The Playground
For decades, it was a playground and now a pauper's graveyard.
A politician suggests to make it a playground again.
I try to collect the names of champions
But no tombs and I hear some whispers;
'What is the use of getting our names
As we cannot compete the living souls?
Let us sleep well and write down this in your notebook brother.
We do not have regrets as there is no any race further.
Mr.Reporter, if possible lets work together to ensure
That every dead soul has a right to sleep.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Playground
I climb up, spending daylight
Slide down drunken on the other side
Some sweet girl, playing my wife,
Runs off with a boy whose bike shell ride
Playground (its a playground)
Marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square world
Bells will ring, door flings open
Hare and greyhound in the old kiss chase
Youve been caught, game has ended
Smack on kisser from her slap on face
Playground (its a playground)
Were marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square world
Watch the leaves all tear away (one by one)
Leaving you but lined like an exercise book
What did your report once say (know the one)
This boy must try harder to please
From down on his knees
Playground, playground, playground, playground, playground,
Playground, playground, playground
Brain gets bent, heart gets broken
You cant jump off once the page is turned
School is out but never over
Thats the only lesson you can learn
Playground (its a playground)
Were marked by the masters and bruised by the bullies in the
Playground (its a playground)
Never stop rehearsing, rehearsing for the big square
Playground (its a playground)
Go for the high jump if you let em push you in the
Playground (its a playground)
Theres no escaping, escaping from their big square world
You may leave school, but it never leaves you
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Playground Love
Im a high school lover, and youre my favorite flavor
Love is all, all my soul
Youre my playground love
Yet my hands are shaking
I feel my body remains, themes no matter, Im on fire
On the playground, love.
Youre the piece of gold the flushes all my soul.
Extra time, on the ground.
Youre my playground love.
Anytime, anyway,
Youre my playground love.
song performed by by Air
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And you, my friends who have been called away
And you, my friends who have been called away,
I have been spared to mourn for you and weep,
Not as a frozen willow over your memory,
But to cry to the world the names of those who sleep.
What names are those!
I slam shut the calendar,
Down on your knees, all!
Blood of my heart,
The people of Leningrad march out in even rows,
The living, the dead : fame can't tell them apart.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Sleeper
Sleep that half dead,
sleep the body not the head.
Sleep that bad said,
Poor owns that bed,
Dreams are found on that herd.
Sleep while awake,
Sleep that dead not closed eye fake.
Sleep that weak,
Tommorow u gona take.
Eat that sleep and enjoy its steak.
Sleep still stands,
None to overtake.
Sleep that height dare for cake.
Sleep that stress and have the bless,
Sleep to confess as she do to embrance,
Sleep for paid cash as he do to love false.
Sleep that sleep as no one sleep ever deep.
Sleep that better as no other sleeper.
Wear that sweater as did Brother Peter,
Sleep that firm to dream that greater,
Sleep not slopy arrise all the weaker.
poem by Abdallah Mpogole
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This Used To Be My Playground
Chorus (first time without background vocals):
This used to be my playground [used to be]
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to
Whenever I was in need
Of a friend
Why did it have to end
And why do they always say
Don't look back
Keep your head held high
Don't ask them why
Because life is short
And before you know
You're feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don't hold on to the past
Well that's too much to ask
(Long and movie versions only:)
(chorus)
Live and learn
Well the years they flew
And we never knew
We were foolish then
We would never tire
And that little fire
Is still alive in me
It will never go away
Can't say goodbye to yesterday [can't say goodbye]
(chorus)
No regrets
But I wish that you
Were here with me
Well then there's hope yet
I can see your face
In our secret place
You're not just a memory
Say goodbye to yesterday [the dream]
Those are words I'll never say [I'll never say]
This used to be my playground [used to be]
This used to be our pride and joy
This used to be the place we ran to
That no one in the world could dare destroy
(Short and movie versions only:)
This used to be our playground [used to be]
This used to be our childhood dream
This used to be the place we ran to
I wish you were standing here with me
(Movie version only:)
This used to be our playground [used to be]
This used to be our great escape
This used to be the place we ran to
This used to be our secret hiding place
This used to be our playground [used to be]
This used to be our childhood dream
This used to be the place we ran to
The best things in life are always free
Wishing you were here with me
song performed by by Madonna from Something To Remember
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not a soldier
'Hey! I take my hands up
And please don't shoot me
This is my grand son's toy gun.'
'Then why did you come to the battlefield? ' Soldier inquired.
'I am jogging as per my diabetes doctor's advise.'
'You should go to a playground.'
'Certainly this is a playground not a battlefield brother,
Both parties are friends and why hold the guns?
While enemies groan in their castles comfortably.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Where all the poor in the village were buried?
Is this a cemetery?
The Gypsy Tinker, Negro Blacksmith, Grey-bearded Barber, One eyed Arabian butcher, Native Hangman & the family and the rest of all hide somewhere,
Nobody knows to point out so and so as no tombs were found there.
The flat graves show their innocence and poverty.
'Where is she? ' Hangman asks.
Butcher says; 'All are here brother and they are in a deep sleep.'
Hey! Now it's a playground for the children being a promise of the deceased dumb Mayor.
* Dedication to all the poet friends in the site.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You can change the names
You can change the names
of places and call them,
what you want.
My people who life there,
will still be living there
next year and for many years more.
You can change the personnel
that work for the city
and the inadequate delivery of services
and corruption,
will in time make you
pay a handsome bill.
You can change the names of streets,
and fashion them
to your heroes.
Never could you undo
the acts of those
whose names they originally bared
and everyone that uses them
will still know
what they were called before.
Without fixing the roads
people will remember
about the holes in Slovo street
and the dead robots in Mandela drive,
which will keep them alive
You can change the names of airports
for its better that way,
that the world knows
that they coming
to an new country
that’s has fallen years behind,
from where it was before.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The magical Bamboo flute and the ancient Chinese Zither
Thank God! You gave me a dollar note to buy this compact disc from a junk shop in Anaheim.
It's really a very rare Diamond for me, thanks again to the invisible God!
It's named 'Tao of Healing'
Dean Evenson and Professor Li Xiangting collaborated for this great Performance.
When I hear this spiritual music
I travel to my faraway loved ones
And return without any proper documents.
I speak with dead souls
My poor loving Mom and the brother
Oh! They are better than me.
I forget all my debts and the misers' names too.
And all my wounds heal in the soul.
If I can hear this continuously
I'll be free of burdens definitely.
My singsong beloved grumbles
'Here isn't a funeral parlor to hear such a sad music.'
'Why not? Darling we sit on a graveyard
Earth is a graveyard indeed! ' I shouted.
* On the cover of the disc is a Chinese Goddess Quan Yin.Quan means Earth.Yin means woman or mother places her in our understanding as Earth Mother or Mother nature.
Zither; Culturally important in China as the Piano in the West.
Humbly I dedicate this poem to all music lovers of the World.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Writing is very much a playground - an artistic playground. It's the most fun thing I do.
quote by Shania Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Criminal Justice
My brother and I were falsely
Convicted for the rape and slaughter
Of a 13-year-old girl; but we weren't
There: we were shooting pool.
Because the police knew we held
No patriotic glee, they assumed too much,
And us they prosecuted.
Years of justice blind, dead-brained
Words striving to become lofty and eternal,
And eyewitnesses without wit,
Put us in the penitentiary.
Then, after twenty-two years,
The DNA surfacing like a submarine,
Cleared our names. They let us go
With a heartfelt apology.
But one learns a thing or two in prison:
Now, on foggy mornings, during school days,
Look yonder into the haze-
And feel the disturbed gut
Hovering at the very end
Of the playground breached.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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The Sad Mother
Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
Sleep, sleep, and in the night
may your whispers be softer
than a leaf of grass,
or the silken fleece of lambs.
May my flesh slumber in you,
my worry, my trembling.
In you, may my eyes close
and my heart sleep.
poem by Gabriela Mistral
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This Will All Be Mine
Where there are shadows
There will be light
You write that you know me
Youll wish that you were right
Fall into the playground
You wish that you are wiser
But I know
That one day
That this will all be mine
Now you give me reason
To answer you with lies
You thought your years were with you
Youre only sad not wise
So fall into the playground
You thought the game was yours
But I know
That one day
That this will all be mine
Yes I know
That one day
That this will all be mine
Be mine
Be mine
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A hard hard night
The lions
they do not sleep at night
because they need to see you cry
to make you fall in mud and dirt
they need to hear you swear their names
to hit you more and more and more
you do not die but hell you cry
the pain is there and never gone
the blood spilled on the hungry blade
is hot and red and 'delicious' they say
you try to die to get away
by charging them with tight shut eyes
you try to fight to gain your death
to sleep forever without pain.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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My Name Written On A Streamer
my name flies
letters in bold and colors waving like the sea
two names, appearing like twins
on a streamer as though welcoming
to the fold a big time politician
my name is just a name
like any other else's names
it is not me, of course,
i may call myself an angel
but my wings are broken
my other parts cut like a picture
of a jigsaw puzzle
one by one you must pick up
the cut pieces
you fit in there then you make
me whole again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Too Late for Haste (Time will stop for You)
Too late for haste,
Hear from me the truth
For time will stop for you
And my voice you shall hear again
But then it will too late.
Too late for haste
For you are heading for doom
Doom will be your destiny
Is this also your priority?
Hear from me the truth
For gloom will be your eternity
Endless decades in Tartarus
Kingdom of Hades.
Too late for haste
Hear from me the truth
They are cming for your soul
I hear them these days in my sleep
They call for souls of dead
Death is innevitable my dear.
Only divine mercy can save us from hell.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Clickity, click, click
Clickity, click, click
~
The number of clicks
Those little groups
To which were forced fit
Into the adult world
No more bestest friends
Like a Childs playground game
Long since put to rest
In the pretence of professionalism
Into the workplace we stroll
And those clickity clicks
Outsiders kept at reach
Beyond the context of the conversation
Are we all in the playground again?
Grown up kids clickity click
Little games bestest friends
Don’t like the newbie, kind of strange
Doesn’t fit in, not this place
Not so much the childhood innocence
More the shame of adult ignorance
The way of work and at rest
How its still all a playground game
Pick your team clickity click
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Sleep To Rejuvenate lIfe!
Unconscious state of being is sleep;
Sleep refreshes mind, heart and soul.
While awake our activities are known
And while asleep no activity is known!
Dreams are common in sleep for all;
It fulfils the heart not possible otherwise!
First all starts as dreams and ends in action;
So, dream is consolation and inspiration!
Coming back to senses seems to be a magic!
If it does not take place one is concluded as dead!
In activities and sleep man's life goes on here;
But without good sleep no activity is bright!
Work while you work, play while play and also
Sleep while you sleep to rejuvenate your life!
poem by Ramesh T A
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