When I Was Young
When I was a young I was impressionable
I believed everything to me that was told
But then suddenly in miracles I stopped believing
That was the day that I grew old.
I now do not believe in any miracle
As I was taught they do not or cannot exist
From the complex creation of any life
To the formation of a tiny cyst.
So no longer do I walk in amazement
That is created by our world and nature all around
I now know everything can be explained
From a slight touch to the hearing of a sound.
When I was a boy I played with toy soldiers
I played with toy guns and I even played war
But then I grew up and reality it sat in
Now those games I play them no more.
Seashells they do not speak the ocean
The end of a rainbow it holds no pot of gold
Wishes cannot be granted by the first star at night
Sometimes I wish that I didn't grow old.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A World Of Our Own
As children when we played,
we created a world of our own.
We let our imagination take us
wherever we wanted to be.
One day we could be the super hero
rescuing the damsel in distress,
next day we could be a cowboy
riding along in the lonesome prairie.
Whatever we wanted to be
we could find it within our imagination.
A branch could be our rifle
as we played soldiers on parade
marching in front of some large crowd.
Every object that we touched
became whatever we wanted it to be
within that world of our own.
As we grew older
and reality crowed us in
some of us, retreated
and put pen to paper began to write.
Again, we let our imagination go
beginning with words;
we created a world of our own
as our visions of fantasy
danced around inside our head.
Taking us back to our childhood
and our imagination that we like to explore
in that wonderful state, we call
a world of our own.
5 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Play Entirely By Yourself
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
Is this something done consciously?
Is this a game played with me you believe I can't see?
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
At first I thought you were sincere and honest.
I did not suspect you to be,
Someone who played with others emotionally.
I did not detect this from you at all.
Until you would say disrespectful things,
When I would think of you and place a telephone call.
I did not suspect you to be,
Insensitive and distant when you chose to be.
And had no regard for the feelings of others...
Until I caught you embellishing,
Something you did for someone claimed...
When I was the one who did it,
And you didn't mention me by name.
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
Is this something done consciously?
Is this a game played with me you believe I can't see?
Or is it that you are that experienced,
And the game you play and have created...
Only to you when implemented makes sense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Without a Hint of Wisdom
Caught up in the 'what ifs' and 'whys'.
And not seeing eye to eye with a reality
That has longed called for their attention!
No one wants to mention that.
They would rather play cat and mouse games.
And play tag with an upcoming disaster!
This will be their glory!
And their claim to fame.
This they play...
Is the ignorant game,
Played their way!
Caught up in the 'what ifs' and 'whys',
Have been those who chose to lie all their lives.
Storytelling their way to prescribed drugs!
And many find them pleasant to be around.
It then becomes no secret kept as to 'why'.
This they play...
Is the ignorant game,
Played their way!
When they are seen caught up,
In the 'what ifs and 'whys' of life.
It becomes clearly understood without question,
They have been detached much longer...
Than they were thought to be deranged!
And 'this' those who know,
Have found attractive to show...
As a destination.
To astound the nonbelievers!
This they play...
Is the ignorant game,
Played their way!
Caught up in the 'what ifs' and 'whys'.
And not seeing eye to eye with a reality
That has longed called for their attention!
No one wants to mention that.
They would rather play cat and mouse games.
And play tag with an upcoming disaster!
This will be their glory!
And their claim to fame.
This they play...
Is the ignorant game,
Played their way!
For lives that stay tricked,
Without a hint of wisdom...
Exiting from their lips!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Woman
In my eyes, as my eyes being but two
Their is nothing more beautiful and
exciting as a Woman true.
GOD has created His flowers and his trees,
But in my eyes He never really created
until He created Woman.
She with hair as long as the grass
blowing in the breeze.
She with eyes as bright and deep as
the sun awaiting for me.
Eyes that can search a mans soul for
his woe, and feels it with happiness.
She with a smile as a rainbow arriving
after the storm.
The smile and rainbow many men had
searched for, so to feel our soul with warmth.
She with a body and walk as an Angel,
That stops mans breadth in His lungs.
She with the gift of life, that gives an old
man the right again to feel young.
She with a scent of Her own that no one
but Her owns.
As the rose and dewdrops has their own
she has hers, but alas theirs can be owned.
GOD created the flowers and trees, and all
the beauty of this world.
And I know I wouldn't be alone when I speak.
Take your leaves, and take your trees.
Take your rose, and take your snow.
But I beg of you GOD please, women to me, leave.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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In Deep Thought
In deep thought
as I walk
The world passes me by,
Then suddenly in a wink
I sit down and begin to cry.
To all my friends whom I said goodbye.
In deep thought
As I think,
Memories begin to appear.
Of all my friends
Whom I said goodbye
But suddenly, they now are here.
As life came easy,
Death came hard,
As it's faith last played card.
But then I smile
For friends do die
But their dreams die so hard.
In deep verse
As I speak,
The words they leave my mouth,
Of the memories that I thought
Formed into a cloud,
Shaped into a child.
They sit at my feet
And wisper in my ear
The secrets of being young.
But thern I smile
For their secrets are known
As my life becomes undone.
In deep stress
I finally confess
Of secrets I once had held,
I open up their door
That has been locked before
Being as deep as a wishing well.
They come to the surface
And they clear my mind
My brain now knows no crime.
But only that, of being alive.
In deep wonder as I sit
I begin to think and reflect
For people do die
And children do cry
But their dreams will always live.
And hopes they'll always give,
In deep thought, as I think.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Follow The Leader
Remember the game we used to play?
We played while in school.
We played it with friends.
It was called 'Follow The Leader'
The leader would show you the way.
We followed along and did what he did.
He jumped. We jumped.
He clapped. We clapped.
He ran. We ran.
He snapped. We snapped.
And as you followed you knew
you were still in the game but then grew.
You stopped the game or did you?
Are you still a follower in all you do?
Some are born leaders and some are not.
So now what we have is a sorry lot
of folks leadin' the way
into deceit and moral decay.
It's time to wake up.
Get off the bandwagon
with its popular way to go.
That childhood game of 'Follow The Leader'
will never allow you to grow.
I've never believed in following the leader.
It's a dangerous thing to do.
For the road they are taking and traveling
may not be good to pursue.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I always enjoyed playing ball, and it didn't matter to me whether I played with white kids or black. I never understood why an issue was made of who I played with, and I never felt comfortable, when I grew up, telling other people how to act.
quote by Willie Mays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why
Why does my heart keep on beating,
If you are no longer here.
Why does my eyes keep on seeing,
If now they are full of tears.
Why does my ears keep on hearing,
If they cant hear your sound.
Why does my lungs keep on breathing,
If you are no longer around.
Why do I exist without you
I thought for sure that I would lay down and die.
But instead my life, it became meaningless
So I reminisce, then I write and then I cry.
I never knew how life would be without you,
Ever since the day that you first came in,
So I will say again, forever I will love you
But these feelings I know not where to send.
Why does the birds keep on singing,
Don't they know, that my life has been torn.
Why is the sky so happy and blue,
Doesn't it know, that it is time for a storm.
Why are so many souls still in love,
Don't they know that I am all alone.
Why cant the feel the coldness in the wind,
Cant they hear my brain, and my soul moan.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Autumn Leaves
Autumn leaves, in the trees
Falling to the ground
Colors of many, in the breeze
Of red and orange and brown.
Rainbow parks in the dark
Moonlight shimmers down
On the leaves, from the trees
Falling to the ground.
Lovers walk, hear them talk
To where Children played
See the beauty, and feel the warmth
From where nature stayed.
Barren trees, forgotten leaves
Another year gone by
All alone from a breeze
As the lovers softly cry.
Autumn leaves from the trees
Lying, on the ground
See the beauty, feel the warmth
And hear, autumns sound.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Lame Game
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same...
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game
Being played...
Is so lame!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
It's all the same.
A lame game!
It's all the same,
When a game is played lame,
And the game being played
By the players who play...
Is so tired and lame anyway!
And lame it will stay everyday!
'Cause they 'got no' shame
To play such tired games
Knowing it's all the same,
When a game is played lame!
And the game stays the same
'Cause no one wants to change
From a game that is lame..
And each day that lame game,
Stays the same!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sunset
Sand beneath my feet
Sky above my head
Looking for the sunset
The sunset I have left,
I am walking all alone
On the beaches sand
Walking by myself
With seashells in my hand,
Looking for the sunset
the sunsets which are spoke
The one that lover’s kiss to
The one, poets have wrote.
Walking arm in arm
With a different thought
Searching for the sunset
The beauty, many have sought,
I am walking all alone
With the sky above my head
Still looking for the beauty
The sunset I have left,
For many have told me
Many have also explained
There is nothing like the sunset
Or the summer’s rain,
I am walking all by myself
From my cloudy life
Looking for the wonder
The beauty after night.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Aftermath
'The Tree Still Stands! '
Exclaimed the boy clasping his hands
To his Father who was walking the rear,
And to his Grandfather who was nowhere near.
For happy was He.
For standing there so straight and tall
Was the tree whose limbs He crawled
And the branches from which He played,
And the root where His head once laid.
And the many leaves.
Now the Father whom hearing His Son
Came to his side in a moment run
Then He stopped; for the tree He saw
Then the Father just stood in awe,
And uttered; 'my old friend'.
For standing there was His friend
From which before His youth was spent
By climbing and playing games,
And hiding under, from the cold and rain.
And the wind.
Then the Grandfather came strolling up
And He paused, in a moment hush
To reflect to a different year
When He was a Child, and He cried a tear.
And He clasped His hands.
For he was then again a Child
And then again He cried and smiled,
For He remembered His Father and He,
And how together they planted a tree.
And it still stands.
'Thank GOD the tree still stands! '
Cried the Grandfather clasping His hands.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Miracles
I am a miracle.
Didn't you know?
But when you look from the outside,
One wouldn't think so.
Look into my heart
And you will find him there;
The one with the secrets.
I am a miracle.
Haven't you heard?
The man of great dreams
First told me the word;
Miracles! Miracles!
Never expected!
From the scars in his hands
Set free! Protected!
You can be a miracle.
Haven't they told?
Become born again
And beside him grow old.
Look into your heart.
Search for him there.
And speak to the man with the secrets.
I played mostly games like Asteroids and Pac-Man. Today, when I go into an arcade, the games are much more difficult and complex. I don't think I could even play some of the video games that are out there today.
quote by Brandi Chastain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can Play (Lyrics) :
He didn't give himself up to fear.
And his voice had a life of its own.
He didn't give himself up for broke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar', 'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to drinking beer.
His voice still had a life of its own.
And he didn't give himself up for smoke.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
He didn't give himself up to curcumstance.
Always tried to make it alone.
He didn't give himself up to telling lies.
His honesty was already shown.
Always kept himself up to par.
Just a man who played his guitar.
He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'...
Rock Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Dont Be Denied
When I was a young boy,
My mama said to me
Your daddys leavin home today,
I think hes gone to stay.
We packed up all our bags
And drove out to winnipeg.
When we got to winnipeg
I checked in to school.
I wore white bucks on my feet,
When I learned the golden rule.
The punches came fast and hard
Lying on my back in the school yard.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Well pretty soon I met a friend,
He played guitar.
We used to sit on the steps at school
And dream of being stars.
We started a band,
We played all night.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Oh canada
We played all night
I really hate to leave you now
But to stay just wouldnt be right.
Down in hollywood
We played so good
The businessmen crowded around
They came to hear the golden sound
There we were on the sunset strip,
Playing our songs for the highest bid.
We played all night
The price was right.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Dont be denied, dont be denied.
Well, all that glitters isnt gold
I know youve heard that story told.
And Im a pauper in a naked disguise
A millionaire through a business mans eyes.
Oh friend of mine
Dont be denied.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My father actually moved out from Chicago just so he could play tennis 365 days a year, so it was - it was a place we played every day. We played before school. We played after school. We woke up. We played tennis. We brushed our teeth in that order.
quote by Andre Agassi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Do You Live With Yourself
Sometimes I think and I also wander
As I think of our world and everyone else,
But now I am thinking only of you
And I think, how can you live with yourself.
Are you happy with the things you have done
Will you be happy with the things that you will do
As I am happy to be remembered as I am
And tell me, will anyone say the same about you.
I have seen you lie yet so many, many times
And also seen you used so many sadden souls
And I was there to be used and also abused by you
And for no one but yourself do you have pity or woe.
You have played your roll so many sad times
Acting like you were the victim of a crime
But GOD will open up your heart one day
And then you and everyone will see who was lying.
As I think what examples will you have set
For your daughters and maybe yet their friends
Is it that vows and promises are meant to be broken
And if your not caught, it is not really a sin.
Are you ashamed when you walked down the street
Are you daughters embarrassed to call you mum
Do they tell you what their friends say and think about you
And do you know at the end of many jokes you are the pun.
Do you smile with the life that you are living
Are you happy with the life you and your girls live
Do you have them still believing the lies you tell them
As if you do, for them a deeper grave you will dig.
Judgment day for all it will come and then will go
And sadly for you your destination as been dealt
And when you gone, and yours daughters live on
Will they say, How did you live with yourself.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Upon A Time In America
It was a cold January morning,
all around looked a bit boring.
In Washington’s subway
was the beginning of the ordinary day.
Everyone was in a hurry,
they didn’t want to worry
and didn’t pay attention
to the man I would like here to mention.
The passer-bys didn’t clap
to the man wearing jeans and baseball cap.
They all looked at the clock,
so that to get in time for their work.
It was not a tradition
to listen to a street musician.
That man played his violin.
He didn’t try to win.
He was in his own skin.
Would you like to know?
It was certainly not a show.
But…he played
the most beautiful works of art,
the best musical compositions.
Those sounds could touch anyone’s heart
if they were played in another condition.
Now, I would like to tell.
That man was Joshua Bell,
the famous American violinist.
He didn’t persist on subway’s stage,
He was not in a rage for earning 32 dollars,
playing only 45 minutes.
For a street player it’s a good salary,
considering the USA country.
But…you know what?
There is something I forgot.
Two days before
His salary was insanely more.
For the concert in Boston it was a million
because he was really brilliant.
But…in Washington’s subway
Everyone went away
without hearing his play.
Here is my comment.
It was an experiment
suggested by Washington Post.
I don’t know it’s cost
but I know quite well
we do not hear even the church bell.
We are blind and deaf
And it’s the biggest grief.
One man from that subway’s crowd had said:
He played too loud.
©Larisa Rzhepiahevska
The 5th of March,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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