Relaxing
All year you wait for your holidays
and when they finally arrive,
time steals them so quickly
you wonder where they’ve gone.
The two weeks disappear as quickly
as you can snap your fingers.
At the beginning of your holiday,
you have so much to pack in.
You rush around here and there.
It is harder than being at work,
this trying to have some fun.
Yet we are relaxing we say,
running around in circles everyday.
At the end of the two weeks,
we are exhausted by all our fun
and look forward to work
and slowing down a pace.
That may sound crazy,
but that is exactly what we do.
24 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lazy Days (Fun Poem 111)
We all look forward to those days off
when we have no work to do.
The lazy days when you can have
that lie in bed you promised yourself to
and when you finally get up
out into the garden you go
to sit in a chair
and put your feet up enjoying the sun.
If you live in England it’s enjoy the rain.
How those days never seem to happen,
the lie in bed goes a miss
when someone wakes you up
telling you there is work around
the house that has to be done.
As for putting your feet up
you can forget about that to.
There is no rest for the wicked.
Oh my, what have I done?
Lazy days! Yuk! You keep them
they are never any fun;
I’d rather be back at work.
Well that will soon come.
Like all holidays they go too quickly,
here one minute and gone the next.
So much for those lazy days
for you work harder in those than at work.
When you go back to work,
you hear about the wonderful time
someone else had on their day off,
it makes you feel sick,
and all the jobs you had to do.
Then you go and ask your boss
when your next holiday is due.
You promise to make it better,
but in the end, you never do.
26 February 2011
poem by David Harris
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Thinking of Holiday - Wishing our lives away
I’m on holiday – Time to play
Cannot believe it’s time
To relax and unwind
Never thought this amount of free time I will find
‘tis your turn my Manager said
Thanks for all your hard work
You deserve your break
Ensure you make the best thereof
Now I wish for time to stand still
These two weeks will be lived at a very slow pace
Cannot afford for the time to be wasted
We all work hard for our breaks
There’s work to be done at my house
What will I do – work, play or loaf
Loaf – I think is the best answer
Is this not why I’m on leave?
Five years I never had two weeks leave
All my leave used to be invested in studying
Completing my degree
But now all my time to me is free
Wishing our lives away
I know this – One morning I will awaken
Just to go back to work again
And I will realize that the best part of any holiday or leave
Usually is the looking forward to it
I will then work hard again
in great anticipation
of the next break away from work
the circle of our life’s
Is it not funny how we always require something
To look forward to
Always the next weekend, public holiday
Or annual leave, or a special day, maybe a birthday or such
In this way we all wish our lives away
Remember this I say – a small reminder to all
Focus on today
And in this way – so much more you will gain out of every moment
poem by Michael Knight
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Two Kinds Of Women
There are two kinds of women
in this world of ours.
The ones you love
and the ones that drive you crazy.
If you are lucky,
you only find the ones you love,
unlucky and you’ll find
the ones that drive you crazy.
Unfortunately, you have to live with them
to find out, which is which.
I have been lucky until recently
when a friend came on holiday
and for the two weeks, she stayed,
she wanted to control our lives,
hijacking everything
we had dreamed about.
Happily, as we pack up today
we will part company
I say with a smile
and I can get back to leading a normal life.
Fingers crossed that is.
26 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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When Illusion’s Cloud Lifts
How quickly time passes
and the years go by,
then we look back at things
as if they only happened yesterday
and when the cloud of illusion lifts
we suddenly realise
just how many years have gone by.
It get a little frightening when you think
of how time can slip through our fingers
like the batting of an eye.
We think of how many lives
have quickly come and gone,
of how many faces from our life
have disappeared forever,
never again to be seen.
We can only go forward
like generations before
always looking for heaven
as we open each and every door.
12 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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8 Weeks
8 weeks to live
8 weeks to die
8 weeks is all they had
8 weeks to do the things they never did
8 weeks of fighting
8 weeks of trying to fit everything in
8 weeks of pain, suffering, and confusion
8 weeks of faking a smile
8 weeks of repetition
8 weeks of knowing they were nearing the end
8 weeks of love from friends and family
8 weeks…the shortest/longest, most hurtful/helpful weeks of their lives
8 weeks later…knowing they’ll never be able to do the things they’ve always wanted to
8 weeks later…now realizing he’ll never see her walk, at graduation nor down the aisle
8 weeks later…close friends and family now in shambles
8 weeks later…close friends and family never closer
8 weeks later…here we are
poem by Anthony Martello
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Yeah, about sixteen to twenty weeks a year. For example, we can do America in six or seven weeks. You can do Europe in three weeks; England in two weeks. South America you could do in three weeks; Asia you could do in three weeks.
quote by Warren Cuccurullo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work For Love
Hey!
You said you needed full time help
Cos youre all alone
I said Id work for nothing at all
If I just could take you home
And now youre taking applications
For your love
You wanted certain specifications
I circled the one that said all the above
Work... for love
Finally got my resume
And you said youd reviewed it some other day
I said, girl, hey, do it if you dare
Where Id like to go our love will flare
Finally my letter arrived
And I knew you would be mine
Instead I had to prove my turf
For the first two weeks work overtime
Work... for love
Youve got to work
Youve got to work for love (had enough, had enough? )
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Time Management Plan....What really happens
September 3,2008, just 6 weeks left to wait
Mind was becoming queerer, as exams were approaching nearer
So books were taken out and chapters were listed
Notes were made, revised and gisted
But oh! it was just september,1 month still left to practice and remember
I thought, 'it won't be too late, if i start studying at a later date
So flushed with joy, ii made it clearer, will sit to study when exams approach nearer
So on the calendar, I slashed 11, and this queen was back to its heaven
September 11,2008,5 weeks left up straight
But this time, I gave plenty reasons to excuse, for not to study in exam blues
Friends always waiting to chat, gossip about
Plus my bro can't here the T.V. less loud
And then I've to practice for a competition
Mind is boggling with frustration
I annonced, 'No big deal, since I've plenty work to do
I'll start studying from 22
September 22,2008, hardly weekly left to anticipate
This time I did make a start, but things now
seem to fall apart
I planned to study all the time, everywhere
Roaming on th terrace, sitting on the chair
but no result came out in despair
Still 20 chaters left to revise, hundreds of notes unsummarised
In such great frustration, I began to loose concentration
Now all learnt forgotten, under heaps of hopes laden
When I was just about to disintegrate
I realised 'Now its too late...
Had I made an early start, I would have definitely made it upto the mark
So...
To Accomplish Tasks In A Better Way
Start Right Here, Right Now, TODAY
poem by Geetika Nehra
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A Fun of September!
End of summer
And beginning of winter
Is September!
Sand melting heat
And sand wetting rain
Occur in September!
Full grown fruits
And fully blossomed flowers
You see in September!
Heat in the morning
And rain in evening and night
Town gets in September!
Summer holiday ends
And all festivals begin now on
From September on!
September begins
Fast pace of the year ever
With all festivals!
They being Ganesh Chadurthi,
Navrathri, Diwali, Christmas,
New Year and Pongal are...!
Time moves fast
As no boredom ever shows
Head from September!
Fun of September
Starts Autumn, Rain and Winter
All in one....!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Beyond the Horizon!
Every Day there are some same things that go on
Monday to Friday, Busy as a bee from Morning to Noon
Noon to Evening work is in progress, time moves on
No time for all the friends wanting to meet you soon
Just slow down a bit, take a walk on grassy ground
See the flowers, people and trees that you never knew
Look at the beautiful smiles that are floating around
Everything makes you smile, you feel calm and anew
As you are way too busy and occupied with work everyday
Holiday means spending time with your family and friends
Relaxing and Enjoying is how you spend Saturday and Sunday
Mostly, routines to holidays is just one journey that never ends
Life is truly all about gazing at the Horizon
For none knows what lies Beyond the Horizon.
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
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We always work at least a month to six weeks before we go on the road, usually for something like eight to 12 hours a night. It took six weeks to do it this time. We just play virtually everything we know.
quote by Charlie Watts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Holidays
Why are they called holidays? '
she said
'they never are;
more like feeling someone
is destroying the road behind you
as you walk toward the sunset;
or like having the past be a dark shroud
thrown over you as you journey to a past
you left or didn't like.
How can I long for my childhood and still be a grownup?
How to wring from the holiday meal
love, respect, revenge all these things
from a repast?
And how quickly the past returns
when it was the past you wanted most to outrun?
How quickly the old relationships re-establish
just like they had never gone.
Change and no-change sit to eat
yet neither adequately reflect the truths we all live.
So parallelisms and false similes abound;
we all sit-no way forward; no way back; no way around;
home is not so sweet
because it lives in its own iron time warp
and time is what homes are supposed to forge
new
independent identities.
My plane circled over head
hesitating to land
since there is no runway to the future
only runways to the past.
Yet there I must be 'for
for yet another holiday.
I call Mom and she gives me joy
and that guilt which says
why haven't you called
and did her gift
of winter mittens
arrive in my mailbox in Florida?
The house before me,
the room I lived in
have been preserved
just like I still lived there;
time stood still in mom's mind.
It is suddenly clear to me
she wants
me back in the room of my childhood
and once again age eleven.
But alas, it is not true
I am all grown up;
the bed doesn't fit anymore-
but just for her I pretend it does-
and phoney up a smile
for the sake of the holiday-ness.
This is the Stance of Love we give
our moms and dads
which allow them just once a year
to re-fill
their empty nests
and for us kids
who willingly
or unwillingly
reconnect
things old
with things new
which gives us
the mix and brew
we sip
just before
the year
new;
it's taste
bitter sweet
with Ironies
on our tongue.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Highjacked
Have you ever had your holiday
highjacked by a friend.
You invited them for one day
and they invite themselves
to stay for two weeks with you.
They take over everything you want to do,
making arrangements to go here and there,
doing things you don’t want to do.
I’ve had this happen to me three times
and now I am saying no more.
When we go away, again
I am not telling anyone,
except our kids.
I want no more excess baggage
to travel along with us.
20 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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Last Three Weeks 5-11-09
The last three weeks are:
crazy
heaktic
busy
tireing
exaugh sting
The last three weeks are:
full of test
parties
exams
food
movies
The last three weeks are:
exciting
emotional
no seniors, well for a week
losts of homework
no homework
The last three weeks mean
that school is almost out,
start counting down the days,
graduation,
awards,
SUMMER IS ALMOST HERE! !
Bank Holiday
Grandma needs new dentures
To eat the crust on pizza
Been taken out by her daughter
Because she thought she oughta
The kids are eating Snickers
Because they're so delicious
Then there's sticky fingers
And mother loses her knickers
CHORUS:
Bank holiday comes six times a year
Days of enjoyment to which everyone cheers!
Bank holiday comes with a six pack of beer
Then it's back to work - A! G! A-I-N!
Barbecue is cooking
Sausages and chicken
The patio is buzzing
And neighbours they are looking
John is down the fun pub
Drinking lots of lager
Girls and boys are on the game
And all the high streets look the same
CHORUS
Back to work - A! G! A-I-N!
CHORUS
Bank holiday!
song performed by by Blur from Parklife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wait For Me
Wait for me; oh, wait for me
I cried out as I sailed away.
My words were lost to the wind
for you didn’t wait for me.
Years passed on so quickly by,
we grew up, got married,
but my heart still cried.
Wait for me, oh, wait for me.
Our lives moved on in directions
of which we had no control.
Our circumstances changed
within every passing year
and every so often in the wind
my plaintive cries could be heard.
Wait for me; oh. wait for me
as I had so long waited
for you to fill my empty arms.
Finally as we grew older
and all hope seemed fading fast
we met up again by chance.
My heart still sang its song,
wait for me, oh wait for me.
We met one sunny day
and as our glances caught,
we knew right away
across that crowded room.
Our love was to be again
as it was so long before.
My heart now sings a different song.
I waited for you; oh, I waited for you,
now I can sing our September song.
18 December 2008
poem by David Harris
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11 Weeks
11 weeks of war and 11 weeks of peace,
11 weeks of love and 11 weeks of pain,
11 weeks of sorrow ans 11 weeks of my mind that writes;
But i need hot chili pepper from Chile and,
A rosted turkey from Turkey to rest my mind on your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Boots
When I got out of bed this morning
a pair of boots stood on the stairs.
I don’t know to whom they belonged
or how they happened to be there.
The black boots looked large and heavy,
slightly worn, so not new or old.
The laces were long and tucked inside
and the tongue had a forward fold.
They looked really soft and comfortable,
and I couldn’t resist trying them on.
They slipped onto my feet oh so easily,
and in an instant I was up and gone.
I couldn’t do anything to stop them,
they had taken control of me.
I ran all through the day and night,
with no breakfast, dinner or tea.
I was totally exhausted and tired,
and was running in my sleep.
I awoke running along a forest path
and then up a hill so steep.
I could hear the sound of water
and ran down the riverbank.
The water wasn’t going to give way,
so I very quickly sank.
As I continued along the pebbly bottom
I very quickly ran out of breath.
My feet came out of the sodden boots
and I swam from the water’s depth.
I suppose those boots are still running
and they’re probably now out at sea.
I know that I’ll never again try on boots
that don’t belong to me.
poem by Orlando Belo
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First Day Of My Holiday
Standing looking out at the valley below
with its small tidal bay.
The tall mast lie drunkenly on angles
as their boats are left stranded
after the tide retreated,
back to its roving wanderings.
The calls of the seagulls
bark in the evening air
as the sunset enriches
the surrounding hills in red and gold.
Little birds take their last flights
before dusk and roosting.
A serene scene to greet my eyes
in a laid-back day,
the first day of my holiday.
Away from the clamouring pace
of a life left behind for two weeks.
Just standing and watching for what joys
my life must prepare for
as the evening clouds begin to gather.
Waiting for the hour
when night decides to descend
and bring a quiet close
to the first day of my holiday.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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The First Day Of My Holiday
Standing looking out at the valley below
with its small tidal bay.
The tall masts lie drunkenly on angles
as their boats are left stranded
after the tide retreated,
back to its roving wanderings.
The calls of the seagulls
bark in the evening air
as the sunset enriches
the surrounding hills in red and gold.
Little birds take their last flights
before dusk and roosting.
A serene scene to greet my eyes
in a laid-back day,
the first day of my holiday.
Away from the clamouring pace
of a life left behind for two weeks.
Just standing and watching for what joys
my life must prepare for
as the evening clouds begin to gather.
Waiting for the hour
when night decides to descend
and bring a quiet close
to the first day of my holiday.
13 September 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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