Original Poetry

[Mary+Immaculate<3]

Any poets out there? I have some Christmas poems to break the ice. Feel free to share original poetry.


Stella Spei
A hint between a heartbeat,
Whispers resound that hope has advanced.
Gradually a hammer and chisel
Carve out a suitable seat.
Suffering accompanies the pilgrims,
But peace overflows their souls.
Animals are their company,
And angels sing to him hymns,
For though He is pure and holy
As His dwelling he picked a sty.
Inhaling the stench of sin,
So that His beloved may become royalty.
Sojourners to a destination far,
Wonder how it may be reached,
Since no lamps are in sight,
Until they spot an astounding star.
Its beams lead and illumine,
The path to the sacred space,
Where they behold the face,
So trusting, gentle, serene.
The simple shepherds pondered
How out of countless they were picked,
For their sins were numerous,
And from the straight path they had wandered.

Anticipating the Good News
When is the Messiah going to come?
That is the pressing question.
What will He look like when He comes?
That is the pressing question.
When He comes he'll straighten and strengthen;
He'll teach us how not to question.

The Colors of Christmas
Red, green,
What do the colors of Christmas mean?
Red stand for our Savior's death,
Symbolic of His final breath.
Green stand for his endless love,
So we could live with Him above.
Red, green,
Our Savior's love is what they mean.

[Era Might]

The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo

(Maidens’ song from St. Winefred’s Well)


THE LEADEN ECHO

How to kéep—is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch or catch or key to keep 
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away? 
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankéd wrinkles deep, 
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there ’s none, there ’s none, O no there ’s none,
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair, 
Do what you may do, what, do what you may, 
And wisdom is early to despair: 
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done 
To keep at bay
Age and age’s evils, hoar hair, 
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair. 
O there ’s none; no no no there ’s none: 
Be beginning to despair, to despair,
Despair, despair, despair, despair. 


THE GOLDEN ECHO

Spare! 
There ís one, yes I have one (Hush there!); 
Only not within seeing of the sun, 
Not within the singeing of the strong sun,
Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air,
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one, 
Oné. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place, 
Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that ’s fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face, 
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet, 
Never fleets móre, fastened with the tenderest truth 
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an everlastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace,
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace— 
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath, 
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver 
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death 
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s self and beauty’s giver.
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered. 
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould 
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept, 
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold
What while we, while we slumbered. 
O then, weary then why 
When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care, 
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept 
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder
A care kept.—Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.— 
Yonder.—What high as that! We follow, now we follow.—Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins