Thirty-Eight
IN early youth's unclouded scene,
The brilliant morning of eighteen,
With health and sprightly joy elate
We gazed on life's enchanting spring ,
Nor thought how quickly time would bring
The mournful period--Thirty-eight.
Then the starch maid, or matron sage,
Already at the sober age,
We view'd with mingled scorn and hate;
In whose sharp words, or sharper face,
With thoughtless mirth we loved to trace
The sad effects of--Thirty-eight.
Till saddening, sickening at the view
We learn'd to dread what Time might do;
And then preferr'd a prayer to Fate
To end our days ere that arrived;
When (power and pleasure long survived)
We met neglect and--Thirty-eight.
But time, in spite of wishes, flies
And Fate our simple prayer denies,
And bids us death's own hour await:
The auburn locks are mix'd with grey,
The transient roses fade away,
But reason comes at--Thirty-eight.
Her voice the anguish contradicts
That dying vanity inflicts;
Her hand new pleasures can create,
For us she opens to the view
Prospects less bright--but far more true,
And bids us smile at--Thirty-eight.
No more shall scandal's breath destroy
The social converse we enjoy
With bard or critic tete a tete;--
O'er youth's bright blooms her blights shall pour,
But spare the improving friendly hour
That science gives to --Thirty-eight.
Stripp'd of their gaudy hues by Truth,
We view the glitt'ring toys of youth,
And blush to think how poor the bait
For which to public scenes we ran
And scorn'd of sober sense the plan
Which gives content at--Thirty-eight.
Though Time's inexorable sway
Has torn the myrtle bands away,
For other wreaths 'tis not too late,
The amaranth's purple glow survives,
And still Minerva's olive lives
On the calm brow of--Thirty-eight.
With eye more steady we engage
To contemplate approaching age,
And life more justly estimate;
With firmer souls, and stronger powers,
With reason, faith, and friendship ours,
We'll not regret the stealing hours
That lead from Thirty--even to Forty-eight.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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To Mrs. Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stop and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five:
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five:
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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My Next Thirty Years
(track 12 - time 3:37)
(phil vassar)
I think Ill take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now its time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years
Hey my next thirty years Im gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things Ive done
Maybe now Ive conquered all my adolescent fears
And Ill do it better in my next thirty years
My next thirty years Im gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what Im doing here
In my next thirty years
Oh my next thirty years, Im gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe Ill remember my next thirty years
My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years
In my next thirty years
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yeah I'm thirty-six, but on the show I'm thirty-two. Nobody wants to watch a thirty-six year old woman, so they decided to make me thirty-two. Much more appealing somehow.
quote by Ellen DeGeneres
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thirty three years
Thirty three years
~
Soon I turn thirty three
And wonder what I have to show
I feel I have achieved very little
And have been going nowhere fast
I fear I am stuck in my ways
And this is my lot for life
I sit alone in writing this morning
With my usual coffee for one
I have loved, had my heart broken
Let opportunities slip away
Now I tend to do nothing
At least I wont feel hurt that way
I have spent time in solitary
And lost touch with the world
Please try and remember that
To excuse my lack of social grace
The pace of each year is picking up
While I am still young in some eyes
Still may yet have a lot to achieve
I look at the past thirty two years
And see myself an old man
Lonely and turning thirty three
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Thirty-nine
O hapless day! O wretched day!
I hoped you'd pass me by--
Alas, the years have sneaked away
And all is changed but I!
Had I the power, I would remand
You to a gloom condign,
But here you've crept upon me and
I--I am thirty-nine!
Now, were I thirty-five, I could
Assume a flippant guise;
Or, were I forty years, I should
Undoubtedly look wise;
For forty years are said to bring
Sedateness superfine;
But thirty-nine don't mean a thing--
À bas with thirty-nine!
You healthy, hulking girls and boys,--
What makes you grow so fast?
Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise--
I'm tough and bound to last!
No, no--I'm old and withered too--
I feel my powers decline
(Yet none believes this can be true
Of one at thirty-nine).
And you, dear girl with velvet eyes,
I wonder what you mean
Through all our keen anxieties
By keeping sweet sixteen.
With your dear love to warm my heart,
Wretch were I to repine;
I was but jesting at the start--
I'm glad I'm thirty-nine!
So, little children, roar and race
As blithely as you can,
And, sweetheart, let your tender grace
Exalt the Day and Man;
For then these factors (I'll engage)
All subtly shall combine
To make both juvenile and sage
The one who's thirty-nine!
Yes, after all, I'm free to say
I would much rather be
Standing as I do stand to-day,
'Twixt devil and deep sea;
For though my face be dark with care
Or with a grimace shine,
Each haply falls unto my share,
For I am thirty-nine!
'Tis passing meet to make good cheer
And lord it like a king,
Since only once we catch the year
That doesn't mean a thing.
O happy day! O gracious day!
I pledge thee in this wine--
Come, let us journey on our way
A year, good Thirty-Nine!
poem by Eugene Field
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At Thirty-Five
Three score and ten, the psalmist saith,
And half my course is well-nigh run;
I've had my flout at dusty death,
I've had my whack of feast and fun.
I've mocked at those who prate and preach;
I've laughed with any man alive;
But now with sobered heart I reach
The Great Divide of Thirty-five.
And looking back I must confess
I've little cause to feel elate.
I've played the mummer more or less;
I fumbled fortune, flouted fate.
I've vastly dreamed and little done;
I've idly watched my brothers strive:
Oh, I have loitered in the sun
By primrose paths to Thirty-five!
And those who matched me in the race,
Well, some are out and trampled down;
The others jog with sober pace;
Yet one wins delicate renown.
O midnight feast and famished dawn!
O gay, hard life, with hope alive!
O golden youth, forever gone,
How sweet you seem at Thirty-five!
Each of our lives is just a book
As absolute as Holy Writ;
We humbly read, and may not look
Ahead, nor change one word of it.
And here are joys and here are pains;
And here we fail and here we thrive;
O wondrous volume! what remains
When we reach chapter Thirty-five?
The very best, I dare to hope,
Ere Fate writes Finis to the tome;
A wiser head, a wider scope,
And for the gipsy heart, a home;
A songful home, with loved ones near,
With joy, with sunshine all alive:
Watch me grow younger every year --
Old Age! thy name is Thirty-five!
poem by Robert William Service
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Thirty Frames A Second
Today I saw a film going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Was a man I recognised
Say who you are
I lost my job
Security
Self confidence
Bank account
Identity
The league of youth
Coming backward at me
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
Go back to father
Father wheres my food?
You food is on the table
That cant be food
Its dirt
Say who you are
Look at my skin
Look at my face
Look at my arms
Getting younger
Going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
I crash my car
Collapse in town
Young immigrants
And legionaires
Fighting back back backwards
Thirty frames a second
Say who you are
Some friends of mine
I thought were dead
A coming back
What are you doing coming back
Jack
Say who you are
Feel Im going backwards
Thirty frames a second
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
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Shimshon
To have thirty sons and thirty daughters from your many wives,
Like the customs of a bride;
To have forty sons and thirty grandsons in your life,
Like the customs of a bridegroom;
But, out of love came something so sweet.
Yo are barren but now you will conceive and bear a son,
Like the dreadlocks of Shimshon!
But my best friend had taken my wife away.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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What results?
A password I will never lose
Nice messages
And funny poems
Stories, too
Gifts to treasure
Love to remember
Maybe even friendship to last forever
Oh yes, my first adult kiss
To open my chrysalis
But will I be a pretty butterfly-she?
And all this at the age of thirty!
Life is oh so funny
Hihihihi
What else does it have in store for me?
I am eager to wait and see
Patiently
At the age of thirty
A bud
And I still gather may
My prime
As I am a female
Comes with the age of thirty
Arctic Song
The days get older
The shadows colder
The seasons pause in vain
And in the north
We sit until
The sun won't rise again
The sun won't rise again, my love
The sun won't rise again
For thirty days and thirty nights
And fallow fall the sane
I spoke it once and will refrain
The sun won't rise again
We feel the frost
We feel the bite
These nights of endless pain
And once upon a time
We know
The sun will rise again
The sun won't rise again, my love
The sun won't rise again
For thirty days and thirty nights
We'll sufer through this bane
I spoke it twice, and will refrain
The sun won't rise again
And on that morn
Oh, breaking dawn
We'll let ourselves retain
Those thoughts of night
The quietude
Till the sun won't rise again
poem by Liz Annson
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Graveyard Train
On the highway, thirty people lost their lives.
On the highway, thirty people lost their lives.
Well, I had some words to holler, and my rosie took a ride.
In the moonlight, see the greyhound rollin on.
In the moonlight, see the greyhound rollin on.
Flyin through the crossroads, rosie ran into the hound.
For the graveyard, thirty boxes made of bone.
For the graveyard, thirty boxes made of bone.
Mister undertaker, take this coffin from my home.
In the midnight, hear me cryin out her name.
In the midnight, hear me cryin out her name.
Im standin on the railroad, waitin for the graveyard train.
On the highway, thirty people turned to stone.
On the highway, thirty people turned to stone.
Oh, take me to the station, cause Im number thirty-one.
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The headlight emvnxw
The headlight of a car
Can throw light not afar
But, say, thirty yards.
With that in a pitch dark road
One can drive miles and miles.
The next thirty yard road
Will unfold while the first
Thirty yards are covered.
The next thirty yard road
Will unfold when the second
Thirty yards are covered.
Faith is a headlight
With which one is endowed
To tread in the world
Which is pitch-dark by itself.
26.07.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Date Of Christmas DaY
The Date Of Christmas DaY
A.D.Four plus thirty-three= A.D.Thirty-seven.
The millineum year Two Thousand Thirty Seven has not yet occured.
Inn mye humble opinion never will it ever bee.
Iff Christ was born in September Thirty-Seven,
we should have Christmas on September Three.
December TwentY-fifth is the dead works day of druids.
They still dance the maypole day in May.
May ONE could be the birthday of GODS son.
The time is tricky anyway after more than a few years.
Everything gets blurry after way too many beers.
The moral of this story just accept that it was done.
This Christmas try to worship on December Twenty-One.
Drink less eggnogg and have more FUN.
On this millineum day in Nineteen Fifty-Four;
Eye was not yet one year Young.
poem by Charles Hice
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I have these visions of myself being thirty, thirty-five, forty having a family.
quote by Nastassja Kinski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Of Hope And Glory
Urrrrh
What's the time?
I was trying to get some sleep
Attention, urrraaah, bridges
Sharkey, Nutley, Jackson, Thompson,Master
Well, as you can see we've got a new recruit to this land of hope and glory
Hands behind backs and legs apart and tell us all of your unfortunate story.
Who me sir?
Yes, you ssssir!
I was an innocent man till someone grassed me of a plan
Of earning some big a money
If I hadn't mouthed it about, I am sure without doubt
I'd 'ave missed this land of hope and glory
Well you poor poor sod, here you're up sharp at six thirty
Cold shower down to breakfast, can't have you looking dirty
I suggest you eat what's given you even if it doesn't agree with you
Cos It's all you're be getting up until twelve thirty
In between this time stay up in your room, you can dream of life
good things
Two years of my teen age life given to this stand to attention life
Of land of hope and glory
I get so bored as time goes by, I think I'll do something dirty
I pick at the floor for juicy butts and I'll make myself a smoke
A bog roll and envelope stick it, all this helps to pass my time
As the evening drags on, you can watch a little telly
Hot Gossip pans people with a little bit of belly
A hot drink served cold with the heat of yesterday's
Don't complain learn the game and I'll get through another day
I watch the second hand on the clock at long last is nine thirty
Off to bed straight to sleep as I leave this land of hope and glory
But only for a few seconds I'm in n ecstasy
Before the bell rings to let me know, sharp at six thirty
A the, a two, a six, a ta
Quiet, come on you lot, come on, lights out
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On My Thirty-Third Birthday, January 22, 1821
Through life's dull road, so dim and dirty,
I have dragg'd to three-and-thirty.
What have these years left to me?
Nothing--except thirty-three.
Shaved
He had wore a beard every since his early teens.
It had been at least thirty years since anyone saw him without it.
For those thirty years he felt he had something to hide.
But yesterday he shaved and freed himself from the thirty year mask he had been wearing.
He said it feels good to no longer have that itchy heavy beard weighing him down.
Yesterday he shaved when he finally told everyone he is gay.
Sweet, Sweet Diva
After more than thirty harvests, you have remained the same
Woman that I always cared for
And the one that I love
With the full strength of my soul.
Sweet, Sweet Mama, Mayflower
You possess the ultimate beauty and the tenderness
Of the exquisite wild roses
That explains why throughout the ages
You have safeguarded your sweetness and your wisdom.
Flower of eternal spring
You are the Angel who has kept
Your coolness and your youth. Time
Has frozen your image in my heart
You are my virgin and my happiness.
After more than thirty springs, you are the same
Person that I unequivocally loved
And who loves me
When the leaves fall in autumn
And when it snows in winter.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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To praise it would amount to praising myself. For the entire content of the work... coincides almost exactly with my own meditations which have occupied my mind for the past thirty or thirty-five years.
quote by Carl Friedrich Gauss
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Bit in the middle
I work forty miles from home,
so I drive eighty miles a day.
I quite enjoy the journey
it give me time to pray.
I rise at six thirty each moning
so I can get an early start.
I leave work at five thirty,
in the winter I just drive in the dark.
I don't mind all the driving,
in fact it gives me a rest.
It's just the work in the middle
thats the bit that I detest.
poem by Maurice Diplock
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