Related quotes: Find the guesses you care...

Guesses

Find the guesses you care for,
And solve any hindrances of the past;
The past has managed a relaxation,
Forming me and my guests.

The host is me and my name carried weight,
Hosts are like countries, of time,
They fit in a shape, in some people
There are guests who fit and replicate.

The fair man jostles in the crowd of worries,
Never does his friend keep the secret,
Just worries are in sight, in the hearing cloud,
Why do they craft me so grandly?

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Maundy Thursday

In a feast the host must receive the guests
With humility. Else he is the beast
That relegates his guests as mere beggars.
Jesus washed guests' feet on Maundy Thursday.[before the feast]
25.03.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crossroads

Time has washed away
And now I may wonder
How did it all slip by
Cause I always thought
We had forever
Future calls to me
To take me away from things
I dont want to leave behind
Like Im slipping away
I cant hold on
Find that path alone
Crossroads lead me away
But thats not what worries me
I just want to know whats home
Through it all
My mind still wanders
To the one who touched my soul
Though her road leads away
Shes still my
True love
I could believe
Will is not enough when all those
Lost days stand in the way
But she was
My hopes and dreams my
Whole world
I could believe
I still want to know
Who can see for me
Crossroads tell me
Now youll have to trade
Your past away
And find another day
So is change a friend or an enemy
Through what comes to pass
Ill find my way
Ive seen it all before
But is the best you can be
The best thing to be
Some people say
Youre just wasting time
But thats not what worries me
I just want to know whats home

song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anniversary

Birthdays when you are old reminds you of the grave,
you see it a freshly dug hole waiting just for you.
People bring you wine, what else do an old man needs?
Guests getting high on wine they brought you and it is all
jolly. I try to join in. wife has made an effort candlelight
and so on guests are people I never see unless meeting
them at a pretentious art exhibition; and I think of my
childhood when birthdays were important, I tell stories
of a past of poverty and need; wife disrupts saying
I should forget about the past, how can I it shaped me
for what I´m today? Cakes I think of are those I never had
in my infancy; cakes I baked, with condensed milk, when
the captain had his birthday -if he was an ass hole I spat in
the dough-, on ships made into nails somewhere in hot
Bangladesh. How tired I´m lost in the past. Guests leave
the old man´s party, but my wife is not stunned when calm
falls I have to collect the dirty glasses and do the dishes.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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All Things To All People

all people have worries
worries that wake them
worries about things yet to come
worries about worries are what worry some
i look out my eye
and behold I see people
big bold beautiful people
i see brown people
gold people
yellow people
red people
orange people
purple people
pink people
white people
yet I don’t see colored people
i see a people as one
a people capable
a people that should be grateful
grateful for the blessings that we can all share as people
to love
to grow
to build
to sow
people in my neighborhood
people it’s all good
undivided by vanity
an unbroken sea of humane humanity
people must rely on a shoulder to cry one
we all are people
we are people
old and young
rich or poor
used or new
let us be valued as people
let us value each other as people
persons
beings
individuals
not things
people
and all things to all people
to all nations
at all stations
in every situation

poem by Harlan Lovestone
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Past must last

Past must last
That too very fast
It may unnecessarily cast
Raise many questions and doubts

It may lead to formation of a thick cloud
That may emerge and speak very loud
Mystery must shroud
May hurt several time not to feel proud

Past may be glorious
But no need to remember it continuous
Reasons can be cited as various
The result is known and obvious

Past can be made as jumping ground
For more happiness to be found
Errors can taken care of and new foundation is laid
"Past makes us perfect" as it is well said

Past is to be kept in mind
For new horizons to find
A new concept to be tried
But truth should never be denied

If past was not that bright
Its burial may be considered to make it right
There is no place for dead memories
As it adds to tension and worries

I, for one, may go for bright future
Making every aspect very much sure
Result can be anything either in swing or favor
But I shall not compromise it with honor

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Purple Hat Box

I had worries, worries had me,
so I packed ‘em up and stowed 'em away.
I kept the worries at bay, you might say.

The trouble was they bugged me,
they screamed and itched and tugged me!
So I put them in a box.

It was a deep, purple hat box.
Some days I'd forget about them,
but then I'd remember and peep inside.

The worries glared at me with their big pop eyes!
They laughed at me, taunted me,
they were wild.

They talked in my head all day and all night.
They were stalking me!
Something had to be done

I opened the box again, threw them in,
nailed the lid down, real tight,
sat on the box and sighed.

The worries cried for mercy one more time
and then, guess what…………?
They died.

poem by Ruth Walters
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No Secret Friend

I have a secret friend
No it's not what you think
My friend's not a secret
Nor is the secrets he keeps
You see he keeps his heart
On the table with me
But the rest of the world
It's secrets they see
My no secret friend
wears a joker's mask
But I can see the truth
the real, the past
My no secret friend says
his intentions are true
My no secret friend says
he has feelings for me
Does my no secret friend
have secret desires
Time will tell but till then
this moment is ours

poem by Patti Wilburn
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What is Art

Art is a blast,
free from the worries of the past.
Splashes of colour, dashes of white,
making the night feel so light and so bright.

Hues of blue,
the palest of pinks,
forgeting your worries
in the time of a blink.

Unbound by chains,
not frought by laws,
Art is something
to love and adore.

Hate it or love it,
it's your choice alone.
One man's trash,
is another man's gold.
Art is like a story,
woven yet untold.

poem by Mandy Lee
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Back In The Sunshine Again

Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries
And no more pain
Were leaving behind
All our troubles and strife
And thats the way its gonna be
For the rest of my life
Here we are, here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain, no more pain
Lifes too short, to spend it lonely
You only throw it away
Listen to your voice of reason, call it a day
Take a ride, take a ride
Out to the land of the free
Dont hurry take your time, take your time
Come and spend it with me
Back in the sunshine
Back in the sunshine
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain
Lifes too short, to spend it lonely
You only throw it away
Listen to your voice of reason, call it a day
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries, no more worries
And no more pain
Here we are
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries or pain
And no more pain
Back in the sunshine again
No more worries
Back in the sunshine again

song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somehow

Been so silent in the past days
Have had nothing much to express
Life has been stressful, although somehow I am handling the stress.
The worries of life have tried to shake my spirit
Somehow I have managed to be alive
It has not been easy, still life is going on
Somehow, I am handling the pressure.

poem by Rohit Sapra
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Somber Twilight

One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he has to work.

Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he has no job.

One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he can only pay his bills.

Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he can't pay anyone.

One man lies down
And worries at night
Because everyone seems to love him.

Another man lies down
And worries at night
Becasue he has no one to love him.

One man lies down
And worries at night
Because he might oversleep.

Another man lies down
And worries at night
Because he cannot sleep.

One man lies down
In somber twilight
With reserved sadness and joy.

Another man lies down
In somber twilight
With reserved joy but sadness.

poem by Cecelia Weir
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The latest lesson of my grandson

Four year old
Daughter's son
Just started talking
In some kind of comprehension
Returned from school
The other day
And there were some guests at home
Some of who were to
See our grandson first time
And it was my daughter's role
To introduce each
Of the guests
To her son
She is your aunty
Say 'Hi' to her
Which my grandson did
He is your 'Anna'
(Anna in Tamil means elder brother, it can be cousin too)
Say 'Hi' to him
Which my grandson did
This your grandma
Say 'Hi' to her
Which my grandson did
This went on
Till the time
All the guests were introduced
It is our practice
To give the child
A handwash immediately after
His retrun back home from school
And I took that charge
While I was helping him
In getting a wash
The fellow asked me
In a low voice like whisper
Are there no good person
Among our guests
Startled I asked him why
And he replied
Just today
School miss said
That all of us should
Grow to become a good person
Mom said these people are
Either grandpas, grandmas,
Uncles, Aunties, Annas or Akkas
But she said none
To be a good person

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Just to 'Hang' In There

We've all seen them rush,
To meet and greet new guests.
With impressions made.
And in fresh dress...
To do their best,
To be the ones addressed.

We've all seen them rush,
To meet and greet new guests.
Especially the ones who profess,
To be those righteous.
But disguising their true selves,
As pests who love to gossip.

We've all seen them rush,
To meet and greet new guests.
To get those same guests...
To get upset and leave.
And the actions of those responsible,
Seem as natural as the scenery.
If one is not in constant movement.
And movement is a required necessity.
For anyone who stays around.

And not just to 'hang' in there!
For the purpose to keep this reviewed,
With the same complaints to report...
On a daily basis.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sitting In My pot Of Jam

Sitting in my pot of jam
A Grandma's tight seal between freedom and me.
The air is getting rare and my health is not so fair
Surely it's time for tea.
I used to fly
I used to bee
A friend of miss Felicity
Her wings prematurely cut, so unkind
That thief who stole her from my mind.
Hours can be years if time only guests.
What a waste, what a taste
Callous world bring me back
Summer needs to be pursued
And i haven't long.
Sitting in this fruity mire in blackness
You know i cannot see, as optimism lied to me
If only your eyes could lend me sight
I long for the vision of beauty lost
I'm dying fast, life's flashing past
With minutes left to count the cost.
What an irony what a cemetery
A grave of strawberry jam
And now my friends i am
No better than the trodden on guys.
Tea's too late- Mayfly dies.

poem by Kevin East
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How Come

How come when I got the ace of hearts
Ya always draw the ace of spades
Hows it when your best friend
Brings you lillies on your birthday
Hey how come, hey how come
Well I aint superstitious, but well these things I see
How come, how come
I aint a superstitious fella, but it worries me
How come when your local clergy calls
He tells me that you shouldnt wear black
What kind of bread are you gonna bake
With that hemlock in your spice rack
Hey how come, hey how come
Well I aint superstitious, but well these things I see
How come, how come
I aint a superstitious fella, but it worries me
The spiders run, the cobwebs gone
Did you eat it when the moon was new
I drowned your cat, what do you say about that
Ive even broken up your broom
How come, how come
Well I aint superstitious, but well these things I see
How come, how come
I aint a superstitious fella, but it worries me
Well how come, how come
Well I aint superstitious, but well these things I see
How come, how come
I aint a superstitious fella, but it worries me

song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guests

One by one, the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The open-hearted many
The broken-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going
And no one knows why the wine is flowing
Oh love I need you
I need you
I need you
I need you
Oh . . . I need you now
And those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
And welcome, welcome cries a voice
Let all my guests come in.
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And all go stumbling through that house
In lonely secrecy
Saying do reveal yourself
Or why has thou forsaken me?
And no one knows where the night is going ...
All at once the torches flare
The inner door flies open
One by one they enter there
In every style of passion
And no one knows where the night is going ...
And here they take their sweet repast
While house and grounds dissolve
And one by one the guests are cast
Beyond the garden wall
And no one knows where the night is going ...
Those who dance, begin to dance
Those who weep begin
Those who earnestly are lost
Are lost and lost again
And no one knows where the night is going ...
One by the guests arrive
The guests are coming through
The broken-hearted many
The open-hearted few
And no one knows where the night is going ...

song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death

A River runs
never take our sorrows to the sea
A Cloud passes
never take our worries away.
All of a sudden
my old friend Repentance
with another friend
search for a shelter
in my sick-bed.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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New Year 2012

At last year’s New Year bash in the ballroom at the hotel, had two
hundred guests, this year 45 guests and the room was chilly and
had melancholic echo of yesteryears. A luxury liners’ last voyage,
ready to be chopped into bit and sent to the voracious furnaces
of China’s famished thirsts for steel.
And we, the 45, where stalwarts from bygone epoch the last of
a shrinking middle class. Too many waiters, too many cooks, they
knew what was coming next, the dole. Who needs a flat footed
waiter or a cook you can’t teach new tricks?
Twelve o’clock we toasted one another but our joy rang hollow in
the big room. The party was supposed to continue till four in
the morning as it had before, most guests left quarter past twelve;
I can only hope the crew, we dastardly deserted, drank the wine
ate food we left behind and had a proper wake.