Quotes about midway, page 5
No Spring Chicken
Oh my lord,
No spring chicken,
How old can she be?
I think she knew Truman,
That's plain to see.
Purple shoes, purple pantsuit,
Even purple hair.
I wonder what color,
Is her underwear.
Oh my lord,
No spring chicken,
Walking down the midway,
With nary a care.
But oh dear lord,
Will you look at that hair!
poem by Juan Olivarez
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King Trisanku
Viswamitra the Magician,
By his spells and incantations,
Up to Indra's realms elysian
Raised Trisanku, king of nations.
Indra and the gods offended
Hurled him downward, and descending
In the air he hung suspended,
With these equal powers contending.
Thus by aspirations lifted,
By misgivings downward driven,
Human hearts are tossed and drifted
Midway between earth and heaven.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Visuals
Visuals
Traverse the domains of dark present
And none sees them.
Fire loses charm and flames die young
With candles submitting themselves to the winds.
Visuals
End their games of making flashes innumerable
And the nights end midway.
Everything begins to submerge
Into the terrains of blind men.
Visuals
Turn back and come unto my abode
Where I remain with a ray of hope.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Revelation
Your unclaimers
will miss the date
with a lunatic world,
what might
you need
for the final journey.
Don’t stop at midway
to watch the history
taking a turn.
A crispy sun
was waiting in meadows
to welcome bonhomie,
freedom of unlacing
the foes. The flesh sends
upright signals
[...] Read more
poem by Satish Verma
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The Stink
Eyes will speak, not the road.
I am going very far.
Ability to suffer was me.
Landmarks had spinned,
the art abducted.
Was it unlucky for defying life?
Who wore the guilt,
for choosing pomegranates,
for the blasts?
Now I am struck on midway,
annihilating the adequacy,
the thrust for good and bad.
I survive the stink.
Blood spilling on quivering lips,
that God was nowhere in sight.
poem by Satish Verma
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Integrity
For an ailing love maker
ending was optional.
Nobody wanted to extend the truth
and hear the distant voices.
Half-waiting to divide the territory,
splinters will unravel the mystery.
A food chain slits the tongue, reaching, not reaching.
In the island of lonliness
somebody has left me midway in eternal twilight.
Amidst the stars
a river forgets the time, and moon
scrapes the sky.
A new pledge may bring back the sun.
poem by Satish Verma
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Songs
i agree songs strike deeper
in our inner cores each note
striking a chord right at the
center of our hearts, the lyrics
spellbinding and the images
create a world of each own
so different from where we
are sitting: your songs have
spoken well and i think i am
beginning to understand
more: we have become a
scale lesser than immortals
but a scale higher than
ordinary mortals, midway
between feelings and dreams
just a note higher than reality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mountainhike
following smallest roads
unwinding paths
up or down hill
beautiful draped shawls
from a distance
clogged in sealed forests
disappearing light
a mountain tucked away
in the dark
breathing on rare meadows
revealing rooms
a mountain showing off
heights and depths
listening to secret brooks
whispering quietly
a mountain coming out
naturally and fluently
[...] Read more
poem by Ellie Daphne van Stralen
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On and On and On and On
Disappointments all around
still I keep living on
illusions from within
yet, I keep smiling on
Problems crop up in every front
still I keep marching on
failures strike me off and on
yet, I keep surging on
Boredom stops me midway jam
still I keep floating on
just as - machine switched auto on
yet, I keep silently rolling on
No applause or recognition, meri pyari jan
still I keep working on
with only hopes, you will take me on
[...] Read more
poem by Santhana Louis
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The poem's flight
A poet, far from his beloved,
wrote a poem full of meaning
and, calling a carrier-pigeon from his loft,
sent it as a white dove to his beloved
It was a long flight
and by the time his beloved read the poem
under the lamplight in her room
its meaning had changed for her
with the course of time and the human heart
If the pigeon, midway on its flight,
had rested in our loft
to drink a little rain, eat a little grain,
and we had read the poem - would it have
any meaning for us?
Where does meaning go
when it is not here?
How does meaning change,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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