I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
Caro Diogo tenho site:mariolalandowska.planetaclix.pt
Voçe pode ver mais meu trabalho.Eu sou da Polonia, depois studei em Italia,depois chegui a Portugal, depois realizei viagens para Brasil..depois fico em Paço de Arcos e continuo viagar.Podemos um dia falar num cafe, porqe nao.Nao preocupa se com erros de escrever depresa.Stilo de escrever no computador.
Diogo, sao cores das tintas compradas nas lojas de pintura.Nos artistas sabemos fazer magia com elas.Pinto mais que 20 anos comecei com cores escuras da Italia renasentista,Chegei para Portugal, depois Brasil e acabei com cores melancolicas.da verdade nao importa cor..conjunto enossa storia...claro.abraço.
Compassion is the root and common thread. Compassion abides in the soul, as soul’s most natural offspring. It works through the heart and enters the world without doctrine or dogma. Compassion suffers for otherness, from that which one did not do. And compassion rejoices with the joy of that which is shared by all.
The differences of religions arise when compassion is broken apart, like a mirror dashed in a fit of anger. But the way of compassion is wholeness. And the cause of compassion is unity.
We need not abandon the differences, for they smell of human journeys and the gardens of many imaginations. But we must always remember compassion and the invitation to the banquet of reunion. For the “religious” purpose of compassion is to gather the shards of darkened glass and render them harmless.
Some might call this a miracle, other enlightenment. I am a humble person and I call it only Eden, the place of the Tree of Life.
Hi it’s good to know you & your thoughts. I been to your country good country and good people.Stay blessed.
Regards, love and peace.
Rashad.
Chairman: Hope development organization.
Email: chairman@hopedevelopment.org
www.hopedevelopment.org
CANTICLE OF THE CREATURES Interpreted from a poem by St. Francis of Assisi
Highest, most powerful
and goodly Lord
to you only go
praise and honor, benedictions
of all kinds
and every glory
to you only, Most High
do these belong
no man being worthy
to signify your name
praise my Lord
through all creation—
especially through the lord
my Brother Sun
shining with the gift of day
dispensing to us
bounteous light, beautiful
and resplendent with brightness
to you my Lord
he is most like
in likeness
praise my Lord
through our Sister
the Moon and moving Stars
set heaven high
by your high hand
beautifully arrayed, precious
and most bright
praise my Lord
through my Brother
the Wind
and every breeze
and all degrees
of alternating weather
praise my Lord
through my Sister
Flowing Water
useful she is—
a humble, chaste
and priceless treasure
praise my Lord
through my Brother
Master Fire
who sparkles for us
in the dead of night
his dancing lithe
and bright, joyous
and abounding with power
praise my Lord
through our Sister
Mother Earth
who upholds and nurtures us
bringing forth
reviving fruits, flowers
of many hues
and helpful herbs
praise my Lord
through those who show
forgiveness
through love of you
enduring the painful
perils of time
and harsh adversity
blessed are they
who persevere
in peacefulness
for by you, Most High
are they adorned
praise and bless
my Lord most truly
and render thanks
and service to him
greatly
and with great humility
from HEALING, a Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
Shekhinah
maiden of midnight
mothering side
of the God of life
descend now
to this troubled heart
this garden soul
lift me
as if on eagles’ wings
to wear the fiery
robes of lightning
let my thunder roll
let me sit
in luminal darkness
meditating prayers
in the shapes of light
let me dream
dream beneath the breathing rainbow
of your love.
There is a place
that place is nowhere
and a time
pierced by eternity
known to pilgrims
as the rest of God.
There
the man of roads and
child of his returning
bow together
in everlasting peace.
iPeace.us
Diogo Cortez's Comments
Comment Wall (48 comments)
You need to be a member of iPeace.us to add comments!
Join iPeace.us
Thanks for your message and adding me in your
network of friends.
Bert
Cariños
shayo
at 1 and 60
I did not do enough,
although it was in my heart.
I wanted to enjoy
the warmth of life
more than to put out
the fires of war.
I protested
but I did not sacrifice.
I marched
while the innocent and guilty alike
were burned by death from the sky.
Maybe if that child in
Vietnam
had not died of napalm,
the children of Iraq would
not now be
dying in my name?
Being an American,
I chose the ease of
what we call freedom.
I said, "No,"
but I did not make myself heard in
the power of compassionate
denouncement. I said “Yes,”
but not always to otherness
and not with the strength and
reverence of beatitude.
When I die
war will not have
left the lovely Earth and
should I come back in
the perfume of a flower, likely
the petals will be
stained with freshly fallen blood.
What child’s cheek
may yet come to paint with
pain the soft white of the lily? What
lust may yet harvest
the agony of thorns,
while crushing the ecstasy of roses?
I did not do enough,
although I had set out
to make a monument of
War No More.
There is my failure.
The teeming world of
tears that so easily tips
into fear and madness
does not need
these words alone. Rather,
a communion
where none are absent. Where
there can be anger as
an emotional bubble but
not enemies and
not crimes of hate.
It is said that
freedom is not free;
but it is
death that is made wholesale.
The axiom is propaganda. Peace
requires the greater vulnerability.
I have done some:
having spoken
when others remained silent; having
stepped up on occasion,
while others withdrew. But I have
not done enough. I know this,
so do you.
That yet another generation must
plant the seeds of healing I
have dreamed of and they,
labor for the season
I have not known.
Yet have I read, in
visions of prophecy,
that a tree will in twilight later grow
at the center of the circle of life; the
weapons of fratricide be
beaten down, the vineyards filled
with the royalty of angels. Robins
singing and butterflies,
not boy-men crying
for their mothers’ mercy.
Rather,
to dance in that round in
footprints of a loving God! To stand in prayer
blessed beneath that
earthly bough.
When?
David Sparenberg
3 Feb. 2009
Sua amiga
Maria
Voçe pode ver mais meu trabalho.Eu sou da Polonia, depois studei em Italia,depois chegui a Portugal, depois realizei viagens para Brasil..depois fico em Paço de Arcos e continuo viagar.Podemos um dia falar num cafe, porqe nao.Nao preocupa se com erros de escrever depresa.Stilo de escrever no computador.
Gracias por compartir conmigo. Desde Canada te saluda
Maria Esther
Gracias por tu amistad, bienvenido mi amigo
Compassion is the root and common thread. Compassion abides in the soul, as soul’s most natural offspring. It works through the heart and enters the world without doctrine or dogma. Compassion suffers for otherness, from that which one did not do. And compassion rejoices with the joy of that which is shared by all.
The differences of religions arise when compassion is broken apart, like a mirror dashed in a fit of anger. But the way of compassion is wholeness. And the cause of compassion is unity.
We need not abandon the differences, for they smell of human journeys and the gardens of many imaginations. But we must always remember compassion and the invitation to the banquet of reunion. For the “religious” purpose of compassion is to gather the shards of darkened glass and render them harmless.
Some might call this a miracle, other enlightenment. I am a humble person and I call it only Eden, the place of the Tree of Life.
David Sparenberg
22 July 2009
Regards, love and peace.
Rashad.
Chairman: Hope development organization.
Email: chairman@hopedevelopment.org
www.hopedevelopment.org
Amor y paz para ti y el mundoCariños
Shayo
Interpreted from a poem by St. Francis of Assisi
Highest, most powerful
and goodly Lord
to you only go
praise and honor, benedictions
of all kinds
and every glory
to you only, Most High
do these belong
no man being worthy
to signify your name
praise my Lord
through all creation—
especially through the lord
my Brother Sun
shining with the gift of day
dispensing to us
bounteous light, beautiful
and resplendent with brightness
to you my Lord
he is most like
in likeness
praise my Lord
through our Sister
the Moon and moving Stars
set heaven high
by your high hand
beautifully arrayed, precious
and most bright
praise my Lord
through my Brother
the Wind
and every breeze
and all degrees
of alternating weather
praise my Lord
through my Sister
Flowing Water
useful she is—
a humble, chaste
and priceless treasure
praise my Lord
through my Brother
Master Fire
who sparkles for us
in the dead of night
his dancing lithe
and bright, joyous
and abounding with power
praise my Lord
through our Sister
Mother Earth
who upholds and nurtures us
bringing forth
reviving fruits, flowers
of many hues
and helpful herbs
praise my Lord
through those who show
forgiveness
through love of you
enduring the painful
perils of time
and harsh adversity
blessed are they
who persevere
in peacefulness
for by you, Most High
are they adorned
praise and bless
my Lord most truly
and render thanks
and service to him
greatly
and with great humility
from HEALING, a Book of Poetry by David Sparenberg
Diogo Venha fazer parte do nosso grupoGandhi, homem de paz
Obrigado
http://www.ipeace.me/group/gandhimanofpeace
Namaste
Shekhinah
maiden of midnight
mothering side
of the God of life
descend now
to this troubled heart
this garden soul
lift me
as if on eagles’ wings
to wear the fiery
robes of lightning
let my thunder roll
let me sit
in luminal darkness
meditating prayers
in the shapes of light
let me dream
dream beneath the breathing rainbow
of your love.
There is a place
that place is nowhere
and a time
pierced by eternity
known to pilgrims
as the rest of God.
There
the man of roads and
child of his returning
bow together
in everlasting peace.
David Sparenberg
1 May 2008
Welcome to
iPeace.us
Sign In
Latest Activity
© 2024 Created by David Califa. Managed by Eyal Raviv. Powered by
Badges | Report an Issue | Terms of Service