Life's Looking Glass
Rows of chimney pots do their still smoking dance
Then thru our windows early morning glance,
By chance ‘Is it raining? '
Sometimes a sunny day is gaining,
Thru life's looking glass
In the poorest lane
The garbage cans stand still,
No reflection from the old wooden fence in vain,
A black cat rattles a rusty tin can
The cobbled road portrays its oldness.
It's a holiday today so run up'n'over the holiday hill
The vacation window glints
Sunshine sparkles on wavy sea stints,
Tiny fingers slide and squeak
Thru the window little faces doth peak
Sand castles beckon without fail
Children's footprints for ever tread this barefoot trail.
Another day another glance thru the looking glass,
Another lesson learning in life's learning class
Now who on earth would learn any faster
To be certain I'm sure, Alice would be the master.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Related quotes
Holiday
Well the super models in those magazines
They've been to places that I've never dreamed
Well they look so nice out on some sandy beach
But for me I've always found it out of reach
Ooooooooo take me on a holiday
Ooooooooo I need a holiday
The hotel and life for me would be alright
We could always catch an early mornin' flight
As you treat yourself like in a movie scene
But its just another place I've never been
Ooooooooo take me on a holiday
Ooooooooo I need a holiday
I call you up on your telephone
And leave a message there since your not home
I've got to go I've got to get away
Please come and take me on a holiday
Ooooooooo take me on a holiday
Last nite I dreamed I was in Sante Fe
And then went on a flight to San Jose
Well I know that you don't really like to fly
But to see the world maybe you'd like to try
Ooooooooo take me on a holiday
Ooooooooo I need a holiday
Ooooooooo take me on a holiday
Need a holiday
Holiday
Holiday
Holiday
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summertime
(leonard cohen/sharon robinson)
Summertime when will you come
I wanna put my light things on
I wanna put my winter life away
Summertime I need a sunny day
I want those peaches on the table
I want the watermelon red
And the warm sun creeping through the window
To ease me out of bed
I want the sand out there to lie on
And the sea out there to swim
So my heart can take a holiday
From breakin over him
Summertime when will you come
I wanna put my light things on
I wanna put my winter life away
Summertime I need a sunny day
And I want to drive forever
Wanna roll the windows down
Get the breeze back on my body
Get my feet back on the ground
I want the sand out there to lie on
And the sea out there to swim
So my heart can take a holiday
From breakin over him
Summertime when will you come
I wanna put my light things on
I wanna put my winter life away
Summertime I need a sunny day
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday Road
I found out long ago
It's a long way down the Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Jack be nible, Jack be quick
Take a ride on a West Coast kick
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
I've come back long ago
Long way down the Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
Holiday Road
song performed by by Lindsey Buckingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday
Key: G
(w/m by Jimmy Buffett)
The weather channel girl with her perfect weather curl
Is talkin' cold, cold, cold.
You can't get out of bed, you can't remember what you've said,
You're feelin' old, old, old.
Is it a fever or depression, anger or obsession,
What's the remedy?
We're not talkin' rocket science, the answer to your question's
Very plain to see.
Chorus: You need a Holiday, (you need a holiday) take a Holiday (take a
holiday).
Find a far-off wonderland where you might regain
Command of your life today.
Take a Holiday, (take a holiday) you need a Holiday (you need a holiday).
Grab a pack and hit the trail, take a sail
And wind up in some moonlit bay.
2nd Ver: You're caught up in the Internet,
You think it's such a great asset, but you're wrong, wrong, wrong.
And all that fiber optic gear
Still cannot take away the fear like an island song.
Disregard confession, stop tryin' to make impressions
On your corporate climb.
It might come as quite a shock but you can't really own that rock,
It's just a waste of time (state of mind).
Chorus: So take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Find a place to find yourself, take your life down off that shelf,
Quit actin' so blase.
Take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Grab a pack and hit the trail, take a sail
And wind up in some moonlit bay.
Trombone Instrumental (C / Cm6 / G / D-2 / E-2 / Am / D-2 / D+ 2 / G / G7 )
Steel Drum Instr (C / Cm6 / G / D-2 / E-2 / Am / D-2 / D+ 2 / G / -notes
B-Bb-A-Ab-G)
3rd Ver: Well it's only up to you, no one else can tell you to
Go out and have some fun.
Though if you want to stay alive, evade the big nose dive,
Be a ko-mee-dee-yun.
Chorus: And take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Find a far-off wonderland where you might regain
Command of your life today.
Take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Grab a pack and hit the trail, take a sail
And wind up in some moonlit bay.
Chorus: So take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Find a place to find yourself, take your life down off that shelf,
Quit actin' so blase.
Take a Holiday. You need a Holiday.
Grab a pack and hit the trail, take a sail
And wind up in some moonlit bay.
(lyrics submitted by T.R. Violante from CD liner but using the actual words
sung
by Buffett
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Holiday
Holiday,
Oh what a lovely day today,
Im so glad they sent me away,
To have a little holiday today, holiday,
Holiday,
And Im just standing on the end of a pier,
Hoping and dreaming you were here,
To share my little holiday,
Lookin in the sky, for a gap in the clouds,
Sometimes I think that sun aint never coming out,
But Id rather be here than in that dirty old town,
I had to leave the city cos it broke me down,
Oh holiday, oh what a lovely day today,
I think Ill get down on my little knees and pray, thank you lord,
Thank heaven for this holiday, holiday,
Im leaving insecurity behind me,
The environmental pressures got me down,
I dont need no sedatives to pull me round,
I dont need no sleeping pills to help me sleep sound,
Oh holiday,
Oh what a lovely day today,
I think Ill get down on my knees and pray,
Thats what Ill do,
Thank heaven for this holiday,
Lying on the beach with my back burned rare,
And the salt gets in my blisters and the sand gets in my hair,
And the seas an open sewer,
But I really couldnt care,
Im breathing through my mouth so I dont have to sniff the air,
Oh holiday,
Oh what a lovely day today,
Im so glad they sent me away,
To have a little holiday.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pleasant Thoughts
A holiday, a holiday,
a real chance to get away.
To catch a plane, a boat, a train,
or cruise on down the inside lane.
With different views and how-do-you-dos,
and many interesting venues.
A holiday, a holiday.
Having found a place to stay,
enjoy the sights that greet the eyes,
sea, sun and sand with clear blue skies.
All of these things can so make your break,
a time to rest and ruminate.
A holiday, a holiday,
well inland, or out in a bay.
Sail a yacht maybe. Play a spot
of golf. Then if it gets too hot,
rest beside a pool. And to cool down,
take a dip, or turn a glowing brown.
A holiday, a holiday.
Book it right now with no delay.
Choose somewhere you would like to be,
locations for serenity,
siestas out under the stars,
or ones for fun and noise in bars.
A holiday, a holiday.
There’s something that I want to say.
Have a really long super spell,
of relaxation. One can dwell
on pleasant thoughts. Troubles to quell.
Revival of body and mind,
rejuvenating humankind.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Holida
[transcribed by dave a]
Holiday
By: jimmy buffett, ralph macdonald, bill eaton, william salter
1996
The weather channel girl
With her perfect weather curl
Is talking cold, cold, cold
You cant get out of bed
You cant remember what youve said
Youre feeling old, old, old
Is it fever or depression
Anger or agression
Whats the remedy?
Were not talking rocket science
The answer to your questions
Very plain to see
Chorus
You need a holiday
Take a holiday
Find a far off wonderland
Where you might regain command
Of your life today
Take a holiday
You need a holiday
Grab a pack and hit the trail
Take a sail
And wind up in some moonlight bay
Youre caught up in the internet
You think its such a great asset
But youre wrong, wrong, wrong
All that fiber optic gear
Still cannot take away the fear
Like an island song
Disregard confession
Stop trying to make impressions
On your corporate climb
It might come as quite a shock
But you cant really own that rock
Its just a waste of time
So, take a holiday
You need a holiday
Find a place to find yourself
Take your life down off that shelf
Quit acting so blase
Take a holiday
You need a holiday
Grab a pack and hit the trail
Take a sail
And wind up in some moonlight bay
Well its only up to you
No one else can teach you to
Go out and have some fun
Though if you want to stay alive
Evade the big nose dive
Be a comedian
And take a holiday
You need a holiday
Find a far off wonderland
Where you might regain command
Of yourlife today
Take a holiday
You need a holiday
Grab a pack and hit the trail
Take a sail
And wind up in some moonlight bay
You need a holiday
Take a holiday
Find a place to find yourself
Take your life down off that shelf
Quit acting so blase
Take a holiday
You need a holiday
Grab a pack and hit the trail
Take a sail
And wind up in some moonlight bay
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open the Window
Open any window, then wind enters
Hostile weathers do arise from the sun,
As far as eyes see, the ultimate warrior
Causes me to resent the sunny climate.
Gorgeous faces wish a face of sorrow
Whenever you glance at faces too long.
How are your golden plans in answer
To interrogation committed by the sun.
Open any window, worry when there is gold
In your lovely life, a love is near.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Hurt Ego....
some windows really are kept open
even at midnight
the moon in its fullness has always been
that welcome visitor
that sense of mystery long gone
opening a window has always been considered
a healthy option
and people who pass the street look at you
standing by the window
in openness
you trust that openness being arms that know the value of embrace
can be redeeming
in fact some children who play in the yard
have a way of looking at you as their idol
they clap their hands and dance for you
it happens almost all days of the year
the open window appears like a warm smile on the face of sorrow
not everyone likes it though
there is a crazy old man and he picks a stone and throws it against
your glass window
your window cracks and your smile become a word
with double meaning
what damage must have the old man caused?
you should know, you have too
wisdom still lies with the old
their discipline is still in the stone
that leave a scar
on the shattered glass
the ego, this self.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Afternoon
i was there again
standing by the side of the old
glass windows
hazy because of the dust
it is hazy, hazy
the sea is linen white
the coconut trees as tall as they are very old
planted perhaps before the war
before the Japanese came
and ravished the spirits of our innocent people
i was there again
standing on a moment
always seeing
that rusty van parked
without its front wheel
nobody from there is asking
what is happening
it is hazy, as hazy as dusts
on that old glass window
then a black bird flies through
it breaking the thin old glass
into shattered pieces
the afternoon ended
on that sudden noise
i am telling you
i am not shocked because
i am not new to this
how can i be? i am as old and as
tall as that coconut tree
i am from this place
and i know each grain of sand
on the shore
of that white linen sea.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Case Of The Window Pain
an astute answer
discerning shrewd
would surely mention
this wit must be
personification
of a window pane
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is shamed
perhaps the window is dirty
as for the window pain
perhaps the glass is cracked
small large cracks streaked
as for the window pain
perhaps cricket ball punctured
victim of circle game holed
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is broken
glass shards bear crime witness
as for the window pain
perhaps window frame rots
an old window in house derelict
as for the window pain
perhaps the window witnesses
child abuse domestic scenes violent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Ponderous
lips rest on the fist
eyes nailed on the other
side of the road
crossing the glass boundary
of the window
something crosses the mind
focusing on the stillness
of time that does not run
for a while
on a standstill you capture
an idea
and then you shift your glance
once more
to write the words arranging
their placements
like they are all about to perform
a dance number
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Red Motorcycle With Least Meaning
it is raining.
this is the first rain for the month of June
in Katipunan
i sit facing a screen
i press words
i look through a glass window
much older than my being here,
out there
the mango tree is heavy with its fruits
under its shade is
a red motorcycle beside a hollow block fence
which separates a dilapidated house
from the public market
a woman holds a blue umbrella
walks slowly along the pavement
it is still raining
cats and dogs, and the red motorcycle is wet all over.
it is inanimate and everyone
takes it for granted.
among those that i have enumerated
perhaps it must be the one with the least meaning.
the day is crying
and the woman with the blue umbrella is unaffected.
inside this room
with a glass window as protection
i am sifting
what meaning is there
for this rainy day.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Island poem.
The Island was there surrounded by sea,
Where the family stayed, so much to see;
The birds flying in the sky, and on the water too,
Yes! They were enjoying their holiday, it's true.
The Island stretched for many a mile, they could see,
With plenty of shells, and sand, the sunsets so pretty;
The Coconut palms, and date palms, to walk in the cool,
And the children enjoyed it all, for there was no school.
The husband enjoyed to go fishing each day,
The children loved to run on the sand and play;
The wife, she enjoyed it too, to rest under the tree,
Then she called them all at night, it is time for tea.
The Island holiday soon came to an end,
The children said, our holiday we can pretend;
That we are still on our lovely holiday retreat,
And remember the birds, and the birds so sweet.
Have you ever been to an Island, for a holiday?
Maybe you travelled far, to Queensland, is what you'd say;
Or was it somewhere in the Islands of the south see?
You'll know it was a holiday to feel so very free.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Liquid Sunshine And Powdered Rain
When we go on holiday
we like to see a bright sun above,
but there are occasions when
we are treated to liquid sunshine and powdered rain.
Sometimes the seasons get mixed up
and summer comes late
and other times winter calls
in the middle of the year.
There are even times when
each season will visit us each day.
However when you are on holiday
you enjoy it without a care.
Early in the morning you get powdered rain
and by mid morning the liquid sunshine calls.
Before the evening falls
you feel the warm rays of the sun.
No one can predict the weather,
we have to take it as it comes.
When you go on holiday
just go out and have some fun.
17 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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Through The Window
Sorrow's inside me, how the tears seep
Unhindered from my eyes, loss to convey,
But through the window glints of sunshine peep,
And lift my spirit, softening the day.
The future is now mine, not one to share,
I start out looking for a new abode,
Maybe there'll be a place for me somewhere,
To settle, in some drive, street, lane or road.
A cosy home that's peaceful and serene,
Where my poor aching heart, at ease, can rest,
Remembering what precious years have been,
We two together then. They were the best.
I'm travelling on, with many thoughts anew,
Having known such happiness through time,
With avenues to search out and pursue,
And many an unknown mountain left to climb.
So through the window glints of sunshine peep,
Lifting my spirit, softening the pain,
Although from in my heart I wish to weep,
I know that I will someday laugh again.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Radio With Guts
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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A Snowy Day
I sense an unfamiliar brightness, and very soon, I'm awake.
I go to my window, which is covered with tiny snowflakes.
As far as the eye can see, there's a carpet of pure white:
It's a magnificent and beautiful, but still rather rare, sight.
People pull on their patterned, designer, Wellington boots;
Icy footprints in the snow, mark out the well trodden routes.
Children play in the snow and build a snowman;
They build him up as tall, as they possibly can.
Everything looks so very different when covered by snow;
Suddenly, you're not too sure where your feet should now go.
I love to walk through the parts, where snow is undisturbed;
Even though I now can no longer tell the road from the curb.
There is now a real lack of distinguishing features,
And a noticeable absence of warm-blooded creatures.
In the sunshine, the snow, like tiny diamonds, glints;
Its delicate surface now peppered with animal prints.
The coldness makes folks' cheeks all pink and rosy.
Most stay inside, where they are all nice and cosy.
Children on a sledge whiz down a long, steep hill;
They seem to know no fear and have nerves of steel.
Wheels on vehicles suddenly now slide and slip;
Road surfaces, they suddenly can no longer grip.
On busier routes, the snow soon turns to sludgy slush.
In this weather, not a single soul would dare to rush.
Some folk hope that, of the snow, there'll be no more,
And hope that this carpet of white, will, very soon, thaw.
When I look out of my bedroom window that same night,
I notice that the world around me still seems quite light.
Over the next couple of days, the snow turns to ice;
It now is all discoloured, and doesn't look so nice.
Finally, we have a whole day of really heavy rain,
And, of the snow, not a single flake now remains.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Backwater Baby
Down past Possum Road
Up towards the crumbling town
You'll find a house with a little lady
Down by the backwater
Of the trickling little stream
There is a house made of logs
And mud, with one little window
And a smoking chimney
Puffing tiny gray clouds into the bright blue sky.
When you step inside the ramshackle house
You'll hear the incessant crying
Of the backwater baby
Dealing with her own little troubles
By the trickling little stream
In the middle of nowhere, USA
As momma tries her hardest to survive
And daddy long gone, looking for a better life
Leaving the baby to cry.
Momma does what she can to live
Washing clothes for the rich people down the street
Keeping little baby going as best as she can
And singing on the weekends in the bar downtown
Leaving baby alone and crying
In her broken crib
Back at the stream down past Possum Road
In the tiny log house with the smoking chimney
Life goes on.
poem by Megan Ayscue
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The Earth
Spring bursts violently
into Moscow houses.
Moths flutter about
crawl on summer hats,
and furs hide secretly.
Pots of wallflowers and stock
stand, in the window, just,
of wooden second storeys,
the rooms breathe liberty,
the smell of attics is dust.
The street is friends
with the bleary glass,
and white night and sunset
at one, by the river, pass.
In the passage you’ll know
what’s going on below
and April’s casual flow
of words with drops of thaw.
It’s a thousand stories veiled
in a human sadness,
and twilight along the fence
grows chill with the tale.
Outside, or snug at home
the same fire and hesitation:
everywhere air’s unsure.
The same cut willow twigs,
the same white swell of buds,
at crossroads, windows above,
in streets, and workshop-doors.
Then why does the far horizon weep
in mist, and the soil smell bitter?
After all, it’s my calling, surely,
to see no distance is lonely,
and past the town boundary,
to see that earth doesn’t suffer.
That’s why in early spring
we meet, my friends and I,
and our evenings are – farewell documents,
our gatherings are – testaments,
so the secret stream of suffering
may warm the cold of life.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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