From The Series 'Moon Rivers
An evening spent with the children of the children of the holocaust
Different lives
Different strives
To be something, someone
In relation to all that is gone
In the past long ago and long since hence
We are still bound by the energies the mysteries we can only partially glimpse at through Ancestors eyes
And try to surmise our own meaning and existence
Make some sense of it all
The call
Of genetics and emotional heritage
This is us we are they and they are them
And between us all is a thread that links the whole chain,
From me to you and back again
The underlying synchronicity and wisdom of it all
This life inextricably linked to all others
The magic of how I met you and you met me
And how we came to be this three
Sitting here sipping champagne
Pondering past and present both
I feel the magic in the air as things fall into place
Crumb by crumb weaving their way into rainbow psychedelic patterns that all make Sense… at least to me
Alone in my tree
Of wisdom and sin
I ate the apple you see
I wanted to know more
Killed the cat for sure
And now here is me, alone again, typing words
As another new moon is born
Fingernail thin floating above western roofs
A new phase for planets and all has begun
Rebirth and renew let past moons be gone forever, forgotten in memories bliss
From now let it just be,
let my heart find its peace
In all that once was
And all that will come to be.
poem by Petra Creffield
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Related quotes
Time and Experience
I found the past in my present
I built the future on my past
I found the gift of today
When I thought about what
The future has to offer
Where is the wisdom in experience
If there is no folly in wisdom
What's the real meaning of death
If our spirits live forever
Times never change
But circumstances do
I'll let mystery play with the future
Surprises couple with the present
And experience mourn the past
Because sun always rises from the east
And each day always comes to an end
Experience is not chained to wisdom
Nor is folly tied to bad results
But to the circumstances that burden
Our past, present and future because
Time is always anxious for the future
Experience loves the present
And wisdom never divorces the past
poem by Benaiah Sondashi
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The Same Place
The
same place where the sun is still embracing her memory,
in the same place where the stories seems pure magic,
in the same place where the sky is still kissing the perfume of her hair, in the same place where the moon is still holdin...g her hand,
in the same place where the night is still missing her,
...in the same place where magic and love the same symphony all over again it's the same, but still the same seems like the first time,
first time when your eyes were dancing with her eyes,
first time when u were listening that song all over again,
first time when u were reading the same poem all over again,
first time when u met the magic and u decide to dance, a last magic dance, u were lost without her perfume,
u wanted to dream again, to laugh again, 'cause only her eyes could make u smile, in that last petal of rose that she gave u, u felt the magic, and u embrace her memory, in that sweet box called 'love' that u always take with u....
there are your heart, your soul and your love,
memories, that there always gonna stay there...
pictured in that beautiful and touching symphony called 'her soul',
i name it magic, u named it passion,
u wanted to stay, she wanted to go,
u wanted to miss, she wanted to forget,
u wanted to love, she wanted to forgive,
u wanted to wish, she wanted to dream,
same feeling, but not played by the same symphony...
same memories, but not remembered by the same heart....
same old stories, but not remembered by the same eyes...
magic words, sweet memories, same old perfume of roses..
where did she go?
when the sun is calling 4 here?
when the sky is missing her?
when the moon is dreaming at her?
when the sea is waiting 4 her?
when the sand is whispering to come back?
where did she go, if the magic never dies?
where did she go, if the dreams never fall? '
poem by Abdelrahman MHussien
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Deep sense
Deep sense of attachment
When mother hands over with some sweet comments
That can be anything ranging from jewels
To some invaluable and pearls
Sometimes they are sweet memories linked to the past
Their life may be nearing end very fast
Time may not left in their hand
So they may need to pass it on at the end
Their tone gets emotional
Their approach too becomes rationale
All goes swiftly with their change
But after all it is routine with the age
All parents may wish the same
They may have misery in life or fame
But at the end it matters less
When hard reality are on the way to face
It might be linked with glorious heritage
Everything might have looked now old and vintage
Yet it carries sentimental value
They may want it nice burial with proper due
How emotional they become while handing over!
As something has been passed on willingly to others
It may have enormous feeling and significance
As it was cherished by them at once
I could see the tremendous satisfaction
Her eyes speak of and give indication
That it has been passed on to safe hands and place
And this gives flow on their face
Some words may not be heard at last moment
Yet we could make it from their lips movement
It may be a sense of deep fulfillment
As had waited for heavenly bless and sent
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Christmas Tree! A Christmas Tree!
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With dark green needled memories
Of childhood dreams and mysteries
Wrapped present-like in front of me.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
I glimpse a past wherein i see
The child that then grew into me
Not forward fast but haltingly.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
A time for being with family
A time that's gone so fleetingly
Yet lives for always deep in me.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
When twelfth night comes whole hauntingly
One lingered look and then i see
No Christmas tree where it would be.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With feelings now felt longingly
No corner in my house to see
The magic of that Christmas tree.
poem by David Keig
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No Christmas Tree Where It Should Be
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With dark green needled memories
Of childhood dreams and mysteries
Wrapped present-like in front of me.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
I glimpse a past wherein i see
The child that then grew into me
Not forward fast but haltingly.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
A time for being with family
A time that's gone so fleetingly
Yet lives for always deep in me.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
When twelfth night comes whole hauntingly
One lingered look and then i see
No Christmas tree where it would be.
A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With feelings now felt tearfully
No home, no kids surrounding me
No corner in my house to see
The magic of that Christmas tree.
poem by David Keig
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To-Day
OH God, where hast thou hidden Truth? Oh Truth,
Where is the road to God?
Lo, we, that should be old, have learned our youth;
We are not manly ripe; we have not dower
Of all the wisdom that a world can gain
In the centuries of work, peace, war, hope, pain;
We are not strong with all the gathered power
From age to age left our inheritance;
We stand not near the goal, there by the advance
Of step on step, through mire and blood and tears,
Forgotten fathers trod;
We are new in a new world; where shall we know,
Where in the ancient years,
Sign-marks to guide us on the way we go?
We are new in a new world. As children learn
Life by surprise and doubt,
So life must learn itself at each return
Of the upsoaring Phoenix birth from sleep
Among the ashes of an ended Past.
In its own strength, and singly from the last,
Each age's long To-day begins to creep
In baby paces whitherward it goes.
And from too far with too unsure a close,
Like void sonorous echoes in the hill,
Yesterday's voice rings out,
So gives the questioning turmoil of our cries
Answer such as we will.
Has Past writ Present in its histories?
Our fathers saw, we see not with their eyes,
Knew, and we learned in vain:
We seek old wisdoms in a novel wise;
We toil beginners of the things that are;
Like lessons which we early get by rote,
Heedless of meaning in the words we quote,
And by and by, the schoolroom left afar,
Discern at last their sense or find a new,
The just, the unjust, the counterfeit, the true,
We said from books upon our fathers' shelves,
All must be learned again:
We, children-like, still wondering as we grow,
Change, and become ourselves,
And only as ourselves can henceforth know.
How shall we know? what must we do? what be?
Answer us, Life, instead:
Past speaks us a dead tongue, we look to thee
And know thee teacher—yet a tardy one;
For now we labour, fearing to what end;
We journey, dimly seeing where we tend;
We do, and question was it rightly done;
Doubt and distrust of self beside us stand;
And who will find us Truth? where is her hand
To guide us on or back by the round path,
Leading but whence it led,
She travels on from God to reach him by?
What is the name she hath
To find her by to-day? Life, make reply.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Let's Think Like Children
Let's see the way children think
When things are linked together
Actually for them there is no link
What happened yesterday happened forever or never
When children climb a tree
And fall what do they do?
They can either say why me
Or just follow their life through
And move on to other things
They might remember the fall
But they'll still jump on swings
And throw behind them yesterday and all
So let's think like children
Children can teach us
Who knows what lesson we'll wield in
When the wisdom of their innocence reaches us
poem by Ragy Sandid
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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Eyes Of The Children
Behold in the eyes of the children
Mysteries of the universe -
Pure and innocent
Untainted wisdom -
Knowledge of past, present, future
Of mankind;
Gatekeepers of the future -
Lightbringers of awareness,
Love and compassion,
A new generation -
Leaders of the next frontier
Of evolution -
Be open to their wisdom;
Behold in the eyes of the children
Answers that we search for,
Liquid flow of knowledge
Unbound by limitation,
Infinite possibility
Existing in the gap -
Portal to dimension
Of mind and immortality;
Behold in the eyes of the children
Vision unblinded.
Lifes a Journey
As I sit and look back at my life and the things I did, whether they were good or bad...I am here...
The past is my life long journey of truely finding my self.
My present is my life journey to correct my past mistakes and improve my present.
My Future is what I make of my present.
So I choose wisely because I only have one past, present and future.....
poem by Yahaira Perez
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Open Book's Monologue Part 4 Bookkeeping
Regular written books or a regular written novel
Could sell
But each copy would essentially be the same
And the words stagnant, unable to change, in a sense lame
Because they cannot move or rearrange
They just never change
But I guess even though I'm an open book that's where we differ
My words do change, and my past is rewritten
When my memories become hazy or hidden
Suddenly I've changed my past, said something different to her
Or him, or supposedly done an action that never did occur.
When witnesses balk and there is no vindication
Nor affirmation
It's hard to keep my memories truthfully
Call me a liar for changing them, but that's me
Bookkeeping is near impossible
Because rewriting my beginnings is possible
It's hard to remember what's fact or fiction
When this novel is just a fantastical rendition
Of what I think my life is or thought my life was
Not what it really is or really was
I think it's because
Those unhappy memories of the past ought
Just to be forgot
So I choose (o so subconsciously) to rewrite them
Only to find they've made my destiny
They've made me- me
It's funny that I write of bookkeeping
And changing the beginning of the book
When I feel so strongly
That such things are impossible for me
So in a sense this poem is a contradiction
But then maybe my changes are just my perception
Of my story because I cannot look back
So I guess I'm wrong... future and past are stained in black
Because as a book I could change what I think
Maybe even float not sink
But that's just my perception, because my story
Is actually
The Immutable tragedy
The tragedy of me
And past... present... future
They won't endure
One day pages will crumble to dust
But I think... I'll go first... Actually I think.... I think...
I must.
poem by David Knox
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The War Of The Children
The child abuse has been the war of the children
It is going on for too long in a world like this
The children is the victim of it
It is the children who suffers more each day
Stop the child abuse now
We want to put an end to this war
Make the public aware that this exists
Love the children with all your heart
Make the children feel worth
Make them feel special
Show them respect and let them respect you
Because respect and love is a two way thing
Respect the children wishes
Make this world a safe place for our children
Teach them to listened
Let them feel welcome in this world
Let the children live there lives
When you abuse the children
You break there hearts, you are destroying there dreams
And the respect they have for you is lost
What do you get when you abuse the children?
You get no satisfaction
The children have lost there sense of worth
They don’t feel special anymore
And they don’t feel safe anymore
The children know whom they can trust and whom they can’t
Help the children to grow in a safe environment
Feel there hearts with laughter and take there sadness away
Give them the support they need each day as they live there lives
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Past, Present, Future
i lived in the past for so long
that the present was always unknown.
now i always look ahead at all the possibilities
and there is so much, that i now see.
a shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel
and my thoughts being poured through a funnel.
the past is the past, and that's where it will stay
and in the present, we have to find a better way.
for the present will soon be our past
and if we don't do something, it will not last.
we must always look to the future
for it is only twenty four hours away
then it will be our past
and we have so much to do and say.
when i look at life, i truely have to laugh
today is our future and tomorrow it'll be our past.
now that i have you confused as to what i am
trying to say.
i guess i will try' to put it a better way'.
we all tend to procrastinate
always leaving it for tomorrow.
but! what if you don't see tomorrow.
and today you did'nt accomplish that task
how will you be remembered
if the present you left for last.
when we leave this material world
and our souls soar up in the sky
we will still have our memories
and that we can rely.
for when we get up there(if we do)
your soul will have carried all that you did
in this life
and the memories of friends, family
husband, or wife.
now when you look down on all that you had did
and asking yourself the question.
did i use my time, the way it was
meant to be?
or did i procrastinate, that others now speak of me?
we all have to work in order to survive.
but we must stop on occasion to smell the flowers.
and to enjoy all that we was given
otherwise how can you call this living.
(my thoughts: the words and stories were given to me.
so that i could write them down, for al the world to see.)
this is my philosophy.
poem by Louis Rams
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I Know That Its Magic
Im amazed at things you, you do it all with ease
I smile while everything you do, drives me to my knees
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
Many times I see ahead, Ill have to make a stand
Maybe I can call on you, I know youd understand
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magic Never Runs Out
The words “Magic Flute” delighted me when
I was small, I ran about with shiny objects as
Magic Flutes, little cars as Magic Dinky Toys,
a long stick covered in foil was my Magic Wand,
I always carry a toy endowed with Magic Powers
by me, a beautiful children’s book is my talisman,
a guarantee that magic never runs out; an ethereal
fairy, an array of miniature birds, a dragonfly sitting
on my computer, create all the magic I need…
poem by Margaret Alice
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My Spirit
I have often felt alone and foreign
Within this place or world everyone calls home-
Perhaps a part of me had died many years back- although
My spirit lives on and looks upward towards the sky, past midnight
Perhaps to awaken in some other realm- Alive and unafraid,
I see the stars brightly shining against the midnight sky,
Far away but close to me in a unique way-
The rings of Saturn intrigue me and inside of the world of my dreams,
I have become as a dove, lifting my wings
To fly as I continue my fight to
Find a place in this world, as my spirit attentively watches over me-
It has been said that everyone is born with a spirit inside-
I was born with a mind, confused, frightened and divided- although
I was born with a spirit that is strong, brave and wise-
I lift my wings and fly, following the direction my spirit, as
My spirit is my only hope- My hope to find a life for myself.
Free from the apparition of the nightmares of my past-
Inside of my mind I know that if I follow the direction that
My spirit takes- enlightened by the sun, the moon and the stars-
Perhaps in the fondest of dreams, I will reawaken and fly away from my fears, and
Find a place in this world-After all, the stars, the moon and other planets
Are far away, in another realm, and unreachable.
The beauty of a spirit is that it never dies, and as my friend it will always be there,
Watching over me protecting me from harm as
I awaken in rebirth from the horrors of my past and from a distance in thought
I can still follow the mystical beauty
Of the moon and the stars in the midnight sky above me
And I know now that when clouds cover the sky and darkness prevails-
The sun shall always rise, I have found peace of mind, and my spirit lives on…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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This Is A Call
visiting is pretty
visiting is good
seems that all they ever wanted was a brother
this can be a secret
we can keep it good
even all the ever wanting had a problem
this is a call to all my
past resignations
it's been too long
fingernails are pretty
fingernails are good
seems that all they ever wanted was a marking
them balloons are pretty
big and say they should
ever fall to ground
call the magic marker
this is a call to all my
past resignations
this is a call to all
this is a call to all my
past resignations
it's been too long
minicyn is pretty
minicyn is good
seems that all the cysts and mollusks tend to barter
ritalin is easy
ritalin is good
even all the ones
who watered down the daughter
song performed by by Foo Fighters from Foo Fighters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Childhood Hero
Caught a glimpse of my childhood hero
As he strutted along the path today.
He created pictures from words,
Made this world come alive, with
A magic that was never matched.
As he swaggered past me today
He looked old, tired and grey
Flashes of songs, floated cross my mind,
Stirring long forgotten memories
Made by the man I saw today, long, long ago.
There was a touch of aged slowness in,
The walk of the man I called my childhood hero,
What had happened to the man I remember
As invincible and beyond question
In that childhood world of mine?
And then I saw a wink and a twinkle
A spark of dancing magic and
A mischievous glint
In the icy blueness of the eyes
Of the man I called my childhood hero.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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Shriner's Park
I wonder what your doing
in the night out there
is a sad summer breath tangled in your hair
can you hear the lonely engines
screaming through the town
there's no where to run
when the darkness comes down
is there a song inside of you
that you tried to forget
like your fake id and your mom's cigarettes
does it take you back
is the vision intense
you and me in shriners park
trying to make some sense
you were just seventeen
but your laughter was mild
you liked my dreams you thought i was wild
is there a rythm in your step now
that reminds you of a dance
do you push it all away
cause you never took the chance
you'd sneak out your window
when i'd come for you
id be waiting in the street light on 8th Avenue
you'd slip into my car
we'd drive down past the fence
you and me in shriner's park
trying to make some sense
did you feel like you were crazy
when they sent you far away
did no one have the answers
when you hung your head to pray
you could not let yourself dream
never dare believe
you could ever be more
than you were born to be
do you lock up you house
like you locked up your past
if i were to call
could you free me at last
could you slip into my car
could we drive down past the fence
you and me in shriner's park
trying to make some sense
song performed by by Melissa Etheridge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magic...
Flashes of happiness, in bright daylight..
A kiss from an angel, in the middle of the night..
Our body does the salsa, our heart happily jives..
Sweet moments of joy, add Magic in our lives..
In our heart where love lingers in the air..
look and you'll find more magical moments there..
These magical moments, we shall always cling to..
Make wonderful memories as our life passes through..
The melody of a flute, the sweet scent of flowers..
The bright rays of sun, the thundering rain showers..
All this is Magic, moments that rekindle eternal flame..
Gives us the courage, to win life's every game..
God gave us some Magic in our glowing eye..
His arms that hold us and tell us not to cry..
There is Magic in our voice, when we talk each day..
This Magic is our smile, adds so much to what we say..
Magic in our heart, makes us bold, brave and true..
This is magic of feelings, shared between me and you..
Magic in our heart, is why we care so much..
magic in our hands, gives us that magical touch..
Magic is the rainbow throwing color's in the dark..
Shiny stars twinkling Magic, gives each night it's spark..
Magic are the waves, that try reaching the shore..
Magic is the sweetest fruit, we strive for more and more..
Added Magic to our emotions, is the reason we fall in love..
This world is the stage, the show is presented from up above..
God does his own tricks, pulls a bunny from his hat..
The Biggest Magic of my life, was the one moment we met..
Life teaches Magic, this is here that we learn..
The tricks to find peace, the tricks to have fun..
Float in the river of Magic, keep all sorrows at the bay..
Have a li'l 'Abra Ka Dabra...' in your life everyday...
poem by Abhijit Surve
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