I Played The Game Of Words For Years
I PLAYED THE GAME OF WORDS FOR YEARS
I played the game of words for years-
It did not bring me to Fame and Fortune-
I tried and tried,
But no one really cared for what I did.
Now I am quite old,
It appears I will never get to where I wanted to go,
I have sadness and regret for this,
But I doubt I can change it.
Life is not necessarily what we dream it will be
We strive,
But God may give us something different from what we hoped.
I am still alive
I am writing this now
I have had many years to write and try
I thank God for that.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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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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I've played heavies for years and years and years. I was bald. I came to Hollywood. I did a play about junk. I was a pusher, so I played pushers for years and years and years. I did war movies and things like that.
quote by Gavin MacLeod
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wasted Words Of All The Years
THE WASTED WORDS OF ALL THE YEARS
The wasted words of all the years-
The time given to them-
A lifetime given to words
Never to be read.
Yet how I lived in those years.
And what hope I had in those words
And how I told my dreams in them
And how I tried to help those I loved.
No one needs the words
And no one wants them
But perhaps the life itself
In writing them
That too counts.
All the years of the words and the dreams and the hopes and the love of those I loved and the striving for greatness not to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Oldest Game Played
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
Initiating disturbances,
And claiming to be victimized...
Is decreasing in its effectiveness.
People finally are opening their eyes.
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
They begin with pretense to befriend someone.
Like the smile of a demon,
To ensure its welcome.
And then to make claims...
Of something despicable the innocent one has done,
To then defame and assassinate good character...
With a perception that success,
Is soon to be won!
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
Those 'Woe is me I don't know what happened' facades...
Are being stripped away for what they are.
Those who deceive and lie,
With pity party invitations...
Have devastated friendships and relationships,
Behind masqueraded false faces.
The oldest game played,
Is coming to an end.
And those who have played it,
Are being exposed for perpetuating them.
'Why would they lie like that?
Deceive and create conflict? '
~What is it that you have they might perceive,
As a value to them? ~
'Well...
Nothing I haven't with them shared.'
~They did not want it shared!
They wanted it theirs.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Game Over
Counters laid, last card played, final dice thrown,
Match over, time up, final whistle blown
Game packed up, set aside, for another day
Two players, now apart, gone separate ways.
She was too committed; he hardly cared
Often she played solo, few games were shared.
In the end time ran out, so did the fun
Lost cards, broken pieces, too soon it was done.
He made all the rules up; she played it straight
He lied and cheated, it was stale-mate
Lost opportunities, failed strategies
Game plan was forgotten, nothing would please
The game is now over, nobody won
Why does she sit and cry, wanting to play on?
poem by Jackie Metcalfe
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Name Of The Game
No one believes me
Someone conceived me
A fluke in the night of obscurity
Played by millions simulcast by a few
A city no lights such a great view
Its all very strange its the name of the game
(chorus 1)
Its all the same its never gonna change
Its the name of the game
Over and over and over again
Time after time after time
Over and over and over again
Love is the name of the game
Come around and see me analyze or analogy
Ill give you a clue what you really need
If things get bad then things can get worse
Remember surrender remember the verse
Its all very strange its the name of the game
Its all the same its never gonna change
Its the name of the game
Over and over and over again
Time after time after time
Over and over and over again
Love is the name of the game
I say hold on tight
Say hey youre doin it right
As I wish for a full dream flight
Night after night Im a knight
Over and over and over and over
And over and over again
Time after time after time
Over and over and over and over
Love is the name of the game
And then it came to me
Its just a game to me
Love is the name of the game
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem that Played with Me!
We played and played
Hours days months years
You went your way
And I went my way
Then began a game
Of hide and seek
Tired I pushed the door
There you're hiding...
Tired I dropped to the floor
There you're under the cot
Did you go your way?
Did I go my way?
We still play and play
Hours days months years
You didn't really go anywhere
Nor did I go my way!
(26 May 2011)
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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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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He's only 4 years old, so I don't think he realized, you know, that I played so many years. Of course, we watch tapes here from the Stanley Cup years, but I don't think he realized how many years I played.
quote by Mario Lemieux
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Game of Life
Life is a game at which we play.
We make our moves on every day.
Some are right and some are wrong.
We usually look back as we move along.
But looking back doesn't change how we've played
unless you learn from mistakes you've made.
Few are winners and too many lose.
For the games's unfair and when you choose
a move that's not right you later regret
what you did. For you don't forget.
But since life's only a game we play
when the game is finished we finally say
'I should have done this or should have done that'
We fail to recognize that where we're at
is exactly where we should be.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Twenty- Fifth Yahrtzeit Of My Father
Dad I have written so many words about you
I have repeated your words again and again
I have described you
Laughed and cried in remembrance of you and Ma
All these years-
But what is it to you?
What does it all mean?
Is it ‘all just a dream'
There also?
Have these passing years meant anything for you?
Do you know of us and are you aware of all that has happened?
And when I come there most likely less than twenty- five years now
Will we meet again?
And will this longing to meet you end with nothing
Or with its realization?
Or perhaps will it never end
As we will both long from there too
Of the time we had together here for forty - five years?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Daddys Song
Years ago I knew a man
He was my mothers biggest fan
We used to walk beside the sea
And hed tell how my life would be
When I grew up to be a man
Years ago we used to play
He used to laugh when I ran away
But when I fell and hurt my knee
He used to come and comfort me
And the pain would go away
Years ago I knew a boy
He was his daddys pride and joy
But when the daddy went away
It was such a rainy day
That he brought out all his toys
Now the momma did explain
Trying to take away the pain
He just couldnt understand
That his father was not a man
And it all was just a game
Years have passed and so have i
Making it hard to cry
And if and when I have a son
Let it all be said and done
Let all that sadness pass him by
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Happy This Chanukah
I am happy this Chanukah
After all the years of praying and waiting
My children have children of their own
I thank God for this-
I am quite old now
But I don’t yet feel it that much-
Perhaps I did not make it in my work as I hoped
But in so much of my life the only word is ‘Gratitude’.
Thank God I am still here in Israel in Jerusalem
After all these years
Sitting in a park off Palmach Street
The sun on the page
Writing in calm
These small words down.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To Show Us All
Turned on the radio
to pass the time of day,
and all the DJ wanted to play
were songs about dying and lying,
broken hearts and sadness.
He never played a song
about the joys of being alive.
Just rolled out the carpet of tears
to tantalize our ears.
Whether it was me
or the music he played,
but all I could see
were the tragedies in my life.
The songs were depressing me
and in the end, I’d had enough,
reaching over I turned the damn thing off.
I wanted cheering up,
not into a depression fall,
so why can’t they play happy songs,
not ones with buckets of tears.
Is it possible the songwriters
look around and sadness
is all they see,
so they write about it
to show us all
how miserable we are?
7 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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Brave New World
One spoke: "Come, let us gaily go
With laughter, love and lust,
Since in a century or so
We'll all be boneyard dust.
When unborn shadows hold the screen,
(Our betters, I'll allow)
'Twill be as if we'd never been,
A hundred years from now.
When we have played life's lively game
Right royally we'll rot,
And not a soul will care a damn
The why or how we fought;
To grub for gold or grab for fame
Or raise a holy row,
It will be all the bloody same
A hundred years from now."
Said I: "Look! I have built a tower
Upon you lonely hill,
Designed to be a daughter's dower,
Yet when my heart is still,
The stone I set with horny hand
And salty sweat of brow,
A record of my strength will sand
A hundred years from now.
"There's nothing lost and nothing vain
In all this world so wide;
The ocean hoards each drop of rain
To swell its sweeping tide;
The desert seeks each grain of sand
It's empire to endow,
And we a bright brave world have planned
A hundred years from now.
And all we are and all we do
Will bring that world to be;
Our strain and pain let us not rue,
Though other eyes shall see;
For other hearts will bravely beat
And lips will sing of how
We strove to make life sane and sweet
A hundred years from now.
poem by Robert William Service
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Desire dies before fed.
As a boy I had had a desire
Of owning a trade game
Like the one my neighbour had.
With no recourse to buy it,
I collected boards and art papers
To make a copy of that game.
Collections took a few years by when
I had outlived the desire.
No game; no regret since then.
At seventy I nurture a desire:
To publish books of my poetry.
Finding means and resources
Has swallowed many years.
I’m afraid it would out grow the desire
And it would meet the same fate.
Each desire lives, starves and dies
Before fed, leaving no regrets.
07.07.2011.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A letter to My Dad
Dad it's been twenty years,
since you have been gone now
when ever I think of you
the thought, brings tears
There's so much to tell
you, I don't know where to begin
two months, after you died
we had a son, he's so big now, I'm in a spell
I wanted for you, to meet my wife,
in a way you did, only at your funeral,
by then, it was to late
strangers were we, but never any strife
Between us, there was no hate or any love
many wasted words had we
I would like to mention, we have a daughter,
and she's sweet as a dove
Remeber the day, that you gave me old shep
he was a very fine dog
for a long time, I had him
for many years, he had a lot of pep
After nine years, he died too,
seems like ever thing I love
dies sooner or later
and that makes me feel, very blue
You don't realize, how much you love
some one, until their gone,
and then they
fly away like a dove
Toward the end, we had some good talks
you told me many things i didn't know
at your farm, on our many walks
You told me how you played ball,
it must have been something,
to have played back then
my son, dad like you is very tall
I have a very happy life
dad, I wish you could meet
my son and daughter,
also my wife
Dad, it's to bad, I didn't know you better,
too many years were wasted
and I should have told you, I love you,
so that's the reason, for this letter
written June 18,1990 In Memory of my dad Elmer W. Foulk
Born September 13,1904 Died October 10,1970
Blackball
In this world of hate and shallowness
Where enemies become your consolation
And those of us who win the game give up our minds
I dont call that winning
Say this doesnt apply to you
But ask yourself first
What have I done today to win the game
And just what have I sacrificed
Win the battle lose the war
I know Ive played this game before
When people were still real
I dont want this anymore
Its time for me to close the door
Theres nothing left to feel
Reflect on all our yesterdays
My own words choke me
Why were they spoken
Regret for the things Ive said and done
Just cant compare with
Regret for those that I have never tried
So blame this world or blame yourself
Its really all the same
When you are standing on the precipice
From which you just cant return
Win the battle lose the war
I know Ive played this game before
When people were still real
I dont want this anymore
Its time for me to close the door
Theres nothing left to feel
In the style of forgotten men
I look to my horizon
I see nothing
While thoughts of guns and desecration
Sweep through my mind
But only coffins and bones remain
As I look to you
The emptiness behind your eyes
Seals my decision
Cant carry on in this world of juggling
Where all this thoughtlessness and bludgeoning
Your key to success
What kind of tradition to carry on
Blackball the new disease
Blackball the new disease
Blackball your evil ways
Have found their way inside me
Blackball the new disease
Blackball the new disease
Blackball for a better life
In this high tech dog eat dog existence
(chorus)
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The reason I am here, they tell me, is that I played the game a certain way, that I played the game the way it was supposed to be played.
quote by Ryne Sandberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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