Poem: Good Riddance, But Now What?

Tonight’s December thirty-first,
Something is about to burst.
The clock is crouching, dark and small,
Like a time bomb in the hall.
Hark, it's midnight, children dear.
Duck! Here comes another year!

                    Ogden Nash

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: There Never Was Time

I wish, he said, the years would linger
And fly less fast to make me old;
My face is a mask that time’s swift finger
Models, moulding wrinkle and fold
In sagging flesh youth fashioned true
To the ageless image engraved on brass,
Of a young face Rome or Athens knew.
(There was time for youth to pass.)

Time had a long look when I was twenty;
Was there anything I had not done
And yet would do? Well, there was plenty
Of daylight left in the cycling sun.
The roughs of knowledge that wanted scaling
Loomed --- there was time to be a sage;
Time and to spare to heal all ailing.
(And time enough for a man to age.)

But now the night that has no breaking
Shadows the sun gone down the west,
And my heart in its damaged case is aching
After lost years too brief at best.
I know a journey that yet wants going,
I know a song that is still to sing,
I know a fallow that waits the sowing ---
(There never was time for everything.)

                    Byron Herbert Reece 

 

 

 

 

 

World weary

The world is weary of the past,
O, might it die or rest at last!

        Percy Bysshe Shelley, Hellas

 

 

 

 

 

 

Errors

Errors in religion are dangerous;
    those in philosophy only ridiculous.

            David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature

 

 

 

 

 

Empty and meaningless

Time goes faster the more hollow it is.
    Lives with no meaning go straight past you,
        like trains that don't stop at your station.

            Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow Of The Wind

 

 

 

 

Take the week off!

Only twenty-seven people in Britain can explain why the day after Christmas Day is called Boxing Day, but that doesn't stop millions from marking it by staying home from work. An intriguing side effect of thus having two consecutive public holidays is that no matter what days of the week they fall on, the British can easily justify taking the whole week off.

                    Alan Beechey, Murdering Ministers: An Oliver Swithin Mystery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A poem for Christmas and everyday

I love Jesus, who said to us: Heaven and earth will pass away.
When heaven and earth have passed away, my word will remain.
What was your word, Jesus? Love? Forgiveness? Affection?
All your words were one word: Wakeup.

        Antonio Machado, Times Alone: Selected Poems of Antonio Machado