One is never fortunate or as unfortunate as one imagines.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As the butterfly imagines
As the butterfly imagines
the world is moving fast
historical events are happening
no one knows when they will last
New melodies are the present
as the butterfly imagines
slowly she starts dancing
before realizing reality.
Her body is ice walking through paradise
she's so delighted, no one will dare to disturb her happiness
as the butterfly imagines
that she is like a holy angel.
Time ran out!
The friend's funeral is happening
she's not here anymore
as the butterfly imagines.
poem by Maria Jose Cid Velazquez
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The unfortunate
A polar bear does not suffer as much
As an African bear would imagine it to.
An Indian crow does not suffer as much
As a penguin would imagine it to.
The unfortunate are not as unfortunate
As the fortunate think them to be.
22.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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One is never as fortunate or as unfortunate as one thinks.
quote by La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those that have had great passions esteem themselves for the rest of their lives fortunate and unfortunate in being cured of them.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alas for the affairs of men! When they are fortunate you might compare them to a shadow; and if they are unfortunate, a wet sponge with one dash wipes the picture away.
Advocates of capitalism are very apt to appeal to the sacred principles of liberty, which are embodied in one maxim: The fortunate must not be restrained in the exercise of tyranny over the unfortunate.
quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Politicians are there to try to deal with stuff, but sometimes it's both fortunate and unfortunate that people like us have more... not involvement, but more power in the stuff that we say.
quote by Thierry Henry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sacred And Eternal
I am fortunate to be a poet with words periodical
I am fortunate to write poems sacred and eternal.
I am fortunate to see the world in new look
I am fortunate to be in poetic imagination
With evergreen colors sacred and eternal.
I am fortunate to be a part and parcel of the world
That is yours and only yours
And you are for all sacred and eternal.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The fortunate: "I am myself and my circumstances." The unfortunate: "I am my circumstances and myself."
aphorism by Hasier Agirre, translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The fortunate are not lucky
Every horror that you went through
Will be the armour of experience,
Which will lend you enough confidence
With which you face the future at ease.
The fortunate are more vulnerable
And the unfortunate, less susceptible,
To the stress they are subjected to.
The cactus is seasoned for draught.
.25.12.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Fortunate Son
Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Ooh, they're red, white, and blue
And when the band plays hail to the chief
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no senator's son, son, son
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord, don't they help themselves now
And when the tax man comes to the door
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no millionaire's son, son, son
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no, no
Some folks inherit star-spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war
And when you ask 'em how much should we give
Ooh, they only answer more, more, more, more
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no military son, son, son
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, one, one
It ain't me
It ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son, son, son
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fortunate Son
Some folks are born
Made to wave that flag
Ooh that red, white 'n blue
And when they play
'Hail to the Cheif'
Ooh they point the cannon at you, lord
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no
Some folks are born
Silver spoon in hand
Lord don't they help themselves?
And when the taxman
Knocks on their door
Ooh the house looks like a rummage sale, yeah
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no millionaires son, no, no
Some folks are born
Starspangled eyes
Ooh they send you out to war
And when Australia asks
'How much do we get?'
Ooh they just ask for more and more and more and more and more and...
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no millionaires son, no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, one, one
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no CIA son, no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son, son, son
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Regretting Their Actions
Unfortunate are those,
Who select their victims with venom.
Those who are blinded by an agenda picked,
Without facts that are offered to them...
But set with a mindset,
To appease a personal illness.
And this had been done with ease.
Unfortunate are those,
Deciding to choose the ones perceived,
As vulnerable.
Those they believed were without friends.
Those they have chosen,
To be open and defenseless.
Unfortunate are those with minds like this!
And they are the ones to ultimately suffer the most.
First to scream an unjustice has been done.
Although they are the ones,
To instigate...
Their own pain and defeat!
And exposed to be evil...
From discretions selected privately.
Now publicly observed as acts to deceive.
Unfortunate are the ones like these...
Regretting their actions,
At the expense of destroying their own lives.
Weeping and seeking...
Places to hide!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fortunate Son
Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Ooh, theyre red, white and blue
And when the band plays hail to the chief
They point the cannon right at you
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no senators son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord they dont help themselves
But when the taxman comes to the door
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no millionaires son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war
And when you ask them how much should we give ?
They only answer more! more! more!
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no militarys son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate one, no no
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unfortunate is he who cannot gain a few sincere friends during his life and more unfortunate is the one who has gained them and then lost them (through his deeds).
Ali in Peak of Eloquence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fortunate Son
Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
Ooh, theyre red, white and blue.
And when the band plays hail to the chief,
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, lord,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no senators son, son.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, no,
Yeah!
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, dont they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no millionaires son, no.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, no.
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, lord,
And when you ask them, how much should we give?
Ooh, they only answer more! more! more! yoh,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no military son, son.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, one.
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no fortunate one, no no no,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no fortunate son, no no no,
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An adult is still a child
A child imitates its mother with air.
An adult imitates models to seem fair.
A child imagines a child in a doll
And enjoys tending it with fantasy.
An adult imagines some ones in his
And experience bliss in fantasy.
A child fears and pretends ignorance.
An adult dreads and pretends innocence.
Though old, still a child, I amuse myself
Though wise, still a child, I fool myself.
12.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Gentle Touch of a Doting Mother
Not a figment of one's imagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.
Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.
Not a figment of one's immagination,
Is a life of another lived.
Nor can one explain a pain endured.
Felt as others take this and theirs,
For granted.
Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
Some dismiss the hugs given with kisses.
The ones not missing,
The nourishment a providing of this gives.
Kept are these wounds to heal,
Alone.
Sometimes heard,
Are those moans and groans to hush.
With a wish for them to be gone.
And a healing of a pain eventually goes,
Away.
Some dismiss a gentle touch of a doting mother.
The ones unfortunate to know what this is.
And those who are,
Fortunate...
To know and/or remember,
Know memories of 'mama' within them linger.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm fortunate that the books sell, but even more fortunate to live in Chatham, to be very happily married and to have, on the whole, a fairly clear conscience.
quote by Bernard Cornwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.
poem by Terry Collett
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