Sympathy Quotes

absinthe makes the hurt grow fonder
the green fairy burbles what’s this ‘ere
when vincent (sozzled) knifes his lug off
all spirits then succumb to fear
depression takes the gloss off wonder
and people (lost) tell god to bug off
the twentieth century drowns in sheer
excuse that life is comic blunder
temporality dons its gear
forbidden thought soon rips its gag off

stained glass (you think) must be bystander
its leaded eyes seek far not near
the day’s bleak dirt it learns to shrug off

(ii)
the history of the race confuses
heady spirit with bloody need
nothing can stop the sky from tingling
intrinsic hope rewords its screed
assumes it must outlive its bruises

stained glass deigns to face the mingling
of atavistic search for creed
with each desire gets what it chooses
it tries to suck out truth from greed
and calmly pacifies the wrangling

lasting spirit allows no ruses
what’s bottled dreads to pay much heed
between the two meek life is dangling

(Poem by Rg Gregory)

Our words, as a people, repeated, enunciated,
emphasized for friend, for foe alike
the preambles of our sacred texts,
the Declaration of Independence,
the Constitution of these United States,
the Emancipation Proclamation too,
These words of power, of freedom, of liberty
are the words of Paul,
that oppressor turned prophet
here and elsewhere in Your Holy Word,
the words of live that inspired, imbued
the creation of this nation,
held together through war, through strife,
through Great Depression, flood, storm,
through earthquake and conflict
Being the chance for freedom, the place of refuge
the fruits of the spirit, if we will set aside
the ego, the id, the flesh
If we will choose more wisely
and fulfill the promise in our words,
our corporate words as a people,
echoing his words in the holy scriptures.

( Poems by Raymond A. Foss)

Fervent prayer in the temple
a woman mouthing her petition to God
watched by a judging priest; but not for long
for he hears her truth, her anguish, her depression
her need for salvation through the comfort
of the God of her ancestors, the God of her people
the God he serves; He passes the peace with his words
now of comfort, of acknowledgement, of certainty
that their God is sustainer and answered of sacred prayer
her petition granted, and her spirits raised
no longer mocked, now the mother
of a prophet, the one God uses, separate and apart
for his purposes, to name a king, and then another
chosen by God for his people

( Poem by Raymond A. Foss)

They sit, week on week,
year on year, solitary matriarchs
Hair of silver, grey, white, spun gold
Stoic women, widows, stately clothed
coiffed, regal bearing, sitting erect,
sitting in their assigned seats
in familiar pews, sharing the later years
the platinum years of their collective lives
in the church they helped form, the place
they and their husbands built,
men who fought in Europe, in
the Pacific. Men who won victory
over Adolf and the Emperor
who rebuilt a nation, after Depression
and sacrifice, stalwart Yankees,
examples to us all, week on week
in the sanctuary, in fellowship
with them and our God

(Poem by Raymond A. Foss)

Still a mystery,

I can’t figure out;

Race home from work,

Where life is without.

I race to see you,

And hold you to me;

My mind says you’re there,

And my heart won’t see.

I open the door,

It’s still a surprise:

You’re not there,

And tears fill my eyes.

I need someone,

Or call on the phone;

But nothing breaks the silence,

Of these walls made of stone.

I punish myself,

By refusing to eat:

Depression is silent,

I hear my heart beat.

Where can I go,

Or should I stay:

Shy to choose,

In bed I lay.

Time will pass,

And the dark sets in;

Laying there wishing,

I could still touch your skin.

Lying there hurting,

I wish I could die;

Missing you so much,

Again I start to cry.

Sometimes I wonder,

If you even know;

The way that I need you,

Would you still go.

I can’t sleep now,

Again a long night;

Are you this lonely,

Do you share in my fright.

( Poem by Gary R. Ferris)

absinthe makes the hurt grow fonder
the green fairy burbles what’s this ‘ere
when vincent (sozzled) knifes his lug off
all spirits then succumb to fear
depression takes the gloss off wonder
and people (lost) tell god to bug off
the twentieth century drowns in sheer
excuse that life is comic blunder
temporality dons its gear
forbidden thought soon rips its gag off

stained glass (you think) must be bystander
its leaded eyes seek far not near
the day’s bleak dirt it learns to shrug off

(ii)
the history of the race confuses
heady spirit with bloody need
nothing can stop the sky from tingling
intrinsic hope rewords its screed
assumes it must outlive its bruises

stained glass deigns to face the mingling
of atavistic search for creed
with each desire gets what it chooses
it tries to suck out truth from greed
and calmly pacifies the wrangling

lasting spirit allows no ruses
what’s bottled dreads to pay much heed
between the two meek life is dangling

(Poem by Rg Gregory)