Auschwitz
Once I overheard a middle-aged Jewish woman
talking to her Rabbi
telling him of how she and a friend
travelled to Auschwitz
and finding so much sadness there
decided to do something happy
as if to spite the sadness.
So they danced on the railway line
leading to that camp of death-
two middle-aged women holding each other.
This to me say so much about the human spirit.
If I could I would paint a picture.
Will someone paint it for me please?
poem by Gillian Commerford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The long, dull, monotonous years of middle-aged prosperity or middle-aged adversity are excellent campaigning weather for the devil.
quote by C.S. Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of middle age the best that can be said is that a middle-aged person has likely learned how to have a little fun in spite of his troubles.
quote by Don Marquis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint
Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent
Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret
Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen
Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light
Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'
Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style
Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.
Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Devil You Were
I keep telling myself that I don't need you
but you keep whispering in my ear telling me that I do
and I believe you
I believe everything you say
even though it was everything you said
I paint the picture of you on my white ceiling when I'm lying alone in my bed
I paint the picture of you on my white ceiling when I'm lying alone in my bed
Because no other girl has been here since you left
and for no other girl have I shead a tear, I'm all cried out I have none left
cause I know you love to think that you took them all
but they were gone long before
for you I didn't watch a single one fall, I was never alive I was already dead
I paint the picture of you on my white ceiling when I'm lying alone in my bed
I paint the picture of you on my white ceiling when I'm lying alone in my bed
and I paint it red
I paint it red
the colour of blood shows that it is already dead
I keep telling myself that I don't need you
but you keep whispering in my ear telling me that I do
and I believe you
I believe everything is red
even though it was everything you said
I paint the picture of you on my white ceiling when I'm lying alone in my bed
and it is all red
he paints it red
my picture of his horns it shows its now never dead.
poem by Daniel McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forever Saying Goodbye
we are forever saying goodbye
goodbye, goodbye, goodbye let me repeat
the child who has grown into a young man
would remain a fond memory, like how we remember
a childhood friend who was always at our side
the young man who has matured into the middle aged
will remember him as someone who have looked
for so many things in thirty years only to get
only some things; a trail of disappointments to
spice up his memory as he bade the young man goodbye
the middle aged suddenly discovers that he
is not as young anymore, his eyes, his legs,
his hair, his stamina have all started to nag to him
that they are not as before, taking duties
promptly and without shortcoming; they have
all taken a turn for the the middle aged
who will soon teach his children happiness is the
best medicine of all and that life should be
focussed on finding that without hurting anyone
the octogenarian takes over the the steps
of the middled age and they have slowed
so much sometimes he cannot even do it
without the help of someone or a stick
the octogenarian who will tell us that a life
of charity is better than one lived alone;
an all important lesson from the silver haired who will
soon bid goodbye to himself, the world and us all
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In Silence No More
Aged 1
Aged 2
Aged 3
Aged 4
At 5 my life changed forever more,
Aged 6
Aged 7
Aged 8
Aged 9
By 10 he’d touched me a thousand times,
Aged 41
42
43
44
But now I’m not suffering in silence,
In silence anymore,
For now I’m chatting and talking,
Not crawling I’m walking,
Even though he’s still stalking,
I’m not suffering in silence,
Suffering in silence,
I’m not suffering in silence,
In silence no more.
poem by Darren Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are two barriers that often prevent communication between the young and their elders. The first is middle-aged forgetfulness of the fact that they themselves are no longer young. The second is youthful ignorance of the fact that the middle aged are still alive.
quote by Jessamyn West
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tea Shop
The girl in the tea shop
Is not so beautiful as she was,
The August has worn against her.
She does not get up the stairs so eagerly;
Yes, she also will turn middle-aged,
And the glow of youth that she spread about us
As she brought us our muffins
Will be spread about us no longer.
She also will turn middle-aged.
poem by Ezra Pound
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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You're not middle aged yet you think?
Old age then your back aches
Becomes a viaduct arch of pain
Foundation's get subsidence
You lose 10inches all elegance
In thought your opinion's tower
Your judgments still acquire
Unremitting unquestioned respect
Old age is senile let's not forget
You're misunderstood too proud
To listen to wear a hearing aid
Yelling above the common crowd
False Orange tan what a masquerade
A grandmother in her pre-war paint
An atheist till age 78 still hitting town
So I mock the aged and the antiquated?
'You're not middle aged yet you think? Oh you silly clown'…
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Whither Thy Art, Man?
Yes, men and women, paint their eyelashes,
And dye their hair in hues and paint their nails;
And wear head-bands, multi-colored sashes,
And paint the tortoises and shells of snails.
Some paint their bodies fully or one-half;
Some paint their country’s flag over their face;
Some look like leopards, lions, clowns that laugh;
Some tattoo pictures or paint words so base.
Some paint their naked bodies as if dressed
Or apply stickers of men, Gods or beast;
Their art on human skins looks to them best
And dance in ritual for a sumptuous feast.
The art of man has gone so crazy now,
For men paint Dogs, cats, cattle, also cow.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Europe to me is young people trying to appear middle-aged and middle-aged people trying to appear young.
quote by Mike Myers
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sadness Comes Again And Again
SADNESS COMES AGAIN AND AGAIN
Sadness comes again and again
As Grief comes again and again
As with aging more friends are lost
Each one is a world gone
And each one's leaving is its own sadness
And there seems no end to this
Until we too will become the source for others' sadness
Sadness comes again and again
So does death
And the very feelings we have today for our lost friend
Others will too one day not too long from now
Have for us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Affirmation
To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.
poem by Donald Hall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When a middle-aged man says in a moment of weariness that he is half dead, he is telling the literal truth.
quote by Elmer Davis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sadness Sleeps With Me
MY SADNESS SLEEPS WITH ME
My sadness sleeps with me
It wakes with me
It sings with me
My sadness walks with me
And smiles with me
And laughs with me
My sadness stays with me
And does not want to go anywhere without me
My sadness is me
And I am my sadness
All the way
To the end
Sadness in me as my sad friend.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint Me Down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint Brush
We forget
We’re humans in disguise
We lust for angels
We lust for demons
We cannot exorcise the human inside.
We paint a layer of lies
No water can wash it off
Human doesn’t let paint spread
In the end humans peel paint off.
Some are left buried
With paint left unpeeled
The paint dries away
But human never dehydrates.
We may paint on thorns,
But flowers we remain inside.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give a boost to lust
Passion for sex will die a natural death,
Thanks to the monogamous monotony.
Fresh flesh and the revived curiosity
Prod man and woman, the middle aged,
For one night stand adventure, guiltless.
For man, a reward of his worthiness.
For woman, a reaffirmation of her assets.
Back to rails, their wheels get a boost.
18.07.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Diary of a Survivor
Paint me red
Don’t color my dreams
Paint me red and burry me
We haunted the roads like animals
And danced as the windows shattered
We counted the weapons, the breaths, the days
In the invisible hours, we’d lie down and pray
Paint me red and burry me
Blind fold me, so I cannot see
Your disillusioned eyes and wrecked soul
When you surrendered beneath the purple skies
I cannot see it
The hollow human spirit
Paint me red and burry me
Block my nose, so I cannot smell
The smoke, the fog and the haze
The gunpowder you always inhale
It creeps through the nooks, the cracks
Eliminating us insects, stalks over stalks
Paint me red and burry me
Burn my hands, so I cannot fix
The springs in your mattress
And the water in your kitchen
The ceiling leaks blood, your walls cry out loud
And your windows wave silently to those dead clouds
Paint me red and burry me
I am a fool, I cannot help thee
I am a fool, someone help thee.
poem by Kanza Javed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy
Sadness had been close as my next of kin
Then happy came one day, chased my blues away
My life began when happy smiled
Sweet, like candy to a child
Stay here and love me just a while
Let sadness see what happy does
Let happy be where sadness was
Happy, thats you
You made my life brand new
Lost as a little lam was I till you came in
My life began when happy smiled
Sweet, like candy to a child
Stay here and love me just a while
Let sadness see what happy does
Let happy be where sadness was
(till now)
Where have I been?
What lifetime was I in?
Suspended between time and space
Lonely until happy came smiling up at me
Sadness had no choice but to flee
I said a prayer so silently
Let sadness see what happy does
Let happy be where sadness was till now
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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