People often thought Leopold Auer was Russian because he lived in St. Petersburg so long, almost fifty years.
quote by Gyorgy Ligeti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I used to think that cyberspace was fifty years away. What I thought was fifty years away, was only ten years away. And what I thought was ten years away... it was already here. I just wasn't aware of it yet.
quote by Bruce Sterling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Fifty Year Old Woman
That fifty year old woman
she is someones mother
that fifty year old woman
she is someones lover
them fifty years of her life
unseen by a cover.
Covered by the leaves
from the autumn trees is the grass
surrounded by blue tape
and nosey people who pretend to pass
a group of actors walk by
they have come from a history class
to make history new
with conversation with questions to ask.
A fifty year old woman
in an autumn so cold
a fifty year old woman
seen dark winter unfold
them fifty years of life
it is all we are told.
The actors, they didn't get any information
they did not get pictures
nothing known about the situation
nothing at all to discuss
fifty years of age is all thats said
on the morning paper on the fifty bus
thats all thats said
a fifty year old woman, shes found dead.
That fifty year old woman
shes not someones mother
that fifty year old woman
how she had no lover
them fifty years of life
unseen by a cover.
That fifty year old woman
she was quoted in the paper today
that fifty year old woman will be gone tomorrow
the writers they will show no sorrow
because its the way things work
as people pass
she no longer lies on grass
shes covered in dirt.
poem by Daniel McCann
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If Moscow is the heart of Russia and St. Petersburg is its head, then Kiev is its mother.
Fifty Years Of Marriage
With dye and hair colouring they cover their gray
Their fifty years of marriage they celebrate today
Through fifty years of marriage they have argued their way
In their love hate relationship one well might say.
Their better days one can say for them are long gone
And they age without grace though time is ticking on
Their children are grand-parents and the years on them show
Since they too are ageing and their fastest pace slow.
Fifty happy years together by some we are told
But others who know them well and with their words more bold
Will tell you they never did see eye to eye
But why they stay together one must wonder why.
They have stayed together for so many years
One can hardly say of them the lovely old dears
Since they both are quite quarrelsome and grumpy as well
Perhaps without quarrels life for them would be hell.
Fifty years together and the same bed they share
Yet even in public places at each other they swear
Such marriages as their's suppose never were rare
They are not the World's only dysfunctional pair.
Today their descendants will celebrate the marriage of their Pop and Gran
And applaud this wonderful woman and man
But the truth of their marriage they will never tell
How they seem to enjoy giving each other hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Niemand Sonst
warum soll ich dir versprechen
wovon ich morgen nichts versteh
warum reden ber liebe (warum jetzt schon reden)
bevor ich weit wohin es geht - wohin du morgen gehst
warum soll ich dich belgen
bevor ich dir die wahrheit sag
du bist schn, du bist klug
doch vielleicht haben wir morgen schon genug
aber jetzt sind wir hier
und niemand sonst auer uns kann es sehen
niemand sonst auer uns es verstehen
und niemand sonst auer uns kann es sehen
fr niemand sonst bleibt die welt einfach stehen
vielleicht werd ich dich verletzen
es ist das letzte was ich will
weinst du mir, wein ich dir (hinterher)
wir werden sehen was passiert
wenn es passiert
aber jetzt sind wir hier
und niemand sonst auer uns kann es sehen
niemand sonst auer uns es verstehen
und niemand sonst auer uns kann es sehen
fr niemand sonst bleibt die welt einfach stehen
jeder tag kann unser letzte sein
niemand kann die zukunft lenken
es ist viel zu schn bei dir zu sein
als an morgen zu denken
und niemand sonst......
song performed by by Yvonne Catterfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fifty Years On: for Bastille Day 3
It seemed to me the mortal wrong,
the crime that marked her wretched
lay not in anything she did
but what she had neglected
nor could the woes of centuries
be righted by this course
but die she must, for otherwise
she simply was to dangerous.
The tumbril slowly started down
her shoulders shook from view
through the mud the jeering crowd
followed in pursuit
I thought a moment-should I go?
but so much blood had flowed...
I had no special love for blood
and there was work to do.
Long ago that fateful hour-
today is fifty years
since centuries of hate devoured
centuries of fear.
Maybe better, maybe not
than fifty years ago
the world turns now-but I have got
no less of work to do.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Coming To The Truth
Instead of going to the moon
these people can come to the truth soon.
Instead of going to the moon-
and spending a fortune-
to tap the helinium abundant from the moon-
these people can come to the truth soon.
Instead of going to the moon-
and waiting for fifty long years-
to reap this benefit from the moon-
these people can come to the truth soon.
Instead of going to the moon-
these people can come to the truth soon
to tap the abundant wealth very soon.
What i s this 'truth'?
in a nation where mahatma lived-
in a nation where truth was personified by mahatma-
truth needs no definition.
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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I do think I feel it but you don't think you are cause at a certain time you are no age but you don't think you are anything. You feel the life you have lived. I feel that. It's been a long fifty years.
quote by Bob Geldof
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Russian Girl
Ive been frozen, now its so hot I can barely see
Ive been cutting them down so they cant make fun of me, yeah
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Young child sitting all alone
Hot child, she wants to take you home
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Russian girl, Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Happy birthday 007
So your Fifty years old now Mr Bond
your milestone gives us all a thrill
it's amazing you've lived this long
but then again you have a licence to kill.
To you The World is Not Enough
your attitude is Live and Let Die
but you've drank Martini's in the Casino Royale
and for the ladies you've had a GoldenEye.
You've tangled with lots of top villains
like Scaramanga who wasn't very nice
had a fight with the massive Jaws
and upset Blofeld in You Only Live Twice.
Death has escaped you by a mere second
and you knew you could Die Another Day
but like your Martini's your never stirred
and you've seduced beautiful women along the way.
So your still our top British spy 007
and On Her Majesty's Secret Service we say well done
so it's From Russia with love
and happy birthday to the Man with The Golden Gun!
James Bond celebrates fifty years in films this year
so I've incorporated some of his movie titles in this poem.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Perfect Pitch
I wish someone would accuse me,
Of stealing my creativity from them.
When I've been doing what I do...
For more than 'fifty' years!
Count them...
Not five, ten or twenty!
But FIFTY years.
'That's impossible!
How could that be?
You have 'yet' to leave your fourties! '
Well...er, uh.
You're right!
What am I thinking?
It just 'seems' as if I've been doing this...
For so very long.
At least...
Thirty anyway.
'Tell us the story about how you were breast feeding,
While your mother accompanied you on the piano...
As you sang Ave Maria.'
That was 'not' Ave Maria.
It was the First Noel.
And don't laugh!
I still pride myself for having perfect pitch!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Introduction Narration
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. and in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. the forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. the lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. they thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked icculus. icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. but they knew he existed, because they had the helping friendly book. icculus had given the helping friendly book to the lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. it contained all of the knowledge inherent
In the universe, and had
Enabled the lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. and so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in gamehendge.
His name was wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the lizards way of life. he asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige. wilson lived with the lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the helping friendly book, and all was well. until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the lizards had become dependent on it for survival. he declared himself king and enslaved the innocent people of gamehendge. he cut down the trees and built a city, which he called prussia. and in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the helping friendly book out of the reach of the lizards forever. but our story begins at a different time, not in gamehendge, but on a suburban street in long island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. he saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. for fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. it had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass.
He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. he had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog mcgrupp. it had started out as a typical stroll with mcgrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. as they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. at first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. and on this morning, colonel forbin stepped through the door.
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0009 A palinode
and there was this one
which I was particularly proud of
where I thought I’d caught
just the right pace, then
the change of pace when
the poem goes deeper
and then the perfectly chosen metaphor
with a rallentando
which made it musical
and ended it just
knock-’em-flat
sheer poetry
then last night
I read your poems
for the first time in oh fifty years
and there it was
almost identical and
I realised where I’d got it from
and the part of me that
wasn’t bruised ego wept inwardly without naming any cause
and maybe when I’ve recovered
and demoted my poem in
the collected works of pride
I’ll marvel at the power of poetry even if yours not mine
which can lie low in the mind
for fifty years and not only that
but may well, and here we should be careful
but reflective, respectful even awed,
have subtly infinitesimally but significantly
like some homeopathic almost unquantifiable tincture,
altered my whole life. For fifty years.
now that’s something
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday
INTRODUCTION
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Wilson
Once upon a time there was a mountain that rose out of a vast green forest. And in the forest there were birds and lakes and rocks and trees and rivers. The forest was also inhabited by a small group of people called the lizards. The lizards were a simple people and they had lived in the forest undisturbed for thousands of years in utter peace and tranquillity. Once a year when spring came, and the first blossoms began to show, the
lizards would gather at the base of the mountain, to give thanks for all that they had. They thanked the birds and they thanked the lakes and they thanked the rocks and the trees and the rivers; but most importantly, they thanked Icculus.
Icculus lived at the top of the mountain, or at least everyone thought so, for no one had actually ever seen him. But they knew he existed, because they had the Helping Friendly Book. Icculus had given the Helping Friendly Book to the Lizards thousands of years earlier as a gift. It contained all of the knowledge inherent in the universe, and had
enabled the Lizards to exist in harmony with nature for years. And so they lived; until one day a traveler arrived in Gamehendge. His name was Wilson and he quickly became intrigued by the Lizards way of life. He asked if he could stay on and live in the forest; and the Lizards, who had never seen an outsider, were happy to oblige.
Wilson lived with the Lizards for a few years, studying the ways of the Helping Friendly Book, and all was well. Until one morning when they awoke and the book was gone. Wilson explained that he had hidden the book, knowing that the Lizards had become dependent on it for survival. He declared himself king and enslaved the innocent
people of Gamehendge. He cut down the trees and built a city, which he called Prussia. And in the center of the city he built a castle, and locked in the highest tower of the castle lay the Helping Friendly Book out of the reach of the Lizards forever. But our story begins at a different time, not in Gamehendge, but on a suburban street in Long Island, and our hero is no king sitting in a castle, he is a retired colonel shaving in his bathroom.
Colonel Forbin looked square in the mirror and dragged the blade across his cold creamed skin. He saw the tired little folds of flesh that lay in a heap beneath his eyes. Fifty-two years of obedient self-restraint, of hiding his tension behind a serene veil of composure. For fifty-two years he had piled it all on the back burner, and for fifty-two years it had boiled, frothing over in a turbulent storm inside of him. It had escaped through his eyes, reacting with the cigarette smoke and the fluorescent lights and slowly accumulating into a sagging mass. He ran his dripping palm across the stubble on the nape of his neck and thought again about the door. He had discovered the door some months back on one of his ritualistic morning walks with his dog McGrupp. It had started out as a typical stroll with McGrupp bounding joyously ahead of the preoccupied colonel. As they reached the apex of the hill, he saw it and he knew it had always been there, and felt foolish for overlooking the door for so long. At first, he tried to ignore it, but he soon found that it was impossible, and slowly his newly acquired knowledge transformed his dreary life into a prison from which there was only one escape. And on this morning, Colonel Forbin stepped through the door...
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Billions Billions Alive Today
Officially half of all the human beings
who have ever lived are alive today.
The entire population of all human history
an equivalent of all humans who ever lived.
Half entire human race who were ever born
are alive on earth now living on earth today.
Asia China India regionally 2.5 billion alive today
in fifty years Asian population will double triple?
In fifty years planet earth will need to produce more
food than has presently by humans ever been eaten?
Are these food figures statistics not impossible odds?
Famine pestilence war pandemics what future awaits?
Will compassion seeds flower in collective soul humanity?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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My First Love
For no reason at all she came into my thoughts and dreams
I don’t know why, I haven’t seen her since she was seventeen.
She brought with her forgotten memories I thought had gone,
but they’re still there to think about and to touch upon.
The happy and sad times that we both lived through
as teenage lovers with passions so strong and true.
We lived and breathed for each other every moment of the day,
and our hearts would break if we had to spend time away.
So strong was our love, we would have died for each other,
we experienced every emotion that was possible together.
My insane jealous nature eventually forced us to part
it left us with sadness and our first broken heart.
At the time there was nothing else worth living for,
but time heals and I found another love to adore.
Looking back, my first true love is still special to me,
we discovered what love was and how it should be.
And whenever she comes to mind I think back and smile,
and thank her for the memories that are so worthwhile.
The postman put a letter through the letterbox today
it said that my first love had recently passed away.
Even though she’s left this world she lives on in my memory
and as long as I shall live she’ll be with me.
In my thoughts and dreams I see her as she was so long ago,
and it’s over fifty years since we said our first hello.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Wherever your life ends, it is all there. The advantage of living is not measured by length, but by use; some men have lived long, and lived little; attend to it while you are in it. It lies in your will, not in the number of years, for you to have lived enough.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Book Of Numbers
These cheque book eyes that peer on out
With fifty four long years in train
Would beg the question, steeped in doubt:
‘Are balances brought home the same? ’
Are books of columns kept somewhere
With costs and profits to each name,
Does some laborious clerk inscribe
Each fall from grace, each cry of pain?
And is there some huge reference book,
A million pages long that gives
A code to score each passing thought,
To digitise each man that lives?
A ten for love that long survives
Its primal urge, a minus four
For each divorce, and minus three
For every child brought down, of course.
And how would grief be costed out?
A point for every tear or sigh,
Or nine to cover hearts of lead
That freeze in pain, but cannot cry.
For hope, ambition, faith and need
Are these the same for every man,
Or do the rich regain the creed
While poor men spill their lives like sand.
These cheque book eyes that peer on out
With fifty four long years in train
Appraise the wreckage of my life:
‘Are balances brought home the same? ’
17 February 1999
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Only Time Can Tell
Just when you think something
has nothing more to give
it surprises you with a little bit more.
Forty-five years ago,
I wrote something at a fun fare
and it keeps coming back
with something exciting and new.
First, it became my best-loved poem
with over fifty-five people
making it one of their favourites.
Next, it was used in an English class
in a London college,
then it had a video make of it
and then incorporated into a symphony,
it was read out at a memorial service
for an American serviceman in Afghanistan.
Another surprise came when
it was translated into Russian
for a University in the Ukraine
and then yesterday I found
it had been turned into a country song,
which really made my day,
something I had always imagined it to be,
and the tune they used was similar
to what I envisaged when I wrote it
all those years ago.
I cannot even guess what more surprises
this piece holds in store,
only time can tell.
28 July 2011
poem by David Harris
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