Senior Student
Senior Student.
Senescence...don’t know what that word means,
I forget so many words now a days.
A man called Alexander has stopped writing says
he forget dates and names of famous persons
but isn’t that what Wikipedia is for?
Senescence...old age, I read, better than senile which
is a word full ancient dust, of knowledge chipped off
an old statue, like the one I saw in Rome,
time had made his face featureless and he had lost
six fingers. Senior citizen me? I still have nine fingers.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Do I Consider Me A Senior? 2nd Version
What construes a senior, that we are no more leaner?
What construes a senior, our skin begins to look saggy?
What construes a senior, we wear clothes that are baggy?
What construes a senior, our hair has changed to grey?
What construes a senior, we go to church, we pray?
What construes a senior, we walk with bended stoop?
What construes a senior, we can't control our poop?
What construes a senior, we live in a nursing home?
What construes a senior, we don't need a comb?
What construes a senior, we have all but one tooth?
What construes a senior, medication is like a loot?
What construes a senior, feeding the pidgeons is a hoot?
What construes a senior, no solids only liquid food?
What construes a senior, the time seems to fly?
What construes a senior, we shrivel and slowly die?
What construes a senior, we learn how to survive.
What construes a senior, we do our best with our remaining life.
I am now crossover fifty,
but I am still very nifty!
Do I consider me a senior?
I am now fifty but I am still nifty.
What construes a senior, that we are no more leaner?
What construes a senior, our skin begins to look saggy?
What construes a senior, we wear clothes that are baggy?
What construes a senior, our hair has changed to grey?
What construes a senior, we go to church, we pray?
What construes a senior, we walk with bended stoop?
What construes a senior, we can't control our poop?
What construes a senior, we live in a nursing home?
What construes a senior, we don't need a comb?
What construes a senior, we have all but one tooth?
What construes a senior, medication is like a loot?
What construes a senior, feeding the pidgeons is a hoot?
What construes a senior, no solids only liquid food?
What construes a senior, the time seems to fly?
What construes a senior, we shrivel and slowly die?
What construes a senior, we learn how to survive
What construes a senior, we do our best with our remaining life.
Copyright Philo Yan August 20,2012
Don't say a word about him! (Russian romance)
Don't say a word about him!
The days of love I still remember.
He's only one to be confessed
My heart is broken and forever.
Oh, don't say a word about him!
Don't say a word about him!
He is to blame that I am sad
I stopped believing in anybody
I'm so lonely in my heart
And I am tired to be young.
Please, don't say a word about him!
Don't say a word about him!
Why you remind about him?
I can't forget the days I loved him.
All in the past, the past has gone
That's why I'm shedding lonely tears.
Please, don't say a word about him!
Don't say a word about him!
He is to blame, but if he would
Come back and love me as he did
I would forget the past as a dream
And never say a word against him.
Oh! ! ! Just tell me more about him!
Just tell me more about him!
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human being's company
they pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptor's chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
the evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
the evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
and what they'll find is just a statue
standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it turned me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human beings company
They pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptors chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
The evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you cant refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
The evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
And what they found was just a statue
Standing where the statue got me high
And what theyll find is just a statue
Standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunshine At Midnight
The boy was a senior, she was a sophomore.
Who would've thought.
That time of year again,
You know the time.
Girls buying dresses anticipating the night,
We all know the one.
Guys deciding who to ask and how,
All putting on a show.
He was a senior, she was a sophomore,
Who would've thought.
The beginning of more,
You know how the story goes.
Hour after hour of conversation and flirting,
How it always is.
Looking for innocent romance,
You know the kind.
He was a senior, she was a sophomore,
Who would've thought.
Until it came close to the end of the year,
What a dreadful time.
And something happened then,
A story rather untold.
Still, friendship remained,
After time, that is.
He was a senior, she was a sophomore,
Who would've thought.
Slowly their friendship mended and built up again,
The way it usually won't.
Conversations begin again, endless nights of words,
Memories replaying.
Even now, after everything, his sunshine at midnight,
Always will be.
He was a senior, she was a sophomore,
Who would've thought.
Now he's off at college and occasionally they speak,
Reconnecting conversations.
In times of need the other is there,
What's more to expect?
Words of encouragement and listening ears,
How it should be.
He was a senior, she was a sophomore,
Who would've thought.
Brought together at a random point in time,
You know the time.
He changed her life, even if she didn't change his,
Who's to say?
He entered her life and will always be there,
Like people do.
She hopes he thinks of her, remembers her, thinks of her the same,
You know how it is.
She writes these words of truth and remembrance,
Forever his Sunshine at Midnight.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That 'Senior Citizen' Thing
That 'senior citizen' thing,
Isn't easy for many to face and address.
And...
I am not comfortable with it yet.
Not to cling onto it like it is mine.
I am not prepared to declare,
Total ownership of it.
I am told I can still 'pass' for 55.
And that's young and radiant,
When one is...
On the fringes of showing 'maturity'.
And as my aches and pains,
Make attempts to ignore a fading youth...
Slowly leaving my consciousness,
With loud professions of my obsessiveness...
I know,
Is no longer in that hip hop stage!
And has gone.
I feel time has crept upon me,
And has done me wrong.
But...
I aint crying about it.
Not in public anyway.
And if I do it is raining!
I tell people then,
How I enjoy the feeling of nature.
That 'senior citizen' thing,
Was never on my agenda when I was in my teens.
Nor did aging appear in my dreams...
When I sought ambitiously,
To waste as much time as possible.
It was not a topic of excitement.
Nor a subject to defend.
Back in those days when age was taken for granted.
And then,
Overnight...
My eyesight needed correction.
I had to wear glasses 'with' bi-focals.
My digestion needed anti-oxidents with more fiber.
And for no apparent reason,
I would stumble into buildings and trees.
Losing my balance.
That 'senior citizen' thing,
Isn't easy for many to face and address.
And...
I am not comfortable with it yet.
Not to cling onto it like it is mine.
I am not prepared to declare,
Total ownership of it.
I am told I can still 'pass' for 55.
And that's young and radiant,
When one is...
On the fringes of showing 'maturity'.
Someone...
Like myself,
For example.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So in my sophomore year, I took a senior anatomy class. I thought anatomy - being the thing that I should be most interested in - and if I could hack, as we called it, a senior class, I would continue. I didn't hack the senior class.
quote by James Earl Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today... 'The Word
Word of love and the Word made flesh
Word incarnate forever blessed
Word of life and the Word of light
Word of power and Word of might.
Word that was spoken, Word of the Lord
Word of the Law and the Word of God
Word of peace and Word eternal
Word of truth and last Word of all.
Word of wisdom and the Word of healing
Word from heaven, a Word so appealing
Word fulfilling the Word of prophecy
Word of the Spirit and Word of destiny.
Word of exhortation and Word of grace
Word of encouragement and Word of faith
Word of promise and a Word of insight
Word from the beginning and Word of delight.
Word of knowledge and a Word of boldness
Word of peace and the Word of righteousness
Word of the covenant and Word of love
Word of the Father from heaven above.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
If your audience is young, it'd be youth culture, if your audience is older, it'd be older people, if it were senior citizens, it'd be senior citizen issues. So you try and hit the target audience.
quote by Kurt Loder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recessional (A Victorian Ode)
God of our fathers, known of old --
Lord of our far-flung battle line --
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies --
The Captains and the Kings depart --
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!
Far-called our navies melt away --
On dune and headland sinks the fire --
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe --
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law --
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget -- lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard --
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Amen.
Anonymous Submission
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0011 'Living and dying, laughing and forgetting' - listening to Ferlinghetti
and you’ve read many poems like this,
on the printed page;
the big words thrown in like some hot curry
where you’re short of good solid meat
so rap a few more big words in and
another spoonful of curry powder
or sex, or some current buzz-word
denoting a lifetime of youthful intelligent
rebellion and independent thought…
but not this time.
This is a famous poet of a famous time
and he’s just written it, in his eighties
and he won’t live for ever and he’s here
and reading it with vigour; a husky voice, and
his face flushed with eternity;
eternity, and innocence;
he means every word; and each word
comes from the centre of his life
‘living and dying,
laughing and forgetting…’
and listening to him, you could feel
that poetry’s too good for the printed page –
it should be declaimed, to audiences
who’ve walked for dusty miles,
who’ve bathed in sacred springs,
who’ve brought their children,
who’ve been here all day
and who will sit silent by the fires at night,
who are on their knees
listening with their lives
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Word
In the days when the God eternal
Was declining face to the new world,
By the Word they stopped the sun’s inferno,
And destroyed the towns by the Word.
And an eagle was falling at the ground,
Stars were backing to the moon in fright,
If, as made from orange flames a cloud,
Word was sailing in the heaven’s height.
Figures were involved in low action,
As the tamed, domesticated herd,
Just because all set of comprehension
From the clever figure could be learned.
The white-bearded patriarch, wish found
Good and evil by his own hands,
Deciding not to use the sacred sound,
Drew a figure by a cane in sands.
Did we not forget in troubles own:
Only Word is blessing in the world?
In the Gospel, sent to us by John,
Is the saying, that the Word is God.
We designed for it the limits, gladly –
The scant limits of the life and thoughts,
And like bees in empty hives smell badly –
Badly smell the dead forever words.
poem by Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parroting Courtesies
my niece asks me to hand a spoon
and i ask her to say 'please' and she utters the word
(perhaps her mama does not teach her the word)
and i hand her the spoon and she is afraid to say the word 'thank you'
and i tell her to say the word and she says it as though it is a strange word
for her (perhaps her dad, who is my brother seldom uses the word in their
house)
and then i tell her after she says thank you 'welcome my dear'
and she giggles, perhaps the words are ticklers to her frail body
to her small hands, to her fingers which grabbed the spoon as though
there are not so many
so many spoons in this world, we know that,
but the courtesies are forgotten, as this happens i feel like i am
parroting words, and sometimes i reflect: do i also really understand
these words, deep down to the longings of my heart?
thanks, but am i that really thankful to God?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coach Joe
Thirty years gone by
My senior year
Past many sunsets
Playing baseball
Coached
By an icon named Joe
His two hundreth win
Was hard to get
When it finally came
This game, Ill never forget
We started the year at eight and 0
His win total, at one ninety-nine
Lost eight straight
Then, we lost our minds
The celebration cake, got stale
Doing nothing right
Though we tried, with all our might
Depression, set in
Would he get that
Two hundreth win?
Hooray, It did finally arrive
Extra innings
A game for the ages
A tear in his eye
Again, this team was alive
'It's the little things'
He would say
That count in this game
On this field
In life, in every way
He called us knuckle heads
At times, he did yell
Was he joking or not?
Hell, we could'nt tell
My seven brothers
Were coached by this man
Giving all he had
To this small town clan
As long as I live
I 'll never forget
He called us by our last name
Knew everyone of us
Just the same
We will never, forget
Nor will we, ever regret
The discipline this man showed
Making men of boys'
Playing baseball
Learning heartaches and joys
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Dedicação
sometimes i do not like to write
even a word
i hate it when a time like this comes
to me
like a friend i detest for betraying me
and my secrets
i go places
to forget find me some green grass
and blue skies
i embrace the silence of the
hibernating fish in mud
somehow, this dedication comes
a fealty to word
a sense of i cannot be without it
i go back again
to my room
my head so full
my mind dancing again like a crazy bee
to the petals around me
so here i am
again writing for you
these lines are lovingly written again
i could have written one simple word:
hello.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembering And Forgetting
forgetting is
always harder
than remembering
weigh the two
the former
would the latter
kick off the scale
forgetting
is a word
reserved for
love ones
and used
always with a dont in front
as it has more weight
intensity
and is never
never meant to
be what it is
to forget a love one
never, even if it
takes a hell of time
remember
it is a desultory word
used for errands
such as taking
a book to the teacher
never for two persons
with close relationship
you dont say please remember me
that's begging
you say dont forget me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I began playing in the senior circuit when I was 15 and won the world senior amateur title the same year.
quote by Jahangir Khan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forget Him
forget his name
forget his face
forget his kiss
his warm embrace
forget the lovethat you once know
remember he has someone new
forget him when that played your song
remember when you cryed all night long
forget how close you once were
remember he has choose her
forget how you memorized his walk
forget the way he used to talk
forget the things he used to say
remember he has gone away
forget his laugh
forget his grin
forget the dimple on his chin
forget the way he held you fight
remember he's with her tonight
forget the time that went so fast
forget the love that moved'the past
forget he said he'd leave you never
remember he's gone forever
poem by Christane Darling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Recessional
June 22, 1897
God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle-line—
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The captains and the kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!
Far-call’d our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard—
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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