The Race
Our grand son Siluna has brought two cups home after winning in the school sports meet.
Congratulations Son!
At least you won.
Still I am running, your
Gray bearded Grand father
Never seen a cup.
Be strong my son as you have to jump over so many hurdles
in the race of hard life.
But I am sure that you have the sprint
And you take part all the events,
One day you bring the biggest cup home from the racecourse
The Mankind.
*Dedication to Alison, Sandra and Shani the three poetesses polished my scribblings.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Sports Day Lament. For CJ.
tenth in the sprint
ninth in the four hundred
eighth in the cross-country
seventh in the potato race
sixth in the egg-and-spoon
fifth in the high jump
fourth in the long jump
third in the hurdles
second in the basketball shoot
that's Sports Day over for this year.
But Mom and Dad will tell me (again) that
'I'm still the best at being me'...
and they'll sing all the way home oh god...
'they can't take that away from me
no....
they can't take that away from meeee...'
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Life's Been Grand
(Merle Haggard/Terry Gordon)
My life's been grand
I been a hand at livin' it up all the way
I've had good times and bad times and hard times and done time
But life's been a blessing every day
My life's been grand
You know I'd write home and tell 'em
But they wouldn't believe how good my luck's been
And if it ended today I've been all the way
My life's been grand
My life's been grand
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My old satchel
Still I carry your heavy fragrance in the old satchel over my slanted shoulder.
Life flies away from me day by day.
And our golden school stands still with new students.
In that narrow flowery path they walk to our nostalgic school
And we are too old to stand at the gate.
I imagine the music teacher's sensitive finger tips touch the reeds
And gives the melancholy song of life again.
Dedication to one of the prominent poetesses in the site Sandra Fowler
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Pre-giveaway to our precious Grandson
A very happy Birth day to you son and be a good-smart boy like 'Sanath' [not the actor; The world famous cricketer].
Hope you become a real man soon and change the World for better prospects.
No son! Please stay aside and remain as a child forever because the cruel society is precarious.
Your mad grandpa lost his job and still scribbles with a hullabaloo
And your courageous grandma gets up early in the morning and fights with the rolled gold life.
She stuck under the table in a daycare center to bring bread & butter home and she never forgets to buy my Cuban vanilla cigar too.
In our dream-trains we travel a thousand times home bounds
But we station here for a purpose.
I am sorry my son in your playgroup you really missed your fine playmate and she is here with me in a turmoil.
[Hey! our little apprentice Master Siluna you are close upon three years
and do not forget that your mischievous grandpa got married at 21.]
* A humble dedication to the young poetess
Shani.Bogamuwa of Massachusetts.
Also to loving Kelum & Tharindu, Chinthaka & Thilini our loved ones and etc.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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An undeniable letter to a Farrier who lives in a remote village
Dear Smith,
My stallion is ready for the grand race and I promised him to buy new shoes.
That should be durable and not fashionable.
I want you to explain my situation dear,
I have a holey wallet in that never remains the colored notes.
My Windmill is very familiar with the racecourse and I am sure he would bring the prize home, this is a humble requirement and invitation from a forgotten old friend.
sincerely,
The lame jockey Surmise.
*Postscript
I hope you still collect the old coins and I have few silver that I can polish for you.My broken door is open at all for my drunkard old friends.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I Beat You Because I Love...
Every day after school
Mom! Let's race home...
The lil boy would say to his mom
Mom would say ok...
Mom would run as fast as she could
To beat the lil boy home…
He'd cry …mom! ! ! !
You left me…you didn't let me win
You never let me win!
You're a mean mommy
She'd only respond with
If I let you win, you would never learn the lesson
What lesson mom?
She'd smile and walk away
Come on baby, its lunch time…
Few years down the road
The lil boy is now a teenager…
Mom! Let's play chess…
Mom would say OK
She beat him so bad
That he got mad and knocked the board over
MOM! You could have at least let me get close to winning
You're a mean Mother!
Nope! Then you would never learn
Learn what MOM?
Come on son, it's time for dinner
The teenager is now college graduate
Comes home to visit Mom
Mom, I got news…
I was offered a job
At one of the most prestigious law firms in America
They took the top five students
I was #1
Are you surprised Mom?
Mom: Not at all Son.
Mom, I got the lesson. Nothing in life will be given to me
I have to work hard and fight for everything I want and have. And you letting me
Win would have weakened me. So you always competed with me like you were the world
And you were teaching me how to survive in it...
Touché` mom Touché`
poem by Sandra Pitchford
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Take Me Home Oh Father
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
For I've wandered this land You made alone.
No one understood of what I am,
Wasn't loved it seemed by beast or man.
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
My lifes' work seems over for me now.
I have done all You have asked of me,
Oh Dear Father do You hear my plea?
Take me home oh Father, take me home,
The pain is more than one can bare.
Take me home oh Father take me home,
To a place You promised if You care.
Take me home oh Father if You would,
For all my life I've tried to do what's good.
Take me home oh Father my life is done,
All has ended please now take me to Your Son.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace
One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.
One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you.
One fine day.
Submitted by Britton
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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The Chequered Flag
The the disc brakes drag, the chequered flag sweeps across the oil-slick track. the young man's home; dry as a bone. his helmet off, he waves: the crowd waves back. one lap victory roll. gladiat
Ul. the taker of the day in winning has to say, isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive. the sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks, touches the old man where he sleeps. th
Se brings up a cup of tea --- two biscuits and the morning paper mystery. the hard road's end, the white god's-send is nearer everyday, in dying the old man says, isn't it grand to be playing to
Stand, dead or alive. the still-born child can't feel the rain as the chequered flag falls once again. the deaf composer completes his final score. he'll never hear the sweet encore. the chequer
Ag, the bull's red rag, the lemming-hearted hordes running ever faster to the shore singing, isn't it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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5. Sports Day
I remember our school sports day
Where we all went out to race
I remember jumping in a sack
And falling on my face
I remember someone calling out
Next race is starting soon
I remember running down the field
With a stupid egg and spoon
I remember throwing beanbags
At a circle on the floor
I remember not being very good
But going back for more
I remember coloured sashes
And I wore the colour green
I remember what we won that day
Wasn’t easy to be seen
I remember looking at the score
We were still at the beginning
I remember what our teacher said
It’s the taking part not the winning
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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As We Fall
as we fall we begin to wish we didnt jump
as we jump we wish they didnt brake our hearts
as they brake our hearts we wish we never met them
as we meet them we wish we never showed up where we were
as we show up we wish we stayed at home
as we come home we wish we never left our freinds
as we visit our friends we wish school never ended
as school ends we wish school never started
as school starts we wish we stayed asleep
as we sleep we dream as we dream....
nobody knows what we do or wish =) ♥
poem by Trevor Adams
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A Merry Christmas
Thick snow covered the mountain tops and the dangerous calendar is going to be finished very soon,
But a new shinning one comes with the same old nagging worries.
I hear the hymns from a faraway church
And I think of my old thatched village church and the skinny bearded father who wanders in my blood-soaked native land.
Oh! My Lord Jesus of Nazareth,
If we could have the Christmas at all to our miserable lives?
* Dedication to Sandra, Jerry, Alison, Denis, Dave, Max, George and the rest of my fellow poet friends in the site.
Merry Christmas and a prosperous new year to all.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Racing
every day of my life I feel like Im in a race
with a mini and I’m the yearling
who keeps tripping, falling, or stumbling over life
but never giving up
for I shall win the race
I win when the mini gives up
but I keep on running and running
away away from something
that’s not there
but I keep running from life
life it’s self is what’s scaring me
for life it’s self is what we all should be scared of
cause life it’s self can and will
kill you
it’s the most dangerous obstacle you’ll ever face
cause winning the race is not what counts
what counts is living throw life
that is the real challenge
and
the real race you should be winning
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Prisoners
This song appears on two albums, and was first released on the rocky mountain high album, and has also been released on this is john denver album.
Josie works the counter at the downtown five and dime
Anything at all to help her pass the time
Her mama keeps the baby and grandpa rambles on
About the good times playing in his mind
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
Josie spends the evening with the people in the pages
Of the paperback she picked up in the store
Or sometimes its the tv or shell try to write a letter
But they dont come too often anymore
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
Its a long night sleepin alone
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
Its a long, long way home
And I stare at the gray walls before me
And I see her face in the stone
And I try to imagine our baby
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard life livin when youre lonely
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long night sleepin alone
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a hard time waitin for tomorrow
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Its a long, long way home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
And I wish they would let me go home
Bring me and the other boys home
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alcohol's Requiem Upon Prof. P. F. K., A Gifted Man, Who Died A Victim Of Strong Drink
Ho! ho! Father Death! I have won you another!
Another grand soul I have ruined and taken;
I, who am licensed by good Christian people,
Eat and eat at their souls till by angels forsaken:
I spoil them, I soil them, and past all reclaiming
They fall, sick with sins that are too black for naming.
Ho! ho! Father Death! count me as your best man:
I bring you more souls than famine or battle.
Let pestilence rage! it will last but a season,
And the soft voice of peace stills the cannon's loud rattle;
But I, pausing never, with ceaseless endeavor,
Night and day, day and night, I am toiling for ever.
Ho! ho! Father Death! I have brought you my thousands:
Good people help me, license, uphold me,
Gaze on some victim I stole from their household-
Gaze, and upbraid the foul demon that sold me.
Ah! but they helped him-argued and voted
Till license was granted, and I was promoted.
Ho! ho! Father Death! is he not a grand victim?
I bring you souls that are well worth the winning-
Noble and brave, with the rare gifts of heaven;
But I eat them away and pollute them with sinning.
Now, but for me there would be few above him,
Honored and prized by the dear ones who love him.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Chequered Flag (Dead Or Alive)
The the disc brakes drag, the chequered flag sweeps across the oil-slick track. the young mans home; dry as a bone. his helmet off, he waves: the crowd waves back. one lap victory roll. gladiat
Ul. the taker of the day in winning has to say, isnt it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive. the sunlight streaks through the curtain cracks, touches the old man where he sleeps. th
Se brings up a cup of tea --- two biscuits and the morning paper mystery. the hard roads end, the white gods-send is nearer everyday, in dying the old man says, isnt it grand to be playing to
Stand, dead or alive. the still-born child cant feel the rain as the chequered flag falls once again. the deaf composer completes his final score. hell never hear the sweet encore. the chequer
Ag, the bulls red rag, the lemming-hearted hordes running ever faster to the shore singing, isnt it grand to be playing to the stand, dead or alive.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My grand dad
I remember you grand dad
Back since I was only three
I remember you granddad
How much you adored me
I remember you grand dad
How you made me smile
I remember you grand dad
You made my toddler years worthwhile
I remember you grand dad
Your lovely smell of tobacco
I remember you grand dad
The love for others you would show
I remember you grand dad
When I came to see you, you would give me a jellybean
I remember you grand dad
You always made me feel like a queen
I remember you grand dad
And I miss you everyday
Post Grand Final Day
For the winners many weeks of hip hip hooray
And the feeling of joy with their fans months does stay
But for one to win one must lose as some do say
And for the losers only sadness post Grand Final Day.
And since winning is what only does seem to count
Gallant in defeat to little does seem to amount
The joy in victory is always sweet
There is never any glory in defeat.
Those uninterested in sports say football is just a game
That who wins or who loses life goes on the same
But those who support football clubs never see it that way
They do get quite excited watching their team play.
To play in a Grand Final is many a boy's dream
And be a champion player in a Premiership Team
But on post Grand Final day only the winners celebrate
And for their victory their fans say 'twas well worth the wait.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poem For Wei Ba
Often a man's life is such
that he seldom sees his friends,
like the constellations Shen and Shang
which never share the same sky.
If not this evening, then what evening
should we share this lamp light?
How long can our youth and vigor last?
The hair at our temples is already gray.
We inquire about old acquaintances
to find that half are ghosts--
shocked cries betray
the torment of our hearts.
How could I have known
that it would be twenty years
before I again entered
your honored home.
When we parted last
you were yet unmarried;
now your sons and daughters
line up in a smiling row
to greet their father's friend.
They ask whence I have come
but before I can answer all questions
you chase them off
to bring wine and cups.
In the night rain, chives are cut
for the freshly steamed rice
mixed with yellow millet.
Saying how difficult it has been
for us to meet at last,
you pour ten cups in a row!
But even after ten cups
I'm not drunk, being so moved
by your lasting friendship.
Tomorrow we will be separated
by the peaks of mountains,
each of our worldly affairs
lost to the other's sight.
MoneyStory
The poor
Hard put to thrive
Hard up for money
And money hard-earned
Studied under street lights
Sacrifices pleaded to save
The whole of a familial inhale
A happy home of plentiful
Owned bricks owned cars
Worked against time until the turn of time
Grand-pa expired
Familial requisites sang diverse anthems
The good son descendant but sang harmonious
Lo, good son too some day expired
By virtue of illegality deflated the inheritance
degraded the grand-pa
In the cycle of poverty the grand-son lien
poem by Indira Renganathan
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