En.Citatepedia^®.ro

George Meredith

Forty years back, when much had place
That since has perished out of mind,
I heard that voice and saw that face.

He spoke as one afoot will wind
A morning horn ere men awake;
His note was trenchant, turning kind.

He was one of those whose wit can shake
And riddle to the very core
The counterfiets that Time will break....

Of late, when we two met once more,
The luminous countenance and rare
Shone just as forty years before.

So that, when now all tongues declare
His shape unseen by his green hill,
I scarce believe he sits not there.

No matter. Further and further still
Through the world's vaprous vitiate air
His words wing on--as live words will.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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In The Way Back Then

Seven years ago,
I went back to Canada
after forty-two years.
I walked down a road
to show my wife where I used to live.
The road was built on rolling hills
and as I came over one,
I knew instantly where I was.
Things had changed
in those forty-two years,
some would say
it was unrecognisable
from what I used to know,
but as soon as I started down the hill
things came back like yesterday.
It was as if I had never been away.
Memories of my childhood
instantly sprang to mind.
I found myself seeing things
not as the now,
but there were changes
from the way back then.
The memory flashes
brought a smile to my face
as I could visualise
all the friends I knew then,
the funny incidents that over my life
in the way back then.
All too soon, time
has a way of taking things back
and my memory reclined them
to the back door of my mind.

30 April 2008

poem by David Harris
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I Am Told

For forty four years now

Each morning I woke up

I go straight to prepare

A cup of coffee for my wife

It's a ritual that I do

For forty four years

Not that she asks for it
But it's what I love to do

Love is what commands me

To lit a kettle to boil a water

For she likes it when its so hot

A coffee she drinks quite early

Suddenly, now that it's our anniversary

I do the thing I 've been doing ever since

We got married for forty four years back

Yet for the first time I am told just so today

That the coffee I served her now tasted bad

poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Poem for Molly's Fortieth Birthday

'Why do you
have stripes
in your forehead,
Mama?
Are you
old?'

Not old.
But not so
young
that I cannot
see
the world contracting
upon itself
& the circle
closing
at the end.

As the furrows
in my brow
deepen,
I can see
myself
sinking back
into that childhood
street
I walked along
with my grandfather,
thinking he was old
at sixty-three
since I was four,
as you are four
to my forty.

Forty years
to take
the road out . . .
Will another forty
take me
back?

Back to the street
I grew up on,
back to
my mother's breast.
back to the second
world war
of a second
child,
back
to the cradle
endlessly
rocking?

I am young
as you are
Molly-
yet with stripes
in my brow;
I earn my youth
as you must earn
your age.

These stripes
are decorations
for my valor-
forty years
of marching
to a war
I could not declare,
nor locate,
yet have somehow
won.

Now,
I begin
to unwin,
unravelling
the sleeves
of care
that have
stitched up
this brow,
unravelling
the threads
that have kept
me scared,
as I pranced
over the world,
seemingly fearless,
working
without a net,
knowing
if I fell
it would
only be
into that same
childhood street,
where I dreaded
to tread
on the lines-
not knowing
the lines
would someday
tread
on me.

Molly,
when you are forty,
read this poem
& tell me:
have we won
or lost
the war?

poem by Erica Jong
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Stafford's Cabin

Once there was a cabin here, and once there was a man;
And something happened here before my memory began.
Time has made the two of them the fuel of one flame
And all we have of them is now a legend and a name.

All I have to say is what an old man said to me,
And that would seem to be as much as there will ever be.
“Fifty years ago it was we found it where it sat.”—
And forty years ago it was old Archibald said that.

“An apple tree that’s yet alive saw something, I suppose,
Of what it was that happened there, and what no mortal knows.
Some one on the mountain heard far off a master shriek,
And then there was a light that showed the way for men to seek.

“We found it in the morning with an iron bar behind,
And there were chains around it; but no search could ever find,
Either in the ashes that were left, or anywhere,
A sign to tell of who or what had been with Stafford there.

“Stafford was a likely man with ideas of his own—
Though I could never like the kind that likes to live alone;
And when you met, you found his eyes were always on your shoes,
As if they did the talking when he asked you for the news.

“That’s all, my son. Were I to talk for half a hundred years
I’d never clear away from there the cloud that never clears.
We buried what was left of it,—the bar, too, and the chains;
And only for the apple tree there’s nothing that remains.”

Forty years ago it was I heard the old man say,
“That’s all, my son.”—And here again I find the place to-day,
Deserted and told only by the tree that knows the most,
And overgrown with golden-rod as if there were no ghost.

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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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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Kiwi Dave

For forty five years I've been working and I'm just an unfettered slave
And I have gray hairs to show for it I am quoting Kiwi Dave
Five years to go to retirement I was sixty last birthday
And ever since I've started working it's been uphill all the way.

My ex wife said that I was a drinker that I was too fond of the booze
That was her excuse for leaving she said I was born to lose
But I take it in moderation after work three or four beers
And I've been a slave for her and for my children for close to if not twenty years.

Fifteen years ago she left me and she went to live with younger bloke
She got more than half my assets for years to her haven't spoke
She turned my son and daughter against me and my six grandchildren I don't see
And I will spend my usual Christmas on my own watching T.V.

Kiwi Dave is a good person though just a little soured by life
And things for him would have been better had he had a faithful wife
'A woman she can make or break you' with that who could disagree
Dave could see the truth in those words for who would know better than he? .

For forty five years he's been working the hard worker Kiwi
Dave
And for his ex wife and his children for years he has been a slave
He looks older far than sixty the hard life has made him gray
Five more years left till retirement it's been uphill all the way.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Forty Years

(on the 10th anniversary of the end of world war ii)
Here in berlin - people line up to get in
To wait for the end - living in glorious sin
Theyve looked around - and now there is no looking back
To when rivers ran red - now its the sky that grows black
Shadows are cast as two giants roam over the earth
We light a match - but what is that little flame worth
Once allies danced and sang
But it was forty years ago
Here in d.c. - they talk about euro-disease
And how the french are always so damn hard to please
Otions are passed in brussels but no one agrees
And no one walks tall - but no-one gets down on their knees
Once allies laughed and drank
But it was forty years ago
Where I come from
They dont like americans much
They think theyre so loud, so tasteless, and so out of touch
Stiff upper lips are curled into permanent sneers
Self-satisfied
Awaiting the next forty years
Once allies cried and cheered
But it was forty years ago

song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turn Back

Only the wind sang the words he could hear
Born of the sand washed ashore on a tear
Time wrote the lines on his face like a scroll
Love is a loss to the man with no soul
Chorus:
Run through the darkness he hears - turn back
Theres no survivors, you cant turn back
Dreams keep him turning back the years
(instrumental break)
Raising his sail cast away on his own
Motherless child on a sea all alone
Morpheus calls but they wont lay him down
Creatures of midnight appear with no sound
Chorus
(instrumental break)
Run through the darkness, turn back the years, turn back the years

song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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39

I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair—
I’m going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
I’m going on for forty,
Where man’s strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows’ feet,
In spite of all my sins.

Then here’s the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the living Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.

The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhood’s grave—
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair—
We’ll find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.

Then here’s the wide, free Forties—
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wide, free Forties!
We’re good for ten years more!

The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
’Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
’Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And we’ll find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.

Then here’s the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then here’s the wiser Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.

The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them—
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.

So here’s the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And here’s the good old Forties!
We’re good for ten years more.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Forty Years Of Warning

Why did God wait forty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus?

An entire generation?

Before was fulfilled the prophecy of Jesus about the destruction of the Temple and fate of Jerusalem!

The number forty is symbolic of trial testing and punishment in Biblical symbolism.

Moses lead the Israelites through forty years of punishment in the wilderness before a new generation
was allowed to enter
the promised land.

Was waiting this forty years
to definitively
prove God's patience?

To allow the Jews time to repent
to turn back to God
to exhibit appropriate
behaviour and worship
so that God could
bless them as God desired
instead of punishing
them as he had warned?

Copyright © Terence GeorgeCraddock
See also 'Temple And City Were Destroyed In 70 A.D.! ' and 'The Fall Of The Temple In 70 A.D.! '

poem by Terence George Craddock
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In The Fields By The Sullane

In the fields by the Sullane that flows through Macroom
The wildflowers of Nature are now in full bloom
And the ageing migrant remembers today
The place where he lived in as a boy near a town far away.

His soul mate and the best friend he ever did know
His Aussie wife passed on a few years ago
Their grandchildren teenagers and time ticking on
And his best Seasons to the forever long gone.

To the young mind the far off hills always look green
And he left friends and family when he turned nineteen
The wanderlust in him for the big World out there
From the fields by the Sullane he would live elsewhere

Forty eight years out of Macroom in time quite a span
In this Southern Country a gray haired ageing man
The years telling on him the years never lie
Far from the Sullane he is destined to die.

To this Southern Land his best years he did give
And on his retirement pension he now has to live
The passing of time has left him walking slow
The one from the fields where Sullane waters flow.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Words

Can you feel it when
Your throat dries?
Can you see it in the night sky?
Just a mumble round at tea time
Smile
When Im watching you
When I was a child
We were living in fear
Living in fear
When I was a child
Just a light year from here
Living in fear
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Friends past missing
Reminiscing
Words came back to haunt you
Tolerating propaganda
And your girlfriend, alexandra
With her secret memoranda
Signs
For an interview
Searching for the light
In the world of the blahs
Masquerading as stars
How can this be right?
Youve been going too far
Leaving conscience ajar
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Friends past missing
Reminiscing
Words came back to haunt you
When I was a child
We were living in fear
Living in fear
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Friends past missing
Reminiscing
Words came back to haunt you
Worlds may shatter
Years dont matter
Words came back to haunt you
Friends past missing
Reminiscing
Words came back to haunt you

song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My playmates

The wind comes whispering to me of the country green and cool--
Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool;
It brings me soothing fancies of the homestead on the hill,
And I hear the thrush's evening song and the robin's morning trill;
So I fall to thinking tenderly of those I used to know
Where the sassafras and snakeroot and checkerberries grow.

What has become of Ezra Marsh, who lived on Baker's hill?
And what's become of Noble Pratt, whose father kept the mill?
And what's become of Lizzie Crum and Anastasia Snell,
And of Roxie Root, who 'tended school in Boston for a spell?
They were the boys and they the girls who shared my youthful play--
They do not answer to my call! My playmates--where are they?

What has become of Levi and his little brother Joe,
Who lived next door to where we lived some forty years ago?
I'd like to see the Newton boys and Quincy Adams Brown,
And Hepsy Hall and Ella Cowles, who spelled the whole school down!
And Gracie Smith, the Cutler boys, Leander Snow, and all
Who I am sure would answer could they only hear my call!

I'd like to see Bill Warner and the Conkey boys again
And talk about the times we used to wish that we were men!
And one--I shall not name her--could I see her gentle face
And hear her girlish treble in this distant, lonely place!
The flowers and hopes of springtime--they perished long ago,
And the garden where they blossomed is white with winter snow.

O cottage neath the maples, have you seen those girls and boys
That but a little while ago made, oh! such pleasant noise?
O trees, and hills, and brooks, and lanes, and meadows, do you know
Where I shall find my little friends of forty years ago?
You see I'm old and weary, and I've traveled long and far;
I am looking for my playmates--I wonder where they are!

poem by Eugene Field
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Day Time For Sure

I heard some words
Closely spoken to look forward
Was I in dream?
I searched around but felt it was Him

It is early morning
I had slept since late evening
Night was not that much pleasing
Yet it provided me new leasing

Morning is time for meditation
Wishing of very good relation
For self and entire universe
Peace and wish in mind without any curse

'You are my emissary' heard few words
As if some one spoke on behalf of lord
But was it something to do
Something was awaiting to proved it true

I have nothing to speak or react
What could I do to improve upon my acts?
Lead a normal life and spend the time
Among the poor and with downtrodden sometimes

Everybody needs some kind of shelter
Rest everything can go behind to look after
No one likes to be left behind
But from where else to get or find?

It might have happened due to chain of events
That I was passing through hectic movements
'World belongs to me and I am small creature'
I shall do whatever if I can do for our future

May be the words were for me to be heard
As were mere repetition for what I was looking forward
Same thing gave me lots of pleasure
I was not dreaming day time for sure

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Friends With Unseen Faces

'This is dedicated to Suzanne, Melvina, Alison and Francesca. My friends with unseen faces.'

For years my work lay hidden.
Gathering dust on my shelf.
Then came a chance encounter.
From a past half forgotten.
A voice across the internet.
A conversation was taken.
An introduction was made.
A new voice who sounded my praise.
Soon there was another and another.
From different parts of the world.
Four ladies who have helped me.
To find myself again.
They are strangers, but friends.
Kindred souls whom I’d never recognise.
If I passed them on the street.
Their words kind and supportive.
Have helped me to my feet.
After a drought of words.
They have rekindled an old flame.
Made me see again.
That my words can bring joy.
Again and again and again.
So to my friends with unseen faces.
A little gift from afar.
Hope you enjoy my praises.
As much as I enjoy yours..
We may never meet face to face.
Unless fate decrees it so.
But just remember wherever you wander.
You have a friend out there.
Who’s face you do not know.

poem by David Harris
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a Birthday

It’s full moon tonight
and yellow like Citrine
some golden rays
decent down to me
and it’s forty-five years
since my full moon first broke
in the dark onyx night.

The morning sun is ruby red
till it turns shining diamond bright
in a sapphire blue sky
and too intense to look at
and it’s forty-five years
since the first time
that I saw light.

The years flash past
and in this summer of my life
I wish that perennial
could my summer be,
but autumn has already
laid its hands on me
and there are grey specs in my hair.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Those Legs That Once Could Run So Fast

Those legs that once could run so fast feel heavy now and slow
He sure is not the man he was some forty years ago
He played football with his young mates he drank till pub closing time
But that was many years ago when he was in his prime,
On looking back the decades time seems to have gone fast
He had his good days one must suppose though nothing seems to last
And time catches up on all of us though some with hair dye cover their gray
But Mother Nature on us all does have the final say,
Forty five years ago he was the hero of the local Football team
In the cup final he kicked the winning goal a boost to his self esteem
By his team-mates he was shouldered from the field of play the cheers for him rang loud
And thinking of his glorious hour still makes him feel so proud
And now at night he sits at home with his ageing and forgetful wife
And time is catching up on him one might say such is life.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Poetic Style and Form

Forty words:

Monday is Haiku day
Tuesday is Nonet
Wednesday I write Rictameter
Thursday Triolet
Friday is my Tanka day
But Saturday's the best
Because I write a Sonnet
A literary quest...
Then I face Sunday's challenge:
'Forty Words' the final test.

poem by Joyce Hemsley
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The Age of Wisdom

Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin,
That never has known the Barber's shear,
All your wish is woman to win;
This is the way that boys begin--
Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,
Billing and cooing is all your cheer;
Sighing and singing of midnight strains,
Under Bonnybell's windowpanes--
Wait till you come to Forty Year!

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,
Once you have come to Forty Year.

Pledge me round; I bid ye declare,
All good fellows whose beards are gray,
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow and wearisome, ere
Ever a month was passed away?

The reddest lips that ever have kissed
The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and wisper and we not list,
Or look away and never be missed,
Ere yet ever a month is gone.

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier--
How I loved her twenty years syne!
Marian's married; but I sit here,
Alive and merry at Forty Year,
Dipping my nose in Gascon wine.

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Forever Young

In life there is only one certainty
and that is one day we will die,
it is only a question of
how and when that remains a mystery.
Scientist the whole world over
would love to find the solution
that could extend our lives,
letting us live longer
yet remain in good health.
As the population now
is living longer with each passing year.
Four hundred years ago
if you were forty you were old,
but now at forty we are still young.
In another four hundred years,
people who are one hundred
may be classed as being young.
The world can only wait and see.

4 November 2009

poem by David Harris
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