Wish I'd Said That ! The man who views the world at fifty the same as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life. -- Mohammad Ali
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Alford THE BRIDGEBUILDER An old man, going a lone highway, Came at the evening, cold and gray, To chasm, vast and deep and wide, Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The sullen stream had no fears for him; But he turned when safe on the other side And built a bridge to span the tide. 'Old man,' said a fellow pilgrim near, 'You are wasting strength with building here; Your journey will end with the ending day; You never again must pass this way; You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide -- Why build you the bridge at the eventide?' The builder lifted his old gray head: 'Good friend, in the path I have come,' he said, 'There followeth after me today A youth whose feet must pass this way. This chasm that has been naught to me To that fair-haired youth may a pit-fall be, He, too, must cross in the twilight dim; Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.' -- Will Allen Dromgoole (1860-1934) A COMPUTER POEM FOR THOSE OVER FORTY A computer was something on TV From a science fiction show of note. A window was something you hated to clean, And ram was the cousin of a goat Meg was the name of my girlfriend. A gig was a job for the nights. Now they all mean different things, And that really mega bytes. An application was for employment. A program was a TV show. A cursor used profanity. A keyboard was a piano. Memory was something that you lost with age. A CD was a bank account. And if you had a three-inch floppy, You hoped nobody found out. Compress was something you did to the garbage, Not something you did to a file. And if you unzipped anything in public, You'd be in jail for a while. Log on was adding wood to the fire. Hard drive was a long trip on the road. A mouse pad was where a mouse lived. And a backup happened to your commode. Cut, you did with a pocket knife. Paste, you did with glue. A web was a spider's home. And a virus was the flu. I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper And the memory in my head. I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash, But when it happens they wish they were dead. -- author unknown THE FOG ROLLED IN It's cold tonight, and you're not here The fog came in, the sun disappeared The woods are quiet, the trees are still Guess I'll go inside, the time to kill The day is done, my chores complete I know I should find something to eat But nothing tempts me, hot or cold It's not food I need, it's you to hold The miles are many from there to here To where you are, so far yet near I hear your voice in this silent room Though I'm alone, the quiet booms My memories and I have a life all our own We brave the cold, the dark, the dawn My eyes are closed, yet still they see The days are empty without thee Tonight just tea by the fire will do Till morning comes and I hear from you!   Goodbye, sweet friend, yet how can I let go Of my teacher, soul mate, idol and earthly guide Though far apart, across the miles I'd follow Now my pleas to you go unanswered, and I hide I found you in the darkness, a kindred spirit Holding the brightest candle I'd ever seen We touched hands in that emptiness and through it I gained the dearest pal I'd ever need I know not what you looked like, nor do I want to Your heart and words were all I needed to hold A shape or form were all inconsequential A bond like ours with words cannot be told Your life with us was just a stop en route You rested here for only a moment or two But in those moments a treasure did you give out Such lessons, priceless gifts, all parts of you Though stripped now of my dearest warming sunlight In the darkness I reach and find you every night   There was a time when you were all I wanted I thought, somehow, you felt the same way too I moved heaven and earth to be with you, undaunted I said goodbye to everything I knew In dreams I relived every sacred moment Memories burned of all my days with you Before the world, somehow, with raging foment Decreed we'd spend our days apart and blue You captured me with poems and smiles and laughter Our eyes and hearts shared silent words as well Though in error, I believed in ever after Our duties would pass and together we would dwell Now here I am, my suitcase filled with nothing I will not be unpacking for this trip There are many pilgrims on this Mecca journey Your doors beckon all who'll kneel and dip You love not one but many in your soft bed And now my longings all have turned to dread -- the webmaster   Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. -- Robert Frost BABY HANDS Little dimpled baby hands grasp my finger tight While mama rocks him, humming, deep into the night. Those hands of his will grow all too soon for me, I know, So mama rocks him, humming deep into the night. Little dimpled baby hands exploring all they see, While mama gently guides him, he is trying to run free. Those hands of his are busy, grabbing all they reach, So mama guides him gently, for it is my job to teach. Bigger little boy hands, with dirt under his nails, Bringing mama presents of flowers, frogs and snails. Those hands of his, though dirty, are growing up so fast, So mama treasures the gifts, and hopes these moments last. Slender young man hands slam the bedroom door, convinced his mama doesn't understand him anymore. Those hands of his are nearly grown and eager to be free, So mama hugs him anyway, my little man so much like me. Strong grown man hands turn to wave good bye, My baby boy is all grown up and mama wants to cry. Those hands of his have things to do. He'll find his way I know, So mama wipes the tears away, and lets her baby go. Little dimpled baby hands, grasp his finger tight, While daddy rocks him, humming, deep into the night. Those little hands he holds will grow all too soon for him he knows, So daddy rocks him, humming, deep into the night. -- Submitted by Sonny Falck from Arlington, TX e-mail: Sonny321@hotmail.com THANK YOU I wanted to thank you for the things you have done, for being my guardian angel when I felt I had none. I wanted to thank you for the love you have shown, for your warmth and affection when I thought I was alone. I wanted to thank you for your gestures and words; you gave me strength when I was in need and helped me trust in my own creed. I wanted to thank you for being there through thick and thin, if not in body, in soul and always believing that I could win. I wanted to thank you for who you are, for your strength and courage, for always shining like the brightest star. And the only way I can thank you and show you how I feel is to utter these words which are written in steel: It's so peaceful to be loved for who I have become than to be resented for the things I have not done. -- Samantha Birkett from London, England On the plains of hesitation Bleach the bones of countless millions Who at the dawn of victory stopped to wait, And waiting, died. -- A favorite of E. E. Nichols, author unknown LOST LOVE Who wins his love shall lose her, Who loses her shall gain, For still the spirit woes her, A soul without a stain; And Memory still pursues her With longings not in vain! He loses her who gains her, Who watches day by day The dust of time that stains her, The griefs that leave her gray, The flesh that yet enchains her Whose grace hath passed away! O, happier he who gains not The Love some seem to gain; The joy that custom stains not Shall still with him remain, The loveliness that wanes not The Love that ne'er can wane. In dreams she grows not older The lands of Dream among. Though all the world wax colder, Though all the songs be sung. In dreams doth he behold her Still fair and kind and young. -- Andrew Lang (from the favorites of E. E. Nichols)
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		THE POET'S CORNER - ORIGINAL POEMS FROM AROUND THE WORLD Nan Crussell Computer Services © All rights reserved e-mail: webmaster@silentwords.com P.O. Box 334 * Newcastle, CA 95658