Ageing
Ageing
I saw a picture of him in the newspaper the famous writer
at seventy two, and thought: my god, he looks old; yet I´m
older than him. He was going on about his illnesses like they
should be badges of honour. I look like him, but my mirror
says I look not a day over fifty two which is a blessing.
We are all narcissists at heart and stuck with an image of
ourselves that is untrue, but life cannot rob us of our delusion.
A warning though, do not smile to women who have not got
a wrinkle or two and need to dye their hair.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Mirror, Mirror
(m. sembello/d. matkowsky)
Mirror, mirror
On the wall
You said you had the answers to it all
You never told me Id take a fall
Mirror, mirror
On the wall
You, you turned my life
Into a paperback novel
Words that come to life
Inside your little melodrama
Chapter one
When I was young
I came to you with my problems
Chapter two
You promised me love
And anything that I desired
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
thought you said you had the answers to it all
Never told me I was gonna take a fall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
You have nailed my heart
Upon the wall for your pleasures
You have cast a spell
That cannot ever be broken
And now
My eyes grow tired
I watch my picture getting older
But i
Remain the same
Trapped in this mirror forever
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
thought you said you had the answers to it all
You never told me I was gonna take a fall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
I talk to you each night
And I follow your advise
Youve been wrong
Whats the price I have to pay
For this fairy tale thing called love?
Let me go!
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
thought you said you had the answers to it all
Never told me I was gonna take a fall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
thought you said you had the answers to it all
Never told me I was gonna take a fall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
Let me go
Mirror, mirror
Mirror, mirror
Mirror, mirror
Mirror, mirror
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
thought you said you had the answers to it all
Never told me I was gonna take a fall
Tell me mirror, mirror on the wall
Tell me mirror
Tell me mirror
Tell me mirror
Tell me mirror
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Sugar Daddy's Woman
It isn't for love she is with him the ageing and bald headed Stan
But to his money she is surely attracted and money in her eyes makes the man
A blond in her late twenties and quite attractive and he has turned seventy four
But money to her is what matters and he is worth fifty million or more,
Young enough to be his grand daughter his eldest grandchild is her age
Her sugar daddy he is ageing a very wealthy man but not a sage
To him she is heavily pregnant to his vast fortune another heir
Her first child a son or a daughter will be born as a millionaire,
She is known as the sugar daddy's woman her man may have known a better day
But money to her is what matters and for herself she is doing okay
He may not look a young muscular sex symbol with hair dye he covers his gray
But money does speak every language and of you says more than words can ever say
Her lover is forty five years older than her but he is a wealthy old guy
And he has got plenty of money and few things that money cannot buy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mirror Struggled
The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.
The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
m irror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have You Ever
Everywhere you go there is old furniture,
but have you ever spared a thought
whose bottom might have sat on
the chair you are sitting on.
Have you ever asked yourself
who has looked into the mirror
you are looking into now?
It could have been a famous actor, a famous singer,
or a notable writer or royalty maybe.
Have you ever thought what if
their attributes rubbed off on you,
what would you do
and what would thee consequences be.
21 February 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unfaithful To Myself (Beware. Beware!)
When I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not that able...
To remain unfaithful.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
When I ran away,
It was from myself...
And,
I was not able...
To remain unfaithful.
Oh, when I ran away,
I thought that I would stay...
Where it was,
I chose to be.
But...
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
Yes,
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
With a feeding of myself wrong beliefs...
That other people made me bleed.
But it wasn't other people it was me.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
Yes, I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
And I had been unfaithful to myself.
I let my woes go,
When...
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
I saw the anger there.
I looked in the mirror and my heart stopped.
Beware. Beware!
And I knew,
It was me who had been untrue.
And I had been unfaithful to myself.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Gold Coast Sugar Daddies
On the Gold Coast are many 'sugar daddies'
From fifty upwards beyond the three score
You see them hand in hand with younger women
From nineteen, twenty up to twenty four.
You see them wearing wigs to hide their baldness
And they use hair dyes to cover their gray
But they can't seem to hide their big pot bellies
And that of course a natural give away.
You see them with the finest of young women
Quite beautiful and dressed to catch the eye
They snuggle up to their old sugar daddies
Not much of course that money cannot buy.
They seem so proud to be seen with young beauties
How vain and stupid some old men can be
These women only want them for their money
But for some strange reason this they cannot see.
These women do not love their sugar daddies
They only use them for financial gain
And how these old men can't tell true love from falseness
Is something way beyond me to explain.
It doesn't mean if you are older you are wiser
For wisdom to an old man can't be taught
They think young women love them not their money
But they forget that women can be bought.
Some women put money ahead of feelings
And to the weakness of wealthy older men they play
They lead the fool on further for his money
But women on a whole are not that way.
You always see them with the finest women
Young and beautiful and dressed to catch the eye
These ageing 'sugar daddies' of the Gold Coast
There is not much that money cannot buy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On modern woman
Smile, take a pretty picture,
Be the best woman you can be.
Paint your nails a scarlet red,
Stain your hair a pale blonde,
Be the best woman you can be.
Perk up those breasts,
Put razor to flesh,
Then Scrape off those old skin cells
Breed, woman, breed!
But don't you get stretch marks.
Be the best woman you can be.
Tear the hair from your vulva,
Be the first to church,
When in doubt, smile.
Steam your hair and bleach your teeth,
Don't neglect your husbands needs,
Be the best woman you can be.
Woman, did you read it in a magazine?
You're a void I can not fill.
Don't ever wrinkle.
You don't have to like it, it's gucci.
Snort this line, eat my words.
Don't neglect your petty needs.
Be the best woman that you can be.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Mirror,
the mirror,
the mirror behind me,
the picture that can never change,
profanity is not my name,
behind me is the worldwide mirror of the eagle,
picture me in my eyes,
then what did you see,
humanity made me perceive like these,
many say they are true but liers,
This is the new understanding of the mirror,
Picture I and see what you see,
This is me with my picture,
Since humanity is never seeing the new understanding,
What is our purpose on earthly dwelling,
Forget the attacks,
They refused to protect me,
Picture history in the mirror,
Then I realised I can never change the spiritual world,
You must be understanding what you did to me.
poem by Maxim Muyu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Image
He stared at her picture everyday.
It was something he would always do.
It helped him to remember her lovely face
and helped him make it through
lonely nights without her
and hours that kept him blue.
He saw her image and he remembered
when the picture was taken.
They were so in love. Then she fell ill
and now his heart was achin'.
He kissed her image
and whispered goodnight.
He'd been forsaken.
Her picture was now his prize posession
for it's all he had of her.
Gone was her touch. Gone was her hair,
the strands of it still in his sight.
Gone was the sound of her voice
that always whispered in the night
'I love you.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O' Mirror
All day long roaming around
Sometimes I stand before the mirror,
See my own image looks at me,
Yet I'm puzzled not to find my `self' there.
I see the quiet nature depicted on my complexion,
And I know my `self' is veiled by a humane mask.
In the mirror my image looks like any other human,
My hand-face-eyes all are normal and intact.
Yet behind that intact wall
How many wounded memories, how much pain of loss,
And emptiness lives
Only my heart knows.
Where does my heart live?
Nobody knows that, even the mirror does not.
Still I look at with deep wonder
To find where in my heart
Inconsistent pain and imperfections are;
In the outer shell of mine I find only indifference.
This mirror shows very strange image;
It does not find my own world, -
My emptiness, frustration, the heart breaking emotion-
It does not show me anything.
Only those impassive eyes look at me,
How much tribulation of heart it hides!
In the outer quiet nature none of that be found;
O' Mirror, show me the image of my heart, if you can.
poem by Riffat Samad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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X-Ray Mirror
Tunnel seems so long
Touching the bottom
A slim reflexion
Punctured my vision
I didn't notice
Beside the last door
Standing on nothing
There was a mirror
Even inside...scrutinized
I am, he is, the face I hate
Refracting cells and prismed self
Who's x who's y in a blank place
I can't believe this is my image
Like the mirror without a frame
Baring a scarred side
Open in daylight
Recoil and reply
Farside of my pride
The introspection
Ruptures the blood core
Magnification
Draws out the mirror
Seeking me out
What will he find?
I am, he is, a repugnant state
I can't shake this curiosity
My privacy starts to fade
I can't believe this is my image
Like the mirror
A polar exchange
He gloating over my fleeting image
He used to be me
He knows who is free
How long will I wait...here
Stuck in this void place...here
I can't believe I am the immage
Within the mirror
Into the chrome lake
The glass is broken
But I look the same
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Voivod
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Badges, Posters, Stickers, T-shirts
Me and my mate we think youre great
Some we like and some we hate
I know him Ive seen him on the adverts
Got any badges posters stickers or t-shirts
You were bloody great last time you come
I thought me ead was stuck in the bass drum
Bloody loud, me bloody head hurts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
So howd you get a start in show biz
My mates as good on the drums as he is
My mate thinks Im bloody cracked
Please sign my jacket on the back
All them badges made of plastic
I think theyre great, just fantastic
Im unemployed, hes still at school
He gets annoyed cause Im such a fool
You dont half sweat a lot up there
Have you got showers in here?
Youre bloody great, my bloody head hurts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
Yeah, me and my mate like ac-dc
Hot & sweaty, loud & greasy
My mom says were a pair of perverts
Got any badges posters stickers and t-shirts
Cmon mister
We hitch-hiked here in pouring rain
Now weve missed the frigging train.
Hey! can I have one of them lagers?
Thanks very much, mate. can e have one?
A-one, a-two, a-one two three four...
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mirror Mirror
Mirror mirror
You tell lies
Who put crows feet
Round my eyes?
Mirror mirror
Hanging there
Who put that grey
In my hair?
Mirror mirror
Is that me
Is that really
Me I see?
Mirror Mirror
Stop your fun
That's not me
That is my mum
Mirror mirror
Don't stare back
For it's bad luck
If you should crack
Mirror mirror
On days like these
When what I see
Doesn't please
Mirror mirror
My mood this day
Will ask you turn
The other way!
poem by Stevie Taite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Churchill's Grave: A Fact Literally Rendered
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory task'd,
Through the thick deaths of half a century?
And thus he answered - ' Well, I do not know
Why frequent travellers turn to pilgrims so;
He died before my day of Sextonship,
And I had not the digging of this grave.'
And is this all? I thought - and do we rip
The veil of Immortality, and crave
I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight,
So soon, and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay,
To extricate remembrance from the clay,
Whose minglings might confuse a Newton's thought,
Were it not that all life must end in one,
Of which we are but dreamers;- as he caught,
As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun,
Thus spoke he,- 'I believe the man of whom
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,
Was a most famous writer in his day,
And therefore travellers step from out their way
To pay him honour,- and myself whate'er
Your honour pleases:' - then most pleased I shook
From out my pocket's avaricious nook
Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare
So much but inconveniently:-Ye smile,
I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while,
Because my homely phrase the truth would tell.
You are the fools, not I - for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye,
On that Old Sexton's natural homily,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame -
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.
Diodati, 1816.
After Eighty, No Beauty in Life
At fifty you may lose counts;
At sixty you may reduce volume;
At seventy you may lose erection;
At eighty, the interest for women.
After that no attachment for life.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Sugar Daddy's Woman
He is seventy four and she is twenty seven with light brown and wavy shoulder length hair
You've guessed right to say he is a sugar daddy one of the Town's wealthier a known millionaire
She feels she is better off with him than with one of her own age a fellow with only a few dollars to spare
He buys her a good time and he treats her as special and for her he does seem to genuinely care.
She is happy to be the sugar daddy's woman money speaks every language and 'tis always been that way
An old man with money better than a poor young bloke who will be a battler until his dying day
The Local young blokes of the older bloke jealous they find it hard to come to terms with how he
Could be going to bed with the Town's fairest young woman without realizing they are restricted by their poverty.
Than seventy four he looks many years younger at a guess one might say from fifty to fifty two
Amazing what a face lift and a bottle of brown hair dye as well as some makeup for an old face can do
She carries her first child it will be his seventh yet he feels as proud as any younger father to be
Her son or her daughter into wealth will be born and that sounds better than being born into poverty.
Despite she being pregnant she does look quite radiant her sugar daddy for her left his old wife
Money speaks every language seems all too apparent and she can look forward to a better life
Than being with one of her own age struggling to make ends meet when poverty bites in love quickly decay
And though she does not love her sugar daddy she does love his money a good reason with him why she ought to stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
poem by Derek Walcott (1986)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Mirror Image
I get up this morning, forget about all my plans
Think about my vacations with my latest man
Everything I did, what I shouldve done
Why I didnt stay why I didnt run
Only I hold the key to unlock the door
I might make mistakes I made them before
Think I hear about my life as a book
Think I rather forget but they forced me to look
Chorus:
(mirror image, mirror image)
If it isnt in black and white
(it never happened)
(mirror image) reflection of me
Do you see what they want you to see?
Looking at my life through mirror image
Mirror image
Must I confess everything that Ive done?
Cant a girl go out and have herself some fun?
I dont wanna be judge I dont want the blame
Living for the day is how I play the game
There always a dream theres always a stage
Somebodys looking now its on the front page
Through my rear view mirror I can see where Ive been
I forget the beginning and I cant see the end
Chorus
Only I hold the key to unlock the door
I might make mistakes I made them before
Think I hear about my life as a book
Think I rather forget but they forced me to look
Chorus x 2 (ad libs)
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men don't care
Men see…when they look in the mirror
Grey hair, wrinkly face
replete with wisdom
So mature…so sage
Women see…when looking in the mirror
A pretty face
But with an ego that
Slowly diminishes with age
Women see…when they look in the mirror
Rearranging…
looks a-changing
Time wooshing past
Men see…when they look in the mirror
That same goofy face looking back from the glass
Doesn’t land a blow on a cast iron ego, because
Men just don’t give… a rat’s ass
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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