Menstruation At Forty
I was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its life
I feel the November
of the body as well as of the calendar.
In two days it will be my birthday
and as always the earth is done with its harvest.
This time I hunt for death,
the night I lean toward,
the night I want.
Well then—
speak of it!
It was in the womb all along.
I was thinking of a son ...
You! The never acquired,
the never seeded or unfastened,
you of the genitals I feared,
the stalk and the puppy’s breath.
Will I give you my eyes or his?
Will you be the David or the Susan?
(Those two names I picked and listened for.)
Can you be the man your fathers are—
the leg muscles from Michelangelo,
hands from Yugoslavia
somewhere the peasant, Slavic and determined,
somewhere the survivor bulging with life—
and could it still be possible,
all this with Susan’s eyes?
All this without you—
two days gone in blood.
I myself will die without baptism,
a third daughter they didn’t bother.
My death will come on my name day.
What’s wrong with the name day?
It’s only an angel of the sun.
Woman,
weaving a web over your own,
a thin and tangled poison.
Scorpio,
bad spider—
die!
My death from the wrists,
two name tags,
blood worn like a corsage
to bloom
one on the left and one on the right—
It’s a warm room,
the place of the blood.
Leave the door open on its hinges!
Two days for your death
and two days until mine.
Love! That red disease—
year after year, David, you would make me wild!
David! Susan! David! David!
full and disheveled, hissing into the night,
never growing old,
waiting always for you on the porch ...
year after year,
my carrot, my cabbage,
I would have possessed you before all women,
calling your name,
calling you mine.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Related quotes
A Death-Parting
LEAVES and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All these fall, and my soul gives ear,
And she is hence who once was here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Ah! but now, for a secret sign,
(The willow's wan and the water white,)
In the held breath of the day's decline
Her very face seemed pressed to mine.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
O love, of my death my life is fain;
(The willows wave on the water-way,)
Your cheek and mine are cold in the rain,
But warm they'll be when we meet again.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
Mists are heaved and cover the sky;
(The willows wail in the waning light,)
O loose your lips, leave space for a sigh,—
They seal my soul, I cannot die.
(With a wind blown day and night.)
Leaves and rain and the days of the year,
(Water-willow and wellaway,)
All still fall, and I still give ear,
And she is hence, and I am here.
(With a wind blown night and day.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Days
- Album: Reality
- Lyrics and music by David Bowie
Hold me tight
Keep me cool
Going mad
Don't know what to do
Do I need a friend?
Well I need one now
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
All I've done
I've done for me
All you gave
You gave for free
I gave nothing in return
And theres little left of me
All the days of my life
All the days of my life
All the days I owe you
With redeyed pain I'm knocking on your door again
My crazy brain in tangles pleading for your gentle voice
Those storms keep pounding through my faded heart
I'll play your sooth my sorry soul
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days of my life
(All the days of my life)
All the days I owe you
All the days of my life
song performed by by David Bowie
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New Year's Morning
Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife."
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.
Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old coem true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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A Time Of the Year
It is funny how memories
of old friends appear
at just around Christmas
every year.
Your mind drifts off to places
you used to know
and all the fun
you used to enjoy there.
Back to the school days
how joyous they were,
but ask anyone how they felt about them
and they’ll tell you they hated it there.
In truth, it was the best years of our lives.
A time before the world
and its pressures closed in,
a time of laughter, no tears there.
Lazy days of summers
that seemed to last all year,
and at Christmas
everyone’s favourite time of the year,
gifts spilled out from the bottom of the tree.
Those times are all now gone,
but we can still relive
the joys we used to know
through the eyes of our children
and their children
at this time of the year.
12 December 2007
poem by David Harris
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New Year's Eve Midnight
There is excitement in the air
Hearts are bubbling with joy and light
We feel the Death that is near
And we sit in wait wit smiles wide and bright.
This is the end we all wish to witness
The only Death we want to see so often
This is the time to forgive and to bless
Because a year is dead; boxed in a coffin.
This has always been our sole wish
The only resolution we would die to achieve
That we travel the time between the Ram and the Fish
That we always remain here and never leave.
As we watch the year gasp his Last
We see our pains flickering in His eyes
The dear ones that are now naught but dust
And the dreams that have long seen their demise.
So we cover the Year in His shroud
With mixed feelings of love and hate
Then we recite his elegy out loud
And light the straw to His body cremate
Into the open sea the licking flames go
Sailing away with dark memories three hundred and sixty-five days old
The wind is whispering what we already know
That we let go and face the New Year all strong and bold
With lighter hearts we await the midnight howl
The first cry of the New Born One
Desperately we wish it to cry and never yowl
So our days never dim but always have the Sun
At last the time is apt to forgive a debt
For the New Year is finally here
Now we begin another journey hoping to win the ultimate bet
'Who lives longer - Me or the Year? '
poem by Goddy MensahNab
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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As The Day Goes By
Seven days make a week is a known fact, Seven days in the United State of America, is seven days in the United Kingdom, Seven days in Canada, is seven in Nigeria, Seven days in South Africa is seven days in Liberia, Seven days in Ghana is seven days in Togo A thousand years is like a day before God When you sleep and wake up the next day, you are a day older When you sleep wake up, you are a day older i say It takes the man of understanding to know that he is older than the previous day The day is counting fast The time is counting fast as well The time is ticking like lightening in the sky There is a sharp competition between the day and the time There is a sharp competition between the day and the night There is a sharp competition between the day and the month There is a sharp competition between the day and the year As we getting to the end of the year As we are getting to the end of December As December is fast approaching As December is staring us in the face, As the New Year is fast approaching a day of the following year is not far away from our nose As the day on the calendar stipulates that December closer than we expected As that day fall on December As the day of Christmas sparks like lightening of merrymaking events because of the birth of Jesus Christ As the people rejoice and shout for joy so the daredevil armed robbers, armed to the teeth and body loaded with ammunition's strike their victims leaving sorrow tears and blood Kidnapping increase Ritualist go after their unsuspecting victims I am yet to understand why evil run like tap water in the
mind of people It make my eyes cover in shame, that people are lovers of money rather than their flesh and blood, blood is thicker
than water so they say but when money engulfs the heart of man like tsunami engulfs the land he becomes wild in his thinking like the
lion becomes wild in attacking its prey Money is the root of all evil so also money answereth all things As the days go by, money making evil scheme engulfs the heart of man without having anything to do to that The reason evil continues to grow in the heart of man like a tree with a tap root is yet to be understood It is still a mirage which is yet to be unraveled as the day goes by A day of reckoning is fast approaching, is falling down like the London bridge A day of reckoning is fast approaching, is falling down like a ripe fruit scattering into irreparable pieces which can never be gathered together again The day goes by with evil
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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The End Is Near
Death and life combined,
The feeling is unsure.
Is death coming?
Is life just beginning?
Not knowing is the question.
He's an old man,
Not strong, Nor smart.
He couldn't count the days,
Not even the days he had left.
"One more month left and I'm dead,
For sure this time.
Not another month,
Nor another year,
I'm done! " He shouted.
"Cancer has come,
It's here to stay,
And I must go my time has come."
poem by Alyese Johnson
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Happy New Year Everyone
As we venture towards another year,
I sit and reflect on the passing one.
A year that has been filled
with surprises from start to finish.
The biggest surprise
is the love and friendship
that has greeted me
from all the four corners of the world.
My cup runneth over
with the joys that it has brought
to this heart of mine.
It is hard to believe
and I am still pinching myself
to prove that it is real.
I could never have imagined
at this time last year. (2006)
that I would be writing this
to say thank you to everyone.
The joy of just one friend
is something to rejoice for,
but to having hundreds
is surely a blessing from God.
This year has taught me
many things about my life
and the way we should live.
Caring for others,
everyone we meet,
stretching out a helping hand
to everyone in need.
Never giving cross words,
there is no need for them,
when our love
will always make amends.
So yes, this passing year to me
has been a very memorable one.
Into the next, I’ll stride
with hope that I can help more
than I did this year.
Making more people smile
and bring more love and good cheer.
To all my friends out there
around the world
I am wishing you
a very happy and prosperous
New Year (2008) ahead.
If it is to be,
like this year for me.
It will certainly be a good
and Happy New Year indeed.
Happy New Year Everyone
Love and Hugs
David aka Dodgy Dave
30 December 2007
poem by David Harris
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Gerald's Promise (A True Experience)
A long time ago in the year of 1991
My love took sick, I knew not what of
Four dream's of future showed me he'd leave,
And drop behind Death's veil and I, be left alone
So we made a pact, he promised to come back
13 is my unlucky number, I feared it more and more
And on August 13th--Death knocked on our door
You must realize I was devastated
To know before what was to be, and be unable to change it
Then came a night, it stands in my memory
Heavy quilted curtains we made hung at the windows,
Alone in bed I leapt to see, two shining stars,
Bright as Venus in evening's sky looking over me-inside!
As suddenly they had appeared, they brightened and were gone
I straight away grabbed a light and ran down the stairs
I sat right down and spoke aloud, 'Gerald, I know you're here'
You scoff and ask how am I sure it was he, Dear Reader
I'll tell you how I know, this was January 3, 1992
It was on the date of the Anniversary of our meeting,
Six year's prior, right down to the Hour!
poem by Susan Renee Layne
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Where Does It Go?
As I watch the
Night Sky
I think of you.
The one I grew
Up with,
The one I always
Talked to,
The one I never left.
I watched the sky
On theanniversary
Of you death.
I feel that in times
Nature atunes to
Our emotions.
I watched the
Night sky.
Your death
Was so abrupt
Everyone was
Shocked.
I watch the
Night sky
As all the
Stars cry.
I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.
The sky bleeds
It's crystal
Tears.
Dead in the winter
A death had
Occured,
People cry for
The lost,
They cry for
The pain.
Now they weep
For my soul
For it is lost.
I can't join
The dead for
It wasn't my
Time, but
I can't be
Alive for my
Body is dead.
I'm lost between
Worlds.
I want to
Sleep.
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine.
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.
When I return to the
Scene where I wept
Crimson tears
Every night of the anniversary
The story replays,
But no living soul
Can see it.
Wrong conclusions
Drawn by human thoughts
And yet if they could
See what I do,
Then all will be
Explained
As the night of the anniversary
Replays every year.
As I watch the
Night sky
And all the stars
Cry,
As I stand over the
Grave marked as mine,
The night of the anniversary
Replays every year.
I live on.
poem by Sans Serif
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I Waste My Days
In the half-twilight of my empty year
Where I crouch, hemmed in
By an avalanche of days,
I hear the trees murmur
In some long, sad fatigue,
While birds land, hover…
And break their journeys.
My life has bunched its folds,
They gather at my feet,
As clouds, grey, scud across each enterprise;
Behind my eyes are glimpses of
Lost days, more sure and wise,
While love lies, mocking me,
And each year cries…
The clock ticks relentlessly,
The dead leaves fall,
My lost friends walk at my horizon,
The things I found familiar
Have ceased to draw my gaze…
I sleep too long and often, and
I waste my days…
poem by David Lewis Paget
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September Quandary
Thirty days does have September,
But there's one thing I don't remember.
What happened to those eight other months?
I know I must appear a dunce, but…
All this time couldn't pass me by I don't believe,
While I celebrated last year's New Year's Eve.
Then before I could make it to New Year's Day,
Exactly 243 days of this year have passed away.
Never again will this calendar inhibit my sight.
People and experiences will be focused delight.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Death of the Old Year
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
Old year you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old year you must not go;
So long you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.
How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.
Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you:
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Death Old Friend
Unsure, Apprehensive
Yet born to persevere throughout confusion,
Through fear he strides below two moons,
Some lonesome traveller confronted with anger
Wrings out his rags blood red, none spared for his victims.
He claims there’s no crime in a duel, a duet, a ballet,
Merrily he’s on his way, beyond the curtain call
Singing as he staggers, hoping to keep the wolves at bay.
Black milk skins wrapped in virgin linen.
She knows she must ride, that she must rise.
Seek out the spinners of the night,
Washerwomen wringing their rags in delight
Awaiting as they are the time to come when
Their souls may be released.
Death
Signalled out for us?
A certain time?
A certain place?
Are we to share our final moments with
A long since past familiar face?
Three days left for you, your shroud is waiting.
Can’t you hear them singing?
Spinning as they are throughout the night.
Run towards the canopy of some ancient revered willow
Have no disrespect for the harmonies of life,
It will only ever lead you into trouble.
Can you hear them singing?
Ringing bells in the springtime
Bearing witness to the reincarnation
Of our beloved mother the Earth.
Death, death old friend, death breeds life anew.
poem by David Lacey
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I Met Death
I was waiting, watching one day
When Death came along, looking
As if there was something he wanted to say
His hair was as black as the sky at night
And in the wind it blew like smoke
He had come a long way in his worn black cloak
So I invited him in and I did say
If you’d like to you can stay
But Death said:
“I’m only passing through
For the clock’s hands they say
They are ticking the seconds of my life away”
And I answered,
Thinking I’d misunderstood
As Death’s dark black eye gleamed under his dark black hood
“If your Death, how can you die? ”
You see, Death didn’t seem the kind to lie.
And Death wasn’t phased at all,
“No longer Death I may become,
Or so says He if I don’t complete
The most horrible, horrible, feat.
“The most horrible feat? ”
I had to say
Could it be so horrible,
That Death couldn’t say?
“Death, ” said Death, “is the horrible feat.”
And then he faded away, like smoke into the blue, blue sky
But I think, before he left, I might have seen him cry.
I had never in my life, seen Death again
Until the night I stood outside in the rain
When he said, “I’m sorry miss, but this is good bye.”
And I found out what it’s like to die.
So we went, and parted, to each our own way,
But one more time I want to heard Death say, “I’m sorry miss, -“
Marking the end of the day
poem by Jinny Tikanus
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A New Year, Another Chance
One more year to change…
One less year to do it in
Start now…don’t give in
One more chance
To do it in!
You can be better…
If you try
You can feel better
That’s no lie
You can do better this year
Through thick and thin
Look up! Start now!
Don’t give in!
A new year…(you only get so many)
A new start… (only you can do it)
One more chance… (this time stick to it)
To do it in!
New year ‘s eve is near
Are you gonna stay the same
If so…shame, shame, shame! !
No war! No more fear!
You can do it! Let’s do it…
different this year! !
Stop smoking…lose weight
Be happy…Work out! …No drugs! …
Love yaw! ! lot’s of hugs
poem by David Whalen
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Puzzling
Calendar with days marked off…
Final day checked…
in blood-red ink marker mean
Then… no more marks…of any sort
The calendar antiseptically… cryptically clean…
Time seemingly now, no longer of import
What was coming, so anticipated…(Or dreaded) …
That the days after… the anointed day
Seemed of no consequence imbedded
Calendar yellowed and tattered
As if time no longer existed…
To a person… like you or me
And to whom days… no longer mattered
Then…Now…and for eternity
poem by David Whalen
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A Calendar of Sonnets: February
Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still;
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill,
And willow stems grow daily red and bright.
These are days when ancients held a rite
Of expiation for the old year's ill,
And prayer to purify the new year's will:
Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight,
Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste,
And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed
The ardent summer's joy to have and taste;
Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed,
To recon clear the new life's sterner need;
Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed!
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Peace On Earth / Little Drummer Boy (feat. Bing Crosby)
David: Hello...... you're the new butler?
Bing: Hahaha! Well, it's been a long time since I've been the new anything!
David: What's happened to Hudson?
Bing: I guess he's changing.
David: Yeah, he does that a lot, doesn't he? Uhm... Oh, I'm David Bowie, I live
down the road.
Bing: Oh!
David: Sir Percival let's me use his piano if he not around. He's not around, is
he?
Bing: I can honestly say I haven't seen him, but come on in! Come in!
David: But uh...
Bing: Come on in!
David: Are you related to sir Percival?
Bing: Well, distantly...
David: Oh, you're not the poor relation from America, right?
Bing: Ha! Gee... news sure travels fast, doesn't it? I'm Bing.
David: Oh, I'm pleased to meet you. You're the one that sings, right?
Bing: Well, right or wrong, I sing either way.
David: Oh well, I sing too.
Bing: Oh good! What kind of singing?
David: Mostly the contemporary stuff. Do you eh... do you like modern music?
Bing: Oh, I think it's marvellous! Some of it's really fine. But tell me, have you ever listened to any of the older fellows?
David: Oh yeah, sure. I like ah... John Lennon and the other one with eh...Harry
Nilsson.
Bing: Mmm... you go back that far, uh?
David: Yeah, I'm not as young as I look.
Bing: Haha, none of us is these days!
David: In fact I've got a six year old son. And he really gets excited around the Christmas holiday-thing.
Bing: Do you go in for anything of the traditional things in the... boy, household, Christmas time?
David: Oh yeah, most of them really. Presents, tree, decorations, agents sliding down the chimney...
Bing: What??
David: Oh, I was just seeing if you were paying attention.
Bing: Haha!
David: Actually, our family do most of the things that other families do. We
sing the same songs.
Bing: Do you?
David: Oh, I even have a go at 'White Christmas'.
Bing: You do, eh!
David: And this one. This is my son's favourite. Do you know this one?
Bing: Oh, I do indeed, it's a lovely theme.
And they told me pa-ram-pam-pam-pam
A new-born king to see pa-ram-pam-pam-pam
Our finest gifts we bring pa-ram-pam-pam-pam
Ra-pam-pam-pam, ra-pam-pam-pam
Peace on Earth, can it be
Years from now, perhaps we'll see
See the day of glory
See the day, when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again
Peace on Earth, can it be
Every child must be made aware
Every child must be made to care
Care enough for his fellow man
To give all the love that he can
I pray my wish will come true
For my child and your child too
He'll see the day of glory
See the day when men of good will
Live in peace, live in peace again
Peace on Earth, can it be
Can it be
Bing: It's a pretty theme, isn't it?
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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