Study until twenty-five, investigation until forty, profession until sixty, at which age I would have him retired on a double allowance.
quote by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ever green
At twenty,
Many are pretty,
Youth in prime.
At thirty,
They may carry it,
Youth to the brim.
At forty,
Some remain a beauty,
Hormones in spate.
At fifty,
Rarely remains a beauty,
Lust abating.
Close to sixty,
You retain the beauty,
It is a mystery.
You still tempt me
As you did
At my five and twenty
When you were too
At my age
With your lemon colour.
Is it so ‘cause
You’re still sexy,
Or I, still hungry.
At five and sixty,
Sophia Lauren has fans,
Beauty-care to her aid.
You at sixty,
Are a real beauty,
Under nature-care.
You are to me
Miss beauty,
For the consistency.
Ever be green.
Never be brown.
Aley, the queen.
05.11.99[Aleykutty, a colleague]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Twenty can't be expected to tolerate sixty in all things, and sixty gets bored stiff with twenty's eternal love affairs.
quote by Emily Carr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who devotes sixteen hours a day to hard study may become at sixty as wise as he thought himself at twenty.
quote by Mary Wilson Little
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At twenty a man is a peacock, at thirty a lion, at forty a camel, at fifty a serpent, at sixty a dog, at seventy an ape, at eighty a nothing at all.
quote by Baltasar Gracian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At twenty a man will be a peacock, at thirty a lion, at forty a camel, at fifty a serpent, at sixty a dog, at seventy a monkey, and at eighty nothing.
Man Sees The Remainder In Woman
A woman at twenty is the cup full,
In forty the cup half full, not half empty
And in sixty a quarter full to men,
Who see in women only the remainder.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sitting by the Fire
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh! the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth!
Sitting by the fire,
Watching in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro.
Oh, the nights - the nights we've spent,
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow;
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago!
If the days were days of toil
Wherefore should we mourn;
There were shadows near the shine,
Flowers with the thorn?
And we still can recollect
Evenings spent in mirth -
Fragments of a broken life,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow,
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago.
Beauty stooped to bless us once,
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow;
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Words of love were interchanged,
Maiden hearts we stole;
And the light affection throws
Slept on every soul.
Oh, the hours went flying past -
Hours of priceless worth;
But we took no note of Time,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow,
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Gleesome children were we not?
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Laughing voices filled the room;
Oh, the songs we sung,
When the evenings hurried by -
When our hearts were young!
Pleasant faces watched the flame -
Eyes illumed with mirth -
And we told some merry tales,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh, the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Watching, in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro!
poem by Henry Kendall
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2012
no investigation no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation no investigation no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation
no investigation no investigation no investigation
The Workaholic
He retired from his job on his sixty fifth birthday
But he did not enjoy the work free life
And he died just nine months into his retirement
To be mourned by his family and his wife.
It has been said he was a workaholic
And that he was one who worked as hard as two
And he felt bored without a job to go to
And he pined away as many like him do.
His problem was he did not have a hobby
And a working life the life he loved and knew
A good man for his wife and family and his Country
But good men just like bad men must die too.
For forty seven years he worked for the same employers
And to the end to his bosses was true
His parting gift from them a wrist watch and box of chocolates
And a well done and a shake hands and thank you.
He must have been one who truly liked his bosses
To have worked for them for forty seven years
His last day on the job it was his saddest
And as he left he fought to choke the tears.
His problem was that he did not have a hobby
And he only lived for each working day
And when he left the workforce in his sixties
He fell into ill health and pined away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dev Anand is no more.
.
Dev Anand, a handsome ever green hero,
Died at eighty-eight, eighteen year senior,
Whom I took my style modal at eighteen.
I had had preserved his photo cuttings.
He looked sixty when he was at forty.
He kept that look intact till his sixty.
He took a look of eighty at sixty
That he kept till now to be ever green.
Dev Anand was sexy without hinting sex.
He was impish without being intense.
A romantic hero, without a scandal,
He was committed to his wife, Kalpana Karthik.
05.12.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Kiwi Dave
For forty five years I've been working and I'm just an unfettered slave
And I have gray hairs to show for it I am quoting Kiwi Dave
Five years to go to retirement I was sixty last birthday
And ever since I've started working it's been uphill all the way.
My ex wife said that I was a drinker that I was too fond of the booze
That was her excuse for leaving she said I was born to lose
But I take it in moderation after work three or four beers
And I've been a slave for her and for my children for close to if not twenty years.
Fifteen years ago she left me and she went to live with younger bloke
She got more than half my assets for years to her haven't spoke
She turned my son and daughter against me and my six grandchildren I don't see
And I will spend my usual Christmas on my own watching T.V.
Kiwi Dave is a good person though just a little soured by life
And things for him would have been better had he had a faithful wife
'A woman she can make or break you' with that who could disagree
Dave could see the truth in those words for who would know better than he? .
For forty five years he's been working the hard worker Kiwi
Dave
And for his ex wife and his children for years he has been a slave
He looks older far than sixty the hard life has made him gray
Five more years left till retirement it's been uphill all the way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Forty for you, sixty for me. And equal partners we will be.
quote by Joan Rivers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She was in the profession
She stopped her work at her lawn when she saw me
and leaned over the fence and we talked for over two hours
with my elbow on her posts and my feet resting
against the palings.
She had worked forty years in the same profession
and had seen generations through the doors. She
had enjoyed her work and people still call her to
tell her about themselves; they express their gratitude
and how much of a difference she had made.
She walked down the fence, waved her arms
and returned to the corner where I stood.
But what was work for?
she asked.
Forty years doing what was good for others
but nothing that was good for myself.
What was work for? she sighed.
What were forty years for? It destroyed me.
(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Besides, I always thought that one of the great attractions of practising law was what I like to call the collegiality of the profession and I think that duty of collegiality applies even when we are retired.
quote by Len G. Murray
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To become an able and successful man in any profession, three things are necessary, nature, study and practice.
quote by Henry Ward Beecher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Jamaica
O Jamaica
How I missed you
Your easy gait
Mangoes and pears
I left your majestic hills
And clean sea breeze
Songs of the humming birds
Dub poets
And breadfruit trees
O Jamaica
I missed your reggae rythms
Bungo sounds
And Natty
I left for a land I knew not
A land of plenty
Was it for wealth?
Was it for pride?
No!
For knowledge, maybe
Yet I am empty
O Jamaica
I missed your beaches
And Negril
Sitting on stones reasoning
Now I get you Peter Tosh
And Muta is right too
Hardly a day goes by
That I do not think of you
It's not physical
Just an inexplicable pain
One that holds no hope
Without the LORD
I could not cope
O Jamaica
How I missed you
When will I see you again?
Dance with you again?
Land of wood and water
'No problem people'
People of hospitality
Of clean water
Where the sun never sleep
Snow-less land
Land without debt collectors
Twenty five years since I left your shores
But it feels like sixty
Twenty five years since we walk and play
But it feels like sixty
Twenty five years since I saw granny's tomb
But it feels like sixty
How are the dandelions?
Is Blue Mountain still blue?
And how is Kingston
And Montego Bay?
O Jamaica!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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I have seen them on the freeway
I have seen them on the freeway
doing forty and creeping along
in brand new cars, driving BMW’s
Mercedes Benz compressors, Audi’s
in the one hundred and twenty zone.
In the fastest lane
with huge white eyes in night black skins,
stretching over female faces,
totally alone with big L-signs
on the back or back window of the car,
passing signs prohibiting doing less than sixty
and ignoring them
as if totally petrified,
shocked by the reality of driving.
poem by Gert Strydom
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How Many Seconds In A Minute?
How many seconds in a minute?
Sixty, and no more in it.
How many minutes in an hour?
Sixty for sun and shower.
How many hours in a day?
Twenty-four for work and play.
How many days in a week?
Seven both to hear and speak.
How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runneth.
How many months in a year?
Twelve the almanack makes clear.
How many years in an age?
One hundred says the sage.
How many ages in time?
No one knows the rhyme.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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It is needless to say how great has been the influence of the doctrine of Evolution, or rather perhaps of the method of investigation to which it has given birth, upon the study of history, especially the history of institutions.
quote by Goldwin Smith
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So without getting into the specifics, I can tell you that to the extent that investigation is a relatively important investigation and meaningful, the president would have been periodically briefed.
quote by Robert Mueller
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