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Dr's Waiting Room

Silver grey hair
wrinkles like hiways on a map
a floral pattern on her dress
must have been made in 1932
she sat waiting

Silver white hair
wrinkles like ditches by the roadway
white t-shirt, blue suspenders-no belt
tan slacks
he sat waiting, with her

She reached over
kissed his cheek
he held her hand...
in their ninety's....
young lovers

poem by Joe Howell
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Wrinkles and Grey Hair (Children)

Mommy's getting wrinkles.
Daddy has grey hair.
It wasn't very long ago
when those things weren't there.

Wish I could smooth the wrinkles out
and darken Daddy's hair
to stop the changes going on.
It makes me feel so scared.

Grampa, does it mean they'll die?
They have wrinkles and grey hair!
I never used to worry
before those things were there.

Grampa said to look at him.
There were lots of wrinkles there,
and on his head, a snowstorm
was the color of his hair.

'Wrinkles only come to point
where smiles were, here and there.
It's your mommy's turn to get some
for the happy times you've shared.'

His white, and Daddy's grey hair
well, it was there to show
who had lived the longest time
so everyone could know!

Grampa said it's part of life.
We love, we learn, we live.
We earn grey hair and wrinkles,
they're prizes only God can give.

poem by C.J. Heck
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The Silver Treasure

Blessings have depths but no measure
For the hearts benchmark the Silver Treasure
Gatherings of the life that ages earn
Gather on the head with a silvery turn
Children call'em white & learn they are grey
Sparkles of sunlight have smiles on every ray
Skin is like a bed dwelling in viscous oil
Hair we talk of coir wraped in a silver foil
Days which they lived are countless wrinkles
Eyes have fog in hopes & hope in them twinkles
Our breaths have such assets backed by these banks
For this silvery treasure, let us pay golden thanks
Thoughts of every new mile without bliss of the old
Is it possible to live without this treasure being told...

poem by Reetesh Sabr
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Silver

There are clouds that hang
silver-grey in the air,
before the winter sun
gives its first rays
of a drawling day.

Silver-grey the Monday starts
and while the day’s hours
pass much to slowly,
I am summoned to the old chief
with his silver-grey hair.

One of the women clerks
who wants to be boss,
wants to push a silver knife
into a colleges back.

I leave them alone to count their silver pounds
and wash my hands in the bathroom,
with a silver ray of water that squirts out of the tap.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Ten Grey hairs and a silver one

I discovered my first grey hair
when I was Seventeen years old
It had to do with broken up my first relationship

I discovered my second grey hair
when I was Twenty years old
It had to do with the quarrels at home

I discovered my third grey hair
when I was Twenty-one years old
It had to do with searching for work

I discovered my fourth grey hair
when I was Twenty-three years old
It had to do with loosing my job

I discovered my fifth grey hair
when I was Twenty-five years old
It had to do with giving up my unborn child

I discovered my sixth grey hair
When I was Twenty-eight years old
It had to do with opening my pub

I discovered my seventh grey hair
When I was thirty years old
It had to do with giving birth to my daughter

I discovered my eight grey hair
When I was thirty –two years old
It had to do with the first day at the kinder garden school

I discovered my ninth grey hair
When I was thirty-four years old
It had to do with to find out that some thing was missing

I discovered my tenth grey hair
When I was thirty-five years old
It had to do with the fights between my sisters and mum

My one Silver hair I discovered lately
Has to do with you
Because I miss you so hard …

poem by Pascale Ost
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The Poplar

Why do you always stand there shivering
Between the white stream and the road?

The people pass through the dust
On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;
The waggoners go by at down;
The lovers walk on the grass path at night.

Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!
You are more beautiful than they are.

I know that the white wind loves you,
Is always kissing you and turning up
The white lining of your green petticoat.
The sky darts through you like blue rain,
And the grey rain drips on your flanks
And loves you.
And I have seen the moon
Slip his silver penny into your pocket
As you straightened your hair;
And the white mist curling and hesitating
Like a bashful lover about your knees.

I know you, poplar;
I have watched you since I was ten.
But if you had a little real love,
A little strength,
You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers
And go walking down the white road
Behind the waggoners.

There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill.
Will you always stand there shivering?

poem by Richard Aldington
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Riding In

raven hair
held by
a silver pin
something turn
of century about
the elegant curve
of cheek
the way she
turns easily
away her small
hand gripping
the bright chromium
pole a raspberry
scarf wound
loosely round
her neck she
will say
nothing I
will say
nothing back
as she moves
through the door
a lovely
white boat lifted
by a gentle wave
gently further out

poem by Elliot Figman
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Connect to Nature

White hair
Blue eyes
White clouds
Blue skies

Pink hair
Brown shirt
Pink flowers
Brown dirt

So many ways to connect to nature
Let's fix ourselves; change our future

poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Mother's Hair Has Turned To Silver

Mother's hair has turned to silver
Her skin is all wrinkled and cold
But i'd never trade my mother
For the world and all its gold. Yes her hair has turned to silver
Her face is all covered with lines
But there'll never be another
Like this gray haired mother of mine. I think of all the hardships
I have caused her to bare
Then I can see the reasons
For the silver in her hair. Mother's hair has turned to silver
And her hard working days are done
But there's still a smile on her face
And a love for everyone.

poem by Kenneth Rickard
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Silver Birds

Silver birds
getting ready to fly
red, white and blue
it's our pride in the sky

Silver birds
above the clouds
making waves
making us proud

Silver birds
shining bright
into the evening
into the night

Silver birds
amongst the rest
flying strong
to be the best

Silver birds
coming round the bend
getting ready to land
out of their descend

Silver birds
representing the states
with the colors of freedom
at all their gates.

Charlie Vergara
11.21.2007
2576

poem by White Tiger
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Factory Girl

Waiting for a girl who's got curlers in her hair
Waiting for a girl she has no money anywhere
We get buses everywhere
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and her knees are much too fat
Waiting for a girl who wears scarves instead of hats
Her zipper's broken down the back
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and she gets me into fights
Waiting for a girl we get drunk on Friday night
She's a sight for sore eyes
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and she's got stains all down her dress
Waiting for a girl and my feet are getting wet
She ain't come out yet
Waiting for a factory girl

song performed by by Rolling Stones from Beggars Banquet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are our brains wrinkled?

Wrinkles are the measurement,
to show the life's management,
some are very near and deep,
and the rest long and steep.

Wrinkles are the asset,
that get through the experience,
not all those experienced,
never have such twinkles.

The wrinkles which can not be seen,
hidden inside the hard shell,
More the wrinkles formation,
More the knowledge dwell.

Let us see who has more fold.
Einstein or a research assistant,
people with more folds may not know it,
people with lesser folds strive to get it.

Do not let anyone,
to iron out the wrinkles,
with their disillusioned vision.
Let us acquire more in our brains.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Waiting For The Sunrise

Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can take your hand and stroll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go on the streets and see the people smile.
Give me your hand,
So I could tell you that things will be alright.
The rooms still dark,
But it wont be so long,
And I can take you outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the park and roll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the docks and watch the boats go by.
Come on, love, give me your hand,
And things will be alright.
The rooms still cold,
But it wont be so long,
That we can go outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I could see your hair shining in the air.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can see the sky reflected in your eyes.
Come on, love, dont be depressed,
Things will be alright.
The rooms too low,
But it wont be so long,
That we can be outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maundy Thursday

Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)

poem by Wilfred Owen
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Prayer

White, O white face—
from disenchanted days
wither alike dark rose
and fiery bays:
no gift within our hands,
nor strength to praise,
only defeat and silence;
though we lift hands, disenchanted,
of small strength, nor raise
branch of the laurel
or the light of torch,
but fold the garment
on the riven locks,
yet hear, all-merciful, and touch
the fore-head, dim, unlit of pride and thought,
Mistress–be near!
Give back the glamour to our will,
the thought; give back the tool,
the chisel; once we wrought
things not unworthy,
sandal and steel-clasp;
silver and steel, the coat
with white leaf-pattern
at the arm and throat:
silver and metal, hammered for the ridge
of shield and helmet-rim;
white silver with the darker hammered in,
belt, staff and magic spear-shaft
with the gilt spark at the point and hilt.

poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Factory Girl

(original by the rolling stones; remixed by maxim)
Waiting for a girl whos got curlers in her hair
Waiting for a girl she has no money anywhere
We get buses everywhere
Waiting for a factory girl
Waiting for a girl and her knees are much too fat
Waiting for a girl who wears scarves instead of hats
Her zippers broken down the back
Waiting for a factory girl
Waiting for a girl and she gets me into fights
Waiting for a girl we get drunk on friday night
Shes a sight for sore eyes
Waiting for a factory girl
Waiting for a girl and shes got stains all down her dress
Waiting for a girl and my feet are getting wet
She aint come out yet
Waiting for a factory girl

song performed by by Prodigy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hotel

Red dress
Spotlight
Hair black
Skin white
Cold keys
Touch light

Red hair
Fire light
Black tie
Shirt white
New news
Uptight

Red chair
Hot light
Bookshelf
Upright
Window
Shut tight

Red door
Cool night
Rainbow
Streetlight
Gold dust
Too bright

poem by Dean Meredith
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White Hat White Coat

To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....

White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair

White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'

Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style

White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet

White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock

White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'

White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest

White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two

White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town

White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray

White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '

poem by Debbie Gregory
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Old age is far more than white hair, wrinkles, the feeling that it is too late and the game finished, that the stage belongs to the rising generations. The true evil is not the weakening of the body, but the indifference of the soul.

quote by Andre Maurois
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Model For The Laureate

ON thrones from China to Peru
All sorts of kings have sat
That men and women of all sorts
proclaimed both good and great;
And what's the odds if such as these
For reason of the State
Should keep their lovers waiting,
Keep their lovers waiting?
Some boast of beggar-kings and kings
Of rascals black and white
That rule because a strong right arm
Puts all men in a fright,
And drunk or sober live at ease
Where none gainsay their right,
And keep their lovers waiting,
Keep their lovers waiting.
The Muse is mute when public men
Applaud a modern throne:
Those cheers that can be bought or sold,
That office fools have run,
That waxen seal, that signature.
For things like these what decent man
Would keep his lover waiting,
Keep his lover waiting?

poem by William Butler Yeats
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Greenfields

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Greenfields
(The Brothers Four)
Once there were greenfields...kissed by the sun
Once there were valleys...where rivers used to run
Once there were blue skies with white clouds high above
Once they were part of an everlasting love
We were the lovers who strolled through greenfields
Greenfields are gone now...parched by the sun
Gone from the valleys...where rivers used to run
Gone with the cold wind that swept in to my heart
Gone with the lovers who let their dreams depart
Where are the greenfields that we...used to roam?
I'll never know what made you run away
How can I keep searching when dark clouds hide the day?
I only know there's nothing here for me
Nothing in this wide world is now left for me to see
But I keep on waiting...until you return
I keep on waiting until the day you learn
You can't be happy when your heart's on the roam
You can't be happy until you bring it home
Home to the greenfields...and me once again

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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