Is He Too Old...
Is he too old to be president?
Can a bird fly with one wing?
No one can say,
What has yet not been observed!
But then again...
Trees have lived for hundreds of years!
Observing.
And providing an 'allowance'
For all of us to live.
And as long as he has life...
Who has the right to question,
His age and abilities...
To do what someone younger,
For years could not do!
And 'youth'...
Although there,
Did not follow through to provide the proof!
Where is that evidence?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Walked Last Night In A District I Lived In For Almost Twenty Years
I WALKED LAST NIGHT IN A DISTRICT I LIVED IN FOR ALMOST TWENTY YEARS
I walked last night in a district I lived in for almost twenty years
I came back after being away for a time
To visit an old and ailing friend
The streets were empty and lonely as they often were then-
I thought for the first time I understood how lonely the district itself is-
‘A lonely district’
I wondered how I managed to live there all those years
And how anyone still manages to live there-
I looked up at the sky and wrote in my mind a small poem of a kind I wrote many of in my years there
I remembered teachers and friends who had lived there
No longer of this district or any district on earth
I wondered how life goes and how from so many years so much life has been lived without having any place in my memory
I felt as empty inside as the district without
I did not have to wait long for the bus
And relieved inside it I put my heart to home
So many years had been lived there
I remembered taking my small children to the playground there
Now they thank G-d have children of their own
Oh the years go by and the life we have lived in them largely dies
Forever to be unknown again-
I put my heart and mind in a different direction
And began to do what I always do – not think of the district again
Life is this mystery and question we live through and never wholly possess even as we are experiencing it
How long before all will be gone for me
Including the district I live in now?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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100s Of Years
Trees can live for hundreds of years,
They well know to live together!
They tuft to earth, as child's to mom,
Light, water, and air they do share!
When storm does come they low their heads,
To show him respect out of fear!
The branches welcome, greet and laugh.
Leaves dance with the beat of the air.
The roots sometimes, take hold of each,
Thus, they make bridge, over the ditch.
What men ignore, they may do care
And mend that always, just to teach.
They whisper, and send their message,
Thru breeze, and soil, thru ether-
If nature lives, then all can live...
We should do that which can help her.
Hundreds, hundreds years they can live,
In warm friendship, fraternity.
But, we, intelligent creatures,
Can't keep this nature's sanctity!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Master of Basicness
Just because they have shown him love and respect...
And treat him as if he already leads.
This does not mean he is lacking in experience.
What it does show,
However...
Are those with claims of having it,
Have a slight problem convincing others around the world...
They have a handle on interpretations.
And a progression of incompetence...
Which has long jumped off,
A fence.
But,
With a however to add.
Then again...
They have had many years providing proof,
They are right.
But misunderstood!
They have had many years providing proof,
They are right.
But misunderstood!
They have had many years providing proof,
They are right.
But misunderstood!
And millions of people have been misunderstanding them.
With a clouded comprehension.
There are those who have no idea what it takes to dress for dinner.
And then...
There are those who who not only know how to select a chef...
But also know how to select a menu,
With an overview of how to meet and greet 'all' the arriving guests!
And he upsets the apple cart,
By disregarding an etiquette that upsets.
He is the 'Master of Basicness'.
And does this better than the rest!
Leaving those behind who oppose...
His napkins aren't folded.
And they do that the best!
He wants to end a disasterous past...
With a new beginning!
They with their experience...
Wish to begin reminiscing disasters from the past.
As reminders to keep endings from ever ending.
With an experienced fresh outlook,
They have been proposing...
That can not seem with them,
To ever quite begin!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I May Have Years To Go
I MAY HAVE YEARS TO GO
I may have years to go-
Many many years
In which I will continue to fail
In the same way
I have failed
In the many more years before.
The truth is
God could give me hundreds of years more
I would still be capable
Only of being myself -
Blessed are those given the gift of greatness by God
And long-troubled those who would be given it
And are not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Into Plastic Surgery. Not Aluminum Siding
If you...
Like so many,
Who are observed monitoring their aging process...
Seek to recapture a youth rejuvenated.
With a glow that defies microscoped closeups.
Showing supple, flawless and crow feet free facial skin...
Here is a suggestion,
Forget it!
When a certain age has been reached...
Those crow feet may be prevented from dancing.
With steps etched that are directed by Father time.
However...
It's Mother Nature who is not fooled.
And those legitimately embracing the noon of youth...
Are not fooled either.
And...
The consulting plastic surgeon,
You have selected to choose...
Knows a few sessions of flattery should do it.
Promising to remove thirty years off of your appearance,
Should do the trick!
'Thirty years?
That's incredible.
NO WAY? '
~Oh...
Much WAY!
If you've got deep pockets...
I'll provide the way.
'Mos Def'.~
'To look 40 again,
Would be a God send.'
~I can have you feeling 39 for at least 3 years! ~
'Why 3?
What about those other years? '
~Those other years?
By the time you realize those 'golden years' have arrived...
Your foolishness should be,
By then...
Assisting you to have more serious conversations with God.~
'But...
But,
What about my investment? '
~What about it?
I'm into plastic surgery.
Not aluminum siding! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The King [ I ]
AMONG the sons of Englishmen
Full many feel like real tears,
For, though he reigned but scarcely ten,
He bore the burden many years.
He lived the dead past doubly down,
He shamed, by manliness and truth,
The lies that beat about a crown,
And round a known man in his youth.
For he had lived as men have done
Since Adam’s time, to prove them true.
He proved it in his manhood’s prime,
And to the end, as strong men do.
And so he died, and, ever since,
And on through years the words shall ring:
“He lived a man, he lived a prince,
And died a gentleman and King.”
Unto the friends of his hot youth,
In his wise age, he still was true.
He showed, by steadfastness and truth,
What kings as well as men can do;
Till all was manlike or forgot,
Long years ere he found his release;
He made them loyal who were not,
He won respect, and kept the peace.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I Was Made To Feel Different In My Younger Years
I remember sitting in the corners of shadows.
Wishing to be invisible,
After making attempts to disappear.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
My voice was deep at the age of twelve.
And my knees knocked.
I was aware I walked pigeon toed.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
People were quick to critique me then.
When they would laugh at me.
I laughed right back at them to hide and cry alone.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I grew wiser before I aged.
And years it would take for me to learn to forgive.
But I did with a doing successfully.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Perceptive, empathetic and sometimes distant.
Removed from anguish I knew others felt.
Yet today I might sit with periodic embitterness.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I've learned to use my talents and gifts,
To lift me beyond any loneliness that visited.
And with slow and painful steps I grew to improve.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
And when I self examine to reflect...
So happy I am to have held on to my patience,
With a giving to others a respect regardless...
If little of it was shown to me,
When I was growing to bloom.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then to be accepted.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then not to be neglected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Wanna Be
when i was four years old
i used to say
mommy, i wanna be a teacher
mommy, i wanna be a superhero
when i was six years old
i used to say
mommy, i wanna be a president
mommy, i wanna be rich
when i was eight years old
i used to say
mommy, who do you wanna be? ?
she smiled at me and kiss my head '
when i was twelve years old
i used to say
mommy, i wanna a be a doctor
mommy, i wanna be an engineer
when i was fourteen years old
that's when i begin to understand the way of life
i used to say
mommy, why life is unfair
why it always want to hurt us
now i'm sixteen years old
i'd say
mom, i wanna be
i wanna who i am
i wanna be the person god wants me to be
i wanna follow my dream
i wanna listen to my own heart talking
that 's who
i wanna be
poem by Guenael Oristel
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There Is More to Being This Blind
Look at one.
Then to the other.
One does not have to say...
They represent change.
That should be obvious!
Unless, of course...
Someone is in need of a 'cane'
To determine,
They can not see!
Since they are sightless.
And the light is too bright...
To reveal enlightened qualities!
And one comes forward and has stated...
Having had an experience,
They are better suited to deliver as foreseen.
After years of observing,
The needs of the people on the scene.
The very same people,
Whose quality of life has long been demeaned.
And one wishing to be selected,
To prove what is needed can be done...
States there is an advantage,
To have lived longer than the other one.
And the one younger...
Has rolled up sleeves and hands of dirt.
Proving to be the one not afraid of work!
There is much more to being this blind,
Than meets the eye!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Down And Out In Paradise
Dear Mr. President
I live in the suburbs
It's a long way from Washington , D.C.
Had me a job
Workin' for wages
Till the company moved out
And they forgot about me
Can't draw unemployment
For some unknown reason
My kids are hungry
I've got four mouths to feed
I go out every day looking for suitable employment
Do you think there's something you could do for me
Cause I'm
Down and out here in paradise
Down and out and I'm on my knees
I'm down and out here in paradise
Looks like the milk and honey
Done run out on me
Dear Mr. President
I used to be a dancer
Got a little bit too old
So I became a secretary
Married a man
In Las Vegas, Nevada
And ten years later
He ran out on the kids and me
Some said I was pretty
But those days are over
Now I've no place to live
And I'm out on the streets
Oh, Mr. President
Can I tell you a secret
I never ever thought that this could happen to me
Cause I'm
Chorus
Dear Mr. President
I'm just a young kid
I'm in the fourth grade
At Riley Elementary
My mom and dad's been actin' funny
I'm not sure what
If it's got something to do with me
My daddy's always drunk
My mom's a babysitter
And I don't like the Russians
Cause I hear they hate me
Dear Mr. President
Can I ask you one question
When the bombs fall down
Will they hurt everyone in my family
Yeah, yeah
Chorus
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Himself
A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here,
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year;
Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true
But yet those years that I have lived, but few.
Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well:
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those three-score has not lived half three:
He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.
poem by Robert Herrick
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The Most Important......
the plane trees
with their paws like a lion; s
live for a thousand years
the chest-nut trees
live for three thusand years
the cypress-trees are upright for five thousand years
even the poplars live for seven hundred years
in greenery and white
how shoprter we live my brethren
how shorter we live
how shorter
this must be an important problem
is adjusted and equal to the
longevity of the lives of the horses yet
even
we are not equally satisfied with
the cworkld as much as them
most of us
bear burdens heavier than the
burdens
which are carried by the labour-horses
Nazım HİKMET
Translatıon metin şahin
poem by Metin Sahin
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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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Happy Childhood Memories
Happy childhood memories the best memories of all
And my younger years in Millstreet I will always recall
On evenings in Summer up to the mid Fall
In the Townpark at the West End we played gaelic football
My friends of my youth where might they be today
Like me have the years left them balder and gray
Though some of them in the home Parish did stay
In life one might say we just went our own way
Since those days so many years have come and gone
And time does not wait it just ticks on and on
Many of the friends of my youth I may not see again
Though good memories of them with me does remain
And in fancy I chase the football up and down
With my happy young friends in the Park of the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Comedy Of Age
The years are starting to catch up to me
Graying temples is what I see.
My youthful appearance has gone astray
As I turned the other way.
What happened to my younger years
When I was bold, brave and had no fears.
Has life rewritten every line
And I’ve fallen behind the times.
In my youth I left my mark
Now to old age I will embark.
I will kick ass - like I’ve always done
As long as I can get up and face the sun
And if the day comes that the sun no longer shines
It must have climbed up my behind.
Maybe it went to join I.B.S.
And is searching to give a test.
I will let old age pass
The same as I do with my gas.
I will let it blow in the wind
So you can have a whiff my friend.
(ha-ha father time welcomes you)
poem by Louis Rams
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For Mel (villanelle)
The one who should have lived has gone so fast.
The old ones, in their dotage, linger on –
they, with no future, live only in the past.
And we who can but sit, dumb and aghast,
scarcely believe that while the sun still shone
the one who should have lived has gone so fast.
Six decades older, surviving to their last
few days or years, together but alone,
they, with no future, live only in the past.
At least she kept on living to the last,
but should have had a future. She has none.
The one who should have lived has gone so fast,
and they, for whom so many years have passed,
are unaware that one they loved is gone.
They, with no future, live only in the past,
mark time until the final trumpet blast,
and never know the respite they have won.
The one who should have lived has gone so fast.
They, with no future, live only in the past.
poem by Paul Hansford
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Years 1
For years I let the torment go on
Years I let you get in my head
Years I had to cry myself to sleep
your out now and last night
what you did to me replayed in my head again
I told myself i wasn't going to let it happen but it did
For years I have lived in scared quarters
For years I have looked for your face
For years I have never felt safe
For years I have remembered
poem by Marissa Ford
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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
Over Medicating With A Self Importance
We can't imitate the living of life.
We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.
We can't imitate the living of life.
Nor can we insist what is not visible exists.
But so much of life lived is not visible...
To expose to anyone to prove it being done.
Most of life lived when given,
Is based on sheer faith and confidence.
Patience and the giving of sacrificial time.
With the knowing in one's mind.
Something divine is keeping track of the mess,
Human beings have made in attempts to perfect nonsense.
We can't imitate the living of life.
Once one has been blessed with it.
There is something genuine and real,
About the feelings one has.
We can,
However.
Prevent others from doing so.
To leave them to live their own lives.
And allow others to learn and grow,
For the sharing of those experiences.
But many don't get this!
Without that interdependence.
We limit eventually,
Our own growth process.
And the evidence of that,
Does not need a tour guide.
We would rather destroy other lives,
With the enforcement of values and standards...
We perceive with beliefs are best for others,
When in fact.
We are hard pressed to show any evidence,
To convince within our own minds.
Of that working for ourselves.
But an over medicating with a self importance?
We can do with the right prescription.
Not to take but to test.
With the observing of the affects on others.
To arrive at a feeling of perfection.
And that,
As of yet.
Can not be found.
However.
We can always say,
What we believe has been achieved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Do You Think That I Am Ambitious?
you met me a long time ago,
20 years ago, i counted the passing years
i did not know what your impression of me
was.
when our paths met a few days ago
you wrote me a letter
telling me that i am an ambitious man
there is nothing wrong with ambition
it is a positive trait
to go forward in life
but i am not really ambitious
i live a very simple life
not that kind that Basho lived when he was once here
on this very place of a simple dwelling
a leaking roof where drops of rain serve as count
for the rhythm of
a poem
banana leaves to five space for something green
a perfectly opened window the one that does not close even at night
because we all want to see the hills and trees
the landscape of flowers and grass
we even want to take the roof out
so we can see all the stars.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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