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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40-40 Home
Think in time
Early evening light will start to fade
And well be called inside
To wait for chance to say
Can I stay out late or maybe just an hour
But when you call I know that all I have to say is...
Forty forty home
You never could catch me
With a stocking and a ball
Around the world a yo-yo spun
You would skip and I would run
Those long days are slipping away
Days will pass
Taking turns to hide and lose our way
And beats will change the rhythm of the year
A worn out gate will swingalongasister
And running out calling to a friendly teaser
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way
Cross my path was something
I could not expect again
From beast to beauty, beautiful remain
Slide this way
Dont leave your past in shadow
And paper plane will fly your way on golden wings of...
Forty forty home
So now you have caught me
Your stocking said it all
Played the game and won, two, three
Made your move and captured me
So never let me go
Counting the spots on the lino
It seemed such a waste of time
But cant you stick to your side of the garden?
And I to mine!
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hilda
I know a woman she is forty three
And she still search for an identity
I'm still a stranger to myself she say
And in the maze of life I've lost my way.
Retrenched from her job earlier this year
She does not know where she is going from here
She now live on welfare a quarter of her wage
And her barrier to employment is her age.
With job seekers half of her age she must compete
And she feels that by time she has been beat
At forty three on the wrong side of time
And employers see her as well beyond her prime.
She was a young woman twenty years ago
And Hilda herself still doesn't seem to know
Where her life's going to, she feels a lost soul
And a bleak looking future on the dole.
I know a woman she is unemployed
And out of work to her means loss of pride
And though on her birthday she was forty three
She still searches for an identity.
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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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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Thirty-nine
O hapless day! O wretched day!
I hoped you'd pass me by--
Alas, the years have sneaked away
And all is changed but I!
Had I the power, I would remand
You to a gloom condign,
But here you've crept upon me and
I--I am thirty-nine!
Now, were I thirty-five, I could
Assume a flippant guise;
Or, were I forty years, I should
Undoubtedly look wise;
For forty years are said to bring
Sedateness superfine;
But thirty-nine don't mean a thing--
À bas with thirty-nine!
You healthy, hulking girls and boys,--
What makes you grow so fast?
Oh, I'll survive your lusty noise--
I'm tough and bound to last!
No, no--I'm old and withered too--
I feel my powers decline
(Yet none believes this can be true
Of one at thirty-nine).
And you, dear girl with velvet eyes,
I wonder what you mean
Through all our keen anxieties
By keeping sweet sixteen.
With your dear love to warm my heart,
Wretch were I to repine;
I was but jesting at the start--
I'm glad I'm thirty-nine!
So, little children, roar and race
As blithely as you can,
And, sweetheart, let your tender grace
Exalt the Day and Man;
For then these factors (I'll engage)
All subtly shall combine
To make both juvenile and sage
The one who's thirty-nine!
Yes, after all, I'm free to say
I would much rather be
Standing as I do stand to-day,
'Twixt devil and deep sea;
For though my face be dark with care
Or with a grimace shine,
Each haply falls unto my share,
For I am thirty-nine!
'Tis passing meet to make good cheer
And lord it like a king,
Since only once we catch the year
That doesn't mean a thing.
O happy day! O gracious day!
I pledge thee in this wine--
Come, let us journey on our way
A year, good Thirty-Nine!
poem by Eugene Field
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Ready For a New Year
Im ready for a new year...
Well, maybe a new day.
Im just ready to be ok.
No more worry's and no more pain...
And do you think that's insane?
Im just ready to be done.
I can't say this year was fun,
but even now, i have no regrets.
what i have been threw has yet to be put to rest.
A new year, month, or week.
Can't you tell i am ready?
And i can't stress this enough,
i know life is tough,
so wish me good luck.
Im so ready for a brand new year,
and i can't wait till it gets here.
Because, when it do-
don't say i didn't tell you...
Im Ready For a New Year! ! !
yours truly:
THE heartbraker
poem by Madina Morr
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It's Just Another New Year's Eve
Don't look so sad,
It's not so bad you know.
It's just another night,
That's all it is.
It's not the first,
It's not the worst you know,
We've come through all the rest,
We'll get through this.
We've made mistakes,
But we've made good friends too.
Remember all the nights we spent with them?
And all our plans,
Who says they can't come true?
Tonight's another chance to start again.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
Another night like all the rest.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
Let's make it the best.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
It's just another Auld Lang Syne,
But when we're through this New Year
You'll see, will be
Just fine.
We're not alone, we've got the world you know.
And it won't let us down, just wait and see.
And we'll grow old, but think how wise we'll grow.
There's more you know, it's only New Year's Eve.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
Another night like all the rest.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
Let's make it the best.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
It's just another Auld Lang Syne,
But when we're through this New Year, you'll see, will be
Just fine.
song performed by by Barry Manilow, music by Barry Manilow, lyrics by Marty Panzer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A forty-year-old woman is only something to men who have loved her in her youth.
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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At forty life begins
I say it with a grin
At forty life begins
Relaunching itself
into a birthless age
Its a phase
Its a stage
Its a case
a renewed forty year package
The rebirth of youth
Its time to loose
all your old fashioned suits
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
www.sylviachidi.com
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Rush to London
You’re off away to London now,
Where no one dare ignore you,
With Southern laurels on your brow,
And all the world before you.
But if you should return again,
Forgotten and unknowing,
Then one shall wait in wind and rain,
Where forty cheered you going.
You’re off away to London, proved,
Where fair girls shall adore you;
The poor, plain face of one that loved
May never rise before you.
But if you should return again,
When young blood ceases flowing,
Then one shall wait in wind and rain,
Where forty cheered you going.
It may be carelessly you spoke
Of never more returning,
But sometimes in the London smoke,
You’ll smell the gum leaves burning;
And think of how the grassy plain
Beyond the fog is flowing,
And one that waits in shine or rain,
Where forty cheered you going.
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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The lovely thing about being forty is that you can appreciate twenty-five-year-old men more.
quote by Colleen McCullough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The lovely thing about being forty is that you can appreciate twenty-five- year-old men more.
quote by Collen McCullough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New, New Year's Resolutions
Time for New Year's resolutions.
This year I'll be real strong.
I'll try like never before
to keep them all year long.
Resolution number one:
I'll be more careful what I eat.
More of all that's good for me,
and not so much that's sweet.
Resolution number two.
I'm going to lose some weight.
My goal is to lose forty pounds.
I really will look great!
Resolution number three:
I'll get lots of exercise.
The doctor says I need to,
and my doctor's very wise
Resolution number four:
Let me make this last one clear:
I must realize that I'm human…
and try again next year.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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The Snake Around Your Heart
I was so blind to the snake around your heart.
So child like in the morning light you lay.
I kissed your cheek, hugged you and prayed.
A changeling whispered back love you too.
I placed you on the heart strings of my bow.
Shot you out into the star scattered sky.
Forty-Four days and nights to make the boy a man.
God fought a demon, did it in thirty.
I plucked the string I did my part
I was betrayed by you and the snake around your heart.
You cast unholy, this quest we cannot play.
Childhood dies with all its toys left to fray
In red plastic bins and unwanted shoes.
Dark and dust, there are places a heart cannot go.
Spiderling on your dead Mother's web don't cry
Forty-four days and more, like sand
the days slip through my hands so dirty.
Luna Mother Goddess rip out my human heart.
I was cursed by you and the snake around your heart
I have four letter words I can say.
Pray, hope, and love to lay
on the moss covered altars of Feralas too.
Your snake sleeps in Sodom so low.
She shimmers in gold like a flesh sucking fly.
Forty- four days and more, I make my stand.
Cealuem priest I cry out for healing three times thirty
I was deceived by you and the snake around your heart
Oh fallen warrior in the great Forge I will stay.
Refine me Gods through trial I pray.
You think I have not loved your immoral soul too.
I loved and then let you go.
Your snake will eat your heart and say good-bye
Forty-four days and years the wind has blow in my hair strands
Experience I see knowledge in its purity
The minutes of time will do its part.
poem by Joni Moosman
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In Search Of Little Sadie
Went out last night to take a little round.
I met my little sadie and I brought her down.
I ran right home and I went to bed
With a forty-four smokeless under my head.
I began to think what a deed Id done.
I grabbed my hat and I began to run.
I made a God run but I ran too slow;
They overtook me down in jericho
Standing on a corner a ringin my bell,
Up stepped the sheriff from thomasville.
He said young man is you name brown?
Remember you blowed sadie down.
Oh yes sir, my name is lee.
I murdered little sadie in the first degree.
First degree and second degree.
If youve got any papers will you serve them to me?
Well they took me down town and they dressed me in black,
They put me on a train and they sent me back.
I had no one to go my bail;
They crammed me back into the county jail.
Oh, yes they did.
The judge and the jury they took their stand.
The judge had the papers in his right hand.
Forty-one days, forty-one nights;
Forty-one years to wear the ball and the stripes;
Oh, no!
Went out last night to take a little round.
I met little sadie and I blowed her down.
I ran right home and I went to bed,
A forty-four smokeless under my head.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl of Fifteen
Girl of fifteen,
I see you each morning from my window
As you pass on your way to school.
I do more than see, I watch you.
I furtively draw the curtain aside.
And my heart leaps through my eyes
And follows you down the street;
Leaving me behind, half-hid
And wholly ashamed.
What holds me back,
Half-hid behind the curtains and wholly ashamed,
But my forty years beyond your fifteen?
Girl of fifteen, as you pass
There passes, too, a lightning flash of time
In which you lift those forty summers off my head,
And take those forty winters out of my heart.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Sonnet: Postal Stamp History
Sonnet: Postal Stamp History
The postal stamp started in England (1840)
And was destined to spread around the world.
It would soon reach as far as Brazil,
As the momentum continued to swirl.
It reached the United States of America
In the year of eighteen-forty five.
And a winner throughout the centuries
The postal stamp is very much alive.
The price of the first stamp was one cent.
But today, it would cost forty-four
And with so many rate hikes in between,
I am very sure that there will be more.
And as long as there is mail to send,
The postal stamp will never come to end.
poem by Walterrean Salley
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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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