Unfulfilled Expectations
Three score years and ten: They say
is the life span of a man.
Though it's no longer true today.
People have realised they can.
Defy the dire predictions
and need not die obediently.
To suit the statisticians.
I‘m fast approaching ninety three.
And still live independently.
Growing disgracefully
content to act rebelliously.
Although the statisticians all agree
I should have died long years ago.
Which proves how little that they know
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Unfulfilled expectations
.
Three score years and ten: They say
is the life span of a man.
Though it’s no longer true today.
People have realised they can.
Defy the dire predictions
and need not die obediently.
To suit the statisticians.
I‘m fast approaching ninety three.
And still live independently.
Growing disgracefully
content to act rebelliously.
Although the statisticians all agree
I should have died long years ago.
Which proves how little that they know
28/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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If I get the forty additional years statisticians say are likely coming to me, I could fit in at least one, maybe two new lifetimes. Sad that only one of those lifetimes can include being the mother of young children.
quote by Anna Quindlen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just False Patriotism
'Tis true to the dead that respect we should show
But they still honour men who died ninety years ago
For a dubious cause in Lands far away
But the war that was supposed to end all wars is re-lived today.
In that war it is said a million people died
And in such needless slaughter why do we take pride
At the war memorial the last post is played
And the long war dead are honoured with one more parade.
Those who march for peace it does seem to me
Do more for the betterment of humanity
Than those who go to war memorials to honour the long dead
Far too much about war has been written and said.
Just false patriotism to me this does seem
A boost to big egos and to self esteem
The mistakes of war are repeated today
And people are dying in war zones far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Break Loose
I’m growing old disgracefully.
It is not eccentricity
but a decision I have made,
Though rules are meant to be obeyed
.
The time has come to be just me
and not the me you’d have me be.
Although perhaps you’ll fume and fuss
I do not give a tinkers cuss.
No keeping up appearances.
Seeking official clearances
to the things I want to do.
If you don’t like it you can sue.
No three piece suit and tie for me
I aim for comfort casually.
There’s no one who I need impress.
Removes the need to power dress.
What you see is what you get
I am quite real so don’t forget.
No man can say he is my boss
I cannot say I feel the loss.
Retired now completely free
to be the man I want to be..
I have no need to chase success
I never did I must confess.
I lived my life as I thought best.
I think I earned the right to rest.
I find that rest’s eluding me
and I have little time that’s free
It’s rather strange but now I find
I left the world of work behind.
I’m busier than I was before
I find that I am doing more.
More than I ever did at work
although I was not one to shirk.
Perhaps because I can refuse
to do the things of little use.
Which used to be required of me
by people in authority
of little use to anyone.
Not now those days are long gone
I’ve cast aside my public face.
The mask I used to keep in place.
So I can act disgracefully
and let whole world see it’s me.
So growing old disgracefully
Is much more fun than quietly
Just taking to my easy chair
and let the world forget I’m there.
There’s more to life than the TV
I want to live outrageously.
Its my intent to break the rules.
which rule the life of the poor fools.
Who think at sixty life is done.
Retirement is the time for fun.
I find I can enjoy each day
in doing things in my own way.
Take my advice and don’t think twice
retirement is very nice.
Cast off responsibility
grow old disgracefully like me.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Long Life Road
Our life is a real drama
In such a colorful gamma.
Our life is just a moment,
Sometimes with a torment.
Just have enough patience
To keep good relations,
To love truly and forgive.
You won't believe
But today I cried away.
Someone thought it was a shame,
Someone comforted, didn't blame,
Someone said: life goes on,
Someone dies and some are born
You only need desperately to repent,
With your heart to be in consent.
Make it a blessed event!
But it was not a simple lament.
Yes, the tears I couldn't prevent.
The most intimate understood
Whom today we buried,
Whom today we have lost
And what is the life's cost.
A month ago she was ninety five
But her eyes were always alive.
She was intellectual and clever,
No one could ever say she was old.
So many people her heart could hold.
Yes, she was only ninety five,
But even those who were twenty five
Came to her for advice.
Just to chat with her was so nice.
We did not dare to say 'a crone',
No one heard her moan.
We say: she had a long life road.
But is it enough to solve its code?
The war, the loss of her son…
Years and years were far from fun.
Thank God a daughter was bestowed.
Since then her life has mellowed.
But then a new grief - widowed.
At the funeral many words were said
Because she was truly loved
And in our souls she will never be dead.
It hurts to lose a true friend.
We'll miss you dear on this land.
So, live in our memories and in the heavens,
Always young in the mind and in appearance!
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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The only Way to go.
Some choose to grow old quietly
but others take a different view.
They chose to live disgracefully.
Why should you give up having fun.
Because you’ve reached a certain age.
There are still things you haven’t done.
You want to do before you die
Though your time may be limited.
You see no reason not to try
To make your madcap dreams come true.
Why should you sit and vegetate
as other folks expect you to.
You are the captain of your fate.
So you can do what you want to.
Tomorrow may be far too late.
So do it now immediately.
Regardless of the consequence.
What does it matter anyway?
Society may not agree.
You have the right to your own view
Choose to act disgracefully.
You’ll find that life is much more fun
than sitting watching the T.V.
Show the world you’re still someone
Seize every opportunity
that life’s prepared to offer you.
To shock your neighbours thoroughly.
They choose to sit and wait to die.
You choose to do the opposite.
You won’t surrender easily/
But fight until your final breath
because it is your nature to
Although you know you can’t beat death.
You know that one day you must die
but until then you choose to live
Just as you wish disgracefully.
01/09/09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Life-Line
Life is loaded with the episodes,
Many dismal but a few cheerful.
My son died,
A short awhile after his birth,
Came down from the heaven,
Went quickly beneath the earth.
Before we gave him a final wash,
And wrapped him in the shroud,
I opened his fist to kiss his hand,
With tiny fingers and little nails,
And glanced his lines on the palm,
Lifeline encircled the whole Luna
That meant he would live long,
More than a span of ninety years,
But it mocked by leaving us in tears.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Future Is The Children's
The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.
The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.
The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.
The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Today... 'Eternal Life
Eternal Life. Death has no hold on You
for a sinless life You lived Faithful and True.
When time shall cease and worlds no longer be
You shall live on throughout eternity.
This Life has appeared and was seen by men.
The Son of God has come and has given
understanding to know the One Who is true
for He Who was with the Father is You.
I have been to Your cross and seen You there
and cried out to You in my great despair.
'Forgive me Lord, I don't know what to do, '
you heard me cry as I confessed to You.
'It is finished, ' You cried upon the tree
as Your earthly life You gave up for me.
You exchanged my life for an endless one
and Eternal Life in me has begun.
Reaching out to me in great love You bear
my awful sins upon Your shoulders there.
Such healing I received at Calvary
and there Eternal Life began for me.
Death has been swallowed up in victory
no longer the grave has a hold on me.
Though once hell held captive and domineered
no longer its portals are to be feared.
No more shall life be three score years and ten
or limits placed upon the years of men.
For Christ came to this earth that blesséd day
and died to take the sting of death away.
Oh how can I thank You for Your mercy.
Nobody else has shown such love to me.
Please help me Lord her on this earth to show
by my life the debt of love that I owe.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
Sampling, statisticians have told us, is a much more effective way of getting a good census.
quote by Rob Lowe
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Impossibility
I met an average man today.
Average in every way
He was not nor was he lean
but in the middle in between.
Hw was not tall he was not short
but medium height I must report
His hair was neither dark nor light.
His mode of dress exactly right.
A statisticians dream come true.
The man that they all refer to.
hen they compile the lists they prize
at best half truths but mainly lies.
Statistically he cant exist
One sample not enough to list.
17-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Adahuna
You are now a grown up lady and,
Ready to get married to a man;
But Cain dwelt in the land of Nod and,
I am like the cypress wood to you today.
You need to beef up your life because,
Sin reduces our life-span on this earth;
And i am Adahuna from the deep blue sea.
Of the sons and the daughters of the gods,
From nine undred years and about in those days;
And at most one hundred and twenty years to live today,
But gain wisdom to add up to your age in this life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Perhaps I'll Never Again See Old Clara Mountain
I'm getting on in years and looking older even than my age of two years with three score
And perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain and climb the high fields up through Claramore
In Claraghtalea I started my life's journey but I'm not to know where and when that journey will end
In sixty two years I've known a lot of people but not everyone I've known I'd call a friend
I often think about the Town of Millstreet where mine once was a fairly well known face
Though there today I well might be a stranger a stranger even in my old Homeplace
I am one of many migrants from Duhallow for to try my luck in the big World out there
Duhallow people are known to be travellers and one from there one could meet anywhere
I often think of those I went to school with many of them the grandparents of today
Perhaps the years have left them looking older even some of them with the departed lay
It has been many years since I've last seen them the years eventually do tell on all
On looking back our young years went so quickly and for everyone of us a final Fall
Perhaps I'll never again see old Clara Mountain or walk in the fields where the rank rushes grow
In Claraghatlea I began my life's journey but where and when that journey will end I'm not to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On Joe White's Ninetieth Birthday
So many he knew in his younger years to life have come and gone
But like the great man that he is Joe White keeps on keeping on
Ten years short of his century in his ninetieth year of life
I remember him and his daughter daughter Bibi and his now long deceased wife.
He and his wife and daughter went to live in America many decades ago
But they returned to Ballydaly to live amongst old friends they did know
He has done his share of travelling but the love of home is strong
And he is back in Tubber where he feels he does belong.
One of the elder citizens of the Parish of Millstreet
He is as nice a person as one could wish to meet
I have fond memories of him and of his ready smile
He is one of those nice people that I've not seen for some-while.
In the Wallis Arms in Millstreet Town for him a surprise party where a great night was had by all
And I bet at the happy gathering old times they did recall
Joe White has turned ninety and enjoying his lengthy life span
And it truly can be said of him that he is a gentleman.
poem by by unknown author
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Dan And Nora Sullivan
They lived in the cottage by the gate to Tubrid Well the Sullivans Nora and Dan
For at least three score and ten years in time a lengthy span
Till failing health and the wear of age on them both did take toll
And the turning back of the hands of time is beyond human control.
The brother and sister Dan and Nora Sullivan I never more will see
They were claimed by the reaper the one who will claim me
But memories of them till my end with me I will retain
And each time I look back on my past they come to life again
I do recall at Christmas time Nora always remembered me
A greeting card from a dear old friend beyond the northern sea
She outlived Dan by six or seven years and news of her death reduced me to tears
For a mentor and role model of my long gone childhod years.
I knew them in my younger years from the same Townland as I
Two people I looked up to when I was a school going boy,
Dan and Nora Sullivan they could not live with a lie
And it truly could be said of them that they would not harm a fly.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
The Juvenile Offenders Act
The Juvenile Offenders Act gives soft-on-crime judges an out,
While the names of young criminals don’t get published throughout,
The statisticians do surveys that say everything is fine,
And it doesn’t matter who got off with a whole bunch of crime.
The people don’t have referendums nor required to vote,
And young criminals know they can get away with it and gloat,
The height of political correctness with lawyers by the score,
Nodding and waving as the criminals walk out the courtroom door.
Are we the only people in the world with these stupid laws?
As the judges, the lawyers and the pink socialists applause,
Where can we find a politician that really means what he says?
How do we go about getting binding referendums these days?
poem by James Bredin
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The Passing Time
Ah, passing time you don't need any reason to change the black to white
You always run so fast during our happy days like a while
And When we are sad and alone you humble there years
Every minute passes by longer than years
The people those we love soon they disappear
Those who were lovers yesterday today become strangers
Ah, passing time how brutal you are to swift away our delightful years
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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The Communists were interested in getting into key positions as union officers, statisticians, economists, etc., in order to utilize the apparatus of the unions to promote the cause of revolution.
quote by John T. Flynn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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