Kohelet Again It Is Not Just The Vanity Of Vanities
It is not just the vanity of vanities
It is not just the truth of the contradictions
It is not just ‘a time for this and a time for that'
It is not just ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth before the evil days grow nigh'
It is not just ‘Better a living dog than a dead lion'
It is not just ‘Enjoy your days with the wife of your youth'
It is not just the eternal truths
And the poem of the long home-
And the turning again and again of the wind and the water
And the sun and the sound-
It is not just the sheer beauty of the thing and its words
Despite an occasional archaic ugliness
It is not just the truth that cannot be gone beyond
Because this is what life is and what the grave is and what we are
It is not just too ‘that the making of many books much less the making of many poems is a weariness of the flesh-
It is that after all the years I have arrived at the time
Where the golden bowl may be broken and the voice of the grinders made low
And man return to his eternal home-
As in youth I in old age read and reread the words of the Preacher
And know myself and all of us in them-
Oh the greatest Literature is here
And part of it I repeat in my fragmented self
While the long distance of life goes beyond
In words which will be heard for the first time -
For this too is not everything
And what we do not know yet
Kohelet too does not know-
And for all of us as God permits
Who knows what will come
After the Vanity-
If it is after all Vanity
And the end of it all?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Related quotes
Amber Autumn (Sonnet)
To some, their youth was just sublime.
Then age crept up and over time
Their joy then faded with the years
As body changes led to fears.
Their days are spent rememb’ring when...
They long to see their youth again.
For those whose youth was filled with strife,
Their autumn years are best in life.
Now their retirement Is here,
Old age is far from what they fear.
Time now to enjoy and savour
Their rewards for past times labour.
It’s time to spread their wings and fly,
To enjoy God’s gifts ‘fore they die.
poem by Connie Marcum Wong
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On Anne Allen
The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--
Heaping them up before her Father's door
When I saw her whom I shall see no more--
We cannot bribe thee, Death.
She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good--
She knew thee not, O Death.
She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now;
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
And if one sighed to think that it was sere,
She smiled to think that it would bloom next year!
She feared thee not, O Death.
Blooming she came back to the cheerful room
With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,
And placed the fairest at her Father's side--
She cannot charm thee, Death.
Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;
We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall--
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,
As she went singing softly up the stair--
No voice can charm thee, Death.
Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind,
That made sweet music of the winter wind?
Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--
Idly they gaze upon her empty place,
Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face--
She is with thee, O Death.
poem by Edward Fitzgerald
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Where Does A Poem Begin?
WHAT DOES A POEM MEAN?
Where does a poem begin
And where does a life end
And what does it all mean?
The life the poem who and what we are
The stars will go on until they burn out and die in a time we will never see
The earth itself will go until it dies in the heat given by a dying sun.
All things lovely and beautiful
Grass and trees and lilacs and cities of love and people who care for each other
All good and great things-
Greater poems by far than this will forever not be
And music that makes the heart and mind more sublime.
All is vanity of vanity says the preacher.
Though not because it all returns to what it was
And repeats without end what it will continue to be
But because once and only once
Even our Universe will die.
Oh time oh life oh love oh peace
Oh words that try to mean
And cannot stay more than our own small instant of hearing and fearing
Death is our name
Death death death.
God forgive me
Only You can save us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Evolution [my Life's Journey]
Oh how sad it makes me feel
As I hear the footsteps of my youth
Grow fainter and fainter with every passing day
Leaving me nothing but memories,
Of my boundless energy and my lust for life
Seeking knowledge and truths
Looking forward to the days and years ahead
Letting my imagination take me to places
I may never see except through my minds eye
Where melting snows became a raging river,
Or blowing snow and howling wind,
Became a far off desert
But as reality took over fantasy
What we once could see is no longer visible
And just like a sculptor father time etching our faces
Taking away our youth with each strike of his chisel
With the hammer of time
Removing what was and leaving us with what is to be
Oh how we cling to those days of our youth
For those were the days when the world was ours
poem by David Kush
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The One Certainty
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith,
All things are vanity. The eye and ear
Cannot be filled with what they see and hear.
Like early dew, or like the sudden breath
Of wind, or like the grass that withereth,
Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear:
So little joy hath he, so little cheer,
Till all things end in the long dust of death.
To-day is still the same as yesterday,
To-morrow also even as one of them;
And there is nothing new under the sun:
Until the ancient race of Time be run,
The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem,
And morning shall be cold and twilight grey.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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These Are The Days
Ah ah
Heres a song
About living in the past
If it was so good then
How come it didnt last?
If it helps you
Ill put it in a phrase
Those were the times
But these are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
The times youre smiling back on
Had that great sitcom
It hardly compensated
For the terror of the bomb
Let me help
cause youre looking through a haze
Those were the times
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey hey
These are the days
Can you hear me now?
These are the days
Look around look around look around
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey live today
These are the days
Its time to put the past away
These are the days
The more you do the more you say
These are the days
The more I need to get away
Youre longing for a time
There never was
Now tell me the truth
Youre looking for the reason
Its because
Youre fighting for youth
But if I have to listen any more
To fantasy talk
Or any other bug you have
Im leaving
Now Im not saying
Everything is really great
Hey hey hey
After sixteen years
Of legalised class hate
Why waste time
Looking back for things to praise?
Those were the times huh
But these are the days
These are the days
Looking back in history
These are the days
Time to get contempory
These are the days
The past is not the place to be
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vanity, Vanity
Vanity, Vanity, all is vanity; words expressed to you and me,
All our labors, here on earth, and what ultimately is its worth?
All men are born to just die, a common destiny for you and I,
And all this life is meaningless, words Solomon uttered to us.
The wisest man to ever live, parting words that he would give,
To all of the people of his age, recorded on Scripture’s page,
And even for our age to read; words of wisdom we can heed,
As we reflect, also, on our life, in the blessings and the strife.
He speaks of life upon earth, through to death, from his birth,
Of all the events in between, as we are in this temporal scene,
And just how empty it can be, when peoples discount eternity,
And that lasting Hope, God gives, to every soul that still lives.
Friend, Ecclesiastes is the book, if one desires to take a look,
At other things Solomon said; wisdom, many souls have read,
While he draws conclusions to, life lived daily, by me and you,
On the planet, of God’s Design, Who changes not, in our time.
With everything Solomon knew, what is a conclusion he drew?
In all times consider The Creator, this world’s Lord and Savior,
Fear God and keep His Law, as He alone, can save one’s soul,
And use your life to glorify, The Lord God, Who reigns on high.
(Copyright ©07/2010)
The Complaints Return Upon Themselves
THE COMPLAINTS RETURN UPON THEMSELVES
The complaints return upon themselves
There is only old age under the sun.
Vanity of vanity of vanities
I am the greatest vanity of all.
Even the morning light
That usually wakes my soul
Cannot break the dim foreboding
Of Hell on the horizon.
I will die
I will go down
I know.
But my People
This Land
Will You Save us?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sounding I
I see my soul come galloping
making and patching my threading seams
embracing me in the gloaming
between twilight and evening
making new passages as the younger years
fall away.
I see my heart throbbing, mending
and renewing
even in a veil of past-time tears.
I see my youth standing by
in the cracked mirror
and curse how much of my outward identity is emprisoned
there
and the voice says counterpoint
'Don't drown in that mirror pool.'
I hear, voices, mostly my own
clamor down from its retreat
and reassert once again
'Why can I not be forever me
and not be betrayed
by times passages
and the views of me
others hold
who lack my life's memories
because they can only remember
the morning's cereal
whist I can recall
a life-time's banquet.
Yes, its time which is the barrier
I sometimes breach with stories
I tell my kids about the old days
how things were different
but they blank stare politely
and indulge dad's preoccupations
in irrelevancies, they themselves
can never know.
I feel my youth as if yesterday
explaining to them it took this long
to be me my youth again
but alas my renewed youth has become invisible
to them and other others
and I can hear them mouthing 'don't embarrass us
trying to be young again
look in the mirror; '
and I do and lecture it on its inadequacies
to reflect this new older, younger me.
Is this foolish, a chimera?
Or merely my own imagined and denied reflection.
But do I sound middle-aged and crotchety?
Maybe, but that is only sound
and not I.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Night Will Soon Be Lost
THE NIGHT WILL SOON BE LOST
The night will soon be lost
Another night of so many already gone
Who knows how many left?
I have seen far more nights
Than I will ever see again
Mostly it’s done
I have some nights left
But not so many
That I should waste it wholly
On frivolity
I’ll try now
To write a poem down
So this night
Will not have been wholly in vain
But who knows
Vanity of vanity of vanity
Perhaps for all nights and all poems- vanity
I am writing this poem down nonetheless
It flows as if it knows it has real life within it
I don’t know now how long this night will last
Or how many nights I have left
I have written a poem
Will G-d save it as if it were not vanity to vanity?
I do not know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Eleven and a half
To ever be eleven and a half is my one prayer,
For I feel it's an age with which few others do compare,
I'd laugh and play my days away without a single care,
I'd do what I willed even if it wasn't just or fair,
Although eternal youth seems like something we'll never see,
I tried to claim it as you can't say for sure what can't be,
I prayed so long and hard that the gods took note of my plea,
And somehow managed to get them to take pity on me,
When I finally realised I'd got what I'd asked for,
It took me some time to shake my crippling state of awe,
But youth's novelty soon wore off and it became a bore,
It proved best to grow old as I had been doing before,
So I looked to extreme means to escape life as a boy,
I took up smoking because of the health it would destroy,
And tried to gain worry lines by doing things that annoy,
Yet I'm still living this life that I don't really enjoy.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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Old Friends Of Mine
The songs they were singing from the golden days of our spring. When laughter rang out from those old friend of mine.
Where have they gone in the passing of time, and where are they now those old friends of mine.
The years have clouded the memories of them. The grey hairs are showing, how long has it been?
Oh where did they go? The friends of my youth. The flames of a young life and the passions we knew.
The days are shorter. Life still goes on. Our children are playing like we used to do.
Will they remember the friends of their youth when they get our age in their September song?
Oh where have they now those old friends of mine?
31 Dec 1995
poem by David Harris
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Youth + Old
Youth is
Ugly for
Old...
Old is the
Ugly for youth
But;
Life is not only;
Beauty and ugly...!
Youth and old
Life days
Killing fat;
Making youth
For mind
Enjoy the life...
Making old
For mind
Think to do
Each and every
One of the life...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An Eternal Choice
We come into life with no choice, simply born as girls and boys.
We are born of a man and wife, through whom we enter into life,
They become Mom and Dad, teaching us what’s good and bad.
Making the early choices for us, as the people that we can trust,
To guide us in our early life, steering us from the pain and strife.
They make all the decisions too, of what we can and cannot do,
As they help us all to grow, learning the things we need to know.
Preparing children for a time, when choices are yours and mine.
They know there’s coming a day, when we’ll go a separate way,
When children leave their home, to make choices on their own.
As you live out your early days, you follow in your parent’s ways,
The choices early on in life, may not have included Jesus Christ.
When we leave that chosen path, we may invite a parent’s wrath,
In spite of your parent’s reproof, you must choose Words of Truth.
For when God’s Truth is ignored, we need to then seek The Lord.
Although from the very start, parents indeed have a critical part,
Many following their own heart, from their early ways will depart.
There is no bigger choice friend, than that of a man’s eternal end.
A choice that’s a personal one, when believing in God’s Only Son,
For the only way to eternal life, is choosing the gift of Jesus Christ.
The parents of girls and boys, can’t make a child’s eternal choice,
Even if they known the Only Way, it is a decision you must make.
No one can make for you or me, the one choice regarding eternity.
That choice in which you believe, must be made before you leave,
And only with this eternal choice, when you leave, will you rejoice.
(Copyright ©06/2006)
In Youth-less Age
Though gentle, hopeful drifts we brood,
but age our wont be kind enough,
in threescores is when life imbued,
will partial be the earthly stuff;
but you'll still be my fancy then,
when Suns shall be the Shallowest,
and dry as those days -my fingers, pen!
Diluting the persistent best;
then shall I my own mind bereave,
when servile times would near a close,
but will your eyes, mine still deceive,
that greater truth than life propose.
The understanding of our earth,
up till we stay, -the way shall give,
entwine when with a lovers mirth,
we not our age but more shall live;
there I shall be a part of you,
though life may still not worthy be,
but time the hearts as one does sew
and breeds the soul's eternity.
Soon ladies fine with auburn head,
in youth's subservience shall grow,
with shadows white and lips blood red,
to whom the haste -the world will owe;
but, by the words that reason frowns,
and those that cost if cared for less;
within the gardens, across all towns,
just you my dame this heart possess,
as your my gardens cherished fruit,
could time nor age do you wrong,
your grace can shift a hand from mute,
such do my rhymes to you belong,
and the words, claims that come to me,
be their center, and my days renew,
until the time this soul is free,
and life us quells, an end pursue;
the end of the sojourn we made,
shall love then still be intense more,
when breaths and sight move to a fade,
like youth, your age -I shall adore.
R.N.Khan, © 2012
poem by Raja Nosherwan
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Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Time Does Not Make Sadness Any Less Sad
TIME DOES NOT MAKE SADNESS ANY LESS SAD
Time does not make Sadness any less Sad
Life is a long going home
We live and are young for years
But then the dark days come
And it is hard to find joy in them-
We are all going home
But the end is more painful and difficult
Oh youth oh joy oh brightness oh life
Let me sing a happier song
Here in my old age.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Wise Words of Gareth Pugh
Gone, baby gone -
are the days of youth
brought mostly in school!
Home sweet home safer?
=NOT!
School sweet school safer?
=Yes more or less!
Your wise words did not bore
a hole; rather it gently unlocked a...
closed heart -
into an open heart.
My days spent here are soon to be over
in this ole'but school sweet school.
The words will stay
stitched into...
...an open heart! -
as my respnsibulities change.
Advice given = advice used
in words; unlocking a door -
a door to say Thank You!
Gone, baby gone -
are the days of youth
brought mostly in school!
Home sweet home safer?
=NOT!
School sweet school safer?
=Yes more or less!
A door opens wide -
and in comes a breezy breeze...
...enveloping with my freedom
as your wise words described
it in images of hope and longing!
Now it finally but trully arrived
at my door step.
The wise words embraced and brought me to a freedom...
of hope!
poem by Celine Berghmans
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