Our Tomorrows
Minutes fold into hours,
hours fold into days
and days fold into years
that quickly disappear away.
One day we are young
and then we are old
as time carries on
until we are no more.
In our universe,
we are alive no more
than a giant's
blink of an eye.
We strive to be remembered
in whatever field
we inspire to do
and never to be forgotten.
We try to live
a life to full measure
as if our tomorrows
depend on our today's.
11 June 2012
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Fold It All Away
The fire, the heat, the hungry daze -
I will fold it all away.
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
You made my heart soar and leap
And now my heart will go to sleep
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
All desire in me is gone -
Another’s touch would just feel wrong
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
Your smile’s engraved inside my head,
The view of you, touching foreheads
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
A kiss that made my heart melt,
Feelings I had never felt
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
I loved to hear your laughter most
But now the sound will be a ghost
Like clothes just meant for summer days
I will fold it all away
Such warmth and love can never stay
I will fold
It all
Away
Higher than I’ve ever been
The fall is here - let it begin
But I will rise again someday
The cold and winter cannot stay
For now that day seems far away
Like clothes just meant for summer days
And I will fold
Every piece
Away
It’s winter now
The cold
Will stay
Timely Matters
I count my days
By the breaths I take
For in those breaths
Come a hope of better tomorrow
For secounds turn to minutes
Minutes into hours
Hours into to days
They will go on after
I am gone
So with each breath I am blessed
To see all the Lords provided
This miracle called life
Which time is only a play thing
poem by David Kush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Time~
Time waits for no one
Tick tocking itself along
Even measured seconds
Morphing into minutes
Minutes into hours
Into days, months
And, yes years;
Where did it all?
Down the drain?
Much like the water
Draining in the sink...
This sink that we call life
This sink that once held it all...
The sink, my sink, once full now empty
Down the drain
Kind of like my life;
By, Theodora Onken
November 15,2012
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Song Of Roses
'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.
One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red,
Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled,
And for the white rose sing a song--the white rose for the dead.
And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold,
King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old,
Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold.
And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee
And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee,
You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free.
'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow!
They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago.
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know.
poem by Virna Sheard
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A Honey-Do List (This is my attempt at a Sestina)
I wrote a long honey-do list
and handed it to my husband.
With a smile he read it and with a fold
he stuffed it in his pocket.
I'll get to this as soon as I can,
but can't you hear the cry from the dogs.
Who can't hear the cry of the dogs?
Did you not read my list?
If you won't do it I can,
I said to my loving husband
I took the list from his pocket.
And opened it at the fold.
It was closed with a fold,
because I want to hunt my dogs.
Now return it to my pocket.
I will get to the list,
Said my loving husband.
I'll get to it when I can.
I'm doing the best I can,
and he creased it at the fold.
Cried out my loving husband,
you know I love my dogs.
I'll get around to this list
and returned it to his pocket.
With my fingers I tapped the pocket,
maybe you can't but I can,
dropp you from my list.
Grabbing me he did fold
me in his arms like he does his dogs.
I am your loving husband.
I promise you said my loving husband,
with a hand on his heart across his pocket
I love you more than my dogs
I'll get to you when I can
Please return me to your fold
Because you know you head my list
Thirty-two dogs and one husband
added to my list and stuffed in a pocket
Enjoy it while I can and iron out our differences at the fold.
poem by Victoria Dame
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Summer Days of Yesteryear
We often live surveying the past
as a summer season comes around,
and selecting the days of living freely
in our memory will be found.
We scrutinize the events of other Summers
experiencing great pleasure and delight
that once we knew when we were just
youngsters when life seemed to be all right.
Through the fading days of yesteryear
we filled our life with many dreams.
From childhood days to adulthood days
it was just a natural step it seems.
We miss the thrills that once was ours
the days we felt were always free.
We live it over each Summer time
and always remains a pleasant memory.
Too swiftly is the flight of time,
Though plentiful be the exuberant ways
that lead us down memory lane
to the scenes of other Summer days.
Though another Summer season shall end,
One wish for all of you we hold
May Summer always bring an abundance
of joy and memories a hundred fold.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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Days in Red
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
And moon of glowing dark
Sky deep and high
Days days days in red
Flowing on hours in night
Where love lost its flight
Once those were alright
Now they no more spark
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
Flowing memories at sight
No feeling seems now right
But love's still inside
Come come babe now close abide
Days days days in red
In days days days ahead
The sun is in autumn light
Is there a horizon of ignite
Where hours go on by
Days days days in red
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Dating Days
Three women
In thirty days
Tell me seriously
Our dating days
Are over and done
Are dead and gone
It seems that no matter how much I drink
I seem to still stay sober
It seems that no matter how young I am
I seem to still feel older
Three men are going to hell
Thirty women are going to jail
Jonah swore he swallowed the whale
Thirty thirsty women
Three hundred women in three hours
Told me boy forget the flowers
Christ told a man called 1 legion
Come into the fold and start preachin
Your devil days are over and gone
Your weary days are dead and done
Your happiness has begun
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: bass
Victor delorenzo: drums
Recorded at carriage house, stamford, ct
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dating Days
Three women
In thirty days
Tell me seriously
Our dating days
Are over and done
Are dead and gone
It seems that no matter how much I drink
I seem to still stay sober
It seems that no matter how young I am
I seem to still feel older
Three men are going to hell
Thirty women are going to jail
Jonah swore he swallowed the whale
Thirty thirsty women
Three hundred women in three hours
Told me boy forget the flowers
Christ told a man called 1 legion
Come into the fold and start preachin
Your devil days are over and gone
Your weary days are dead and done
Your happiness has begun
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: bass
Victor delorenzo: drums
Recorded at carriage house, stamford, ct
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The poem and her poet
Death once told poor life defeated by life:
Life's no life if lived on the edge of knife,
No more a struggle, nor is full of strife,
Do ye know how many deaths is Death rife?
Death's all death; the same is not true of life,
Life tries to knot her up snaps when death's knife,
But I've heard a man asking on death bed,
Pray, tell me Death, how long ere I'm all dead?
To him, said death, straightening up his head,
Moments might when look like minutes of dread,
Minutes stretch and stretch into hours, instead,
When hours take days, and days, years, you are dead.
Remember, life's lived moment to moment,
‘Tis measured too in a moving moment,
Forget not: Death alone is permanent,
I dwell in life from birth, live life dormant;
There's no freedom in life, nor should death call,
Death changes but the bricks of prison wall,
All quarrels ‘tween life and death, big and small,
Settled are, death when proves him far too tall.
Life is a small piece, but a paragraph
Of my poem, said Death, metre nor measure but in half,
Life may decide every new beginning,
But ‘tis me that knows the length, knows ending.
Eons pass sans measure for endless time,
While no clocks tick, nor dare their hours to chime,
Boulders of rocks break down whilst time stands still,
O grinding into grains of sands sans will.
While life is stuck with my poem's first rhyme,
Death challenged life to dare the worst she can,
I'm the Absolute trouser wearing man1,
I wonder how relative would tick time!
_____________________________________________ ___________
1. Death muses himself to be the male principle, the purusha.
The poem stands for life and prakriti. The piece here depicts
a dialogue between Life, or the matter, the poem and her
creator poet, the Death. In Indic philosophy, purusha is the
presiding deity, the atman or soul, which is eternal and body
is made of prakriti, the material nature, which is death-bound.
_____________________________________________ __________________
- Musings | 12.08.12 |
poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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7 Hours
Today's a sunny day
And there's a lot of time to go with it
For me
I want to celebrate and have fun for 7 hours
So ladies and gentlemen
Make the food
Fill up the drinks
It's going to be a fun 7 hours
I'll bring my poems
Maybe my photos
Perhaps even show the ladies a dance I know
7 hours
And the time is ours
Full of nice memories
Full of good times
Full of new friendships
Full of whatever we want to make of it
These 7 hours
These 7 hours of perhaps stress free and
drama free
These 7 hours to be what we want it to be
poem by Justin Gildow
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That it’s dangerous
That it’s dangerous
to travel alone
lots of people have told me
and I have also
read it in poems
and ask you to accompany me
to places where the night falls dark
and days that are sometimes without end
and oceans that are bluer
than anything that we know
to beaches that are soft, inviolate and white
which go past the horizon,
but more than this
I need you
as my comrade, companion
and life partner
to as pilgrims together
go into the wide world
so that minutes become hours,
days, months and years
and if at a time
we become refugees
from staying young
and life bit by bit
slowly pass away with time
I’ll love you
and you’ll adore me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Mother Song
_From the Portuguese._
HEAVY my heart is, heavy to carry,
Full of soft foldings, of downy enwrapments--
And the outer fold of all is love,
And the next soft fold is love,
And the next, finer and softer, is love again;
And were they unwound before the eyes
More folds and more folds and more folds would unroll
Of love--always love,
And, quite at the last,
Deep in the nest, in the soft-packed nest,
One last fold, turned back, would disclose
You, little heart of my heart,
Laid there so warm, so soft, so soft,
Not knowing where you lie, nor how softly,
Nor why your nest is so soft,
Nor how your nest is so warm.
You, little heart of my heart,
You lie in my heart,
Warm, safe and soft as this body of yours,
This dear kissed body of yours that lies
Here in my arms and sucks the strength from my breast,
The strength you will break my heart with one of these days.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Ever have one of 'those' days
Did you ever have one of “those” days
A day at least twenty seven hours long
A day in which nothing much went right
Yet also, a day when… nothing went wrong
One of those days that does absolutely nothing’
One of those days that could have phoned itself in
One of those days you could’ve fit so much stuff in
But you didn’t…and ain’t that a sin.
A day… that had it gone any slower,
Would have started goin’ in reverse
until’ it turned into yesterday and..
What could possibly be worse?
Tomorrow would become today then
Well that’s what could go wrong!
And I’d have another one of “those” days
A day at least thirty hours long
poem by David Whalen
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Harmony Will Prevail
The days have limits on the playground - We wake, we eat, we work and we sleep - The surroundings in which we are bound, do you take the time to inhale all the sounds - Every second that wishes away into munites, the hours, the creators of days - We measure our age by the years we have passed - I listen to the beat, i hear the drums played by the planet - The noises which influance your ways, the field that has the magnetical forces that signals the tides in the ocean - The voices of creatures, sharing a bond with harmony to prevail in a world designed by humans - Have time to think, hear your thought - One passage we share as creatures combined, is life, time is the boundary and we have to live in this very special world
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Moonlight
It will not hurt me when I am old,
A running tide where moonlight burned
Will not sting me like silver snakes;
The years will make me sad and cold,
It is the happy heart that breaks.
The heart asks more than life can give,
When that is learned, then all is learned;
The waves break fold on jewelled fold,
But beauty itself is fugitive,
It will not hurt me when I am old.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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2 Weeks
14 Days left
336 hours
Until the end of this chapter
The chapter of hell in my life
2 weeks until I leave
8 hours a day
8 hours of hell in this school
Dealing with ignorance driven by people
Pushing back judgmental walls
After all 8 years in this prison
All I have is 2 weeks,14 days,336 hours left inside this hellhole
Now I can’t figure out what to do
Skip graduation, or stand on the stage and face the music?
That answer has left me then came back
In just 2 week I’ll be gone never to set foot inside again
In just 14 days I’ll leave and never turn back
In just 336 hours, my face will be erased from this place
2 weeks until I graduate from 8th grade
Why now, it must end sooner
In just 2 months I’ll be in high school
2 weeks…
14 days… 336 hours…
The memory of me will be gone
poem by Marcellus Watts
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~time~
As the hours drag on
the doctors rush to save her life
as the hours drag on
the day ends with no hope left
as the hours drag on
a nurse in forms a young girls family full of distress
as the minutes pass by
a young girl slowly dies
as the minutes pass by
a dieing girl whispers her last good byes
as the seconds tick past
she breaths her last breath
as seconds tick past
a family is struck with the truth that life does not last forever
months past in a blur
years will only dull the pain for the family
eternity till they will meet again
poem by Kairy sauerwein
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Don't Break The Hold
Don't........
Don't break the hold,
Or I may fold,
And fall into an
endless vault of
Vaulted faults
Down tunnels of time
So don't
Break the hold,
Or I may fold......
© 1980
poem by Nick Strong
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Past and Present
Bygone days silently curl
Fold in airy yesteryears
They retreat to hide
Behind the elliptic orbits
Of the revolving planets
The days become nights
And they change
Like caterpillars
Or like gelatinous eggs
Of some toads
That detect vibrations
And then they quietly sail
With the solar wind
To distant places in space
To remote galaxies
Filled with shimmering stars.
But in the uncurved spheres
Of the pulsating heart
Amid the fugitive joys
And haunting sorrows of life
The magic lanterns
Of bygone days glow
Under the rainbow clocks
Of ageless hours
And while history
Restlessly meanders
On the foamy stream
Of its inflammable river
Flows the Eternal Now
Of untamed remembrance
poem by Paul Hartal
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