A man of sixty has spent twenty years in bed and over three years in eating.
quote by Arnold Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The design of the God
Growth and generation for twenty years.
Health and reproduction for twenty years.
Breath and degeneration for twenty years.
Since then live sans passion, the God’s design.
20.11.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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O Jamaica
O Jamaica
How I missed you
Your easy gait
Mangoes and pears
I left your majestic hills
And clean sea breeze
Songs of the humming birds
Dub poets
And breadfruit trees
O Jamaica
I missed your reggae rythms
Bungo sounds
And Natty
I left for a land I knew not
A land of plenty
Was it for wealth?
Was it for pride?
No!
For knowledge, maybe
Yet I am empty
O Jamaica
I missed your beaches
And Negril
Sitting on stones reasoning
Now I get you Peter Tosh
And Muta is right too
Hardly a day goes by
That I do not think of you
It's not physical
Just an inexplicable pain
One that holds no hope
Without the LORD
I could not cope
O Jamaica
How I missed you
When will I see you again?
Dance with you again?
Land of wood and water
'No problem people'
People of hospitality
Of clean water
Where the sun never sleep
Snow-less land
Land without debt collectors
Twenty five years since I left your shores
But it feels like sixty
Twenty five years since we walk and play
But it feels like sixty
Twenty five years since I saw granny's tomb
But it feels like sixty
How are the dandelions?
Is Blue Mountain still blue?
And how is Kingston
And Montego Bay?
O Jamaica!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Ten Grey hairs and a silver one
I discovered my first grey hair
when I was Seventeen years old
It had to do with broken up my first relationship
I discovered my second grey hair
when I was Twenty years old
It had to do with the quarrels at home
I discovered my third grey hair
when I was Twenty-one years old
It had to do with searching for work
I discovered my fourth grey hair
when I was Twenty-three years old
It had to do with loosing my job
I discovered my fifth grey hair
when I was Twenty-five years old
It had to do with giving up my unborn child
I discovered my sixth grey hair
When I was Twenty-eight years old
It had to do with opening my pub
I discovered my seventh grey hair
When I was thirty years old
It had to do with giving birth to my daughter
I discovered my eight grey hair
When I was thirty –two years old
It had to do with the first day at the kinder garden school
I discovered my ninth grey hair
When I was thirty-four years old
It had to do with to find out that some thing was missing
I discovered my tenth grey hair
When I was thirty-five years old
It had to do with the fights between my sisters and mum
My one Silver hair I discovered lately
Has to do with you
Because I miss you so hard …
poem by Pascale Ost
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Twenty years a child; twenty years running wild; twenty years a mature man -- and after that, praying.
Twenty years a child twenty years running wild twenty years a mature man-and after that, praying.
Twenty Years Hence
Twenty years hence my eyes may grow
If not quite dim, yet rather so,
Still yours from others they shall know
Twenty years hence.
Twenty years hence though it may hap
That I be called to take a nap
In a cool cell where thunderclap
Was never heard,
There breathe but o'er my arch of grass
A not too sadly sighed Alas,
And I shall catch, ere you can pass,
That winged word.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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On Himself
A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here,
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year;
Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true
But yet those years that I have lived, but few.
Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well:
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those three-score has not lived half three:
He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Kiwi Dave
For forty five years I've been working and I'm just an unfettered slave
And I have gray hairs to show for it I am quoting Kiwi Dave
Five years to go to retirement I was sixty last birthday
And ever since I've started working it's been uphill all the way.
My ex wife said that I was a drinker that I was too fond of the booze
That was her excuse for leaving she said I was born to lose
But I take it in moderation after work three or four beers
And I've been a slave for her and for my children for close to if not twenty years.
Fifteen years ago she left me and she went to live with younger bloke
She got more than half my assets for years to her haven't spoke
She turned my son and daughter against me and my six grandchildren I don't see
And I will spend my usual Christmas on my own watching T.V.
Kiwi Dave is a good person though just a little soured by life
And things for him would have been better had he had a faithful wife
'A woman she can make or break you' with that who could disagree
Dave could see the truth in those words for who would know better than he? .
For forty five years he's been working the hard worker Kiwi
Dave
And for his ex wife and his children for years he has been a slave
He looks older far than sixty the hard life has made him gray
Five more years left till retirement it's been uphill all the way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sitting by the Fire
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh! the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth!
Sitting by the fire,
Watching in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro.
Oh, the nights - the nights we've spent,
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow;
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago!
If the days were days of toil
Wherefore should we mourn;
There were shadows near the shine,
Flowers with the thorn?
And we still can recollect
Evenings spent in mirth -
Fragments of a broken life,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow,
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago.
Beauty stooped to bless us once,
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow;
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Words of love were interchanged,
Maiden hearts we stole;
And the light affection throws
Slept on every soul.
Oh, the hours went flying past -
Hours of priceless worth;
But we took no note of Time,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow,
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Gleesome children were we not?
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Laughing voices filled the room;
Oh, the songs we sung,
When the evenings hurried by -
When our hearts were young!
Pleasant faces watched the flame -
Eyes illumed with mirth -
And we told some merry tales,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh, the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Watching, in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro!
poem by Henry Kendall
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A child and a fool imagine twenty shillings and twenty years can never be spent.
For My Sister On Her Sixty- Fifth Birthday
FOR MY SISTER ON HER SIXTY- FIFTH BIRTHDAY
Where have the years gone?
My sister -
The most beautiful the kindest little girl on First Street Troy New York
Is sixty-five years old today-
Where have the years gone?
How can I ever thank her
For the devotion with which she cared for my parents
In those most difficult last years?
How can I ever say how much her being the only witness
Left with me of that world then
Means to me?
How can I say how happy I am for her
That she has raised with her husband
Four loving and caring daughters
That she made quite late in life
A name and career for herself?
Above all that she is still the good caring person
Who with her mother’s practicality
Makes the best of what life gives.
My prayer is for health and blessing for her
And her family
In the years ahead.
God gave me only one sister
Thank God it is Joycie.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Our Loyalty
amidst the loneliness
that keeps us in this old house
this is what we can do: you sing the videoke
i face the monitor, and i write a poem about us,
25 years on monotony like the sound of the waves of the sea
overnight a boat that takes us to another island
25 years of tolerance about our own idiosyncrasies
another twenty-five years
and another twenty-five years
this is our pledge of allegiance to ourselves
husband and wife
alone, in an old house, left by those behind us
for bitter or for worse
er, for better or for good.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Many Seconds In A Minute?
How many seconds in a minute?
Sixty, and no more in it.
How many minutes in an hour?
Sixty for sun and shower.
How many hours in a day?
Twenty-four for work and play.
How many days in a week?
Seven both to hear and speak.
How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runneth.
How many months in a year?
Twelve the almanack makes clear.
How many years in an age?
One hundred says the sage.
How many ages in time?
No one knows the rhyme.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Twenty Years Ago
It's been a long time since I walked
Through this old town
But oh how the memories start to flow
And there's the old movie house
They finally closed it down
You could find me there every Friday night
Twenty years ago.
I worked the counter at the drugstore down the street
But nobody's left there I would know
On Saturday mornings that's where
All my friends would meet
You'd be surprised to know what a dime would buy
Twenty years ago.
All my memories from those days come gather round me
What I'd give if they could take me back in time
It almost seems like yesterday
Where do the good times go?
Life was so much easier twenty years ago.
I guess I should stop by Mr. Johnson's hardware store
His only son was my friend Joe
But he joined the army back in 1964
How could we know he would never come back
Twenty years ago...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write Yours Now
The 'Journal of Death Studies' for April2004
(maybe you read it? It's in the
hospital library, top shelf
just out of wheelchair reach,
on the shelf labelled 'Reference')
observed that
nonfiction writers tend to die, factually, at sixty-eight;
novelists tie it all up at sixty-six;
playwrights lower the curtain at sixty-three,
and poets close their stanzas at sixty-two.
Well, thanks..
six years - looking on the bright side -
for your favourite biographer to write you up;
four years for novelists to borrow
your untidy life and win the Booker Prize;
a year for playwrights to emulate
the bitter dialogue of your later,
less romantic household years
with less fear of being sued.
Those whom the gods love, die young,
said the optimistic poet
shortly before he died.
for PoHo, who gave me the damn book with the reference in.
And yes, I wondered too..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Twenty can't be expected to tolerate sixty in all things, and sixty gets bored stiff with twenty's eternal love affairs.
quote by Emily Carr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calculator
Turned on.
Punch in any number,
But before you do,
Let me insinuate some things to subtract, add, multiply, & divide.
First, add the years you've spent selling yourself like a Muslim marriage plan.
Second, subtract the dignity diminishing as each year goes by.
Third, divide the spermicide
Eating at your pride
You have no access to happiness
Divide the children pertinent to each man
Don't get too shocked now.
Gotta get to work.
Divide, divide, divide.
Fourth, multiply the times spent with your legs open
Like a 24-hour convenience store.
And what did you get?
A man's spermicide
Eating at your pride
Making babies like you're taking a shit
Subtracting your dignity
In addition to the years spent selling yourself like a Muslim marriage plan.
All of this - for a man's convenience.
Now I know why you hate math.
poem by CDM Anderson
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Twenty year old friendship
Twenty year old friendship
It was this month
Twenty years ago
I came across you
And took you with me
Since then
You are my conscious keeper
I looked at you
For anything and every thing
I look at you
As soon I wake up
I look at you
As I take my breakfast
I look at you
As I leave for office
Whenever there are challenges
I look at you
And you always give me a breather
And you used to say
There is time still
When I look at you in the event
Of an unfavourable situation
You smile with your hands spread
And say
You should have done something about this
Much earlier
Whenever I am in a rush
Whether it is to attend a meeting
Or to catch a flight, train or bus
I look at you
You will say either there is time still
Or you should have left earlier
It is difficult to say
As to when I have not consulted you
Every now and then
I look at you
And you never failed me
You were prompt although
To give me the help I need
I will not say you kept me on my toes
But, yes, you helped me keep my times
Any event, joyful or otherwise
As soon as it occurred
I would look at you
You kept me telling indirectly
That things keep pace with time
And change
Your message was always
That time is the best healer
And is the best in sorting issues
As you know time puts things
At their right place
For all these I have done nothing to you
But to feed you
With a small disc
This feed is good enough for you
To keep yourself performing
For months
You might have fallen sick
Thrice in these twenty years
Never once I spent
More than the consultation fee, which I pay
To my medical practitioner
I see of late
You are running slow
Because of this long twenty years’ running
May be, soon I will stop
Consulting you
And I am planning to put you to rest
My dear, twenty years old Titan watch
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Twenty Years
There are twenty years to go
Twenty ways to know
Who'll wear
Who'll wear the hat
There are twenty years to go
The best of all I hope
Enjoy the ride
The medicine show
Thems the breaks
For we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye
There are twenty years to go
The faithful and the low
The best of starts, the broken heart, the stone
There are twenty years to go
The punch-drunk and the blow
The worst of starts, the mercy part, the foam
Thems the breaks
Before we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye
Thems the breaks
Before we designer fakes
But it's you I take cos you're the truth, not I
There are twenty years to go
A golden age I know
But all will pass and end too fast you know
There are twenty years to go
And many friends I hope
Though some may hold the rose
Some hold the rope
That's the end - and that's the start of it
That's the whole - and that's the part of it
That's the high - and that's the heart of it
That's the long - and that's the short of it
That's the best - and that's the test in it
That's the doubt - the doubt, the trust in it
That's the sight - and that's the sound of it
That's the gift - and that's the trick in it
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
You're the truth, not I
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time To Live
Let me see the sunshine
Let me feel the rain
Let me go where I wanna go
I wanna smell the flowers
See the dawn again
Find those friends I used to know
Well, I spent twenty long years
In a dirty old prison cell
I never saw the light of day
If you could understand
Oh, that kind of living hell
Thats the price I have to pay
Thats the price I have to pay
They say I killed a man
But I never told them why
So you can guess
What Ive been through
So for twenty long years
Ive been thinking of that other guy
And what I saw him do to you
What I saw him do to you
Listen here
So if tomorrow comes
And I walk outside that door
Try to understand the strain
But if you smile that smile
I know I couldnt ask for more
I know Id do it all again
Yes, I would
I know Id do it all again
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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