En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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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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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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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Anniversary Of Our Love

Forty years of bliss and non bliss how do
you ever try to marinate all the non harmony
moments, to tenderize its foundation

By standing by each other and always knowing
irreguradless of how hard the situation may be for
the other, the tomorrows of our souls will mend
the broken rainbow and make our days shine
once more

Waiting each night for your return, to say how
was your day, is only a small part of my love
and how we managed to withold all the raging
seas and weather them to an island of tranquility

Thank you for the most wonderfull forty years of
my life, without you, my soul would not be in existance

Happy Anniversary and know, I would do it all, all over
again........

To Tom, on our anniversary of our love.......

poem by Bonnie Collins
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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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My parents only had one argument in forty-five years. It lasted forty-three years.

quote by Cathy Ladman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She was in the profession

She stopped her work at her lawn when she saw me
and leaned over the fence and we talked for over two hours
with my elbow on her posts and my feet resting
against the palings.

She had worked forty years in the same profession
and had seen generations through the doors. She
had enjoyed her work and people still call her to
tell her about themselves; they express their gratitude
and how much of a difference she had made.

She walked down the fence, waved her arms
and returned to the corner where I stood.

But what was work for?
she asked.
Forty years doing what was good for others
but nothing that was good for myself.
What was work for? she sighed.
What were forty years for? It destroyed me.

(from The Migrant - notes of a newcomer (February 1997- July 1998))

poem by Raj Arumugam
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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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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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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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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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A World Of Love

I was so lonely before you my love.
I had forty years of loneliness drowning my soul.
Forty years of loneliness from tears never cried.
Tears collected from forty years of bitter salt life.
Tears uncried formed an ocean of bitter salt tears.
Bitter salt tears can drown or pickle a weaker soul.
I have waited for you for forty years my love.
The first miracle was the miracle of my first meeting you.

When angels stood among us; during the miracle; of dancing with you.
Since then I have beheld; an incredible transformation; miracle my love.
Since then you have turned; tsunami divided an ocean; of bitter salt tears.
Transfiguration brine sea; into the sweetest of chilled; summer red wine.
Through the miracle of love; the world will be drunk; on spiritual love.
Who would have ever thought; that a flood of love; would come to rein.

A second flood that would save; wash clean an entire world.
A flood of love that would wash; clean all sins of earth world.
Washed clean slowly over gospel time; suddenly as waters of life
gather turn barren wastes; parched deserts into fertile lands of love.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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I feel very proud that we have managed to stay together. In these forty years we have made forty-six films. Each one has brought a certain name and contribution to cinema.

quote by Ismail Merchant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Sadie

Went down last night to take a look around
Met little Sadie and I blew her down, went right home, went to bed
Forty-four colt smokes under my head
And I began to think what a deed I'd done
Grabbed my hat and away I run, made a good run, but a little too slow
They overtook me in Jericho
I'm standin' on the corner ringin' the bell
Along came the sheriff from Thomasville
Says "Young man, your name's Brown,
Remember the night you blew Sadie down?"
Oh, yes sir, my name is Lee,
I murdered little Sadie in the first degree
First degree and the second degree
Got any papers won't you read 'em to me.
They took me downtown all dressed in black
Put me on the train and sent me back
Sent me back to the county jail, I had nobody to go for my bail
The judge and the jury they took the stand
The judge hold the paper in his right hand
Forty-one days, forty-one nights,
Forty-one years to wear the ball and stripes

song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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 ringin my bell,
Up stepped the sheriff from thomasville.
He said young man is you name brown?
Remember the night you blowed little 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 brought me back.
I had no one for to go my bail;
They crammed me back into the county jail.
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.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
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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Seconds Of Pleasure

You say you dont desire me,
Shes only a hired hand,
Now you are tired of me.
Expensive care is meaningless,
Feeling nothing and caring less.
Cut off at the pass,
She knows where you were headed,
She wants double-time or a temporary wedding.
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she? with forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.
I thought I knew you too well,
Now I find the man is a mystery,
And the promises you made
Are really only ancient history.
Everyday goes by without a hitch,
You say the urge becomes an itch.
You say that Im no go for you, thats rich,
Or am I being bitchy?
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.
And the hands on the clock move so precisley,
You say you only kissed her once or twice.
You didnt do it for love, you didnt even do it with stealth.
I cant help you now,
I cant help myself.
Commited to life and then commuted to the outskirts.
I was living for thirty minutes at a time
With a break in the middle for adverts.
You treat me like a piece of human furniture.
You say when? you sad soul,
If you can look all that you like,
But I wont let you touch and poke.
And the lucky girl leads a life of leisure,
Though she ? forty-five years
For seconds of pleasure.

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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48

48 is not just any number.
forty-eight with a dash is much more.
four is for the legs of the table.
ty is thank you, and eight is the octagonal
side of the circle chipped on some extras,
unnecessary peripheries,
undisclosed portions, they are removed.
48 is more than a number to me,
they are years that i cannot simply explain
in a day. Years that i cannot compress in an hour.
forty is a boundary and eight is a bonus
with you.
ty is not just thank you. it is also
truly yours.
i remain with you. yes,48 may now just be
a number. it does not really matter, i look forward
to another 48, and i love it when you say,
49 is waiting and 50 is wholesome
in fact, half only of what we lack.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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