Mildew on Milestone!
The old Sailor makes knots with his shoestring
And he hears the last year's rattling sound of fallen leaves
in the Autumnal breeze!
He collects the scattered pastels on the floor
that belongs to his grandson
And he sketches a drawing while he sees the wet nappies
of the next door new born baby's cloth line.
Hot Sun still looks young in the midday
And he smiles looking at the calendar and whispers;
'O the month of May how soon it's going to be finished?
And the June comes his beloved wife's birthday
with a big numeral and he counts the copper sulphate pennies
in his antique wallet!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Mystery play of a Pensioner
A retired person who collects his pension
At the end of the month.
Buy few flowers and candles
Go to the cemetery.
Keep the flowers on the tomb of his wife
And light few candles in the wind.
He prays with tears and opens his wallet.
Take out a photograph and kiss.
Then put it inside before he leaves.
I noticed he comes here in every month
And the month of April is already vanished.
But there is no more trace of him.
I am sure that he too goes and
Adjoin the mysterious myriad.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Medley: Hallelujah / Last Month Of The Year
(l. cohen/traditional)
Hallelujah was originally contained in leonard cohen's various positions, while last month of the year is a blues traditional. on the cd booklet this song is credited only as hallelujah.
I heard there was a secret chord
That david played and it pleased the lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
Well it goes like this :
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrough ya
She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
Baby i've been here before
I've seen this room and i've walked this floor
I used to live alone before i knew ya
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not some victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya
But remember when i moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah
Well, maybe there's a god above
But all i've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew ya
And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah,
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
[and here starts last month of the year]
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Tell me what month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, january, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh yeah
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
What month was jesus born in
Last month of the year
Got january, february, march oh lord
Got april, may and june lord
You got july oh but
September, october and november
Got the twenty fifty
December is the last month of the year
(thank you melbourne)
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dads, Lads, And Granddads
Lads, Dads, and Granddads Free verse
My grandson,
skipping along, an eight year young kid
Behind his Dad, his hero, his idol,
his bright shining model
Sees him tall, straight, tough and confident
Sees a McMuffin buyer, a baseball coach and a dad
My grandson
sees not…. a loser, a slacker
Mostly absentee father,
lazy and irresponsible
Two days a week of being a dad
Providing little or nothing to ex-wife or son
My grandson,
I see in myself, skipping along
Following behind my dad
Who is tall, straight and confident
Giving me comfort, making me feel strong
My Dad
Taught me fishing and hunting
Not to lie, to attempt all manly things
and try not to fail or fall
he feared absolutely nothing and
could absolutely do it all
My Dad
was brave and made me proud
I skipped along behind him as well,
My bright shining model
Embarrassed by him? Never!
Proud of him always and ever
My Dad,
To others, a different man perhaps, than the man I knew.
likely so….Yes, most probably so
My grandson
in his memories I hope, forever sees
his dad, not as he really was,
but In the same way that I see mine.
Perfect! ….Yes, most probably so.
poem by David Whalen
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Abandoned Luncheonette
They sat in an abandoned luncheonette
Sipping imaginary cola and drawing faces in the tabletop dust
His voice was rusty from years as a sergeant on this mans army
They were old and crusty
She was twenty when the diner was a baby
He was the dishwasher, busy in the back, his hands covered with
Gravy
Hair black and wavy
Brilliantine slick, a pot - cleaning dandy,
He was young and randy
Day to day, to day... today
Then they were old, their lives wasted away
Month to month, year to year
They all run together
Time measured by the peeling of paint on the luncheonette wall
They sat together in the empty diner
Filled with cracked china
Old news was blowing across the filthy floor
And the sign on the door read this way out, thats all it read
Thats all it said
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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26 of June
26 of June came again
The old month of June
Old but always young
In the calendar of glory
The gala caliber
counted high
'cause the freedom course
call, culminate
and came to the final call
cheerful calls
calls of the courage men
who retained hopes calls
to, heart
and healing the wounds
of the soul
26 of june came again
the old month of june
old but always charm
when we differentaite
the light
the light of the freedom
the lost and cost althou
it; very high
the dignity through the lost
we, reign
as a nation
we, regain
to the heart again
26 of june came again
poem by Sallam Yassin
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Idle in June
She dares not let the world hear her speak,
She's getting thin and looking meek,
A grey hair is splitting in her widows peak
She lays idle in the month of June.
Her hands are cracked and stained from mud,
although she bathes in lathered suds
There's a little of me inside her blood
She lays idle in the month of June
She carries child at her old age,
She's stuck inside her fleshy cage,
Her father birthed her insidious rage
She lays idle in the month of June.
They locked her in a cell up high,
The crime of seeking suicide
Some women they are born only to die,
She lays idle in the month of June.
One day, I know, I'll see her soon,
How I loathe the month of June,
We'll met again come the next new moon,
I won't forget her, idle in the month of June.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
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April appears lusciously
The fourth month comes with the Eastern wind
And I hear the faraway my cuckoo bird sings,
Apprehends our new year begins soon.
I sniff the fragrance of oil-cakes.
Oh! Our nest scattered and wife & myself
The old couple here and the loved ones there.
Who makes the longest bridge in between us?
I see the World map hangs on the wall
Where my tiny island standstill like a Pearl.
My beloved took a footruler
And measured the length like a Surveyor.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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In the Spirit of Rumi-18
I said to My Beloved
O My Beloved
I fear I have forgotten You!
I have fallen in love with the world –
when I walk out of the door
I swoon with the scent of the Spring air;
I hear each flower singing in the garden;
I sink into the heart of every rose;
I am dazzled by the sunlight;
I see the sky reflected in the lake
and lose myself in its shining stillness;
I see the sky and lose myself in the sky’s immensity;
when I walk, my feet want to dance;
when I speak, my heart wants to sing;
in every person who passes
old or young,
smiling or frowning,
I see myself in them;
wherever I look, I see only love…
I have fallen in love with the world –
O My Beloved, have I forgotten You?
My Beloved said
I am the one in you who sees all this.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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This Poem Is Just A Report About What Happened Here A Night Ago
and so this young man from the mountain arrives on an unholy hour of the night knocking at the door asking for the name of his sister, a housemaid of the family,
he brings his eighteen year-old wife carrying a bundle of old clothes, and a baby still on its third month,
it is raining, and they are all wet, the baby is crying hard
looking for milk and warmth, and she lets them in at the backdoor near
the kitchen, and i am on the second floor merely watching them
in a hurry, loud words, blames, and cautions, the master may get
angry at this unholy hour of the night,
warm coffee and some left-over bread, bare hands they like it,
chicken soup, and milk for the baby, and warm rags,
i am watching them all from the second floor of this house
just being this spectator, of a certan phenomenon, this poverty
this unequal distribution of wealth, this inability of the state to provide
education for its people, this unfairness of this universe,
the lights in her room is finally turned off, the baby's cry dissolves in darkness. I do not think that the young malnourished couple still have sex
in the middle of this heavy rain, so cold, so unholy, so unjust.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cooing in a nest
My beloved wife bought me a sunblock cream; 'Dad! You have some wrinkles on your face.'
'Yes Mom! We are close upon our sixties, yet to be chosen for the yearly Marathon.'
She collects pennies in an old jam bottle and hides somewhere as she knows that I steal for my daily Cuban vanilla cigar.
I dreamed one night the till full of gold coins.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Happy Birthday Love
For my wife who is -? Today
Today is your birthday
and you are telling everyone
that you are twenty-one years young.
The children don’t believe it
as it makes you younger that them.
When you tell them they say,
“In your dreams, mum.”
However, having said that
you are twenty-one to me
still filled with love and vitality.
We’re still young as when we fell in love
and today is your birthday.
You are sure to have a good one
surrounded by friends and family.
That is all I have to say except
Happy Birthday Love,
have a wonderful day.
Your loving husband David,
the one born down on the funny farm.
8 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Happy Birthday Ernestine
While I was at Stratford last year,
I met a number of pretty young ladies
while I was there.
I say young ladies
as they were all young ladies to me
and Ernestine was one
of those young ladies I met there.
I got and gave a hug,
and I am hoping for the same this year,
but for now, it is your birthday.
My how time does fly around.
Happy Birthday and I hope
it will be remembered
as being one of the best
with a gathering of family and friends
around to help you see it through.
This little Birthday poem
comes from me to you,
to wish you a super Happy Birthday Ernestine.
May the happiness of today
be with you all the year through.
Happy Birthday Ernestine
Love and Hugs
David aka Dodgy Dave and Vera
xxxx
25 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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All The Same!
i am the illegal immigrant,
picking your fruit.
while my children are hungry,
and my wife scrubs your floors.
the young black man in your prison,
the anger of the poor.
i am the books,
you forbid us to read.
i am the Vietnamese family,
whose children speak english.
the young Sioux poet,
whose words sound like tears.
i am the white man's reservation,
and the white man's god....
the sound of the gas pump,
the feet of soldiers marching to death.
i am the grandson of the miner,
who never came out.
the body of the union organizer,
buried beneath rubble.
i am the picket line,
the cold floor of the cell.
i am the old woman who died,
alone in her nursing home bed.
the sound of the church bells,
on midnight's empty streets.
i am the needle and the crack pipe,
the sound of the window breaking.
i am the whistle of the train,
so near and so far.
i am the child adopted,
by two women in love.
i am the mission, the soup line,
and the shelter....
the body in the alley,
and no one cares.
i am the song of America,
i am the wind of freedom.
i am the torch of justice,
the bridge that has no name.
i am the god of many colors,
and all the same!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Whirl-Blast from Behind The Hill
A Whirl-Blast from behind the hill
Rushed o'er the wood with startling sound;
Then--all at once the air was still,
And showers of hailstones pattered round.
Where leafless oaks towered high above,
I sat within an undergrove
Of tallest hollies, tall and green;
A fairer bower was never seen.
From year to year the spacious floor
With withered leaves is covered o'er,
And all the year the bower is green.
But see! where'er the hailstones drop
The withered leaves all skip and hop;
There's not a breeze--no breath of air--
Yet here, and there, and everywhere
Along the floor, beneath the shade
By those embowering hollies made,
The leaves in myriads jump and spring,
As if with pipes and music rare
Some Robin Good-fellow were there,
And all those leaves, in festive glee,
Were dancing to the minstrelsy.
poem by William Wordsworth
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My Calendar
From off my calendar today
A leaf I tear;
So swiftly passes smiling May
Without a care.
And now the gentleness of June
Will fleetly fly
And I will greet the glamour moon
Of lush July.
Beloved months so soon to pass,
Alas, I see
The slim sand silvering the glass
Of Time for me;
As bodingly midwinter woe
I wait with rue,
Oh how I grudge the days to go!
They are so few.
A Calendar's a gayful thing
To grace a room;
And though with joy of life I sing,
With secret gloom
I add this merry month of May
To eighty past,
Thinking each page I tear away
May be my last.
poem by Robert William Service
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When A Friend Goes Away
What hurts is when a friend leaves you
When a friend deceives(intentionally trick or mislead) you
When a friend dies
And nobody has a clue
Nobody knows why
When a friend a close friend moves
When a friend diverts (turns) away from you.
For the littlest reason
When a friend dies
When you’re able to see it coming in their eyes
When you think they went other than heaven because their decisions were always unwise
When the demise (time quickly ends) of death quickly comes
You always ask why
Why when they had so much bligh (power)
When they had so much faith
But there was to much on their plate
But surely faded away
I knew it was going to happen
But not this soon
Died before my birthday
Just Before the month of June
One afternoon
The night she said she wished shed be further than the moon
But I will always remember the month of December
My friend’s birthday
She died in the worst way
But she’ll always be remembered
By: Chris Union © written June 8,2010
poem by Chris Union
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In His Shack
Seasonal sea breeze peeps
through the broken windows.
The old sailor rests on a hammock
and the torn World map on the wall
some countries washed out.
The seafarer rides a hobby horse
which belongs to his grand son.
A distant ship brings him a tear
with a ripple and he knows the rickety soul
cannot stand for the coming new year.
His sorrow is heavier than the mysterious life
and he thinks which he sees the last sunset.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Penny for a Tick
If the dreams come true how beautiful the ugliest life!
The slippery Zig Zag road ends at the village Manor
And we got down, myself & wife from our tumbledown car!
It's a small drizzle and a Twilight
The Sun offs for the day it seems.
The Baron and the Baroness happy with us
For their advertisement in the Pennysaver
And he says; ' You are the ideal couple we expected
And really satisfied by seeing you! '
Wife makes different names of spicy meals
And cleans the household things.
The two Doberman familiar with me
And I pluck their ticks a penny for each.
Cut their high grass in the lawn
And night I read my poems.
The kind Baron offers me a Cuban cigar and a nightcap
And now I don't steal pennies from my beloved's piggy till.
In the night she wears her old nightgowns
And she looks like the Baroness!
I do marketing; Rides the Harley Davidson
That belongs to the Baron's one & only son
Who lives in a different state.
At the backyard there're scattered old tombs
And I guess their ancestors.
Secretly I tell my beloved; 'Darling this is the final roost of our Gypsy journey
And one day they bury us here, We must send the address to our loved ones
Perhaps their offspring win the Green Card Lottery and visit our graves some day! '
To my dearest poet friend Paddy Martin who undergoes a surgery and my blessings for his immediate recovery.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Law (Earthlings On Fire)
I dont want knowledge
I want certainty
On the street
A man shouts out loud
A wallet drops
And money flies into the midday
Sun
With this sound
With this sound
With this sound mark the ground
Sure I get a little afraid -
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
In a room a man drops dead
As he hits the floor he sighs
what a morning
With this sound
With this sound
With this sound mark the ground
Sure I get a little afraid -
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Law
I dont want knowledge
I want certainty
On the street
A man shouts out loud
A wallet drops
And money flies into the midday
Sun
With this sound
With this sound
With this sound mark the ground
Sure I get a little afraid -
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
In a room a man drops dead
As he hits the floor he sighs
what a morning
With this sound
With this sound
With this sound mark the ground
Sure I get a little afraid -
Sometimes
Earthlings on fire
Earthlings on fire
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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