Felicity Quick Of Flight
Every time seems short to be
That's measured by felicity;
But one half-hour that's made up here
With grief, seems longer than a year.
poem by Robert Herrick
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As Festivities Bring Cheer
Short nights get longer,
When an hour from them is turned back to save.
And during this time of the year,
As winter approaches near in New England.
And that daylight that stayed,
Appears to slowly drift away...
From those longer days when the Sun would come.
And everyone enjoyed the having of fun.
Then October brings Halloween.
And in November Thanks is given.
Who doesn't think of Christmas in December?
With a passing of it to bring a New Year that visits.
Short nights get longer,
When an hour from them is turned back to save.
And during this time of the year,
As winter approaches near in New England...
Few are heard complaining as festivities bring cheer.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pessimism and Optimism
Life is love, lovely and loving
Grief influences life better than everything.
Having ever so beauty as like as heaven
Life is a strong attraction of spiritual illusion.
I love the wonderful world and want to love
I see the repentance of a dove.
I find felicity whenever and wherever
I encircle grief to form a wreath of cheer.
It is simple math, life is unique and felicity is enormous
Having sense of sorrow is inadmissible and obvious.
Making the obviation of sorrow is needed must
To be enjoyable and carefree in the universe
Grief is the founder of felicity forever
Helps to know ownself with the existence.
poem by Onon Sarker
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 5. Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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What old sadness can I let go of by sharing it today
How can we measure the grief we feel and and how we could put up with it. Doesn't the grief of death weight a ton or more. Doesn't it strenth out to a month a year or still longer. Is the grief of failture lighter then then the grief of empyness. Wheather we try to ingore or make light of it our grief like a ton of feathers or a ton of rocks is all the same to us. This much is sure if we lock our grief it will weight more on us. Andlengthen out if we open our hearts with weeping and words others will help carry it away. written and Posted 1/1/10
poem by Susie Sunshine
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Great Grief
William's son, named Hamnet,
died in 1596,
aged just eleven and a half
when Will was thirty two.
Will's great grief
made greater grief
to compensate for loss.
It mixed a wild concoction,
made grieving man go mad.
Hamlet given no relief
relieved sad Shakespeare's grief.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Playing cards
Half of them are nights;
The other half are days.
They are in total fifty-two,
Equal to weeks of a year.
They are in four groups,
Representing four seasons.
Numbers of each card
And Jokers added, come
To total days of the year.
Playing cards are made
After ‘time’ to kill your time.
25.08.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Half
Yesterday I said goodbye to my better half.
Yesterday I said farewell to the only one that made me laugh.
My heart is no longer whole for it has been torn in half.
My one and only has past.
I spent half of my life loving her.
Now, I’ll spend the rest of my life missing her.
She completed me.
She made me whole.
Now I’ll forever be half.
But a short time to live
Our little hour,—how swift it flies
When poppies flare and lilies smile;
How soon the fleeting minute dies,
Leaving us but a little while
To dream our dream, to sing our song,
To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower,
The Gods—They do not give us long,—
One little hour.
Our little hour,—how short it is
When Love with dew-eyed loveliness
Raises her lips for ours to kiss
And dies within our first caress.
Youth flickers out like wind-blown flame,
Sweets of to-day to-morrow sour,
For Time and Death, relentless, claim
Our little hour.
Our little hour,—how short a time
To wage our wars, to fan our hates,
To take our fill of armoured crime,
To troop our banners, storm the gates.
Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red,
Blind in our puny reign of power,
Do we forget how soon is sped
Our little hour?
Our little hour,—how soon it dies:
How short a time to tell our beads,
To chant our feeble Litanies,
To think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds.
The altar lights grow pale and dim,
The bells hang silent in the tower—
So passes with the dying hymn
Our little hour.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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I've Let Go
I've let go today
Of hope's and dreams of yesterday
For time and life
Have made them fade away
I could no longer hold on
With each passing year
What I thought was so dear
No longer has the same meaning to me
Was it that life has harden me
Or has reality made me see
That those dreams were never
Meant for me
poem by David Kush
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Diamond Mountain
Wind blows.
Rattled an invocation
two thousand years old
from bronze temple bells.
Brushes a susurrus
from ten thousand oak leaves.
Draws from their branches
the moaning
of two hundred year old wood,
the dry sound
of a long forgotten oboe.
Causes a seventy year old man
on a slatted bench
to tug a scarf across his chest.
Wind drops,
and slips back
into eternal silence
of measured decay.
Wind undefiled
speaking in many voices.
Diamond Mountain is
one hour high,
one hour wide,
one hour deep.
Every hundred years
a small bird comes
and rubs its beak.
When the whole mountain
is quite worn away,
the first second of Eternity
has passed.
poem by Brian Taylor
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Find Time To Experience Silence
silence
occurs not
in long bursts
silence
occurs not
in measured intervals
silence
is not happening
in counting seconds passage
half an hour
an hour embodied
in still motionless meditation
access
pure potentuality
in dimensions of silence
meditate
concentrated mind
is empty devoid of thought
aid
mental
spiritual perception
cast aside
turmoil thought fever
find time to experience silence
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Learning Geography
They have a few little hours
To study the world—
Its lovely absence of clouds,
Or the thunderbolts hurled
By hidden powers—
All the soft shapes of the vales
And the trees of the north
They dream of a minute, no longer,
No longer—then forth
Ere the year fails
To cities where carnival glows
Or the furnace is bright.
So is measured or leisured
According as teachers dispose
Their cosmic delight.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Last Year
I may be in my Junior year.
But next year is my last year.
As I look back on the time I’ve been here,
And it feels like my first day as a freshman.
No matter what year I’m in school, I will always be meeting new people.
Most of the people I meet is the people who had moved away,
Now coming back.
Half the friends you come in with,
Will end up being half the friends you won’t be friends with.
So far what I am trying to say is that you need cherish the moments you have.
In a blink of an eye it will all be over.
You say your years won’t be like that
And when you graduate you say where does it go.
My Last Year’s about to begin! !
poem by Natasha Knowles
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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On The First Day Of This Year
new year.
the happy faces
in those
pictures in
Facebook
i hope
are not pretty lies.
most of the time
they are
on the first day of
this year
of the water dragon
we shall play a
new game
breathing fire
growing wood on
water
believing in
what is not credible
on the first hour
of this year
or even the hour before
that
you shall begin
disliking me
every part of me
but as a compromise
i will just
be sleeping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Memory-Picture
Laugh, my Friends, and without blame
Lightly quit what lightly came:
Rich to-morrow as to-day
Spend as madly as you may.
I, with little land to stir,
Am the exacter labourer.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
But my Youth reminds me—‘Thou
Hast liv’d light as these live now:
As these are, thou too wert such:
Much hast had, hast squander’d much.’
Fortune’s now less frequent heir,
Ah! I husband what’s grown rare.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Young, I said: ‘A face is gone
If too hotly mus’d upon:
And our best impressions are
Those that do themselves repair.’
Many a face I then let by,
Ah! is faded utterly.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Marguerite says: ‘As last year went,
So the coming year’ll be spent:
Some day next year, I shall be,
Entering heedless, kiss’d by thee.’
Ah! I hope—yet, once away,
What may chain us, who can say?
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint that lilac kerchief, bound
Her soft face, her hair around:
Tied under the archest chin
Mockery ever ambush’d in.
Let the fluttering fringes streak
All her pale, sweet-rounded cheek.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint that figure’s pliant grace
As she towards me lean’d her face,
Half refus’d and half resign’d,
Murmuring, ‘Art thou still unkind?’
Many a broken promise then
Was new made—to break again.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind,
Eager tell-tales of her mind
Paint, with their impetuous stress
Of inquiring tenderness,
Those frank eyes, where deep doth lie
An angelic gravity.
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
What, my Friends, these feeble lines
Show, you say, my love declines?
To paint ill as I have done,
Proves forgetfulness begun?
Time’s gay minions, pleas’d you see,
Time, your master, governs me.
Pleas’d, you mock the fruitless cry
‘Quick, thy tablets, Memory! ‘
Ah! too true. Time’s current strong
Leaves us true to nothing long.
Yet, if little stays with man,
Ah! retain we all we can
If the clear impression dies,
Ah! the dim remembrance prize
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
poem by Matthew Arnold (1849)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Life's Too Short
I let you escape, slip through my fingers
We made our mistakes, but memories linger
Each time I turn a corner I swear I see your face
But I'm standing here alone in the wonder
What I really needed, what made me run away?
Was it just somebody's spell I was under
(Chorus)
We all love on borrowed time, tomorrow's flying blind
And life's too short to be living without you
You laughed at my jokes, broke down my defenses
It's like my heart just awoke, and brought back my senses
I've got my motor running, it's all that I can do
Cause every road I'm taking, is leading back to you
Repeat Chorus
We all love on borrowed time, tomorrow's flying blind
And life's too short to be living without you
And life's too short
And life's too short
I give in I can't go it alone, yeah I'm done now I know that you're gone
I need someone to save me and life's too short, too short
I give in I can't go it alone
Life's too short to be living without you
Life's too short
I give in I can't go it alone
Life's too short can't be living without you
Life's too short
I give in I can't go it alone
I can live without you
Life's too short
I give in I can't go it alone
Life's too short to be living without you
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half An Hour Of Your Happiness
Your heart is in my hand
I am looking after half an hour of your happiness
I am imagining your sad smile
It seems you depend on me too much
I can feel your heart beating
I am putting it into your half an hour of happiness
It is in a safe place in my hand
It seems you depend on me too much
The rhythm of your heart is getting faster
It is happy in your half an hour of happiness
They are in my shaking unsteady hand
It seems you depend on me too much
Your heart wants to jump out of the cage
Called your half an hour of happiness
I am holding them with both hands and trembling
It seems you depend on me too much
Your heart has gone crazy and I do not know why
I wonder if it will survive your half an hour of happiness
I open my hands and I see two embraced hearts
It seems I depend on you too much
poem by Jankovic Zoran
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One Year
What's in a year?
We watch it disappear.
Its days go by.
They seem to fly
into the ethers of the past.
A year too swiftly
does not last.
And yet each day within the year
contains within it
every single minute
where your life is resolute
and filled with purpose.
A year is not just calandar days
to be scratched off one by one.
When you do this it's then you find
you miss out on its fun.
In a year one can learn
to appreciate the time you have
to be among the living,
the time you have for giving.
In a year you learn about power
that allows you to fill each hour
with everything you love.
What's in a year?
All things new that can appear,
things you've never given thought to,
things in life you want to do.
Before the year has gone away
see before you each new day
and as the year meets its end
be one who can say
'This year has been my friend.
It gave me solace, gave me peace
and it gave me the chance to release
Pain.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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January Once More
Last year has come and gone.
Now a blanket covers a once green lawn.
A prime time for New Year’s resolutions
Though most will be brief in executions.
Seems like only yesterday
When the last January made its way.
Now another appears for a short stay
Before eleven months are blown away.
In spite of all the cold and snow,
Enjoy this time no matter where you go.
Delight in the joys of January
Since like all things in life, it’s temporary.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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