Sunset
It's very unbearable the sorrow,
When you think of the day,
That you have to leave the Inn.
On the way when I meet my old friends,
I feel like in my class room of the old school.
She sings a lullaby to her grand daughter.
I lost her on my journey.
When she smiles from the balcony,
It seems like an invitation to a new life?
Oh! This is a miracle.
The body decays gradually and the passion becomes young?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Domestic Shades- 14
Fresh like the first ray
Freshened like the tickled lotus
She's in her school
Beguiled to feel joyfully secured
In the boat of same sailing kids..
They say freedom within limits..
My daughter says
'To learn to be obedient
To do all by themselves
To keep the shoes first thing in the stand'...
Back home
Happy birth day she sings
To everybody and Dhanam(maid)
Humming do..le...li...lo...le...
Hurling one shoe off there
Another one out through the window
Fifteen months old
My grand-daughter took me later
For a seminar class
To learn how to raise a baby
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Israel's Sixty-Fourth Memorial Day For Fallen Soldiers /There Is A Poem Of Unbearable Sadness
There is a poem of unbearable sadness
It is written by anyone who has lost a loved one-
It is a poem that lasts a lifetime
A poem of pain and longing
And regret and sorrow -
It is most unbearable
When the one who is lost is young
God bless the memory and grant eternal life
To those who have given their lives in the service of Israel.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Childrens Lullaby
Little girl was down by the waterside
The sun so hot and the roses so red where she lie
As little boys sit and watch as she twirls all around
Sunny smiles not a raincloud could bring that girl down
But now....
Whats behind those big brown eyes
Do you dream at night
Without your lullaby
Little boy sits alone as he sings in the dark
Wondering if his own dreams had pulled them apart
He sings a song of tomorrow he never can see
Mostly sings of a lost little girls memory
And now...
As his dreams go flashing by
He begins to hear
A lonely lullaby
Well now
We used to sing
And we used to cry
Through everything
In our childrens lullaby
Little girl on the street with nobody around
Has her head in the air dirty feet on the ground
She shuts her eyes and she wonders is this a mistake
Now shes gone from the warmth of her little boy days
And still...
She believes that shell get by
On her own without
Her little boys lullaby
Little boy prays to God to answer his song
To hold her hand when everyone elses are gone
Time goes by and the wounds slowly turn into scars
So he makes his final wish on the midnight stars
And he screams...
Little girl wont you hear my cry
Wont you come back home
To your lovers lullaby
Little girl down by the waterside
Goodbye
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Miracle for Breakfast
At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.
The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.
He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.
Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.
I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--
and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.
We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Frank O'Neill
I remember when we were young
Barely taller than our heavy school bags
We used to feel the weight of our lessons
Piling one by one on each of our shoulders
School was tough for us, but there were little things
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
I remember when we were young
We used to wait for the last day of school
Before we would all leave for our Christmas holidays
But it wasn't just to get away from school, no
Because on the last day, we were all treated a show
A show about a genie, which would make us laugh till we cried
Oh how we would talk about this genie
All throughout the year, waiting for this special day
All throughout the ride home, sharing the laughter with friends
I remember when we were young
It was hard to meet up after school with friends
After all, we were just seven-year-olds
But this was made easy for us
Because every season we would have a camp planned for us
Oh I do remember the laughter we've all shared at these camps
The pranks that he would play on us
Waking up in the middle of the night
Marking our faces with ink
Oh the laughter we would all have
To the surprise of seeing all the pictures of our friends
Who were pranked with ink all over their faces
Or the day all our shoes were taken from our rooms
And hidden in a place we just could never find
I remember when we were young
We used to have art lessons - But not any average art lesson
They were lessons where we could be creative
And not just on pencil and paper
But we were taught how to bring any plain object to class
And turn it into wonderful art
In which we would always display our work in the hall
I remember when we were young
Such little things that made school fun and exciting
Its moments like these you keep remembering for the rest of your life
The friendships made - The Laughter shared
Memories forever imprinted in the back of your head
Frank O'Neill was and remains a Great teacher - And a Great man
He has taught for 35 years at our beloved school and served them well
Teachers like him are hard to find, and are what make a school unforgettable
So I would like to take an opportunity to thank Frank O'Neil
But I am not alone, as so would the rest of the school, ex-students and ex-teachers
In which we would like to thank him for making our experience at Stella Maris College
May you enjoy your retirement - A well deserved relaxation for your hard work!
poem by Gabriel Gauci Maistre
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Class Room
Life is just a class room,
In a large universal school.
We are just students,
Learning the golden rule.
Some catch on quickly,
Others it takes awhile,
Life is just a class room,
Each in a diffferent style.
poem by Heather Burns
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My Oh My Its A Miracle
My oh my its a miracle
Good morning love
Rise and shine
Its a beautiful day
And I feel fine
Come watch the sun light the sky
And sip a coffee you and i
Wont you give us a kiss now
Perchance a little more
No dont mind that witch
Peeking out next door
I feel like a lark sitting high up a tree
Whats just another day to one man
Is a miracle to me
My oh my its a miracle
(a miracle to me)
My oh my its a miracle
(its a miracle)
All the whinning all the worry
All the fast friends and the fury
Oh dear lord
All the madness that used to move me
Simply dont behoove me
No more
Yeah let it rain let is shine
If I got you I got mine
Oh well hello sweet sanity
Im alive and Im smilling
And thats a miracle to me
My oh my its a miracle
(a miracle to me)
My oh my its a miracle
Now good morning love
And how are you
Does your old man seem
A bit too chearful to be true
Excuse me if I shed a little tear joyfully
But when your hands in my hand
Yeah when a woman really loves a man
Its a miracle to me
My oh my its a miracle
(a miracle to me)
My oh my its a miracle
(its a miracle)
Im ten miles high its a miracle
(Im ten miles high its a miracle)
Look at my life its a miracle
(its a miracle)
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Life without Life
A life, a journey
without passion and affection
emptiness inside
gloominess outside
dreams fly away
reality is a blur
A life, a journey
without passion and affection
lying outside
dying inside
holding on to a belief
nothing but a dust
A life, a journey
without passion and affection
time passed by
nothing gained everything lost
poem by Anggie Servian
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Miracle
Many roads Ive travelled
And faces Ive seen
Each tells a story
Of what might have been
A missed golden moment
But life still remains
A search for the innocence
Somehow we lost on the way
And we all need a miracle, that I truly believe
Yes we all need a miracle, and I believe my miracle is you
Now the silence that follows
The last curtain call
I dont know anyone
Who has come through it all
You gave me direction
A part in your cast
No longer make believe
Now that I know it will last
Cos we all need a miracle, that I truly believe
Yes we all need a miracle, and I believe my miracle
And I believe my miracle
I believe my miracle
Yes I believe my miracle is you
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable
The death of a twelve year old,
Her sister shed tears,
But the body was cold,
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
She felt all had lost hope,
It was her fault,
'I let go the rope! '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'I should have pulled her up'
'I lost grip'
'I should'nt have given up! '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'You trusted me! '
'And there is no reason....'
' No you shouldn't have, see? '
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
'No! It's not your fault! ',
Said her sister,
Who lay dead in the vault,
Loss Unbearable, Loss Irrepearable.
poem by Ulveena Aitzaz
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The Boys And Girls I Went To School With
The boys and girls I went to school with from me now far away
And even some of them not living now where the dead are they lay
And in distant flights of fancy I fancy I see them yet
And them I still remember and them I won't forget.
The boys and girls I went to school with the years have left them slow
And were I to meet them on the street perhaps them I''d not know
For the years they leave us looking older and there''s no turning back the hands of time
And those I went to school with like me now long past their prime.
Many of the boys and girls I went to school with live distant from Millstreet
And we well might be strangers now if by chance we did meet
In my mental pictures of them they have not aged a day
But reality is different and 'tis always been that way.
Many of the boys and girls I went to school with in Millstreet our Home -town
Have left that green old countryside where Finnow babbles down
For to join with the great Blackwater on it''s journey to the sea
Still their innocence and youthfulness will always be with me.
The changes keep on happening and nothing seems to last
Still we cling on to our memories and we can''t deny our past
And though we may now be strangers were we to meet again
The boys and girls I went to school with young in my thoughts remain.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Don't Understand The Way The Life Goes
I don't understand the way the life goes...
Sometimes we bow in front of it and sometimes in front of us it bows,
I don't understand the way the life goes...
To share in life we meet friends,
We enjoy a lot until they leave us,
New friends come with lot of fun;
But leave us leaving the memories,
Sometimes of happiness and sometimes of sadness, plants it grows
I don't understand the way the life goes...
To learn in life we meet our teachers,
They teach and develop our features,
They try to make us good citizens,
And because of them we stand,
Sometimes on feet and sometimes on toes,
I don't understand the way the life goes...
Parents are God's precious gift,
They take our care&give us a lot of love,
They leave us one day just with tears,
Memories spent with them are unforgettable,
God takes our god from us that is unforgivable,
Sometimes of marry and sometimes of sorrow it shows,
I don't understand the way the life goes...
poem by Akash the cool boy
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Passion Of Tomorrow
PASSION OF TOMORROW
The passion of tomorrow
The lost passion for a stranger
The new passion of all days
The passion of tomorrow
Won’t be the only sorrow
Kissing you makes me feel dizzy
Wondering why are you still busy
Let go of yourself surrender
Open up to the sweet offender
The passion of today
Won’t let it go away
Even though forbidden
Keep the entangled hidden
Wish for your embrace
I feel like being in a haze
The passion of yesterday
Belongs to other days
Walks on the shore are gone
Watching the sun go down
Flows of tears were shed
until my heart was over fed
The passion of tomorrow
I just want it to grow and grow
I get troubled by love night mares
Torn between the no or do I dare
For you I feel this nagging hunger
Striking me like hundreds of thunders
The passion of tomorrow
The lost passion for a stranger
The new passion of all days
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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The Old Doubting Thomas
The old doubting Thomas is living today
And most of his school friends long with the dead lay
To the war cry of the leader they took up the gun
And they paid with their young lives for the war to be won
The young doubting Thomas he was young back then
He did not march off to war with the other young men
And though in his honour never a parade
He feels no regret at the choice he had made.
The old doubting Thomas he feels rather sad
That in World war 1 he lost his young dad
To his widowed mother a devoted son
He promised her never to take up a gun.
He still talks of the father he never did know
A war hero almost nine decades ago
The only regret in life he's ever had
Is that he never did know the one who was his dad.
The old doubting Thomas from time looking gray
His grandchildren have school going children today
Many of his school friends died in World War 2
And the dreams that they had were not meant to come true.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Moonlight in Early Morning
I saw the moon in early morning
At five o’clock
Parikesit and Dananjaya
Are riding cycle
To their school building, Pasirlaja
While rentals are gathering
in the corner of my house
Sit for waiting a customer
At that time both of my daughter are sleeping well
make a circle their back on the bed
dreaming a nice day in their school day
till six o’clock they didn’t wake up from their bad
and Parikesit and Danajaya went to school
After while Windy, my youngest daughter wake up and watch the “DORA”, her lovely cartoon in the television show programs,
After walking around, I saw the moonlight in early morning
gradually changed with sunrise moment
I haven’t yet writing down this poetry
To the young generation
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Where Is My Passion
Where is my passion
Far too much pain
Where is my passion
Must I love in vain?
Where is my passion
I need must know
Where is my passion
I want so much to grow
Where is my passion
Lost in your lips
Where is my passion
I feel for your kiss
Where is my passion
Lost in your eyes
Where is my passion
Release me to fly
Where is my passion
There in your hands
Where is my passion
Touch me…expand
Where is my passion
Please…be a man
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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A travelled man..a tribute to Mike Lyon.
I’VE BEEN A TRAVELING MAN EVEN BEFORE I WAS BORN
IT MATTERED NOT, A STORMY NIGHT OR A SUNNY MORN
A MONUMENTAL JOURNEY THAT WAS LIFE ITSELF
FOR NINE MONTHS I WRIGGLED AND THRASHED AND MADE MYSELF FELT
I WELCOMED THE WORLD, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND
I ANNOUNCED MY PRESENCE WITH MY OWN PERSONAL SOUND
I EXPLORED THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE WORLD
IT GAVE ME THE INSPIRATION FOR THE LIFE I WOULD MOULD
MY KNOWLEDGE I HAD TO PROVE….CONFIRM
I MADE USE OF EVERY SCHOOL AND COLEGE TERM
THE MELODIES AND NOTES THAT HELPED MY MIND TO TICK
I ENVOKED SOME OF MY OWN WITH MY GUITAR PICK
THE LEGACY THAT IS MY OFFSPRING I WILL NEVER SURPASS
AS THEY DO ME PROUD AND STRIVE TO THE TOP OF THE CLASS
FATE HAS SENT ME TO THE RIGHT SCHOOL, I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS TO MEET MY WIFE
THE UPS AND DOWNS, WORRY AND JOYS
I WASN’T TO KNOW SHE WOULD BE WITH ME TO THE END OF MY LIFE
I LET OUT A SECRET..OF THE PLACE IN CORNWALL I NAMED AFTER ME,
LYON POINT [ SMILE]
FOR WITH THAT NAME YOU KNOW ITS NO SLEEZY JOINT.
I BADE FAREWELL TO MY FRIENDS WHO I KNOW LOVE ME
ON MY FINAL JOURNEY, FAREWLL AGAIN AS IT WONT BE BY LAND OR SEA.
BRIAN ROY SKYERS
12.09.2011.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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Lullaby, Oh, Lullaby!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Flowers are closed and lambs are sleeping;
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Stars are up, the moon is peeping;
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
While the birds are silence keeping,
(Lullaby, oh, lullaby!)
Sleep, my baby, fall a-sleeping,
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Everything Is Kiling Me....
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can't really function you're so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top they are telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
poem by Adnan Zahedi
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“The Journey Called Life”
From where I have started to where will I end,
The journey has been long, winding and tiring.
From nothing to something… it has never been an easy adventure.
I have been tried with luck; tried with hard works;
I am tried with pains and heartaches too…
I have found love and lost it… I have found new one, I’ve tried to keep it.
I have found friends and only few remains,
I have found money, but it never really stays.
The lesson of journey is uncontainable.
I want to move on as life is moving on…
I wish to move on with it, I want to go on its flow.
To an unpredictable journey called life,
Walking alone in this path, with guts and determination.
By God’s grace and guidance.
I want to continue the journey once more…
A journey where people would remember me
As a lady who won a million smiles and conquer goodbyes.
I keep on taking my unavoidable journey in this deep blue sea with struggles and hopes.
Until one day, my journey will bring me to my destiny, that’s then that I will be home.
-aira
poem by Aira Olayvar
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