An Old Man Wants Life To Be Pleasant
An old man wants life to be pleasant
He does not want to know too much
About the wars and conflicts of the world
He does not want to hear too much noise
He does not want to hear people argue
And know about other peoples quarrels
He wants life to be pleasant
He knows he will not save the world
The others will have to do that
He has done what he has done
And done it for a long time
It has made little difference
And what else he can do will make less-
He wants life to be pleasant-
Without disturbances and disorders
Without too many demands upon himself
Quiet
Able to do his own things
Not bothered
To sit at home when he wants
And walks when he wants
And talk with his wife when they both are at peace
Not to hear and know about all the problems even his own
To be pleasant
To be peaceful
Even if inside he knows its going wrong
Even if there is the pain
He wants it to be pleasant
For as long as it can be
Before its not.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Related quotes
Mr Pleasant
Oh mr pleasant, how is mrs pleasant?
I hope the world is treating you right,
And your heads in the air,
And youre feeling so proud,
cause youre such a success,
And the whole wide world is on your side, hey hey.
How are you today?
People say mr pleasant is good,
Mr pleasant is kind,
Mr pleasants okay,
Mr pleasant dont mind.
As long as mr pleasants all right, hey hey.
How are you today?
Hows your father, hows your mother?
Hows your sister, hows your brother?
Hows your brand, new limousine,
Twenty-four inch tv screen?
Did you like prosperity
More than you liked poverty?
Life is easier, so much easier,
Life is easier now.
Oh mr pleasant, how is mrs pleasant?
Did you know she was flirting around
With another young man,
And hes taking her out
When you have to work late?
And its not so pleasant after all, hey hey.
How are you today?
People say mr pleasant is good,
Mr pleasant is kind,
Mr pleasants okay,
Mr pleasant dont mind.
As long as mr pleasants all right, hey hey.
How are you today?
Mr pleasant is good,
Mr pleasant is kind,
Mr pleasants okay.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Propinquity (I've Just Begun To Care)
by Gerry Goffin & Carole King
The local rock group down the street
Is trying hard to learn their song,
They serenade the weekend squire
Who just came out to mow his lawn.
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
Charcoal burning everywhere,
Rows of houses that are all the same,
And no one seems to care.
See Mrs. Gray, she's proud today
Because her roses are in bloom,
And Mr. Green, he's so serene,
He's got a TV in every room.
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
Here in Status Symbol Land,
Mothers complain about how hard life is,
And the kids just don't understand.
Creature comfort goals, they only numb my soul,
And make it hard for me to see.
Ahhh...thoughts all seem to stray to places far away,
I need a change of scenery.
Ta ta ta ta, ta ta ta ta... (etc.)
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
Charcoal burning everywhere.
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
Here in Status Symbol Land.
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
(A pleasant valley Sunday)
Another pleasant valley Sunday,
(A pleasant valley Sunday)
(fade out)
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Monkee's Theme
Pleasant Valley Sunday
The Monkees
Your local rock group down the street
Is trying hard to learn this song
To serenade the weekend squire
Just came out to mow his lawn
Another pleasant valley sunday
Charcoal burnin everywhere
Rows of houses that are all the same
And no one seems to care
See Mrs. Gray she's proud today
Because her roses are in bloom
And Mr. Green he's so serene
He's got a TV in every room
Another pleasant valley sunday
Here in status symbol land
Mothers complain
About how hard life is
And the kids just don't understand
Creature comfort goals
They only numb my soul
And make it hard for me to see
My thoughts all seem to stray
To places far away
I need a change of scenery
(Ta ta ta ta....)
Another pleasant valley sunday
Charcoal burning everywhere
Another pleasant valley sunday
Here in status symbol land
Another pleasant valley sunday (repeat)
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Garner up pleasant thoughts in your mind, for pleasant thoughts make pleasant lives.
quote by John Wilkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April's Charms
When April scatters charms of primrose gold
Among the copper leaves in thickets old,
And singing skylarks from the meadows rise,
To twinkle like black stars in sunny skies;
When I can hear the small woodpecker ring
Time on a tree for all the birds that sing;
And hear the pleasant cuckoo, loud and long --
The simple bird that thinks two notes a song;
When I can hear the woodland brook, that could
Not drown a babe, with all his threatening mood;
Upon these banks the violets make their home,
And let a few small strawberry vlossoms come:
When I go forth on such a pleasant day,
One breath outdoors takes all my cares away;
It goes like heavy smoke, when flames take hold
Of wood that's green and fill a grate with gold.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Pleasant Valley Sunday
The local rock group down the street
Is trying hard to learn their song
Seranade the weekend squire, who just came out to mow his lawn
Another pleasant valley sunday
Charcoal burning everywhere
Rows of houses that are all the same
And no one seems to care
See mrs. gray shes proud today because her roses are in bloom
Mr. green hes so serene, hes got a t.v. in every room
Another pleasant valley sunday
Here in status symbol land
Mothers complain about how hard life is
And the kids just dont understand
Creature comfort goals
They only numb my soul and make it hard for me to see
My thoughts all seem to stray, to places far away
I need a change of scenery
Ta ta ta...
Another pleasant valley sunday
Charcoal burning everywhere
Another pleasant valley sunday
Here in status symbol land
Another pleasant valley sunday...
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murder of life
Ive lost my effort in life, maybe its just a simple crime. living life like it was murder can be pleasant when you are around strangers. Outgoing and fun isnt the solution, neighter strait or serious help the motion. having to live a double life its like taking a life, running away from problems everytime. life can be like a hard day with bad weather or like a sunny spring day, beautiful and clever.Some times we take our life and use it as a tool, people dont realize life its only one, live it full.
Life its a precious gift given by god and many people just lay there and drop. Ive lost my effort in life, maybe its just a simple crime. living life like it was murder can be pleasant when you are around strangers.
poem by Yaderin Cruz
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Maths Discovery
Turn into circles as we drag our spheres,
The shapes are plentiful, maybe the danger.
Inside we feel creepy, crawling into supper,
But the circles are condemning us in their glory.
The glory is shaking my head, crept upon
By mathematicians so awesome in writing.
The awe of lords and gentlemen is grand,
Grand is this pleasant news, so pleasant, pleasant news.
poem by Naveed Akram
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While I would agree that I write about serious subjects, and that they're not necessarily the most pleasant subjects or even the most pleasant people, as a writer I just think about the humorous aspects of these things - that's what keeps me going when I'm writing a story.
quote by Ann Beattie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pungent and pleasant it is.
Pungent and pleasant it is.
Asking pardon from pressure is
Swallowing one’s pride; pungent.
Showing power from position is
Showing one’s pride; pleasant.
To swallow it is as much pungent
As to show it is pleasant.
18.10.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Olney Hymn 12: Ephraim Repenting
My God, till I received Thy stroke,
How like a beast was I!
So unaccustom'd to the yoke,
So backward to comply.
With grief my just reproach I hear;
Shame fills me at the thought,
How frequent my rebellions were,
What wickedness I wrought.
Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd,
And left the pleasant road;
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd;
Thou art the Lord my God.
'Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem?
No,' saith the Lord, 'with all his faults,
I still remember him.
'Is he a dear and pleasant child?
Yes, dear and pleasant still;
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled,
And he withstood my will.
'My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again;
My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.'
poem by William Cowper
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A Stroll Along Old Memory Lane
A stroll along old memory lane is a thing I do enjoy
And I can hear the songbirds sing in the groves of Lisnaboy
And white butterflies are flitting midst the wildflowers of July
And above the rushy meadow the lark carolling in the sky
A stroll along old memory lane on a bright Summer's day
And from the sunlit meadow the scent of new mown hay
Is so pleasant to the nostrils in the freshening morning breeze
And the temperature a perfect of around 23 degrees
And on the leafy hedgerows the young birds chirp and sing
A stroll along old memory lane is such a pleasant thing
The hum of the wild honeybees the buzzing of the flies
The past from us not distant when we do visualize
And the skylark's song in the sunny sky is a pleasant thing to hear
As you walk along old memory lane in the Summer of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ruing
Grafted in different stalks,
I, late in life, you still in middle,
We met rather late, yet unable to hate.
Pleasant are we, each in other’s company
Pleasant can ever we be? Not sanctified.
Pleasanter can we be otherwise? Doubtful.
I wish I were born two decades earlier
And wish I met you a decade ago.
Mmm… Your mate is fortunate.
11.02.99, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Short; Personal: Wishes For My Future
To bring my marriage to a pleasant, successful end…
To be, for a few, a true and tolerable friend…
To help someone every day of my life…
To see a world (fat chance! !) without any strife…
To not live too long and not live too poorly…
To eat a healthy diet but have some sweets, surely…
To have health care 'as needed', but not too often…
To have those who oppose me, to me their hearts soften…
To 'see' my only child, Shannon, enjoy life and succeed…
To hear of more people sharing, and fewer with greed…
To grow a few veggies and see lots of birds…
To amuse myself and others as I make poems from words
(Nov.2010)
poem by Bri Edwards
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Spectator ab Extra
As I sat in the Café I said to myself,
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking,
But help it I cannot, I cannot help thinking
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
I sit at my table en grand seigneur,
And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor;
Not only the pleasure itself of good living,
But also the pleasure of now and then giving:
So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So pleasant it is to have money.
They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
And how one ought never to think of one’s self,
How pleasures of thought surpass eating and drinking—
My pleasure of thought is the pleasure of thinking
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
II
Le Diner
Come along, ‘tis the time, ten or more minutes past,
And he who came first had to wait for the last;
The oysters ere this had been in and been out;
Whilst I have been sitting and thinking about
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
A clear soup with eggs, voilà tout; of the fish
The filets de sole are a moderate dish
A la Orly, but you’re for the red mullet, you say:
By the gods of good fare, who can question today
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
After oysters, sauterne; then sherry; champagne,
Ere one bottle goes, comes another again;
Fly up, thou bold cork, to the ceiling above,
And tell to our ears in the sound that they love
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
I’ve the simplest of palates; absurd it may be,
But I almost could dine on a poulet-au-riz,
Fish and soup and omelette and that – but the deuce –
There were to be woodcocks, and not Charlotte Russe!
So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So pleasant it is to have money.
Your Chablis is acid, away with the Hock,
Give me the pure juice of the purple Médoc:
St Peray is exquisite; but, if you please,
Some Burgundy just before tasting the cheese.
So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So pleasant it is to have money.
As for that, pass the bottle, and d—n the expense,
I’ve seen it observed by a writer of sense,
That the labouring classes could scarce live a day,
If people like us didn’t eat, drink, and pay.
So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So useful it is to have money.
One ought to be grateful, I quite apprehend,
Having dinner and supper and plenty to spend,
And so suppose now, while the things go away,
By way of a grace we all stand up and say
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
III
Parvenant
I cannot but ask, in the park and the streets
When I look at the number of persons one meets,
What e’er in the world the poor devils can do
Whose fathers and mothers can’t give them a sou.
So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.
I ride, and I drive, and I care not a d—n,
The people look up and they ask who I am;
And if I should chance to run over a cad,
I can pay for the damage, if ever so bad.
So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So useful it is to have money.
It was but this winter I came up to town,
And already I’m gaining a sort of renown;
Find my way to good houses without much ado,
And beginning to see the nobility too.
So useful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So useful it is to have money.
O dear what a pity they ever should lose it,
Sine they are the people that know how to use it;
So easy, so stately, such manners, such dinners,
And yet, after all, it is we are the winners.
So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.
It’s all very well to be handsome and tall,
Which certainly makes you look well at a ball;
It’s all very well to be clever and witty,
But if you are poor, why it’s only a pity.
So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.
There’s something undoubtedly in a fine air,
To know how to smile and be able to stare,
High breeding is something, but well-bred or not,
In the end the one question is, what have you got.
So needful it is to have money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.
And the angels in pink and the angels in blue,
In muslins and moirés so lovely and new,
What is it they want, and so wish you to guess,
But if you have money, the answer is Yes.
So needful, they tell you, is money, heigh-ho!
So needful it is to have money.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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At Parting II
AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?
How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!
For in my acres is no plot of ground
Whereon could any garden site be found,
I have but little skill
To water weed and till
And make the desert blossom like the rose;
Yet our old garden knows
If I have loved its ways and walks and kept
The garden watered, and the pleasance swept.
Yet--if you must--go now:
Go, with my blessing filling both your hands,
And, mid the desert sands
Which life drifts deep round every garden wall,
Make your new festival
Of bud and blossom--red rose and green leaf.
No blight born of my grief
Shall touch your garden, love; but my heart's prayer
Shall draw down blessings on you from the air,
And all we learned of leaf and plant and tree
Shall serve you when you walk no more with me
In garden ways; and when with her you tread
The pleasant ways with blossoms overhead
And when she asks, 'How did you come to know
The secrets of the ways these green things grow?'
Then you will answer--and I, please God, hear,
'I had another garden once, my dear'.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Cow
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Pleasant Inconsequence
- does anyone hear
that something, so near
an ear, an eye
an eagle, a fly
a friend or a foe
where does it all go
I speak alone
words to a gamboling poem
left to right
not a care in sight
even the wind
in a rain decides to take a swim
souls soar to the clouds
where bodies are not allowed
those who hear
without fear
and who see
beyond the trees
and who shall fly
before a time to die
know life's more serious plot
is not to be got
they just enjoy their short time
and make up pleasant little rhymes -
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Retirement
My gentle friend! I hold no creed so false
As that which dares to teach that we are born
For battle only, and that in this life
The soul, if it would burn with starlike power,
Must needs forsooth be kindled by the sparks
Struck from the shock of clashing human hearts.
There is a wisdom that grows up in strife,
And one -- I like it best -- that sits at home
And learns its lessons of a thoughtful ease.
So come! a lonely house awaits thee! -- there
Nor praise, nor blame shall reach us, save what love
Of knowledge for itself shall wake at times
In our own bosoms; come! and we will build
A wall of quiet thought, and gentle books,
Betwixt us and the hard and bitter world.
Sometimes -- for we need not be anchorites --
A distant friend shall cheer us through the Post,
Or some Gazette -- of course no partisan --
Shall bring us pleasant news of pleasant things;
Then, twisted into graceful allumettes,
Each ancient joke shall blaze with genuine flame
To light our pipes and candles; but to wars,
Whether of words or weapons, we shall be
Deaf -- so we twain shall pass away the time
Ev'n as a pair of happy lovers, who,
Alone, within some quiet garden-nook,
With a clear night of stars above their heads,
Just hear, betwixt their kisses and their talk,
The tumult of a tempest rolling through
A chain of neighboring mountains; they awhile
Pause to admire a flash that only shows
The smile upon their faces, but, full soon,
Turn with a quick, glad impulse, and perhaps
A conscious wile that brings them closer yet,
To dally with their own fond hearts, and play
With the sweet flowers that blossom at their feet.
poem by Henry Timrod
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