Cleveland is the place I grew up and lived much of my adult life, so it will always be a part of my soul.
quote by Mark Edwards
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Cleveland Rocks
(ian hunter)
Three! four!
Three! four!
Three! four!
(bunch of ah-ah-ahs here)
All this energy calling me
Back where it comes from
Its such a crude attitude
Its back where it belongs
All the little kids growing up on the skids are goin
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Jumpin (jean) gene genies, moody james deanies goin
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Mama knows but she dont care
Shes got her worries too
Seven kids and a phony affair
And the rent is due
All the little chicks with the crimson lips go
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Shes livinin sin with a safety pin
Shes goin cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
I got some records from world war two
Ill play em just like me grand dad do
He was a rocker and I am too
Oh cleveland rocks, yeah cleveland rocks
So find a place
Grab a space
And yell and scream for more
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
Cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks, cleveland rocks
(bunch of ah-ah-ahs here)
Three! four!
Three! four!
Three! four!
Ohio
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sowed for Sorrow
In my inner grove, I sowed for sorrow.
Oh, how it grew below my skies,
such marvelous sight in my eyes.
I lived for sorrow -
till it grew too large in my grove,
I wept;
and watered my sorrow with tears.
I sowed for sorrow till it lived
and grew so strong, so fine.
It lived to take away my life...
It lived and then I died.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Baby vs Adult
Baby is dumb
Adult has wisdom
Babies are small and crawl
Adults are tall and fall
Baby demands
Adult commands
Baby yearns to walk
Adult learns to work
Baby weeps
Adult sleeps
You carry a baby
You marry an adult
Baby chokes
Adult smokes
Baby stays at home to play
Adult brings home the pay
Baby cries
Adult sighs
Baby spikes milk
Adults like silk
And I saved this for the last
Baby at birth
Adult at death
Baby vs Adult becomes a thing of the past
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost To Find My Lot
Lost in a world, that scares me to death,
Lost in a crowd I’m losing my breath,
Lost as a kid, lost as an adult
I feel everything is falling apart and its my fault
Lost as a person, cant find my way
Lost in life every day, Lost in worry
Who am I?
I’ve lived a Lie
Lost to Kindness,
Lost to Love
Lost in the sky,
Like a lonely dove
Lost in thought which I shouldn’t do
It Winds me up,
I can’t get through
Lost to comfort all kind words
Lost to advice that isn’t heard
Lost to those who really care?
All these people always there
Lost in Me, I need a break
Lost in wonder which road should I take?
Lost in a place I don’t know well
Where are you now? There’s no one to tell
Lost here all alone To break these walls
Lost in mind
Lost in soul
Lost memories, there just a hole
Lost family, lost my place
Still yet I’m full of hate
Lost in boredom think I’ll leave
There’s a lot in life I need to achieve
poem by Olivia Braun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Posthumous realization
As an adult, you are no longer a part of your parents.
As an adult your son is no longer a part of his parents.
So are your brothers and sisters to you When they are grown
This you can realize only posthumously.
05.12.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im Living My Life
Part of my life is tatoo's, penetentry rules
When running yo mouth only seperates the men from the fools
Part of my life is bullets, guns, blood, sweat and tears
This is the part of my life that I've lived for years
Part of my life is dreams, wishes, hopes, happyness
Where I could care less about the world and its current happenings
Part of my life is lies, deciet, greed, envy, and hate
Which so many leaders of our world think is great
Part of my life is all the above
Cause everyday I see sadness and very little love
Part of my life has so much love to give
But I'm catching up with death fast, from the life that I live
Part of my life is wrong nor right
But I need no sympathy, cause I'm living my life.
poem by Daniel Chapman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Emigre
I have lived in this foreign country long, perhaps longer
then I should. Many seasons I have seen, my hair is grey
brow wrinkled from seeking understanding. I know their
culture and sing their songs. But I came here as an adult,
I have read Fernando Pessoa, know Fado and can talk
about my favourite singers. Yet, this culture is not in my
soul it does not echo in my heart. I wanted to be a part of
my new Iberian country, but when I remember a lullaby
my mother used to sing a cold Nordic winter night; when
guests have gone home and the party is over, I know I’m
forever a pretender. I have lived here long, too long, but if
I go to back to the old country I will be a stranger walking
in a town where no one knows my name and I’ll dream of
my mythical Portugal.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cleveland Park
Pacing gently, summer wind
The king stares softly to the sky
Will he ever see his home again
Deep from his heart he starts to cry
As his songs hit the air and young hearts are awake
Soon they join in the chorus sharing all his ache
Theres a lifetime out there somewhere
Somewhere in the dark
And summers on, the lions song
Sung from cleveland park
And the high school kids ignore it
They have their own tune
Theyre just showing off the speakers in their ride
I know what Im sayin
I grew up too soon
And youth goes hand in hand with foolish pride
As their song hits the air and young hearts start to break
The lions join in the chorus sharing all their ache
Theres a lifetime out there somewhere
Somewhere in the dark
And summers on, the lions song
Sung from cleveland park
In cleveland park trees breathe a sigh of all the summers gone
Skeletons in wintertime, they sing the lions song
Theres a lifetime out there somewhere
Somewhere in the dark
And summers on, the lions song
Sung from cleveland park
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Golden Memory
When I was a young child
about five to seven years of age.
I noticed the neighbour's trees
were dirty and sooty and black.
Black with smoke chimney coal dust.
The bark was ugly dirty and black
the leaves were ugly dirty and black.
And barely green if at all in most places,
except a little on the side facing the sun.
The sun I saw as a beautiful yellow light.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were really tall shrubs, but I was but still
a young child, with much to learn in this world,
ruled by mean men. Magic and the elfin language,
still danced like sparkling stardust in my eyes.
Next to my father's garage grew these trees.
They were so sad dull black lifeless and ugly.
I took a bright yellow lively house paint.
And painted the trees yellow bright golden yellow,
in all sad places I could short armed easily reach.
But I also got paint on my hands face clothes.
In my wonderful joy I got paint on my clothes.
My apparently best going to town best clothes.
My mother punished me for painting the trees.
And the leaves a bright joyous yellow colour.
For making a small part
of this dull adult world.
A golden magical shinning
bright fairy glade place.
For painting making a small part
of this dull adult fading world.
A golden orb magical shinning
bright mystical fairy glade place.
For trying to make the tired
world a better magical place.
Thus were childhood dreamers
often beaten into submission.
By those who failed to see
the divine presence in dreams.
By those who failed to see
the magical sparkle in dreams.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have lived in the United States for half of my life, my entire adult life.
quote by Sheena Easton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Part Of Life, That is
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Stuck with sticking emotions felt in my gut...
Unable to abandon them.
Or give them up...
Had been a place I'd been,
Back then.
With no one but myself...
And faith,
To help me slowly break away...
Of a hold I had on them to mend.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
I have learned to feel grief deeply,
Where it is felt.
Let it visit.
And then from it to leave!
Not to forget the process...
But to breathe!
Remembering...
With an agony upon my letting go,
Knowing what I felt was painful...
It was also,
Part of life!
A part of life,
That is!
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Juggler of God
Back in the age of faith
when most lived in homes of sod
There lived a humble man
They called the juggler of God.
He was just a simple juggler
He could not read or write.
He performed his simple tricks
for children’s laughter and delight.
In return for food and shelter-
for he had little use for gold-
He travelled from town to town
until he at last grew old.
When arthritis swelled his joints
He grew stooped, his fingers cold
When at last his gifts had failed him
He turned attention to his soul.
In the order of Saint Benedict
The kind Abbot gave him place
Though he barely knew the prayers
His simple mind was full of grace.
In the chapel of Our Lady
The Juggler prayed there in the Aisle
Bemoaning his inability
to entertain the holy child.
He felt warmth in his fingers
A quick release from pain
He reached into his leather sack
for the objects of his trade.
There before the altar
The brother juggled for the Lord
It was to be his last performance
with a heavenly reward.
Back in the age of faith
when most lived in homes of sod
There lived a humble man
They called the juggler of God.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anybody who has ever been in business, anybody who has ever paid bills, anybody who has ever lived in a serious adult life knows that indebtedness is a killer.
quote by Frank Lautenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The boy and the apple tree
Once there was a boy who used to play under an apple tree
He played so happily that it was a joy to see
As he grew old, he got bore of playing alone
Toys and gadgets he desired to be his own
So, under the apple tree the boy muttered
‘Tree can you give me toys I now desire? ’
‘Toys I don’t have, my boy, ’ the tree replied
‘But my fruits you can sell to get your toys.’
So the boy took the fruits and went away
The tree waited for his return day after day
Many years had passed and the boy got older
He married a girl to be his wife and lover
The adult boy now needing a new house for his family
Went to the tree and asked for its advice earnestly
The tree glad to see him once again said
‘My branches will be sufficient to make your nest.’
To these words the adult boy listened
And took all the branches away with him
With these he constructed a house for his family
Where he lived for several years happily
One day, the boy now a fully mature adult thought
‘It will be wise to travel around and sail the sea across’
So, he went to the now old apple tree and asked
‘Tree, can you tell me, a boat, where I can get? ’
The tree which was happy to see him again sighed and said
‘Though I am old, my stem you may take if you want’
On hearing this, the guy cut the tree down
And made a large boat, which was fine and strong
Many years had passed and the guy now became an old man
Tired from his adventures across the sea and land
He went and saw the apple tree once again
Which was now but a stump nobody would want
The old stump on seeing the old man cried
‘My old boy what can I do for you this time’
The old man on hearing this softly replied
‘I just want to lean against you till the end of my life.’
poem by Henry Chen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Part Of Your Life
J. spinks
Youre taking this hard - and I still dont know
If weve got a price - Ill let you go
I dont wanna be just a part of your life
I cant complain if Im not sure
Ill only remain if youre still pure
Im not gonna be just a part of your life
You know I wont share you with another man
So dont expect me to try and understand
I dont wanna be just a part of your life
(chorus)
Theres another choice
Theres another dream
Theres another place
Another reason for living
Theres another face
Theres another mind
Theres another soul
Another heart I could find
I dont wanna be just a part of your life
I dont wanna know what might be wrong
Start looking for something that might be gone
Im not gonna be just a part of your life
Making up for lost time wont ease the pain
Or start looking for something - just to ease the strain
I dont wanna be just a part of your life
(chorus)
I dont want a friend just to turn to
I dont need a hand that can only pull me through
Im not gonna be just a part of your life
I dont wanna be just a part of your life
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be a child-parent-adult
To the child, it is a day.
To the parent, it is a night.
To the adult both are inclusive.
The child lives in fantasy.
The parent lives in fallacy.
It is the adult that lives,
Where he is put, in ecstasy.
The child admires things.
The parent criticizes them.
The adult realizes them.
The child appreciates.
The parent deprecates.
The adult rationalizes.
The poet is the child in man.
The priest is the parent in man.
The logician is the adult in man.
Live a child to be youthful.
Live a parent to be awesome.
Live an adult to be credible.
27.01.2000, Kottayam
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blissful Life
Over Parshington, a white stroke flew
Carrying a baby to where Africa grew
He was taken to a vast family of six
A family of black and white all a mix
He grew up in dearth, beginning by birth
But nothing stopped him ever, being a blissful mirth
He tilled the soil and asked for toil
And lived in grains forgetting his pains
He prized his time and saved his dime
And lived a life worth greater than words
Over Parshington, a white stroke flew
Carrying a baby where Africa grew
In looks he was poor, but inside he was pure
He was worthy of every touch
And worthy of the lot much
He lives a life of pleasure
Having love as his biggest treasure
Over Parshington, a white stroke flew
Carrying a baby where Africa grew
OCTOBER 10,2008
poem by Sania Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dark Side
You asked
if I had
a dark side.
Most of my life
has been lived
on the dark side.
But I always
believed in the power
and cosmic beauty
of solar energy
radiant vibrant stellar
life giving light.
You asked
if I had
a dark side.
Most of my life
has been lived
on the dark side.
Yet my heart and soul were
no part of the madness
the blackness the void
except as reluctant captive
resisting the entombing life
depleting molasses dark side.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Burn On
Theres a red moon rising
On the cuyahoga river
Rolling into cleveland to the lake
Theres a red moon rising
On the cuyahoga river
Rolling into cleveland to the lake
Theres an oil barge winding
Down the cuyahoga river
Rolling into cleveland to the lake
Theres an oil barge winding
Down the cuyahoga river
Rolling into cleveland to the lake
Cleveland, city of light, city of magic
Cleveland, city of light, youre calling me
Cleveland, even now I can remember
cause the cuyahoga river
Goes smokin through my dreams
Burn on, big river, burn on
Burn on, big river, burn on
Now the lord can make you tumble
And the lord can make you turn
And the lord can make you overflow
But the lord cant make you burn
Burn on, big river, burn on
Burn on, big river, burn on
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Herbie The Hermit
Herbie the hermit lived alone
because he felt he needed no one.
He lived his life meagrely
and saved his money frugally.
As the money grew in his bank account,
he began to wonder whom was he going to leave his money to.
Each day the question plagued him
and no answer came his way.
Then one day he met someone
who was much poorer than he.
He lived on the streets, as it was the only life he knew.
He would give his money to him.
However, the man did not want his money,
explaining that he had many friends
worth more than his money could buy.
They are there for me
when I’m down and blue,
picking me up again,
which is more than your money can do.
9-12 December 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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