Enough...Enough...Enough!
childhood-
chipped pieces of wood
stoking
fires of youth
wild fire!
ash on every hand
and face
pounded
powdered
husk blows
on shores of life
legs move with difficulty
the husk obstructing...
crescendo?
de-crescendo?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
2.03 Childhood - Youth - Old Age
The three around the fire sitting,
Gossiping of Life and its doings,
Reached a point thought provoking,
Of their journey and life prevailing. [1]
CHILDHOOD:
“Please do not leave me at this time,
Youth, do take me in your prime,
For I an entertainment will but be,
With playful antics in life’s journey.” [2]
YOUTH:
“No! You can not accompany me,
As struggles exist in my journey,
Your playfulantics will but not be,
In my stride of any necessity.” [3]
When on Youth tiredness grows,
Childhood memories do then glow,
But Old Age with its aged face,
Now stares at Youth in this race. [4]
OLDAGE
“Of no use it be to remember him,
You move ahead now in this game,
Childhood once gone never returns,
Forget Childhood - Love me in turn. [5]
Struggling ahead as you had moved,
Your tiredness now I shall remove,
Come on my lap relaxingly do lie,
And sleep with my pleasant lullabies.” [6]
Thinking of Childhood - its payful taps,
The Youth now lies in Oldage’s lap,
Who caressing with weak trembling hands,
Sings cradle songs of eternal sleep grand. [7]
poem by Munnan Misra
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Ten Thousand Feet from Home
Whatever else will come of this (and I'm convinced that nothing will) ,
The rums and Cokes have set my eyes to dancing as I stand out here,
With cigarette, beneath a moon which casts those peaks in ghostly
Light. It's Leadville once again, July, and I have come to see my
Cousins. I have come to peel away the puffy husk of life lived in
The suburbs, atmospheres below, and be as they prefer to see me:
Savage, as they are, and drunk, and, in a room upstairs is she,
Who rashly said she's make this journey. Her husk hasn't peeled
Away, and her face, face down on a pillow, drunk as mine, remains
So pretty, warmer, though, than all these peaks. I put my butt into
A can and haul myself, unsteady, upwards, to the room and to the
Woman who has come, but isn't conscious, and the bed beneath
The moon and these, most lovely, frigid peaks, to lay, a-swirl, at
Her side. Not much will come of this.
poem by Lawrence Beck
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Lone Palm
Lone palm
By: jimmy buffett
1993
My garden is filled with papayas and mangos
My life is a mixture of reggaes and tangos
Taste for the good life
I cant live it no other way
While out on the beach there are two empty chairs
That say more than the people who ever sit there
>from under my lone palm
I can look out on the day
Chorus:
Where no bird flies by my window
No ship is tied to my tree
Love is a wave building to a crescendo
Ride if you will, ride it with me
I knew this girl made of memories and phrases
Who lived her whole life in both chapters and stages
Danced til the dawn
Wished all her worries away
Well she wasnt crazy, no she wasnt mad
She just wanted the father that she never had
>from under my lone palm
I think about her today
Chorus:
Where no bird flies by my window
No ship is tied to my tree
Love is a wave building to a crescendo
Ride if you will, ride it with me
We sailed from the port of indecision
Young and wild with oh so much to learn
Days turned into years
As we tried to fool our fears
But to the port of indecision I returned
My gardens are filled with papayas and mangos
My life is a mixture of jingles and jangles
Come christmas winds
Blow all my worries away
Chorus:
Where no bird flies by my window
No ship is tied to my tree
Love is a wave building to a crescendo
Ride if you will, ride it with me
Sing if you will, sing to the sea
(no bird flies by my window)
(no ship is tied to my tree)
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After the day, dusk
can man face race also-ran
after the play, husk
haiku by Jonathan Robin (24 October 2006)
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Music to Me
Music to me is always you.
Wild chords that surround my heart
that shiver inside me and break apart
into little pieces of solitary tones
that create in me passionate moans.
Music to me will always be you.
Soft lilting melodies that lift me high
and keep me breathless to satisfy
each part of my body and my soul
like the crescendo of a drummer's roll.
Music to me is your sweet touch.
Syncopated rhythms that make me blush
increase my libido and create my purrs.
For whenever the music in me stirs
I feel as if you are here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Hassle, Hassle the Crazy Cage
# Hassle hassle the crazy cage #
Raju Baruah
Mask and Mask
Here mask, there mask
Musk over musk
I have forgotten my childhood face
I have lost my childhood eyes
I have lost my childhood smiles
Where is my cittern
Where is my clad
Where I lost my self
Play with clay
Sand pitch and the toys
Dews of grass
I grab with joy
Who taught me to wear mask
From where I learn to put me in husk
Every time we cheat our self
Every time we make delft
Hassle hassle the crazy cage.
poem by Raju Baruah
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Don’t Weep For Me
Here I lay in bed
the throes of death
dance round my head.
Don’t weep for me
when I am dead,
because all you will see
is just the husk of me.
I will be gone to somewhere else,
although they have not told me yet.
It could be somewhere hot
so I can burn my toes.
It could be somewhere cold
so it will freeze my nose.
Then again it could be somewhere in between
where the air is clean.
They say that is quite nice,
a sort of paradise.
So when I am dead,
don’t weep for me.
You can take the husk
and do what you will.
You can burn or bury it deep,
which will give the worms something to eat.
You can put me a cardboard box
if you are that way incline,
I really do not mind,
for I will already be gone from there.
To where that is anyone’s guess,
they have not told me yet.
When I get there, I won’t be coming back.
No one ever does from there,
except to haunt those who have done me wrong,
and then only until the day they to are gone.
I guess it is time to sat goodbye.
Just remember what I said,
don’t weep for me
when I am dead.
2 July 2007
poem by David Harris
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Boomerang
This piece of hardwood, cunningly shaped,
was curved so evenly while piccaninnies gaped
at a Warrior who chipped at it with pieces of flint,
and formed it by meticulous dint upon dint.
Outside his wurly he sat beside a tree,
and chipped at it patiently for hours - not for me,
but to kill the Wallaby in the rocky pass,
to kill the fat wild Turkey hiding in the grass.
poem by Rex Ingamells
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Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk.
quote by George MacDonald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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hot summer night -
on a sycamore tree
the crescendo of cicadas
haiku by Marijo Pinero (2008)
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Young People
Young people gather wood, rather rotten wood,
Relaxing as can be, relishing the coal of the fire;
They wait until death has arrived, on their doorstep,
When steps are taken to disturb the real fire of life.
Youth is spending a youth, young men and women,
All of them are splendid in jobs, worthwhile endeavour.
We space our life around the stages we encounter,
The young heart masters a new strategy, feeling good
About the way we wonder and wander, like burning wood.
The heart of red blood felt all right,
But young hearts defend themselves.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Evil Fire Inside Me
Crackle, pop, the wood that fuels the fire snaps
It falls to the bottom of the pit
Where I can again hear the coals sizzle
With my desire
My feet start to move
Then my legs
Oh man there my hand goes
Just wishing you were here
I bite my lip till it bleeds
In silence I scream out in pleasure
As I touch the point of ignition
The fire extends through out my whole body
And echo’s into my soul
I cant help myself
This feeling
This need
This desire
I want so badly
My addition
It grows as long as the fire grows
And the fire will grow as long as
My addition needs feeding
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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In A Tizz
You've got
my arse
in a sling
my guts
for garters
and my balls
as a trophy
while I
piroutte
like mad
a crescendo
looking for a falsetto.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Recycled
The hollow of that empty shell
Now void of life but stands to tell
A lifeless carcass hard as tusk
Devoid of heart as upturned husk
As empty as one mindless act
That lures to death in sordid pact
So cold just likened winters face
No life nor favours given grace
Such fear that haunts our waking seconds
Unknown destiny that beckons
Face the bell that rings our name
Life and times the dying game.
I understand my mortal self
My worth not judged on merely wealth
And life must have a journey's end
Embrace it as you would a friend.
poem by Dave James
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Nature's supplications
the sea is a roaring orchestra
its waves a marching band
trudging towards a smart land
the gulls cruises a crescendo
gliding and sliding on nature's
wings in their quest of providence
strewn across water and land
the sand are little pieces of blessings
that afford a place to prostrate
when nature plays out its light hearted
rituals and nudges us to join in
its ethereal chants and supplications
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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He Played to the Last String
Beads of sweat rolled, gleaming backs shook and twirled
Logs of fire added, pure smoke rose
In chorus, their voices went in unison, best steps competed
The jingles punctuated, and drums went in frenzy
His fingers danced with the harp's strings that made them wild
Alas, in crescendo, strings gave way one after and after.
Jingles and a string had to make it now, his voice punctuated
Infectious, in chorus they had applauded!
He PLAYED TO THE LAST STRING beamed the headlines.
A role in movie popped, he signed!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Caving In, White, Salted Flesh
The only sound
He makes is the one he makes
With his fingers, snapping off
A pincer, boiled-red, shelled husk
Caving in, white, salted flesh
Rising like clouds, fraying.
My mother watches all this
Like a rapt audience. If she could,
She would rise up in a passion
To applaud, convinced she is
Not the metaphor in the bowl,
Pink leg dangling, suspended
Over the rim, chest in pieces,
Spooned and well-dug, emptied.
poem by Cyril Wong
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Heart Pound
Her love is heart pounding
My heart pounded when I first saw her
My heart pounded when we first met
My heart pounded when I fell in love with her
My heart pounded when I asked her out for a date
My heart pounded when I saw I love her
My heart pounded when she said she love me
My heart pounded when we kissed
My heart pounded when she said she love me no more
And now I know that both love and heartbreak feel the same
That pain in the heart!
My heart pounded and still keeps pounding
But I know that I will love again, but she will still be in my heart.
poem by Abisoye Sejoro
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Smooth Criminal
As he came into the window
Was a sound of a crescendo
He came into her apartment
He left the bloodstains on the carpet
She was sitting at the table
He could see she was unable
So she ran into the bedroom
She was struck down
It was her doom
Annie
song performed by by Alien Ant Farm from ANThology
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Stones
From the moment the blue jay spied
My stolen breath could only sigh
And then the clever cunning fox
Made den upon my store of rocks
In the valley wet with dreams
He offered up, sweet cake and cream
Spiced with ginger, steeped in fire
He fed my heart his wild desires
I grew to crave his wind-burned face
Etched with time and lined with grace
His hills and valleys, I explored
I sought the flames beyond the shore
My heart soon nailed to his command
A view ny mind can't comprehend
My legs are strong, my back is straight
I’d never bend to such a fate
Beside his tempest shores, I wept
Uncertain where the fire was kept
I searched for fuel to feed my rage
My heart obsessed, my passion caged
Once trapped inside his secret lair
I woke to find he wasn’t there
Outside there blows a violent storm
Inside...just stones to keep me warm
poem by Leria Hawkins
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