Tag: art

Velveteen Skies

Posted on by Jeff Cassman

In the heart of the South where the Cumberland flows,
Lies Nashville, the city where melody grows.
‘Neath the veil of the night by soft lamplight’s glow,
Whispers of history in every echo.

Majestic in grace, like a raven’s dark wing,
Its streets hold the secrets and songs that we sing.
The Grand Ole Opry, a spectral grand stage,
Haunts with the sounds of each bygone age.

There, spirits of minstrels in twilight repose,
Strum chords of heartache, of love, and of woes.
The twang of a guitar, a sorrowful plea,
Binds the soul of the city in minor key tragedy.

Oh, Nashville, your nights draped in velveteen skies,
Reveal not the shadows that under you lie.
The river, a mirror, reflects the stark gleam
Of stars that watch over this land of dream.

Beneath every footstep on worn wooden floors,
Echoes of boots that have danced before.
And in each whispered breeze that the evening will toss,
Lingers the perfume of magnolia and moss.

So here in the haunt of old legends’ abode,
The music plays on in its hallowed postcode.
For as long as the river runs, wild and free,
Nashville shall be what the past decreed.

A city, a sanctuary, where old ghosts roam,
In the heart of Tennessee, forever home.
Edgar’s soft shadow might wander and weave,
Through the melodies born on a cool Southern eve.… Read the rest

Love’s True Soldier

Posted on by Jeff Cassman

In the realm of faith, where valor marks the soul,
An apostle rose, his heart on God’s grand goal.
Saint Paul was his name, a beacon of divine light,
Walking ‘neath the heavens, his spirit took its flight.

A heroic mantle he bore, though not of sword or shield,
But a strength that came from words, a courage that would not yield.
The light that sparkled in his eyes, mirrored the stars above,
A soldier not in war but peace, his weapon, undying love.

His voice echoed through valleys, over mountains, across the sea,
“Love thy neighbor,” he urged, “as God has loved thee.”
From Damascus to Jerusalem, in synagogues he stood,
Preaching not mere doctrine, but the universal good.

In the storm of persecution, his faith stood firm and tall,
Neither chains nor stony hearts could make this giant fall.
With wisdom dipped in grace, his words like honey flowed,
Each syllable, a star that in the dark firmament glowed.

He traversed lands of sand and stone, under the scorching sun,
Yet, no trial could quench the flame of this God-chosen one.
A hero, not in valor won by sword’s glinting sheen,
But by the force of love, in every heart he’d been.

His journey echoed through time, resonating still,
A testament of faith, of an iron will.
A melody of divine love, his life, a symphony,
A beacon for us all, in an ocean vast and free.

In the tapestry of ages, his figure stands, bold,
An apostle … Read the rest

She had soup in a pot, and a bed soft and warm

Posted on by ChatGPT

In a faraway town at a bar down the street,
Sat a man named Fred, on his usual seat.
He tipped back his pint, a fine foamy ale,
His cheeks rosy-red, his spirit hearty and hale.

He laughed with his friends, with tales they regaled,
Of mighty adventures, of storms they’d sailed.
The hour was late, the moon shone bright,
Yet Fred felt feisty, full of frothy delight.

“Oh no, not yet, I won’t go home,
I’m not ready to leave this joyful dome.
The world outside can wait its turn,
I’ve beer in my belly, and cheer to burn.”

His wife was waiting, in slippers and robe,
With a warm fire crackling in a cozy globe.
She had soup in a pot, and a bed soft and warm,
But Fred wanted none, he dismissed the norm.

“I shan’t head home, won’t leave this spot,
I enjoy it here, I like it a lot!
There’s laughter and songs, and friends oh so dear,
I can’t imagine a place without beer.”

His friends they nodded, they knew his plight,
Who’d want to leave on such a night?
Yet home beckoned, as it always does,
With its peace and quiet, its familiar buzz.

But Fred was stubborn, he shook his head,
“No, not now, not till I’ve fled
From the last round of jokes, the final cheer,
In this humble pub, with my cold, crisp beer.”

So let it be known far and wide,
About Fred, the man, with his beer-filled ride.… Read the rest

The echo of de La Salle

Posted on by ChatGPT

In the halls of Reims where echoes sound,
A saint was born, his purpose found,
Jean-Baptiste de La Salle, his name did ring,
Bearing knowledge’s light, a song to sing.

Educator divine, a vision so grand,
A teacher’s touch, a guiding hand,
Children of the cobblers, of the bakers,
In his heart, he made no forsakers.

In the classroom’s hush, in the book’s rustle,
Stirred the spirit of de La Salle’s hustle,
He who saw potential in every face,
In every child, a spark to embrace.

A nobleman by birth, yet humble in service,
From his path of duty, he’d never swerve this,
For in each young mind, he saw a bright star,
His mission, to guide them, near and far.

Bearing lessons, not just of scripture,
But of life, of world – a complete picture,
In the heart of France, he lit a flame,
A legacy enduring, beyond mere fame.

In the Lasallian spirit, we see his trace,
Echoes of his wisdom, time can’t efface,
Through trials and tribulations, he stood tall,
Saint Jean Baptiste de La Salle.

His life, a poem, penned in golden ink,
A beacon for lost ships on the brink,
In every classroom’s chant, in every learning hall,
Resonates the echo of de La Salle.… Read the rest

Through the Fog of Dissent

Posted on by ChatGPT

In the heart of Italy, where sunsets bleed, A man of God rose, his calling to heed. Robert Bellarmine, a name so divine, Cardinal of the Church, in wisdom, you shine.

Cloaked in red, your soul ablaze, Guiding the faithful through the maze. Your voice, a hymn, in the holy hall, Summoning the seekers with your call.

In the Vatican’s shadow, you found your light, Guiding the Church with faith and might. Bellarmine, holy and wise, In your teachings, truth lies.

Through the fog of dissent, you were the beacon, Your wisdom, a river, ever in season. In the face of heresy, stood tall and bold, A defender of the faith, a sight to behold.

Your words were like sonnets, sown with grace, In the fertile minds, they found their place. The pen was your scepter, the book your crown, In the cathedral of wisdom, you wore the gown.

In debates, you danced with eloquence, Your arguments were walls of defense. Piercing through the noise and the chatter, Making sense of what truly matter.

You painted with scriptures, a work of art, The canvas – a believer’s heart. A cardinal, a saint, in red and gold, Your story, in hushed whispers, is told.

Through centuries, your legacy prevails, In the heart of the Church, your wisdom hails. Robert Bellarmine, in faith we bind, Your love and teachings, forever enshrined.… Read the rest