Three Hours
Three hours from sundown
Jeremy flies
Hoping to keep
The sun from his eyes
East from the city
And down to the cave
In search of a master
In search of a slave.
Three hours from london
Jacomos free
Taking his woes
Down to the sea
In search of a lifetime
To tell when hes home
In search of a story
Thats never been known.
Three hours from speaking
Everyones flown
Not wanting to be
Seen on their own
Three hours is needed
To leave from them all
Three hours to wonder
And three hours to fall.
Three hours from sundown
Jeremy flies
Hoping to keep
The sun from his eyes
East from the city
And down to the cave
In search of a master
In search of a slave.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Flight Delays (Life Poem)
Sympathyless disbelief when I complain again,
Delays are the balance for the glamour of flying.
Nine hours in Sao Paulo while the ATC strike,
Eight hours in Vienna while new wheel flies in,
Seven sins would be justified by this purgatory,
Six times six hours from CBB to DUB last week,
Five hours sweating in Port au Prince plastic chair,
Four hours for rain in Miami seems not so bad,
Three hours in Shannon for bomb threat search,
Two hours sitting in Seattle with mad dash in Kennedy.
One would be happier walking, swimming or driving.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Is All About You
1 hour unity,
2 hours peace,
3 hours playing,
4 hours sleeping,
5 hours smiling,
6 hours living,
7 hours trusting in your muse!
For this river is mine and yours foeevers;
And, i want to be close to you always.
1 hour smiling,
2 hours learning,
3 hours thinking,
4 hours with your muse,
5 hours teaching,
6 hours working,
But, the 7th hour comes for me to sleep with you;
Because, this love is all about you! !
And, i want to be with you always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Search It
search anything
in your life
search any thing...
you search u got it...
you did not search
waste of life time...
you search any thing
any time search...
not only google.com
search all ways
what do u want...?
search it
the life is search only
you search your inner
you got many more...
search with you...
search the another's
and search the world...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Innocent Birds
Birds are innocent.
They fly from place to place.
In search of peace and happiness.
Like everyone else.
I wish I had wings.
Flying everywhere and roaming here and there.
All the places and somewhere else.
Their life is like ours.
Like a day of 24 hours.
And a time of few hours.
Birds are hunted for nothing else.
Hunters have them for something else.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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I Search
I search for that something called an Identity
I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me'
I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope
That'll steady my walk on life's tightrope
I search for that stroke of Brilliance
That'll make me stand out among millions
I search for that much-needed Common Sense
That'll help me to decipher utter nonsense
I search for that slippery thing called Fame
That'll erase all my past memories of shame
I search for that quality called Tenacity
That'll help me cope with life's complexity
I search for that something called a Carefree Life
That'll remove me from worries and Danger's knife
I search for something called an Identity
And I still search for that being called 'me'
poem by Rony Patra
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The Cat Still Wander Free
The Councillors of the Shire of Sherbrooke of late passed a decree
That in the hours of darkness no cat should wander free
That all cats be kept behind closed door during the hours of dark
And not be left to roam and prowl though woodland and through park.
Domestic cats a threat to nocturnal creatures the Shire legislators say
But cat a bigger threat to wildlife during the hours of day
In daylight hours domestic cat always prowling around
And stalking unsuspecting bird who search for food on ground
Before tackling a brush tail Possum a cat would think twice
He'd end up bruised and battered and that too much a price
He'd rather kill blackbird or robin or defenceless native mouse
Or little wren in garden beside his neighbour's house.
The Councillors of Sherbrooke have got the wrong idea
As cat does most damage by day or so 'twould seem to me
So between the hours of dawn and dark the cat still wander free
To stalk lyrebird who scrape on ground beside the forest tree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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7 Hours
Today's a sunny day
And there's a lot of time to go with it
For me
I want to celebrate and have fun for 7 hours
So ladies and gentlemen
Make the food
Fill up the drinks
It's going to be a fun 7 hours
I'll bring my poems
Maybe my photos
Perhaps even show the ladies a dance I know
7 hours
And the time is ours
Full of nice memories
Full of good times
Full of new friendships
Full of whatever we want to make of it
These 7 hours
These 7 hours of perhaps stress free and
drama free
These 7 hours to be what we want it to be
poem by Justin Gildow
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Four hours of makeup, and then an hour to take it off. It's tiring. I go in, I get picked up at two-thirty in the morning, I get there at three. I wait four hours, go through it, ready to work at seven, work all day long for twelve hours, and get it taken off for an hours, go home and go to sleep, and do the same thing again.
quote by Peter Sarsgaard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Coloured Hours
GRAY hours have cities,
Green hours have rhymes
Of hearts grown loving
In old summertimes,
But the white hours have only
A cloud in the sky
And a star, bright and lonely,
To remember them by.
Gold hours have laughter,
Red hours have song
Drawn from lost fountains
Of beauty and wrong.
But the white hours,–O, tender
As rose-flakes they lie,
With youth's fallen splendour
To remember them by.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Think of the Slave
Think of the slave, in your hours of glee,
Ye who are treading life's flowery way;
Nought but its rankling thorns has he,
Nought but the gloom of its wintry day.
Think of the slave, in your hours of woe!—
What are your sorrows, to that he bears?
Quenching the light of his bosom's glow,
With a life-long stain of gushing tears.
Think of the slave, in your hours of prayer,
When worldly thoughts in your hearts are dim,
Offer your thanks for the bliss ye share,
But pray for a brighter lot for him.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Last Dance
Wake up! its a monday morning
No time left to say goodbye
Cant breathe and the lights are changing.
You can live your own life
Making it happen
Working on your own time
Laid back and laughin
Oh no, oh no.
Headlights, make it home by sundown
Feeling that the day is through
Return back to where you come from
You can live your own life
Making it happen
Working on your own time
Laid back and laughin
Oh no, oh no.
You wake up in the mornin
And the suns comin up.
Its been up for hours and hours and hours
And hours and hours and hours
Its been up for hours and hours and hours
And you light up the stove
And the coffee cup, its hot.
And the orange juice is cold, cold, cold
Monday morning,
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up
Its time to go,
Time to go to work.
You can live your own life
Making it happen
Working on your own time
Laid back and laughin
Oh no, oh no.
No, no, no.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Time Thief
I feel the hours move too fast
and know that I can't make them last.
I do not cry for loss of them,
but the giver of time I do condemn
and cannot forgive how he takes away
every hour on every day.
I close my eyes to all of this
with the hope that he might miss
a few of the hours that belong to me.
But when I open my eyes I see
that those few hours are also gone
and I must face one more dawn.
And again my condemnation's here.
I cannot forgive this thief I fear.
He's stolen the sight of sunny skies.
He's stolen them right before my eyes.
He's fled with all the music I love.
He'll leave me nothing that I'm made of.
Forgive him? No, never I say.
Condemn him, yes and so I pray.
'Let him feel the loss like me.
Let him suffer the misery
of not enough hours to feel complete
and not enough time for his heart to beat.
Sentence him as he sentenced me.
Take away his hours so I can be
free.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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It's a shame that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day is work. He can't eat for eight hours; he can't drink for eight hours; he can't make love for eight hours. The only thing a man can do for eight hours is work.
quote by William Faulkner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I never found even in my juvenile hours that it was necessary to go a thousand miles in search of themes for moralizing.
quote by Horace Walpole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Search Song
Search
For peace
Search
For some understanding
Search
For answers
That you are dying to know
Search for the truth
Because only the truth will set you free
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Hours Continuing Long
HOURS continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted,
Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and unfrequented
spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my hands;
Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding swiftly
the country roads, or through the city streets, or pacing miles
and miles, stifling plaintive cries;
Hours discouraged, distracted--for the one I cannot content myself
without, soon I saw him content himself without me;
Hours when I am forgotten, (O weeks and months are passing, but I
believe I am never to forget!)
Sullen and suffering hours! (I am ashamed--but it is useless--I am
what I am;)
Hours of my torment--I wonder if other men ever have the like, out of
the like feelings?
Is there even one other like me--distracted--his friend, his lover,
lost to him?
Is he too as I am now? Does he still rise in the morning, dejected,
thinking who is lost to him? and at night, awaking, think who
is lost?
Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless? harbor his
anguish and passion? 10
Does some stray reminder, or the casual mention of a name, bring the
fit back upon him, taciturn and deprest?
Does he see himself reflected in me? In these hours, does he see the
face of his hours reflected?
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Net
The net's a big headache
I need a bloke you see
I search and search for hours
But can't get one for free.
I bought myself a web cam
I thought I could chat and play
But there weren't any blokey blokes
Only the ones that were gay.
Hang on! Who's this?
It's a blokey figure
Reminds me of my granddad
But my granddad's thinner.
Says his name's Bertie
Asks if I'm into leather
Then he says I'm a bore
‘could've knocked me down with a feather.
Oh Wait! I must be dreaming
I see a tanned blokee
I smile at his picture
He smiles back at me.
He speaks, I can't hear him,
He hears, but can't see,
I think my PC's broken
Why does it happen to me?
I think I'm in love
I hope he feels the same,
Oh damn! My PC's crashed
And I never got his name..
poem by Hazel Connelly
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I've Been Searching
the search is on
since time roosted
to the first eyelashes
of my youth
the search is on
for the most beautiful self that i am
that i must be
the search is still on
perhaps until the last wink
of my eyes
what is the best self that i can ever be?
it does not just depend on me
it depends on your response too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Home In Your Arms
You take your coat off and throw it on the floor
Night delivers you to my arms once more
You feel so familiar as you get into bed
Cigarette smoke halo around you head
You lean over and kiss me so sweet...
I could lay with you like this for hours...
Hours and hours
Building a summer home in your arms
I kiss you with the languid adiration of slumber
Landin random as lotto numbers
One for each eye
And, oops, one on your nose
And ten for each of your cute little toes
You lean over and kiss me so sweet...
I could lay with you like this for hours...
Hours and hours...
Building a summer home in your arms
Am I crazy, do I talk too much?
Sometimes I think your silence is a crutch
Am I mad, are you married?
Oh jesus this love stuff can sure be scary
But so sweet... so sweet
Here in your arms
Im a bit of a mess and Im gone too much
But when Im away its you I long to touch
And certain things remind me its such a special treat
As these little things that bring you to me
You lean over and kiss me so sweet...
I could lay with you like this for hours...
Hours and hours...
Building a summer home in your arms
Im building a summer home in your arms
Im building a summer home in your arms
Im building a summer home in your arms
Built with all your charms
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shorter Week
I worked for fifty hours a week,
And someone said to me,
'Don't be a serf! Throw off your chains,
And show the world you're free!'
So I cut down my working hours
And found, upon the whole,
The leisure time I had to spare
Good for my body's carking care,
And better for my soul.
I worked for forty hours a week,
And someone said to me,
'Release your bonds, you shackled slave!
Show all the world you're free!'
So I reduced my working hours
And found in leisured lull,
The more I sought to play, the more
Amusement had become a bore,
And life was rather dull.
I worked for twenty hours a week,
And someone said to me
'Awake, you mutt! Snap out of it,
And show the world you're free!'
So I cut out my working hours
And found that joy had flit.
Upon black melancholia's brink,
I sometimes used to sit and think
And sometimes merely sit.
I worked for not one hour a week,
And someone said to me,
'You lazy coot! Arise and shine!
You call this being free?'
So I resolved I'd better far
Rejoin the toiling mob.
But when I rose and looked around,
To my intense digust I found
Someone had pinched my job.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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