Towards The Final Day
Towards the final day
Knows one for certain hundred percent
Sure to wind up thoroughly
Leaving behind even the mortal sheath
Thereso the blood vessels shrink
Then the brass and bronze vessels
Then the sentimental tradition
Children can't be glued to
Tradititional furniture pappa's, grand-pa's then
Espoused with mamma's, grand-ma's silver, gold
All secretly or forcibly to the mart
Grand-old-mistress innocent
Holding back her darlings' left-by goods
Snaps, clothes, books
Grand-old-mister adament
Mindless leaving his own house
Tear-sold bucks mamma's, pappa's
Celebrate purchasing antiques..
Children enjoy their special days
Far farther
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
My grand dad
I remember you grand dad
Back since I was only three
I remember you granddad
How much you adored me
I remember you grand dad
How you made me smile
I remember you grand dad
You made my toddler years worthwhile
I remember you grand dad
Your lovely smell of tobacco
I remember you grand dad
The love for others you would show
I remember you grand dad
When I came to see you, you would give me a jellybean
I remember you grand dad
You always made me feel like a queen
I remember you grand dad
And I miss you everyday
It's Grand
It's grand to be a squatter
And sit upon a post,
And watch your little ewes and lambs
A-giving up the ghost.
It's grand to be a "cockie"
With wife and kids to keep,
And find an all-wise Providence
Has mustered all your sheep.
It's grand to be a Western man,
With shovel in your hand,
To dig your little homestead out
From underneath the sand.
It's grand to be a shearer
Along the Darling-side,
And pluck the wool from stinking sheep
That some days since have died.
It's grand to be a rabbit
And breed till all is blue,
And then to die in heaps because
There's nothing left to chew.
It's grand to be a Minister
And travel like a swell,
And tell the Central District folk
To go to -- Inverell.
It's grand to be a socialist
And lead the bold array
That marches to prosperity
At seven bob a day.
It's grand to be unemployed
And lie in the Domain,
And wake up every second day --
And go to sleep again.
It's grand to borrow English tin
To pay for wharves and docks
And then to find it isn't in
The little money-box.
It's grand to be a democrat
And toady to the mob,
For fear that if you told the truth
They'd hunt you from your job.
It's grand to be a lot of things
In this fair Southern land,
But if the Lord would send us rain,
That would, indeed, be grand!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Domestic Shades16
For angst theirs against
Infants and babies shut in classes
Montessori 'holidays' means a lot
That grand-mas are the happiest
Running behind grand children
Bleating to grand-son 'yes sir, yes sir'
Towed by grand-daughter like 'little lamb'
Boasting to daughters
Their baby care olden days..
Kept running behind me
My grand-daughter
My daughter behind her
A cypher-contest finally
Caught defeated for bath
But bath-towel crying elsewhere
Escaped to rescue, my daughter
Little wee locked in momentarily
Battled on a chaos further red mouthed
Poking 'Grandeur''s tongue
Prostrating to my back 'toothsome'...
And...
Now, I am not for Montessori Holidays
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My taste of Life
I drink coffee seems it is my favorite wine,
How much I can enjoy until the end of my life?
How much I can keep for happiness as in my life?
When my life is going to be disappearing as a morning frost?
I am still worrying a thousand years’ later although,
There are a few grand children around me.
I could not see my grand children after a century,
But I worry about their fortune and children after my death.
poem by Albert Wong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Goddess
Short single plaited of her curly locks
Tall, simple, draped with six yards
Queenly significant, nightingale voiced
Pretty enough to be admired
Mamma is ever my first goddess.
Her veneration with high ideals
Her composure with amiable qualities
Have lasting records filling up my mind.
I'm her disciple, well tuned.
No doubt, mamma is ever my first goddess.
Home-like a choultry of many numbers
With increasing population of naughty kids
Of aunts, uncles and even grand-parents
Issued year by year without any pause! !
Challenge, caring for her own kids
Nursing others', serving the elders
Cooking for the battalion the food
In huge vessels with more heed -
Great, mamma is ever my first goddess! !
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grand Illusion
I saw you in a dream, it hit me like a bright light
Flashing on a screen, visions of my whole life.
I used to chase the moment of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a grand illusion.
Heart was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
I held you in my arms till the other side of midnight.
Kept you in my mind, you got me through some long nights.
Standing on the threshold of desire,
Caught between the madness and the fire.
Chorus
It was all a grand illusion.
Hand was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legends in our own minds.
I used to chase the moments of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a, it was all a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was all a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
It was just a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was just a grand illusion,
Legend in our own mind.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Buckskin Bag of Gold
Last night I met him on the train--
A man with lovely eyes;
And he gave me a searching glance
Of sweet charm'd surprise!
I knew 'twas he the lady meant,
Who once my fortune told,
By his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Yes! (Ha! ha!) Yes! (ha! ha!) his is the man
Who does your fortune hold!
He has jet black eyes, a grand moustache,
And a buckskin bag of gold.
Tall! (Ha! ha!) slim! (ha! ha!) quick as a flash!
And twenty two years old;
He has jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
The dearest man you ever saw
How much I love him now!
And if I should live a thousand years,
No other hears my vow.
Like Judas--no, like Jupiter,
He look'd so brave and bold,
With his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Sweet boy bring me the "Morning Call"
Perchance I'll find his name;
At the "Grand Hotel" he must have stopp'd,
I wonder when he came!
He must have charm'd those Lumpkin girls,
So haughty, proud and cold,
By his jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
How can I seek a name unknown?
Oh, tell me where he went!
What is this I read! why Papa's bank
Is robb'd of ev'ry cent!
The thief, it seems, left town last night,
Well, well! I'm nicely sold!
He had jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Koroit's 09 Football Premiership
They celebrate in the Commercial and Mickey Bourke's pub
The marvellous win of Koroit Saints Football Club
The Warrnambool Blues the pride of Warrnambool Town
In the Football Grand Final to the red and black went down
To the memory of such a victory Koroit fans will cling dear
They will celebrate well into next year
The Grand Final win to the Town has brought cheer
They do celebrate there in spirits and beer
From shop and house windows red and black balloons and bunters in the wind blow
Their great love of Koroit all koroitians do show
And well do they have reason to celebrate
Their present footballers with Koroit's best do rate
Their 09 Premiership for them a huge victory
Something that is destined to live in memory.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Children And Me
when they see me
alll the children address me
daddy daddy
grand daddy
come daddy daddy come
but ı have not a real child
though all the children are mine
I treat them like mine
aöm I SO OLD
ı SOMETİ MES SUSPECT
but nobody accepts
eldering easily
all living thing
never wants to get older...never
but am I so old
as when
chidren see me
address..
daddy...dady..daddy..
or grand daddy
what a wonderful sight
of a just walking baby
leaning towards me
from her mother bosom
when alll the children see me
they address me
daddy...daddy..dady.
or grand daddy
ı s there a secret relatı on
between the children and me
do you know
can you guess
and tell me
poem by Metin Sahin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Post Grand Final Day
For the winners many weeks of hip hip hooray
And the feeling of joy with their fans months does stay
But for one to win one must lose as some do say
And for the losers only sadness post Grand Final Day.
And since winning is what only does seem to count
Gallant in defeat to little does seem to amount
The joy in victory is always sweet
There is never any glory in defeat.
Those uninterested in sports say football is just a game
That who wins or who loses life goes on the same
But those who support football clubs never see it that way
They do get quite excited watching their team play.
To play in a Grand Final is many a boy's dream
And be a champion player in a Premiership Team
But on post Grand Final day only the winners celebrate
And for their victory their fans say 'twas well worth the wait.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The link will be lost.
You might be blessed with a son,
Who in turn might be with a son.
Can it be ever long since then?
Lost will be the link, now or later.
Above your grand father,
You don’t know any.
Below your grand children,
You aren’t known by any.
Lost will be the identity anyhow.
21.06.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tools
This song was first released on the aerie album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Tools was baby rabbit
He was a friend of mine
His mamma and pappa
Brothers and sisters
Left him all behind
He came into our house
Brighten up a couple of days
Tools you made me smile a lot
And I wish you could have stayed
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Woman Five Doors Down
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted is the best player in the school football team
And that one day he will play in an A.F.L. Grand Final and that more than once of late she's had this dream
Of watching him receive the Coleman medal for best on ground on football's biggest day
Watched by well over ninety thousand people who cheer him on with a loud hip hooray.
But locals who know of football and watched Ted play say he will never play at the top grade
That he won't go down Swanston Street in the back of a lorry
to loud applause in the Grand Final Parade
They say his mother greatly over rates him and that in his team he's just an average player
And that not one in his club will play A.F.L. football with good under age players they do not compare
Ted's mother believes her son will be a football hero and she seemed so convinced that she convinced me
But others who have seen him play say different and with her opinions they do not agree
They say that she will end up disappointed that her dreams for her son will not come true
That he won't make a career out of football another line of work he must pursue.
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted will one day play in the famed M.C.G.
And be the hero of a great Grand Final in a game that will go down in history
And though others seem to think that she's only dreaming I hope her son will be a football great
And that she will applaud him in the Grand Final and the football fans his name will celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sweet Life
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
I'm going to be a farmer
Blowing the fields in the morning sun
I'll have a millon horses
Take me a ride when the work is done
I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And when the day is over
Going to go to sleep in the field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Going to be a acter
Playing a part in a light of gold
Oh yes I will
I'm going to make a lot of money
Going to spend it all before I get to old
And I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And you know when the day is over now
I'm going to go to sleep in a field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Got,got, got to have a sweet life
Got to have a sweet life
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
[fade out]
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Life's Been Grand
(Merle Haggard/Terry Gordon)
My life's been grand
I been a hand at livin' it up all the way
I've had good times and bad times and hard times and done time
But life's been a blessing every day
My life's been grand
You know I'd write home and tell 'em
But they wouldn't believe how good my luck's been
And if it ended today I've been all the way
My life's been grand
My life's been grand
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The larvae
the larvae
it has grown
shed its ugly days
crept out of dried brown leaf
in a lovely batik
to start a princely life
crowned with two wings
it has flown high into the sky
as if to announce its glory
it now has honey as food
and flowers as friends
never once in its larvae days
it has thought life would turn out
to be so grand
the man too has grown, shrivelled
and passed away
leaving a world of colourful imagination
as to its existence beyond
perhaps he too now lives a grand life
somewhere.... in a garden
leaving the drab existence behind
like the larvae that leaves its brown leaf
to fly away a glory of nature
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Young Fellow Next Door
The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.
He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.
If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.
The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.
A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.
On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0012 The House of Metaphor
After you’ve negotiated that artfully-conceived
sharp elbow bend in the long, grand drive
through the fields of its estate,
and it hoves into view,
you always gasp – this palace
- no, more like a temple with living quarters –
set deep in the countryside, yet as sure
as one in Athens or in Rome;
yet that too is artfully contrived -
the slight mound it’s built on,
the cunning proportion that magnifies,
disguises, with its public face
the aptness of a family home;
its public rooms so grand, just echoing enough
to magnify a public speech; its family rooms
smallish, cosy; love and friendliness
live here. It says to the world,
stability; tradition re-affirmed; yet
this is our familiar family home.
It has its rooms, as rooms should be,
devoted to each family pursuit:
here’s the grand library
but here, with books so evidently, lovingly well read;
you almost missed the little girl, her hair and knees
curled round a book, deep in that leather green armchair;
the study, where your breathing seems to change,
there’s such a still and living silence here;
the nursery that emanates a lifetime’s care;
the children’s bedrooms set around it,
through which you ran and laughed and ran again; the window seats
from which you looked so wistfully
as childhood’s assurance faded into teenage questioning;
a house to leave,
a house to come back to;
a metaphor
as living, haunting, as the poetry it is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Allusion
In a word, confusion
chemical collusion
gratified illusion
empty, grand delusion
Grand and green profusion
implicitly pollution
mindless, broken fusion
hoping for ablution
Crash the institution
Living in seclusion
Hoping for intrusion
Or welcome execution
poem by Poet Dragon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rapid Fire
Pounding the world like a battering ram
Forging the furnace for the final grand slam
Chopping away at the source soon the course will be done
Leaving a trail of destruction thats second to none
Hammering anvils straining muscle and might
Shattering blows crashing browbeating fright
Fast devastating and desolisating the curse
Blasting the cannons of truth through each man of this earth
Wielding the axe comes the one culmination
Thats always seemed certain to bring down the curtain on greed
Sifting the good from the bad its the age for the rage
Of the dogs which must fall to the just and be free
Now grate for the vandals who trampled and sampled
Till this place conditioned brought forth demolition to war
The slipping and sliding corrosive subsiding
That withered and wained till the world seemed all drained fills the bay
Pounding the world like a battering ram
Forging the furnace for the final grand slam
Chopping away at the source soon the course will be done
Leaving a trail of destruction thats second to none
Second to none
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!