In youth the days are short and the years are long. In old age the years are short and day's long.
quote by Pope Paul VI
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Show Tune II
That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it
That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.
How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Five Short Minutes
Written by - Jim Croce
Well, she was standing by my dressing room after the show
Asking for my autograph and asked if she could go
Back to my motel room. But the rest is just a tragic tale
Because five short minutes of lovin'
Done brought me twenty long years in jail
Well, like a fool in a hurry I took her to my room
She casted me in plaster while I sang her a tune
Then I said, "Ooh, ooee!" Sure was a tragic tale
Because five short minutes of lovin'
Done brought me twenty long years in jail
Well, then a judge and a jury sat me in a room
They say that robbin' the cradle is worse than robbin' the tomb
Then I said "Ooh, ooee!" Sure was a tragic tale
(Wasn't worth it, wasn't worth it!)
Because five short minutes of lovin'
Done brought me twenty long years in jail
And when I get out of this prison gonna be forty-five
I'll know I used to like to do it but I won't remember why
(Wasn't worth it, wasn't worth it!)
I'll say "Ooh, ooee! Sure was a tragic tale
Because five short minutes of lovin'
Done brought me twenty long years in jail"
Because five short minutes of lovin'
Done brought me twenty long years in jail
song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0016 Amphibrach
A tinker, a tailor, a soldier, a sailor...
‘A one and a two and a three and a four, guys…’
The amphibrach sings one of poetry’s basics;
a metrical foot – though a difficult one; it
is named from the Greek, meaning short at
both ends – that is, short, long, short, short, long short;
a poet can use it like this for a few lines, or longer;
however, it always seems trying to be something
else – like, some poor donkey who’s lame in one hind-leg;
it’s happier changing to dactyl or ana-
pest – see what I mean, now?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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To Cut A Long Story Short
Soldier is turning
See him through white light
Running from strangers
See you in the valley
War upon war
Heat upon heat
To cut a long story short
I lost my mind
Sitting on a park bench
Years away from fighting
To cut a long story short
I lost my mind
Standing in the dark
Oh I was waiting for man to come
I am beautiful and clean
And so very very young
To be standing in the street
To be taken by someone
Questions questions
Give me no answers
Thats all they ever give me
Questions questions
Oh look at the strange boy
He finds it hard existing
To cut a long story short
I lost my mind
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Summer Nights Are Short
The summer nights are short
Where northern days are long:
For hours and hours lark after lark
Trills out his song.
The summer days are short
Where southern nights are long:
Yet short the night when nightingales
Trill out their song.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Life is too short
Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us go upon our way forgetting
The joys and sorrows of each yesterday
Between the swift sun's rising and its setting
We have no time for useless tears or fretting:
Life is too short.
Life is too short for any bitter feeling;
Time is the best avenger if we wait;
The years speed by, and on their wings bear healing;
We have no room for anything like hate.
This solemn truth the low mounds seem revealing
That thick and fast about our feet are stealing:
Life is too short.
Life is too short for aught but high endeavor—
Too short for spite, but long enough for love.
And love lives on forever and forever;
It links the worlds that circle on above:
'Tis God's first law, the universe's lever.
In His vast realm the radiant souls sigh never
'Life is too short.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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This Must Be The Place I Waited Years To Leave
(tennant/lowe)
----------------
(everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody e-e-everybody
Everybody jump to attention...)
Each morning after sunblest
Feel the benefit, mental arithmetic
I waited by the staffroom
In time for benediction
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
To our voices nobodys listening
We shiver in the rain by the touchline
Then a coach ride to the station
My lord, the carriage awaiteth!
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
This must be the place I waited years to leave
And how
How long?
Im listening to the words I thought Id never hear again
A litany of saints and other ordinary men
Kneeling on the parquet
Whatever has gone wrong?
The fear and feeling hopelessness
I dont want to belong
I dreamt I was back in uniform
And a candidate for examination
History, someone had blundered
And a voice rapped knuckle under!
Living a law just short of delusion
When we fall in love theres confusion
This must be the place I waited years to leave
This must be the place I waited years to leave
And how
And how
How long?
(trebuet nash narod odnogo)
[our people demand only...]
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Short Shrift
‘I’ve failed! ’ How many times have sons
And fathers’ fathers echoed me?
‘I’ve failed! My life was spent in dreams, ’
We said, ‘in shallow misery.
In dreams and steel and soot and grime,
In screams, and what would seem some crime
Of trying to live beyond our need...
Our lives were spent in some black creed! ’
‘Too short, too short, the days we spent
In trying to right the days before,
Too long, too long, the years we struggled
Knowing not what struggled for.
What goal, what aim, what discontent,
What loves we lost, what life we spent
In wondering what such life could be?
Short shrift for you - harsh words for me! ’
‘I’ve failed, my sons, I’ve failed you all
And so my failure tortures me,
As in that innocence divine
Your love loves all the failed in me.
If I could strip this flesh, or tear
These eyes that cried hot fire for you
To save you from the same despair
My father’s father brought me to...’
20 July 1976
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Happy Birth Day To You
Quick days come, & long years go,
Like the evening’s soft afterglow;
Childhood is beautiful, but is now gone,
And someday, you’ll be forgotten, but the deeds done…
Life’s short, but will be bigger,
In time if you can’t press the trigger,
Life’s short, but this time will be shorter,
If the moon you can bring down to the pure water…
Go on, enjoy, have parties,
Burn crackers, light up disco-lights, say “cheers”,
Cut big cakes – but all of your own labor,
Let the perfume of your hard work be the sponsor…
Hey chill up, enjoy yourself,
Add five more years to your sweet childhood twelve! ! !
***************************
Stephen Styris…
06.03.2008
poem by Stephen Styris
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All I Can Do Now Is Write Another Poem
All I can do now is write another poem-
The poems are small,
And do not require the long hours and long years
Of the books-
Like the world as a whole
I seem to have a shorter attention span
And less patience-
A poem can be written and given a name
In minutes not years-
Though some would say a great poem
Takes the travail of years of waiting
And years of work-
But I did not say
‘All I can do now is write another great poem'
Perhaps I have in all the years of the nights never written one-
I can write the poems I write
My kinds of poems
In a fairly short time-
All I can do now
Is write another of my kind of poems-
Whether they be worth anything,
Or not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My time is short.
My time is short I'm growing old.
The years pass by so speedily
Each day is worth much more than gold.
I greet each morning thankfully.
But time moves on remorselessly
.Although my memories enfold
My youthful days effortlessly.
My time is short I'm growing old.
Long ago when young and bold
I faced the future fearlessly
Perceptions changed as I grew old.
The years pass by so speedily.
I made my way successfully
And I grew rich as I grew old.
But life experience has taught me
Each day is worth much more than gold.
Time - cannot be bought or sold.
Time must onward steadily.
As the passing years unfold
I greet each morning thankfully
I've learned the only certainty.
Applying to both young and old
Both must accept reality.
My future can now be foretold.
My time is short Monday,16 April 2012
.
My time is shortMonday,16 April 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Something Real
along the street on a sunny day
we met
we have not spoken for years
perhaps affected by a family feud
but then this time
you stop your car
open the window
and greet me
hello
i am surprised to see you back
from the States
for years
and you ask me how am i doing
all these years
and what are my plans
in such a short span
and then she says she is not leaving
anymore
she will be working here
and will be building a new house
for herself
and then she says
so long see yah
she closes the car window and
speeds her way out of town
i know what she is up to
her car is expensive and brand new
the latest model
the only one in town
a show off i think
to make me envious
but i will give her the benefit of the doubt
so long and i will still
see yah
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The lofty legs are the beauty.
Short legs and short waist are the ducks.
Long legs and short waists are the geese.
Short legs and long waists are the penguins.
Lofty legs without waists are cranes
Who is graceful?
The crane stands out; the tall woman stands out.
29.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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18 Definitions Of A Short Poem
1) A short poem
Saves time,
2) A short poem
Saves time
For its reader, also.
3) A short poem is over
Before its read.
4) A short poem
Can be swiftly reread.
5) A short poem
Is a lightning flash.
6) A short poem
Is one metaphor only.
7) A short poem
Is less than nine words.
8) A short poem
Opens ones eyes
In the morning.
9) A short poem
May be a short prayer.
10) A short poem
May be a poem of a single word.
11) Poem.
12) A short poem
A small play on words.
13) A short poem
May be a single sentence.
14) A short poem is shorter
Than the definition of it.
15) It breaks up the icy sea within.
16) A chill down the spine.
17) There is no end
To making definitions of the short poem.
18) A short poem in Hebrew
Is shorter than than the same poem in English.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Truth About Forever
How long is forever really?
You told me you'd love me forever and ever.
I actually believed you.
Forever is really short if its how long we made it.
Which was not long at all.
I gave you my heart,
And you took it for granted.
I can't believe I was that blind
That I did not see that we would never make it.
Forever sounds like a long time,
But you have proven it is really really short.
Forever sounded like a wonderful long time with you.
But now I see your real colors,
I am glad that forever is not long at all with you.
poem by Makayla Straight
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In Three Days
I
So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,—
Only a touch and we combine!
II
Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where her one moon is,
A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So, life's night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?
III
0 loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro' lights and darks how manifold—
The dark inspired, the light controlled!
As early Art embrowns the gold.
IV
What great fear, should one say, "Three days
That change the world, might change as well
Your fortune; and if joy delays,
Be happy that no worse befell!"
What small fear, if another says,
"Three days and one short night beside
May throw no shadow on your ways;
But years must teem with change untried,
With chance not easily defied,
With an end somewhere undescried."
No fear!—or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Time for a short poem
Short poems are great
they don't take very long
as they're only a few verses
the words won't be spelt wrong.
They can be about anything
as long as they rhyme
and because there short
it don't take much time.
This one isn't about much
in fact nothing at all
the reason it isn't long
is because I'm off to the Football.
So that's the end of this poem
as I'm now off to the match
but before the game kicks off
time for a few beers and a batch!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Amber Autumn (Sonnet)
To some, their youth was just sublime.
Then age crept up and over time
Their joy then faded with the years
As body changes led to fears.
Their days are spent rememb’ring when...
They long to see their youth again.
For those whose youth was filled with strife,
Their autumn years are best in life.
Now their retirement Is here,
Old age is far from what they fear.
Time now to enjoy and savour
Their rewards for past times labour.
It’s time to spread their wings and fly,
To enjoy God’s gifts ‘fore they die.
poem by Connie Marcum Wong
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Moirai
When He came home from work that day
He said “Enough’s enough”.
“Let others built the widgets,
I have done that long enough.”
I’ll live a life of leisure,
crafting poetry and song.
Perhaps I’ll write short stories
or play my guitar all night long.”
Such boundless optimism
didn’t take Fate into account.
Fate, the foe of youth and love,
was lurking there about.
He thought that He had years of time
to write and think and putter.
Yet Fate was of another mind,
and a malediction muttered.
A tightness in the chest He felt.
A soreness in one arm.
He was sure that it was nothing.
Soon thereafter, He was gone
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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