When you're in your early 20s your love life seems to explode every 20 minutes or so. By the time you've reached your thirties, it is every five or ten years.
quote by Patrick Marber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A monologue on 'nothing in particular
Well you know,
It always begins like this
'The day starts'
Half an hour early for me
Clocks set hour an hour early
The day begins
Well morning starts
With a break of sunlight
Flooding through the cracks
In the blinds
In summer it is always much earlier
Than the pre set time on the alarm clock
Which is primed to go off
Half an hour earlier
Inevitably
The light wakes me at sunrise
Which often occurs around five o'clock
Like some cruel trick
I am woken exactly an hour or is it half an hour
Before my alarm clock goes off, half an hour earlier?
Which is set to go off half an hour early
But that never happens in the summer
The lie in ends up a sleep over
In winter this is a different matter again
With no light
So there I am at five in the morning
exactly or, approximately the time
The sun is meant to set
[bar a second or to or maybe a minute
behind or ahead of prediction]
There I am WIDE AWAKE
No lie in
No chance of sleeping
Again
Exept at the WRONG TIME!
Then I recover
Five minutes behind schedule
pull the blind
make a cup of tea
giving myself exactly
thirty minutes
Before drinking it
to get ready for work
Flossing does not happen until
A much later time
There is a ten minute interval
For toast and tea
And tidying away
My watch is set five minutes ahead
Or maybe three minutes
I leave on time
In time for the bus that leaves
Two minutes early
The next one arrives ten minutes late
The driver
Has donated his brain to medical science
Thirty years prior to his death
Give or take a couple of hours or minutes
He slips into a slow coma behind the steering wheel
The world is in slow motion
Catatonia eclipses the traffic
I am now on time
To be late
despite all my carefully timed efforts
Now that was just the beginning of the morning
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Explode
Theirs something I should get off my chest
I'm losing my mind and my life's a mess.
Well everyone says do this and do that
Maybe they're right
I feel like I'm gonna.......
EXPLODE.. I'M GONNA EXPLODE
It is so big yet I feel so small
It's even in your shopping mall
Is my life wasting away
Don't throw it away that's what they say
I don't wanna go out and fail
Yet I fail at home every day
I wonder someday if I'll look back
With regrets on how I lived
Each way I turn I turn my back
Each time I turn I always look back
I'm trying to please everyone I don't know how
I feel like I'm gonna..
EXPLODE.. I'M GONNA EXPLODE
What should I do I really don't know
Should I stay home or should I go
Well I'm struggling with my sanity
Is my life crumbling in front of me.
Oh.
Do you know how it feels?
To feel like your gonna explode
Do you ever feel
Like your gonna explode.
EXPLODE.
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To start your life as a character of 120 years when you are in your late thirties, and then go back in time about 20 years later to play the same character who is your own age then, its very complicated, but very interesting.
quote by Ian McDiarmid
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When will I be Loved
I’m in my late thirties now and in all these years I have never felt loved.
Which has me now asking the question when will I be loved?
Will I be loved before all my hair turns completely grey?
Will I be loved before the sun sets this very day?
When will I be loved?
Will I be loved while I can still remember what love means?
Will I be loved tonight while I dream?
When will I be loved?
At times love has seemed close enough that I could reach out and grab it, but as I reached I realized love was not as close as it seemed.
Love is my white whale and just like Ahab the chase is driving me mad.
When will I be loved?
39
I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair—
I’m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I’m going on for forty,
Where man’s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows’ feet,
In spite of all my sins.
Then here’s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the living Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood’s grave—
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair—
We’ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.
Then here’s the wide, free Forties—
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wide, free Forties!
We’re good for ten years more!
The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
’Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
’Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we’ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them—
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.
So here’s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here’s the good old Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Divorcee
She's been through a messy divorce case and single now she will remain
And she feels she's had it with marriage and she'll never marry again
She tried her best to save her marriage at least she gave it her best try
And from her past mistakes she has learnt like they say 'once bitten twice shy'.
She had seven years of married life and five of those years for her hell
And years from now she will remember yes she will remember too well
The beatings she received from her drunken husband as their two young children looked on
And they like their mother feel happy since out of their lives he has gone.
She married for love and love only but her feelings of love quickly soured
And years from now she will remember how beneath his cruel blows she cowered
Her children now ten and eleven feel happier without their dad
He often beat them and their mother and by him they were treated bad.
A woman in her early thirties she has only turned thirty two
And she vows she'll never re-marry that one marriage enough to go through
Her ex husband now is re-married and her sympathies are with his wife
And she hopes that he will treat her kindly and that he's learnt from his mistakes in life.
Her son and daughter soon to be teenagers are all that she worry about
That 'life isn't meant to be easy' at such a young age they found out
She raise them as a single mother and she works hard for them every day
Since her ex husband doesn't pay alimony or help them out in any way.
She vows that she'll die a divorcee and that she'll never marry again
And the sad memories of her broken marriage through her life time with her will remain
For she took the abuse and beatings when she was a callous
man's wife
Still she doesn't feel bitter towards him she merely gets on with her life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Early In The Morning
Ohh, early in the morning and its time I went down
So I go sown 'cause I know I can say anyway
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Summer sun is shinin' in my eyes as I go down
To feel you around me makes my life worthwhile night and day
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Early in the mornin', early in the mornin', yeah
Lazy days drift away in time as I go down
To see you smile is to know what love means all the while
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Oh, I love you 'cause I want to
Down early in the mornin'
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trollius And trellises
of course, I may die in the next ten minutes
and I’m ready for that
but what I’m really worried about is
that my editor-publisher might retire
even though he is ten years younger than
I.
it was just 25 years ago (I was at that ripe
old age of 45)
when we began our unholy alliance to
test the literary waters,
neither of us being much
known.
I think we had some luck and still have some
of same
yet
the odds are pretty fair
that he will opt for warm and pleasant
afternoons
in the garden
long before I.
writing is its own intoxication
while publishing and editing,
attempting to collect bills
carries its own
attrition
which also includes dealing with the
petty bitchings and demands
of many
so-called genius darlings who are
not.
I won’t blame him for getting
out
and hope he sends me photos of his
Rose Lane, his
Gardenia Avenue.
will I have to seek other
promulgators?
that fellow in the Russian
fur hat?
or that beast in the East
with all that hair
in his ears, with those wet and
greasy lips?
or will my editor-publisher
upon exiting for that world of Trollius and
trellis
hand over the
machinery
of his former trade to a
cousin, a
daughter or
some Poundian from Big
Sur?
or will he just pass the legacy on
to the
Shipping Clerk
who will rise like
Lazarus,
fingering new-found
importance?
one can imagine terrible
things:
“Mr. Chinaski, all your work
must now be submitted in
Rondo form
and
typed
triple-spaced on rice
paper.”
power corrupts,
life aborts
and all you
have left
is a
bunch of
warts.
“no, no, Mr. Chinaski:
Rondo form!”
“hey, man,” I’ll ask,
“haven’t you heard of
the thirties?”
“the thirties? what’s
that?”
my present editor-publisher
and I
at times
did discuss the thirties,
the Depression
and
some of the little tricks it
taught us—
like how to endure on almost
nothing
and move forward
anyhow.
well, John, if it happens enjoy your
divertissement to
plant husbandry,
cultivate and aerate
between
bushes, water only in the
early morning, spread
shredding to discourage
weed growth
and
as I do in my writing:
use plenty of
manure.
and thank you
for locating me there at
5124 DeLongpre Avenue
somewhere between
alcoholism and
madness.
together we
laid down the gauntlet
and there are takers
even at this late date
still to be
found
as the fire sings
through the
trees.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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My 21 Minutes
TWO MILLION YEARS MAN’S BEEN ON EARTH.
SO HOW CAN I KNOW MY LIFE’S REAL WORTH?
MAN’S EXISTENCE IN TERMS OF ONLY A YEAR
MEANS THAT I HAVE BUT 21 MINUTES HERE.
MOMENTS TO LOVE, LOATHE, LAUGH, LAMENT...
THEN I’VE PASSED BY; MY TIME HAS BEEN SPENT.
SO EVERY ENCOUNTER IS A PRICELESS PHASE
FOR EACH SECOND THAT TICKS IS 23 DAYS.
OH, IN HOW MANY WAYS CAN IT BE MORE CLEAR
THAT MY 21 MINUTES ARE PRECIOUS AND DEAR.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Golden Years
he finally reached his golden years
wanted to leave his family,
thoughts and love to share.
so he sat with pen in hand
wrote about his lifes plan.
it started off with just his dream
never expecting the unforseen.
as his plans began to unwind
he found himself lost in time.
he joined the army at an early age
this was to become the setting stage
he survived the street gangs and a war
and never talking about what he saw.
he managed retail businesses all his life
met the woman who would become his wife.
he had always loved children
so he thought it was time
his wife agreed and it turned out fine.
a beautiful little girl came into their life
and everything seemed twice as nice.
now he had two women who captured his heart
and knew right then, that this was the start.
the start to his golden years
with his wife he could share.
all the dreams that were meant to be
was now becoming a reality.
but the years was going by fast
he knew his dreams would not last.
now with this thought in mind
he decided it was time
to put his life in perspective
for the golden years to become effective.
so he changed his train of thoughts
a late retirement he would abort.
he retired before his time
so he could enjoy life the way
that it was meant to be
living happy and carefree.
now that he finished writing
down his thoughts and plans
he let them know
'YOUR PERCEPTION BECOMES YOUR REALITY'
and this is what mine was to me.
the golden years are now mine
and i'm lost in its time.
poem by Louis Rams
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30 Minutes
Mama, papa forgive me
Out of sight, out of mind
Out of time to decide
Do we run? should I hide
For the rest of my life
Can we fly? do we stay?
We could lose we could fail
And the more minutes take
To make planer, or mistakes
30 minutes, the blink of the night
30 minutes to alter our lifes
30 minutes to make up my mind
30 minutes to finally decide
30 minutes to whisper your name
30 minutes to shelter the blame
30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies
30 minutes to finally decide
Carousels in the sky
That we shape with our eyes
Under shade silhouettes casting
Shapes crying rain
Can we fly do I stay
We could lose, we could fail
Either way, options change
Chances fail, trains derail.
30 minutes, the blink of the night
30 minutes to all of our lifes
30 minutes to make up my mind
30 minutes to finally decide
30 minutes to whisper your name
30 minutes to show her the blame
30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies
30 minutes to finally decide
To decide, to decide to decide to decide
(repeat until fade)
song performed by by Tatu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold You Once Again
Hold you once again.
To be in your arms.
To listen again the beats of your heart.
To return back the clock,
To return back my love.
Just for few minutes
To live in your arms.
Then whatever if i'll pay my life.
Being with you again
Even if will cost my life.
Who have said that i'm alive
Without you my love.
To be at the same place
To return to those days.
That have gone with the storms of my life.
There where our love was born.
There where first time you whispered on my ears confessing me your love.
To be there again may needs a miracle.
But who can refuse that whole the life is not a miracle.
So please my God return back the time,
Return back my love.
Only for few minutes with him
I can pay my life.
Just to hear his voice,
To see him smile.
To tell me again that our love still survive.
Then you can take my life,
Who cares?
Nobody will survive till the end of life.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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I Want To Give It All
(graham russell, rex goh)
Here I am again
Ive come to see you smile
I know you understand
I have to say again
Its only for a while
And still youre always here
Just waiting for my call
I wish I knew a way
To give more than I do
I want to give it all
It doesnt happen every day
But it happened to me once before
Those early years I threw away
Now I only have to hear your voice
To make me feel so sure
That your love is why
I want to give it all
Dont the minutes fly
And hours just seem so few
With days apart so long
Its hard to spend my time
When Im so far from you
And still youre always here
Just waiting for my call
I wish I knew a way
To give more than I do
I want to give it all
It doesnt happen every day
But it happened to me once before
Those early years I threw away
Now I only have to hear your voice
To make me feel so sure
That your love is why
I want to give it all
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I coached against Dave the last couple of years, and I was very proud to be the first time a father ever coached against his son. He beat me for 30 minutes the first time and 59 and a half minutes the second time.
When Children Lose Their Innocence
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.
When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.
I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Last Five Minutes Of Your Life
given the last five minutes
of your life
what shall you do?
let the last five minutes
be a waiting
let there be that willingness
to go where the last five minutes take you
let there be a respect
for an ending
let it be as nice as the first welcome
let it be as silent as a cat's feet
on the carpet
embrace the last five minutes
like your long lost friend
tightly
without any tears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The international proletariat first appeared on the scene in the early Thirties of the nineteenth century, and its first great action was the French Revolution of 1848.
quote by C.L.R. James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why this date each year
The dawn of this date
The eighteenth March
Drowns me in sadness
As on this day in the year nineteen sixty
My mother, in her early thirties
Left us for heavenly abode
Making me and my sister
Suffer all these years
The lack of mother's love
I did not know that day
How much I missed her
But, as I became a parent
And as I started observing
The demonstration of love
By my wife to our children
I realised that
This day marks the heaviest loss
I could suffer
How I wish that every one
Here on earth
Is fortunate and lucky
To enjoy mother's love
As long as possible
And how I wish that every mother
On this earth
Stays alive and keeps showering
Her love on to her children
As long as possible
You understand as to why I question
Why this date each year
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Very Wise Woman
The very wise woman she said to her son
If you cannot love yourself you cannot love anyone
With what she said I for one cannot disagree
She does seem a very wise person to me
The truth in her words I have come to realize
For one in her early thirties she does seem so wise
She said to her son your love of self to love of others expand
Of how love works she is one who does understand
Wisdom does not have an age to it as we have been told
A marvellous insight from a young mother to her nine year old
And since self love is a sibling of compassion and ruth
Her words to her son in them have the beauty of truth
If you cannot love yourself you cannot love anyone
The very wise woman she said to her son.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Love Time (Love Poem)
Time passes in a mystery of minutes and months,
Days and nights a survival of solitude and sleep,
Life and living becomes an unending wait for Now.
Now is just a Technicolor rush of with you again,
But our time together always is impossibly short,
So that leaving you again gets harder every time.
Why is time a new variable with the one I love?
Why are the colours of love so warm for us now?
Why do Cupid’s arrows still draw blood so red?
Why are grey days bright and rainy days soft?
Why after all these years do I feel like this?
Why is time with you in too-short seconds?
If only our love stopped the earth turning,
We could love in a frozen second of time,
Forever.
poem by Ian Beckett
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