scene
So let's just forget those talks, those dates
And bury away what might have been.
I'll be honest with you, though:
Aren't you just someone I used to know?
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43
:iconbishop-myriel43:bishop-myriel43 2 0
Literature
The Adventurer of Heaven
Cloud-white ship sails dancing in the sun,
Ships at Seville's port armed, prepared to run
Off to the New World over the seas
And off to the Orient and her mysteries.
Stern-faced soldiers in columns tipped with steel
Off to the Indies to make the Crown real,
With banners and colours telling their story:
Spain and her Empire for God, gold and glory!
All for the Empire that will never fall,
Eastward and westward—Adventure calls!

But Father Ignatius lifts his eyes on high
And there he sees more than the dappled sky,
More than the sun-kissed clouds above:
Father Ignatius sees the God of Love.
Father Ignatius, veteran of war,
Journeys inward, deep and far,
Looking to God for that pearl that gleams,
That radiant Desire of his deepest dreams.
For we need not go far to a strange sea strand,
Christ and His Kingdom are near at hand.
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"So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid."
- "Choose Something Like a Star," Robert Frost

The story goes that in the poem "Choose Something Like a Star," Robert Frost wasn't talking about a literal star, but a *literary* star: T.S. Eliot, who was very creative and very learned and could make obscure or erudite references. So Frost was telling him, Hey, that's good, but you need to learn to learn to speak clearly, too.

I'm obviously not a T.S. Eliot, but I think it's sage advice. I want to speak clearly, too. :)

Favourites

Beautiful Anti-SJWs - Lauren Southern by brentcherry Beautiful Anti-SJWs - Lauren Southern :iconbrentcherry:brentcherry 121 102 No Left, No Right by illeity No Left, No Right :iconilleity:illeity 102 28 St. Benedict of Nursia icon by Theophilia St. Benedict of Nursia icon :icontheophilia:Theophilia 132 32
Literature
Coffee Shop Memoirs
Philosophers think
We may dream our reality.
With earphones attached liked IVs
I dream my own melodic universe.
Until someone laughs behind me
And strikes up conversation with a friend.
And in that moment they become my anchor
Are they spinning through my dream
Or am I spinning through theirs?
Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,
Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,
And sometimes it all mixes together
Like liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.
When no one speaks to me for hours
I begin to wonder
Is everyone dreaming a reality that includes
The whole café but me?
The street outside the window
With passing strangers, dogs and cars
Is a whole new Milky Way
Waiting to be discovered.
But I am no space explorer
Aliens are beyond my reach.
Whispers of the people around
Reach my ears distinctly
Like waves lapping on the shore.
Words on paper go no way
Towards proving that I was ever here
My identity is slowly condensed
Not into the people who kno
:iconAnUrbanNomad:AnUrbanNomad
:iconanurbannomad:AnUrbanNomad 583 256
Literature
Poetry
Poetry is food
The soul of man consumes it
Wonder how mine tastes.
:iconDreamJournaling:DreamJournaling
:icondreamjournaling:DreamJournaling 3 3
Literature
All I Want
I want someone to talk to
it may not sound like much
but its all I want of you


I want to never be alone
to never be forced to hear
the silent creaks of my home


I want someone to share with me
to give me the pieces of their day
through tiny conversations, and hearty stories
till there's nothing left to say


I want someone to stay with me
on those many cold nights
when the only thing that can keep me warm
are their sweet whispered delights


I want someone
it hardly matters who
to stick with me
and stay with me through
the transgressions of my days
the weaknesses of my soul
and share the same with me
make me feel whole 


I want to someone to talk to
someone's whose hand I can clutch
All I want is a true friend
Surely that isn't too much
:iconCrumbledWings:CrumbledWings
:iconcrumbledwings:CrumbledWings 532 71
Literature
You're Not A Poet
You’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
:iconW-Lupus:W-Lupus
:iconw-lupus:W-Lupus 218 195
Gregor Mendel Doin' Science by knightcommander Gregor Mendel Doin' Science :iconknightcommander:knightcommander 27 29
Literature
I Am a Writer
I am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.
I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.
I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat
I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.
:iconsandracaskey:sandracaskey
:iconsandracaskey:sandracaskey 45 22
St. Therese by anelphia St. Therese :iconanelphia:anelphia 39 16
Literature
Music
Lyrics flow to my ear
Beautiful melodies that I hear
Of broken love and lost romance
Of those who had a tiny chance
From those many miles away
To those kept at arm's bay
The true feelings seep through
Occasionally tear a heart in two
But the feelings are felt
And to the music we melt
Hearing the faint words spoken
Sometimes hearts must be broken
:iconCelestialRibbon:CelestialRibbon
:iconcelestialribbon:CelestialRibbon 2 3
for Japan by NoraMoretti for Japan :iconnoramoretti:NoraMoretti 5,915 280
Literature
Cavalcade
I do not wish to leave this place,
Or go from the shore of quietly keeping tides,
Where the sea comes to claim the sun's setting grace.
Though caravel may change its pace,
And cavalcade may by flood wash aside,
I do not wish to leave this place.
By starry nights, by storms in deepest grays,
Only in bitter calm is death belied,
Where the sea comes to claim the sun's setting grace.
For tales of old, in the briny moons of many stranger days
Of men braver and stronger, and I, taken in stride,
I do not wish to leave this place.
Though salt-white vale will slowly fall to hide my face,
As my wave-washed life has many times opined,
Where the sea comes to claim the sun's setting grace.
And life, with its cutthroat lies and bitter taste,
And stony heart as blunt as is kind
I do not wish to leave this place,
Where the sea comes to claim the sun's setting grace.
:iconSerentic:Serentic
:iconserentic:Serentic 0 5
Literature
The Abbot's Ring
The bells for the evening Angelus should have been ringing from the tall church spire ahead when he leapt out from the forest's entangling brambles. He didn't give it much thought though, and instead threw himself into a breathless run towards the small cluster of buildings that lay by the gurgling rapids. Mud splattered his habit as he shook his face clear of the cold rain that fell relentlessly, turning the already-soaked ground into a churning slurry of filth and dead leaves. His brown cowl—long ago drenched from the raging storm—slapped his chaffed face as the wind came whistling up from the river. It was late November, a week or so before Advent, and the trees above him were stark and black and clawed with hate at the darkening sky. His breath came in gasps now; his ribs ached, and his throat wheezed out a white mist of warm breath that the cold air seized upon with greedy ferocity.
Dark smoke was drifting up from the buildings; the smell of acrid burning hit him just as he approa
:iconTheophilia:Theophilia
:icontheophilia:Theophilia 6 20
Heat Wave by moribundus-luna Heat Wave :iconmoribundus-luna:moribundus-luna 20 5

Activity


Who is she, coming with stars in her hair,
a bright smile on her tired face, worn and lined with care,
who once wore her sorrows as a veil of tears
but now stands, shining stronger than all our fears?

--I am the Queen of Heaven and Earth
who knows pain and sorrow, laughter and mirth,
and I bore the living God, broken and killed,
who rose on Easter morn, a promise fulfilled.

And who is he, rising with the sun on his face,
whose body bears the scars and scarlet trace
of a wicked fate, now marching like an army in array,
setting light to the whole world on his way?

--I am the root and stock of David, the bright morning star,
from whom came all things that were, will be, and are;
I am the love giving all I have to give,
I am the promise fulfilled, and I live.
Encounter
<Insert description longer than the actual poem here lol>

I'm not sure if it's also practiced in other countries, but in the Philippines, we have an Easter tradition known in Tagalog as "Salubong" and in Cebuano as "Sugat"; the Spanish, who brought Catholicism and all the beauty and poetry of its traditions and rituals to our shores, referred to it as "Encuentro," but all these words mean a "meeting" or "encounter." It represents the meeting of Christ and His Mother after the Resurrection.

After the Easter Vigil Mass, the statues of the Risen Christ and the Blessed Virgin, her face covered by a dark veil, are carried in procession from the church, each setting off in different directions as the Rosary is prayed, and eventually meeting back at the church, where the Blessed Virgin's veil is then lifted. The Salve Regina is sung, and sometimes there's a chorus of children dressed up as angels who recite a poem for her--that's what they did this year at our parish, and it was so cute :D But that's where I got the main image for this poem.

The "promise fulfilled" was only meant to refer to Christ's promise that He would rise again at first, but later on I realized it could mean--and maybe *should* primarily mean--the promise of a Messiah given at the Fall.

During revisions I realized that "veil of tears" sounded like a pun for "vale of tears." Get it, like "valley of tears" from the traditional prayer Hail, Holy Queen? Ayyyy :D I swear it was unintentional, though. I also borrowed references from the Rosary, the Song of Songs, and the Book of Revelation for some lines. Like "I am the root and stock of David, the bright morning star" is lifted almost word for word from Revelation 22:16.

Btw, did you know that one medieval interpretation of the Song of Songs was that it was a dialogue between Christ and the Blessed Virgin? I first read about it from the medievalist Dr. Rachel Fulton Brown's blog. Never thought of it like that before.

O Jesus! O Mary! I love Thee. Save souls.
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She explains her problems in a roundabout way:
all symbols, equations, all adding up to say
from this angle, her tiny side of the universe,
all the terms had aligned and delivered a curse
to her doorstep--but that was no reason to stop.
It's fine. There's no other way but up.

And I'd smile, so happy to see she'd solved
the problem around which her hour revolved--
and thankful, grateful: at least for today,
at least for a while, I could steal away,
silent, sure-footed like a night-time thief,
from my room of sorrow, my house of grief.
Distraction
22 January 2018, 3.29 a.m.

A coping mechanism, but not a very good or healthy one.

O Jesus! O Mary! I love Thee. Save souls.
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Tell me about how you guys met
one day in a café, or better yet,
give me all the details, set the scene:
the whisper of paper, the coffee beans
bubbling bright and hot like the summer sun
—but no promises yet: this is Chapter One.

Tell me about that very first date
and about the night before, staying up late,
your hair and clothes a puzzle and a riddle to solve,
the mystery around which the cosmos revolved;
then tell me about the bright smile on your face
that evening, when everything just fell into place.

And then tell me about what happened next:
the jokes, lunch, meet-ups, and texts
through the following weeks and months and years,
and the two a.m. arguments and choking back tears
and how that wasn't how it all ended, no
—it's just the middle of the story, though.

Give me paths I can follow with my own two feet
and lines to know and remember and repeat
to myself when alone; and teach me how
to believe in forever and fairy-tales and vows
again, by story, song, and corny lines
for unsent cards on Valentine's.

I have strangely little use for it today
but tell me a story anyway:
a tea shop fairy-tale that came to pass
as you sat there cramming homework for class,
and then spun into inside jokes, smiles, and laughter
toward your ongoing happy ever after.
Storytelling
In the past, I've written poems about love or romance from the POV of someone involved in the relationship; I wanted to try writing one from the POV of someone looking on, maybe a friend of one or both of the two people in it, someone who asks, "So, how did you guys meet?" :)

The fourth stanza is party a dig at some spoken word poets whose performances I've seen. I've been going to open mic events recently, and there've been some spoken word poets whose poems are full of bitterness at failed relationships and love--it's sort of a popular trend where I am :D I'm not going to begrudge anyone their right to grieve, of course, but we can write about more things. We can give joy and restore hope, help people believe in love and fairy-tales again. I think that's very important, too.

O Jesus! O Mary! I love Thee. Save souls.
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We thought that honor was an alien name
from a foreign land, in this age of fame;
that it died long ago, long before our birth,
when the Spirit of Christ used to walk on this earth.

But Therese smiles in Carmel, an argument unsaid,
every motion a prayer as she rises from bed
to an armor of foil and flag of holy mark,
and summons the chivalry of Joan of Arc.

We thought God was dead by the thinkers' hands
and thought that His Spirit no longer walked the land
in the age of the train track and telephone,
enlightened by lights no longer His own.

But Therese heard Him, felt Him, deep in her soul,
a Love that burned brighter and hotter than coals
as she numbered the Paters and Aves on a cord
and her little soul magnified the glory of the Lord.
St. Therese the Timeless
You: Nothing stays the same
St. Paul, an intellectual: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever (cf. Hebrews 13:8)

For a little while now, I've wanted to write a poem about one of my favorite saints, the Doctor of the Church St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower--I just didn't know the words yet :XD: This mostly started out as a stray phrase, "Honor is an alien name," which I think I've heard somewhere before, but can't be sure where. Somehow I connected it to a famous picture of the saint dressed as another patron saint of France, St. Joan of Arc, for a play she wrote. And now, here we are :)

Like so many people before, I got interested in St. Therese's life and story ever since I heard about her. She was a Discalced Carmelite nun who lived in the late 19th century, a very interesting time period, in France, a very interesting place. And in one of her writings, she uses an elevator as a spiritual image or metaphor :) We think they're common now, but they were quite new and novel when she was around. The respected Father Dwight Longenecker thought that she first encountered an elevator on a family vacation when she was younger, when they stayed at a hotel which had the new contraption installed. He also reckons that an interesting German professor named Friedrich Nietzsche was also staying at the hotel at the time.

A number of commentators have pointed to St. Therese of Lisieux as a saint for our time, "the greatest saint of modern times," said Pope Pius X. I almost called this "Thoroughly Modern Therese" because of that (so corny), but settled on "St. Therese the Timeless" because she really is a saint for all seasons.

O Jesus! O Mary! I love Thee. Save souls.
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  • Listening to: Marit Larsen, HAIM, Vanessa Carlton
  • Reading: "Too Good to Be True," Sheila O'Flanagan
  • Watching: Castle

"Who is she that cometh forth as morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array?" (Song of Solomon 6:10)

Jesus, Mary, I love thee! Amen.

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bishop-myriel43
E.O.
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Philippines
E, also known as bishop-myriel43 on DeviantArt. Writer sometimes, but only sometimes. Okay person most of the time :) Practicing Catholic who needs more practice.

So enough about me, what about you? Tell me about yourself!

O Jesus! O Mary! I love Thee. Save souls.
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:iconzhaneaugustine:
ZhaneAugustine Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2015
Happy birthday
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:iconneoconvoy:
Neoconvoy Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2015  Student General Artist
Happy birthday!

God bless you!
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:iconsame-side:
Same-side Featured By Owner Feb 17, 2015   Writer
Birthdays are special. :cake: Celebrate yours with those you love! :heart:
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:iconneoconvoy:
Neoconvoy Featured By Owner Dec 26, 2014  Student General Artist
Merry Christmas!

God bless you, your family and friends!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgitjJ…
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:iconneoconvoy:
Neoconvoy Featured By Owner Feb 18, 2014  Student General Artist
Happy Birthday!

God Bless you!
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:iconneoconvoy:
Neoconvoy Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2013  Student General Artist
Merry Christmas!

God Bless you, your family and friends!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJpNub…
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:iconbishop-myriel43:
bishop-myriel43 Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Merry Christmas as well! :)

. . . 'Cause in the Philippines, Christmas ends on the Feast of the Three Kings. HAHAHA :XD:
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:iconmariatala:
MariaTala Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2013
I'm so glad to find a fellow Filipino well-versed in English literature. Really, keep it up. You're very talented. :]
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:iconbishop-myriel43:
bishop-myriel43 Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
Oh, thank you. That means a lot to me :)

Keep writing. God bless you! :D
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:iconmariatala:
MariaTala Featured By Owner Jul 28, 2013
my pleasure. :]
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