Lucius Atherton
When my moustache curled,
And my hair was black,
And I wore tight trousers
And a diamond stud,
I was an excellent knave of hearts and took many a trick.
But when the gray hairs began to appear--
Lo! a new generation of girls
Laughed at me, not fearing me,
And I had no more exciting adventures
Wherein I was all but shot for a heartless devil,
But only drabby affairs, warmed-over affairs
Of other days and other men.
And time went on until I lived at Mayer's restaurant,
Partaking of short-orders, a gray, untidy,
Toothless, discarded, rural Don Juan. . .
There is a mighty shade here who sings
Of one named Beatrice;
And I see now that the force that made him great
Drove me to the dregs of life.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Related quotes
The game of love
The game of love that I played
I was unfair all the way
I won your heart and broke it
Like a poor toy made of clay
Now I long for you today
When my hairs have become gray
Now I understand all the truth
I wasted all my precious youth
I made mistake in the first place
My whole life is now in a mess
Now I long for you today
When my hairs have become gray
Now we are oceans apart
All the girls now break my heart
Now I know what you mean to me
So I cry for my destiny
Now I have lost life's joy and charms
Now I long for your tender arms
Now I long for you today
When my hairs have become gray
poem by Asif Andalib
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Man called DUD
There was a man called 'DUD'
Who thought himself a 'stud'
Infact he tried so hard
He quiffed his locks with lard
Unclipped a button from his shrt
Bore his hairy chest and tried to flirt
He sought a younger blonde/ brunette
Twenty somethings in a skirt
With his think lens he scanned the lonely hearts
And dyed his hair mexican red
And pencilled in a dark moustache
Above a top lip quiver
He swaggered in low slug 'ELVIS jeans'
In dark saloons
That made him shiver
He drank a pint or two alone
[he Had problems with his liver]
And caught a taxi home, alone
But still dud fought to be
The 'Great stud of the nation'
[Though he had problems with his circulation]
His jeans were unsightly and far too tight
He got a restless leg half way through the night
He tried so hard to join the party
But after one athritic dance
He was reaching for his wooly cardie
Then flattered by a young girl who began,
'Now here's the man, he'd make a perfect a partner for my
GRAN! '
Yvette smith april 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Sad State Of Affairs
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you start to loose your friends
No one there to show they care
You even miss them driving you round the bend
It’s a sad state of affairs
When your ego is your compadre
He whispers in your ear 'you’re right and fair
You don’t need them, pay attention to what I say'
It’s a sad state of affairs
To know your smarter then those around you
What’s the point me going to your lair?
You speak nonsense but to you it sounds true
It’s a sad state of affairs
To have nothing going on in your life
Inside you’re dying to get up off the chair
But lack of motivation is your new strife
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you can’t even pay your bills
But to be honest do you even care?
Give me alcohol, shrooms and more pills
It’s a sad state of affairs
To not remember the years growing up
Except the fights between your family and your frère
Makes you think 'I could jump into that slowing truck'
It’s a sad state of affairs
When your writing is what you confide in
Teenage angst mixed with an adults raging stare
On this mountain of life I see people climbing
It’s a sad state of affairs
When you realise you’re the one slipping and sliding
poem by Kaspa Richards
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Isaiah 46: 3
(from the song 'Isaías 46: 3' by Daniel Calveti)
From our mom’s womb
Until our gray hairs
//I’ll adore you//
From our mom’s womb
Until our gray hairs
//I’ll adore you//
//You deal with me//
//You do fill me//
//You do love me//
//You have made me//
////I’ll adore you////
////I’ll adore you////
From our mom’s womb
Until our gray hairs
//I’ll adore you//
From our mom’s womb
Until our gray hairs
//I’ll adore you//
//You deal with me//
//You do fill me//
//You do love me//
//You have made me//
////I’ll adore you////
////I’ll adore you////
////I’ll adore you////
You are Holy
You are so sweet
You are so just
We adore Your Love
//You deal with me//
//You do fill me//
//You do love me//
//You have made me//
////I’ll adore you////
////I’ll adore you////
poem by Jordys Herrera
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Between Me and My Mirror
quatrain, ABAB
Mirror, mirror, the answer please
sound it with your softest voice.
I deal, dear Face, with expertise.
Ask on, I fear you'll not rejoice.
Mirror, are there gray hairs dancing
in among my blackest blacks?
Face, I see your foes advancing.
They're waving little silver plaques
in bold print, revealing loudly:
Gray hairs never, ever quit.
Gray is in, wear it proudly.
Lie not, dye not, give up, submit.
Mirror, mirror, the answer please
What are my best alternatives?
Face it, gray is not some disease
for treatment nor preventatives.
Glaring roots and ghastly color
will leave you appalled with regret
Let gray come, life could be duller
thank God, you're not bald, not yet.
poem by Reason A. Poteet
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When The Right Time Comes
when the right time comes
i will tell you
that i love you
even when all our hairs
have turned to gray
even when all the gray hairs
have gone away
but now my love
my lips are sealed
my hands are chained
i am inside this cell
my feet are gel
wait a while
i am setting myself free
help me find
my claws my wings my eyes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seams In Their Stockings July 7th,2012
SEAMS IN THEIR STOCKINGS July 7th,2012
By
James Bredin
In the middle of the Twentieth Century there was a time,
We didn't have much money - sometimes not even a dime,
I still see those old girls at the Town Center now and then,
They don't recognize me with a big gray beard, again and again.
Many of those ladies who wore seams in their stocking are now old,
They nearly drove me mad back then, as they walked to and fro,
But somewhere along the way, I myself turned into an old man,
Was that in Toronto, Halifax, New York or Newfoundland?
But that was long ago before their hair turned white and cut short,
And I was much younger then and more inclined to cavort,
But I still miss those seams and wish they could come back once more,
While this old man could still watch from a distance just like before.
July 12th,2012
poem by James Bredin
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A Smile Against Gray Rainy Clouds
Against the gray of glooms doom
Thy waxen countenance with smiles loom
A contrast to the murky gray
Thy face shines like a diamond in day
A tinge of a beautiful element
Infuses gold by the filament
Thy tawny eyes filled with treasure
Bring more joy than gold's bought pleasure
Under the darken clouds of tainted sight
Thy face limpid as crystallite
A morsel of magic thy animate
Light and love thy consummate
O! If gray days did imitate
There would be no need to precipitate
Tears of gray with no day
For our hearts to heavy weigh
So smile our tears away
And in thine light let us play.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Rain on Route-66
The rain was pouring down
On the road as we drove along
And as we drove we whistled
That cheerful Route-66 song
Everything sparkled and glistened
As down the wet road we rode
Enjoying the highway countryside
As the landscape quickly flowed
From Chicago to Los Angeles
This highway had been named
In the year nineteen-twenty six
It was a road that gathered fame
A need to connect rural and urban
This highway definitely did the trick
Now it’s become historic
To take the drive is quite a kick
So much to see along the way
It will bring to you a smile
So take the time and cruise along
Put aside everything for awhile
And as you sail along, folks
Think of how it began awhile back
Keep your cameras ready
Amazing pictures you’ll want to snap!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Phyllis
PHYLLIS, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day,
Few are my years, but my griefs are not few,
Ever to youth should each day be a May-day,
Warm wind and rose-breath and diamonded dew—
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.
Oh for the sunlight that shines on a May-day!
Only the cloud hangeth over my life.
Love that should bring me youth's happiest heyday
Brings me but seasons of sorrow and strife:
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.
Sunshine or shadow, or gold day or gray day,
Life must be lived as our destinies rule;
Leisure or labor or work day or play day—
Feasts for the famous and fun for the fool;
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a gray day.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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0004 M i n d
and mind might ask,
why then are brain cells gray? Is it
because the world is just
so wonderful, that they, stunned
and amazed, cannot decide
which colour to praise first?
(Mix all the colours of the paints,
and the result is gray.)
or is it because they feel themselves
so dull in comparison
with the miracle which is creation,
the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve?
(Mix all the colours of the spectrum,
and the result is white.)
or is it, because they know
their work lies between ultimates
such as (do they themselves
call them this?) black,
and white? do they know
their work is equity –
to balance all things, so that gray is not gray
as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but
the gray of lakes at peace;
of silver that lives in itself,
needing no sun but its own innerness;
mercury that is moved but longs
to be united in a perfect sphere;
gray of clouds that know
the blessings that they hold;
and, the shining gray of mind -
for which gray hair is living metaphor,
the wisdom which life holds in store for you -
as how many poets, this moment round the world,
are joining new electric paths of thought between
these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact,
their vast and inner space which spins out eager words
of metaphor, for that so nameless,
boundless, dazzling spectrum,
the radiant space of self?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I Wish That I Could Have Stayed In My Twenties
Life seemed so good when I was in my twenties
Before time left me looking old and gray
I used to play Soccer and Gaelic football
And I could run and chase the ball all day.
I was never much good at soccer or Gaelic football
Though like many others I too dreamt of fame
But I did not play for esteem and honours
I only played because I loved the game
I wish that I could have stayed in my twenties
Life is much better for those in their prime
But on looking back three decades passed so quickly
And one can't turn back the hands of time.
It has been said that with gray hairs there's wisdom
But as often is the case it isn't so
Some people as they age they grow less tolerant
And they seemed to have more wisdom years ago.
The best years of my life were in my twenties
When I could run and chase the ball all day
And don't tell me that in gray hairs there is wisdom
When it is more of a sign of ageing and decay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Goose-Girl
I WANDERED lonely by the sea,
As is my daily use,
I saw her drive across the lea
The gander and the goose.
The gander and the gray, gray goose,
She drove them all together;
Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,
All in the wild gray weather.
'O dainty maid who drive the geese
Across the common wide,
Turn, turn your pretty back on these
And come and be my bride.
I am a poet from the town,
And, 'mid the ladies there,
There is not one would wear a crown
With half your charming air!'
She laughed, she shook her pretty head.
'I want no poet's hand;
Go read your fairy-books,' she said,
'For this is fairy-land.
My Prince comes riding o'er the leas;
He fitly comes to woo,
For I'm a Princess, and my geese
Were poets, once, like you!'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Blood Rose...
There is a rose laying on the ground,
Blood is running out of the rose.
The rose's colour began to fade until it was a pale gray.
This only took around ten minutes.
The rose was pale, cold and dead.
The rose was found by a young man who was walking by.
He wondered why the rose was cold and gray.
He found another one a few days later.
What he didn't know was that the roses represented the broken hearts of teenage girls.
The roses wer originally blood red, only fading to grey when her heart was broken.
The roses were later known as the Blood Rose.
poem by MaddiiAnne O'Leary
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Shades Of Gray (Master Backing Track Take 98)
When the world and I were young, just yesterday
Life was such a simple game a child could play
It was easy then to tell right from wrong
Easy then to tell weak from strong
When a man should stand and fight
Or just go along
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
I remember when the answer seemed so clear
We had never lived with doubt, or tasted fear
It was easy then to tell truth from lies
Selling out from compromise
Who to love and who to hate
The foolish from the wise
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
It was easy then to know what was fair
When to keep and when to share
How much to protect your heart
And how much to care
But today, there is no day or night
Today, there is no dark or light
Today, there is no black or white
Only shades of gray
Only shades of gray
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shades Of Grey
If you start here late no one will know what you did
No the streets are straight its the soul thats crooked
Ive been treated fine Ive been treated elegantly
But Im not one for bathing in the waters of plenty
East is east west is west
And bowery is screaming while delancey rests
Well Im south of the skating but Im north of the cash
I could sure use the money but Im ashamed to ask
The traffic has buried all of last nights rain
The words are all different but the accent is the same
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
Theres at least ten different strains of smoke in the air
And my prints are on them all to prove I was there
And I love the curses but Im not one for the trenches
And I do love the walking but thank God for the benches
Its hard to tell where green begins and the city gray stops
I guess the trees all bought their armor at second hand shops
My second had is working but the minute hand is broke again
I know time will pass but I dont know when
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
And there are no shades of gray in between
I know the great ones have been here but where I cant tell
Theres dreams here a plenty but theyre being withheld
And Im more impressed with the closed doors than the ones that are open
The whole place tells time by a tower clock thats broken
The pigeons are ravens and the gulls are vultures
And trash is art and cash is culture
The sun is white and the moon is gray
And the river is black blue and green
The young are young and the old are old
And there are no shades of gray in between
There are no shades of gray in between
There are no shades of gray in between
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My First Kiss
In the bed of crimson joy
Lies a baby boy
Whose parent begot him?
Through the mighty locks of the tongue
Yet as he grows
And everyday as he moves he frowns
Because he does not believe
In the mighty devil called kiss
Yet still he frowns
At every girl he meets a dawn
Are the girls mad? He says
Or do they find means to kill
But as his heart grow older
He found out he could not hold on
So he must get the girl
That he despise so much as dirt
No girl would look at him
For it was he who insulted them
So he become frustrated
And decided to end his life
But he never gave up
Though he decided to end his life
Which he could not do
For countless time he tried
He tried hard to search for love
So he can be called a man
So he searched and searched
In the heat of the sun he searched
To search for what
His heart so much desire
In the sunny days
That brings too much sweat
As lucky as he was
Love finds him as he walks
To the path of wonderland
Through the moony light
It made his heart
So glad
That he become
Very sad
Love touched him so soft
That it made his body grow weak
But he touched love back
Lo and behold he got so strong
Love planted a kiss
On his mouth so dry
That it made him quiver
For the devil called kiss he so much despise
For he said to himself
I thought love lived in the sun
But ooh he lives in the moony light
Were he shines and brightens the night
I thought to find love
In the heat of the day
But sweet love is indeed
The great comforter of night
For this man was me
In my early days when I was young
That I despise do much
The devil called kiss
poem by Samuel Donkor
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(Not) June
Days when the days that lay ahead promised affairs
With ultraviolet hues and calm seas and flip-flop pairs
Days when the optimist possibilities of May betided
And beacons of sun-rays gleefully glided
Days when rains promised rainbows afterwards
Then the breeze and the dahlias played hypnotic chords
Days when lips above bikinis and pink roses pouted alike
And shimmered bodies in shimmering water were easy strikes
Those days of the month called June.
But what days are these? They vouch that they belong to June!
They give me pains with gray azure that rains.
Afternoon affairs that have forgotten beaches-
and are confined to beds,
Peacoats cover fake tans and real bruises-
and stockings veil legs that spread
Shrunken lips can’t touch popsicles.
So cappuccinos and mochas are in rage,
Drunken souls have given up on the birds and the bees
As if inflicted with old age!
And just when my romance meant being chased across the horizon,
It means sipping bitter coffee, staring at the bleeding sky.
This June is as fake as my tan is.
poem by Suyasha Sitaula
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So I Have Become The Middle Man
So I have become the middle man
In this world
And I have so much gray hair on my head
That I don't like at all
I love blond hair
And I find it to be so attractive in men
But the truth is that I have that ugly gray hair
That God gave me
For a reason
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Knave of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts and beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and
vowed he'd steal no more.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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