Poetry in motion

Its time
its time for me to become invisible to the young
but
remember
i was young once
i was your age
i too did not
notice those who
had lived their lives
with a deep feeling of
adventure
of
big things to come
with
hopes
with
dreams
just as you have
now

the world
is for the living
but
as i see
the world
with ageing
eyes i realise now
the time
the nano second
in time
i lived

oh how i lived
though the blitz
through rock and roll
through the strikes
and yes
i may
have even
taken part
in a march or two

i watched the people
grow old
around me one by one
and yet
each and everyone
who had lived to
the winter of their year
was replaced
with younger
newer
ones

the cycle of time
perpetual motion
or as near
as you can get

but all in all
an experience
oh what an experience
as i say goodbye
something i wouldnt
have missed for the world

so as my time
draws to a close
goodbye beautiful world
maybe one day
i’ll be back

a one line poem..dedicated to cath..

60 is the new 40.. so why do our hips act naughty. ? its cos were really wee and totty :)

author unknown

I’ve been a blind man.
A forlorn drifter in the night.
Walking, meandering without sight.
Though, God endowed me with a spirit, which
when enlightened would reveal my way.
but, I’m gaping as though a blind man.
many times I’ve gone astray.
Most are born blind men traversing to and fro.
Not apprised of the meaning of life and
not aspiring to know.
Though some analogous to the stream.
Eventually espy their way.
Back to the father.
To the quintessence from whence we came.

AN AFFIRMATION

For tonight it is how it was :
Thinking of you and me then
Speaking of our own Saint Theresa
On the cusp of Errigal.

Yes, more than revelation
Or that curious otherness of mere memory.
Yes, before this place;
Before the booze and the bitches,
Before I knew this computer screen.
How I looked before I knew my own eyes.

I more than remember now
How I seemed to know
Clearly,
Even then,
That those few days were to be so important.
Your eyes sore,
Sullen from your Father’s slight.
I felt a Virgin hatred then.
How you cried
We must do this!
We must do this!

Now I know that for that brief time I was you.
That for the first time I was beyond me.
And that now I hear you call to me from the ground
One last time –
You must do this!
You must do this!

I’ve been telling him he is a poet for years but he never listens, grrr at him. :lol: