Anacreon's Apology
An eye where love with laughter twinkles,
And songs on kisses still insistent,
Blended with graying hair and wrinkles,
To you, my child, seem inconsistent?
In fact, you think such conduct shocking?
The old should mind their souls and purses?
Ah, youthful blood, refrain from mocking
Till you can only kiss in verses.
poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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Related quotes
Wrinkles and Grey Hair (Children)
Mommy's getting wrinkles.
Daddy has grey hair.
It wasn't very long ago
when those things weren't there.
Wish I could smooth the wrinkles out
and darken Daddy's hair
to stop the changes going on.
It makes me feel so scared.
Grampa, does it mean they'll die?
They have wrinkles and grey hair!
I never used to worry
before those things were there.
Grampa said to look at him.
There were lots of wrinkles there,
and on his head, a snowstorm
was the color of his hair.
'Wrinkles only come to point
where smiles were, here and there.
It's your mommy's turn to get some
for the happy times you've shared.'
His white, and Daddy's grey hair
well, it was there to show
who had lived the longest time
so everyone could know!
Grampa said it's part of life.
We love, we learn, we live.
We earn grey hair and wrinkles,
they're prizes only God can give.
Are our brains wrinkled?
Wrinkles are the measurement,
to show the life's management,
some are very near and deep,
and the rest long and steep.
Wrinkles are the asset,
that get through the experience,
not all those experienced,
never have such twinkles.
The wrinkles which can not be seen,
hidden inside the hard shell,
More the wrinkles formation,
More the knowledge dwell.
Let us see who has more fold.
Einstein or a research assistant,
people with more folds may not know it,
people with lesser folds strive to get it.
Do not let anyone,
to iron out the wrinkles,
with their disillusioned vision.
Let us acquire more in our brains.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Awakening River
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river,
And the river unveils her face and smiles.
In her sleep-brooding eyes they mirror their shining wings.
She lies on silver pillows: the sun leans over her.
He warms and warms her, he kisses and kisses her.
There are sparks in her hair and she stirs in laughter.
Be careful, my beautiful waking one! You will catch
on fire.
Wheeling and flying with the foam of the sea on their
breasts,
The ineffable mists of the sea clinging to their wild wings,
Crying the rapture of the boundless ocean,
The gulls are mad-in-love with the river.
Wake! we are the dream thoughts flying form your heart.
Wake! we are the songs of desire flowing from your
bosom.
O, I think the sun will lend her his great wings
And the river will fly to the sea with the mad-in-
love birds.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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A Child's Laughter
One of a kind this cheerful sound
A child's laughter wherever it's found
From the giggling of a baby in a playpen
To the laughter of a toddler again and again
A child's laughter can bring a smile
To one who hasn't done so in such a long while
I know because that one was me
Until my daughter's laugh set mine free
A child's laughter so gleeful and pure
An innocence adults miss for sure
Laughter that can bring back the past
And memories of a youth that flew by so fast
A child's laughter can bring out the best
Of most any man when he's depressed
Cause his spirit that's fall to soar
Until at last he laughs once more
poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr
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You may search my time-worn face, You'll find a merry eye that twinkles I am NOT an old lady Just a little girl with wrinkles.
quote by Edythe E. Bregnard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Decrepit body
With graying hair
Tidy love!
haiku by Ashraful Musaddeq
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Entangled in Her Hair
Her hair
covers my face
she
kisses my mouth
kisses my kisses.
She chuckles.
I stroke her hair.
She sways &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my chest.
She
titillates a nipple
...it tickles.
I run my fingers
through her hair.
She sashays &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my navel
& there...&
there...abouts!
I…almost beside myself
neither...here...nor... there...
Lost in the anywhere
of an everywhere.
I clutch
her hair.
She shimmies &
...moves.
Her hair
covers my crotch.
She
licks it
into shape.
She
goes to say
something
it’s on
the tip of
her tongue.
But, she says nothing
only: “Mmmmm...! ”
& smiles
...smiles.
I close
my eyes.
My hands
entangled in
her hair.
*******
TREAD SOFTLY
We rest on the bed
your head rests against my head
sharing the same dream.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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YOU WEAR MY KISSES IN YOUR HAIR(for Jan)
You wear
my kisses
in your hair
invisible
to everyone
but us
they glisten
like emotional jewelry
bloom like flowers
of desire
you wear
my kisses
in your hair
smiling secretly
to your self
as to how
they got there
& to where
the other kisses
...are!
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Tides of the Latter Rain
The high tides sweep the soul
Washed with golden branches of joy
Ships of Orpheus sail
Decadence has blended
We can be Holy
Your silk is smooth as kisses
Great wet kisses of magnolia serpents
Blue green sea with bright waves
Prayer rises like ancient fire
Time is a muse of Eve
I am the walls of agates
Rocks cleansed by the tide
Eagles come again to my dreams
Your rings are wet
You think of me like a sword
You are a child of the prophet Joel
The tides of the latter rain come again
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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A Little Spark of Laughter
A little spark of laughter is what we need each day.
It's something like the apple to keep the doctor away.
Some can find the laughter. Their lives are pretty good.
Some would love some laughter. I know that they would.
But, laughter in their lives is only a memory.
It has been replaced with constant misery.
Their lives are torn
Their babies born
With sickness and disease.
They have no home.
They walk and roam
No blankets as they freeze.
No food to eat
No water sweet
And end to all their peace.
And so there is no laughter to help them everyday.
In fact there is no laughter to help in any way.
So, be thankful if you have the spark of laughter that you need.
And pray for those who have none, that God will intercede.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Culture Shock Thru Auto-Flash Toilet
culture shock
basically not from
shocking culture
for there is no
culture which is
literally shocking
it is just peculiar
unfit to ones
foreign test
this ''shocking'' thoughts
has popped up
before leaving
the censored auto-flash toilet
that's really shocking
leaving the waste unnoticed
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Butterfly Kisses
There’s one thing I know,
That I hold close to me
My dreams are drifting
Off and onto the sea
I stand at the shore
The cool wind in my hair
And I remember one spring
You were here then
I felt your butterfly kisses
Shining over me
My butterfly kisses mean so much to me
I promise that I
Shall never let go.
My butterfly kisses
I love you so.
The waves crash on the rocks
The white twirling waves
You hold me so close
So I never stray
So close to the edge,
And I hold on tight
Knowing you’re my anchor
My anchor
On this cold spring night
I felt your butterfly kisses
Shining over me
My butterfly kisses mean so much to me
I promise that I
Shall never let go.
My butterfly kisses
I love you so.
Oh my butterfly kisses
On the cold stormy nights
Oh my butterfly kisses
Feel like home
You’re butterfly kisses
Warm me to the core
And our butterfly kisses will last
On and on
No matter if the world may stop
No matter if I’m in L.A or
Somewhere you can’t reach me
Remember, my darling
I will always love your
Butterfly kisses
poem by AnneMarie Hewlett
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Dr's Waiting Room
Silver grey hair
wrinkles like hiways on a map
a floral pattern on her dress
must have been made in 1932
she sat waiting
Silver white hair
wrinkles like ditches by the roadway
white t-shirt, blue suspenders-no belt
tan slacks
he sat waiting, with her
She reached over
kissed his cheek
he held her hand...
in their ninety's....
young lovers
poem by Joe Howell
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Loves's Laughter
Love's Laughter
Love's laughter travels on Zephyr's gentle breeze
Touching all ages to come and taste the treasures
More joyous then all the Christmas gifts under the tree
Beautifully wrapped and waiting to be opened
More glorious then a mother holding her new born child
Years seem to shed when Love's laughter travel by
Time is irrelevant
Oh to only hear the sweet soft titter of ones in love
Lost in their own Love's laughter
7 Mar 2008
Perfume
Shake out your hair about me, so,
That I may feel the stir and scent
Of those vague odours come and go
The way our kisses went.
Night gave this priceless hour of love,
But now the dawn steals in apace,
And amorously bends above
The wonder of your face.
'Farewell' between our kisses creeps,
You fade, a ghost, upon the air;
Yet ah! the vacant place still keeps
The odour of your hair.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Dying Degree
Dresser droors are filled with pocket change
Coupons cut, cigarettes smoked down to the butt,
Is this what dreams are made of!
Adding up subtracting down you find yourself sucking the rind
Dying degree, graying amie
Final payment made - had you forgot?
The rightful owner of one deluxe cemetary plot
Paisley satin lined how apprapoe
What a better way to go
Dying degree, graying amie
No more eating crumbs
When my pension finally comes
Your kids want eat mush anymore round me
Dying degree, graying amie
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wrinkles
For Naomi Lazard
Sometimes I can't wait until I look like Nadezhda Mandelstam.
-- Naomi Lazard
My friends are tired.
The ones who are married are tired
of being married.
The ones who are single are tired
of being single.
They look at their wrinkles.
The ones who are single attribute their wrinkles
to being single.
The ones who are married attribute their wrinkles
to being married.
They have very few wrinkles.
Even taken together,
they have very few wrinkles.
But I cannot persuade them
to look at their wrinkles
collectively.
& I cannot persuade them that being married
or being single
has nothing to do with wrinkles.
Each one sees a deep & bitter groove,
a San Andreas fault across her forehead.
"It is only a matter of time
before the earthquake."
They trade the names of plastic surgeons
like recipes.
My friends are tired.
The ones who have children are tired
of having children.
The ones who are childless are tired
of being childless.
They love their wrinkles.
If only their were deeper
they could hide.
Sometimes I think
(but do not dare to tell them)
that when the face is left alone to dig its grave,
the soul is grateful
& rolls in.
poem by Erica Jong
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Prayer and love^ t
Pray!
Whom? Immaterial.
If he hear? Irrelevant.
Will he reward? Inconsistent
Love
Whom? Immaterial.
If he/she knows? Irrelevant.
Will he/she yield? Inconsistent.
In prying you unload;
In loving you recharge.
In praying you beg;
In loving you offer.
The one who loves is superior.
02.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I Waited So Long
I waited so long 9 months in fact, the birth it felt like an attack
I waited so long to turn my back, on childhood and 12 years intact
I waited so long to turn 16, get a car exploit the dream
I waited so long to find a girl, the one I'd love and begin a world
I waited so long to graduate, leave behind an untold fate
I waited so long to be married, no longer a child to be carried
I waited so long to learn a craft, then came along our nations draft
I waited so long to turn 21, end adolescence, adult life begun
I waited so long to be a Dad, raise a child, my heart feel glad
I waited so long to have a son, feel proud inside new line begun
I waited so long to be a grandparent, love a child and not be errant
I waited so long to get this far to find myself, with many a scar
Life's a challenge, and that's a fact, but time is short, so compact
Life goes on the wrinkles I hate, the pounds put on, just won't wait
No longer to wait, from now on I happen,
Others can wait, It's energy I'm sappin'
poem by Daniel Lloyd Kennedy
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A Thief
I am a man, not a woman. My Roman status exceeds me. I
am a thief who loves you, forever in love with your objects.
Am I not a liar? Commandments are ‘superior’ to me. Love
is not my answer for everything like that. Live in conduct, but
live in hope. My theft is the darkest form of conduct. Yet I am
not a child, and when I walk I talk as a child. My words are
lost. I cannot speak; for if I am caught, I shall weep.
And he wept, with bursting eyes. For he was caught like
a madman had been captured. Even he thought he would
get away, but it was too late.
The Roman soldiers crucified him on the cross. No one
could mention his name again; He was called Augustus,
the man who died on the cross.
poem by Naveed Akram
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