The most remarkable thing about my mother is that for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. The original meal has never been found.
quote by Calvin Trillin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Next Thirty Years
(track 12 - time 3:37)
(phil vassar)
I think Ill take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now its time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years
Hey my next thirty years Im gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things Ive done
Maybe now Ive conquered all my adolescent fears
And Ill do it better in my next thirty years
My next thirty years Im gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what Im doing here
In my next thirty years
Oh my next thirty years, Im gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe Ill remember my next thirty years
My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years
In my next thirty years
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mrs. Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stop and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five:
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five:
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Why Is It In 3-D?
I think you misunderstood my comments.
I am happy for you.
I really am.
To have discovered a film that traces your family tree,
Back in time for hundreds of years...
Is indeed remarkable.
And...
You say it is authentic?
Right?
All I asked you...
Was to reconsider 'how' it was found.
Why is it in 3-D?
And the composer is listed as John Williams.
Don't you think there is 'something' unusual about this?
That is all I asked.
I did not mean to upset you.
Nor have you believe,
I question the length of time your family has been here...
Living,
As you put it...
On the 'downlow'.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For me to go back and to play for audiences some of whom have been following me for thirty years and some who have found me in the last five or six years, that's really an interesting thing. I have an audience that goes from kids to seventy year olds.
quote by David Cassidy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Brady Bunch is a live action modern fairytale of family. In this context it's less odd that it's lasted for over thirty years; and why it may last in some respects as long as Mother Goose!
quote by Christopher Knight
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Hard Times Upon Their Shoulders Drop
A remedy that guarantees,
The laughing of those of others stop...
Is to pass along pictures of them doing so,
When hard times upon their shoulders drop.
And they are in the midst of discussing their failures,
While being served with those they had disrespected...
Waiting together patiently for a meal to eat,
In a collective food share line!
Time after time and again and again,
Some people have to be reminded...
What goes up will and can come down,
When one least expects their trun is next!
'Excuse me but...
I am not accustomed to leftovers.'
~Pretend they are hors d'oeuvres.
You are very photogenic.
Who knows...
Maybe one day you will be discovered to do a movie.
And all of 'this' will be reminisced on Oprah!
Grab a seat.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If I Do Invite The Eating Of Leftovers
Leftovers or once tasty treats
If there is anything used,
I would prefer to have near me...
Is a pair of old shoes,
I've taken off my tired feet.
Leftovers or once tasty treats,
I seldom eat.
Even if they happen to be delicious.
And If I do invite the eating of leftovers...
I initiated the cooking and generated the heat.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Counting Crows
They langour
Among the powered lines
Anticipating
Anxiously
Their next meal
Roadkill
The captain, some three odd pounds
With a butcher blade beak and
Onyx feathers
Caws and bellows his commands
Swoops
First dibs on a crushed rabbit
Fills his belly
Caws twice again
Satisfied
Leftovers are for his troops
The captain returns to his post
Surveys the asphalt
For his platoons next meal
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Thirty-nine
O hapless day! O wretched day!
I hoped you'd pass me by--
Alas, the years have sneaked away
And all is changed but I!
Had I the power, I would remand
You to a gloom condign,
But here you've crept upon me and
I--I am thirty-nine!
Now, were I thirty-five, I could
Assume a flippant guise;
Or, were I forty years, I should
Undoubtedly look wise;
For forty years are said to bring
Sedateness superfine;
But thirty-nine don't mean a thing--
À bas with thirty-nine!
You healthy, hulking girls and boys,--
What makes you grow so fast?
Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise--
I'm tough and bound to last!
No, no--I'm old and withered too--
I feel my powers decline
(Yet none believes this can be true
Of one at thirty-nine).
And you, dear girl with velvet eyes,
I wonder what you mean
Through all our keen anxieties
By keeping sweet sixteen.
With your dear love to warm my heart,
Wretch were I to repine;
I was but jesting at the start--
I'm glad I'm thirty-nine!
So, little children, roar and race
As blithely as you can,
And, sweetheart, let your tender grace
Exalt the Day and Man;
For then these factors (I'll engage)
All subtly shall combine
To make both juvenile and sage
The one who's thirty-nine!
Yes, after all, I'm free to say
I would much rather be
Standing as I do stand to-day,
'Twixt devil and deep sea;
For though my face be dark with care
Or with a grimace shine,
Each haply falls unto my share,
For I am thirty-nine!
'Tis passing meet to make good cheer
And lord it like a king,
Since only once we catch the year
That doesn't mean a thing.
O happy day! O gracious day!
I pledge thee in this wine--
Come, let us journey on our way
A year, good Thirty-Nine!
poem by Eugene Field
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Mummys Boy
In the pub, about seven thirty
Mother makes sure that his face aint dirty
Him and mother go everywhere
Holds her hand without a care
Lived with mother for fourty years
The neighbourhood said that he must be queer
Normal folk just aint like that
Glad he cant hear behind his back
When mother dies, he will have a cry
cos hell be on his own
Hes frightened stiff, would it come to this?
Will he lose her to the heavenly home?
In the pub, about seven thirty
Mother makes sure that his face aint dirty
Him and mother go everywhere
Holds her hand without a care
Lived with mother for fourty years
The neighbourhood said that he must be queer
Normal folk just aint like that
Glad he cant hear behind his back
When mother dies, hell have a cry
cos hell be on his own
Hes frightened stiff, would it come to this?
Will he lose her to the heavenly home?
Once went out with a london girl
Dirty weekend in a hotel
Broke it off when she got shirty
She was twelve and he was thirty
Right after that he was dead sore
He wouldnt go out with girls no more
From that day since, he never has
He wants to do something dirty
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Family?
Do, I have a Family?
If you ask me
I have no family merely associates
For families are genarally suppose to be filled with love
Mine is filled with hatred and with pain.
I am the perfect example of a 21st century family
Due to the mishaps of this world, my mother is a single parent
Much like now most of the world.
And as the years go by it only gets worse.
Families used to be loving, or at least that's what I 've heard.
Why can't we bring back family to what it was?
A mother, a father and children, living under one roof with love
For me, for years I lived afraid for my life, a confused little girl
Without a helpful hand in sight.
Everytime I trusted a man I got burned in the proccess
Only six yet I was afraid because of this.
Because of my 'so-called' family.
Why do they do this to me? !
I can never even look upon my 'brother' the same
For to me he is no longer a brother.
And I do not know how to express my pain, with sorrow or laughter?
Someone please save me from this disaster!
Who do you run to for help
When your family is causing the pain
And the matters are to far- fetched for the police?
Who do you trust and who do you call?
Definetly not your family.
So, now again I ask you
DO I HAVE A FAMILY?
poem by Ashley Stone
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Nellie Clark
I was only eight years old;
And before I grew up and knew what it meant
I had no words for it, except
That I was frightened and told my Mother;
And that my Father got a pistol
And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy,
Fifteen years old, except for his Mother.
Nevertheless the story clung to me.
But the man who married me, a widower of thirty-five,
Was a newcomer and never heard it
Till two years after we were married.
Then he considered himself cheated,
And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin.
Well, he deserted me, and I died
The following winter.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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A Remarkable World
A remarkable world of new friends
A remarkable world of sorrow
A remarkable world of yesterday
A remarkable world of tomorrow
What a nuisance
And yet what a place
These days are dreadful
Because they provide a race
A race of time, a race of one desire
Everyone has a need
Even if they are leaving
They've made a choice to succeed
Still the race continues on
We never want it to end
It seems like no one is going to win this
Until the very last bend
Through the years we've been higher and higher
Towering above what the world knows
Still we keep on moving
Until someone slows
But everyone is thinking,
That isn't going to be me
Someone else will do it
But no one ever takes the lead
So this race continues
Because we all refuse
To quit the race
Where no one wins
Until the very last bend
Which is out of sight
Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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In My Father's Shoes
The lamp of the bright life darkened.
When my father life was taken by God.
It was the darkest moment ever
experienced by my mother and family.
We are family of ten. I am the eldest.
That time I was twenty years of age.
A new graduate and has no job yet.
My mother's teary, query eyes was on me.
I saw in her eyes what she meant
sickly diabetic mother, ten children
with five years old as the youngest.
Thats a lot to feed in one day and on.
I was dumbstruck. Like in a black cloak
on my face with small hole to peep.
I have to visualize the future. Survival
I have to toil and family to take care of.
In storm of life we are in. We should get out.
I step up, step in to my father's shoes.
And walk to search the sunshine of hope.
Then I took the road across the ocean.
From east, to west end road sunshine I found.
At that side of the world I got the decent job.
Earnings, enough to pay my mother's
health bills and family expenses.
Finally time came, self sacrifices paid off.
My brothers and sisters finished college.
Load to my shoulders time to unload
That's I think of, but I can't.
Poverty in my native land, social cancer of sort.
Still I have to run, carry the load to bear.
To take the shoes off? Nay. Still to wear, support.
I have conscience, a heart, I care.
poem by Ency Bearis
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Sitting down to a meal with an Indian family is different from sitting down to a meal with a British family.
quote by Roland Joffe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But this emphasis would be lavished in vain, if it served, in your opinion, only to abstract a general type from phenomena whose particularity in our work would remain the essential thing for you, and whose original arrangement could be broken up only artificially.
quote by Jacques Lacan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thirty three years
Thirty three years
~
Soon I turn thirty three
And wonder what I have to show
I feel I have achieved very little
And have been going nowhere fast
I fear I am stuck in my ways
And this is my lot for life
I sit alone in writing this morning
With my usual coffee for one
I have loved, had my heart broken
Let opportunities slip away
Now I tend to do nothing
At least I wont feel hurt that way
I have spent time in solitary
And lost touch with the world
Please try and remember that
To excuse my lack of social grace
The pace of each year is picking up
While I am still young in some eyes
Still may yet have a lot to achieve
I look at the past thirty two years
And see myself an old man
Lonely and turning thirty three
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Poor Tom
(page/plant)
Heres a tale of tom
Who worked the railroads long
His wife would cook his meal
As he would change the wheel
Poor tom, seventh son, always knew whats goin on
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
There aint nothing that you can hide from tom
Worked for thirty years
Sharing hopes and fears
Dreamin of the day
He could turn and say
Poor tom, works done, been lazin out in the noonday sun
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
His wife was annie mae
With any man a game shed play
When tom was out of town
She couldnt keep her dress down
Poor tom, seventh son, always knew whats goin on
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
And so it was one day
People got to annie mae (? )
Tom stood, a gun in his hand
And stopped her runnin around
Poor tom, seventh son, gotta die for what youve done
All those years of work are thrown away
To ease your mind is that all you can say?
But what about that grandson on your knee?
Them railroad songs, tom would sing to me
Aint nothing that you can hide from tom
Keep-a truckin
song performed by by Led Zeppelin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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