Best Longevity Poems
Longevity
What endures in this material world?
What escapes the creeping hand of rust
Motheaten, our memories unfurl
The beauty of the rose lost in rose dust.
Hard gemstones splinter beneath time’s pressure
Mold invades the gowns sown of silver
The artist’s paint crazes, past their endeavor
Even the sun burns towards it’s fiery end.
For such a time as this each day comes
Facing wrinkles of time, starlight’s frailty,
Under the wind whipped, battered, labarum
The withering heart knows one true reality.
Only love never rusts, never ages,
Eternal, the dancing soul on Heaven’s stage.
Time speeds away, ages added on to eons,
Piling changes on change, it moves on,
Seldom posing lull and loll.
With the current rushing swift and fleet,
We race past from old to new
From times primeval to times neoteric
Watching the ceaseless chain of births and deaths,
Tasting life’s vicissitudes of joy and pain.
In the unwinding circuit of time
How long is my sojourn here?
60, 70 or 100- that’s a man’s average longevity,
Does it mean more than a mere drop in the ocean?
Like the bubbling foam or the dying froth,
We appear uninvited and depart unnoticed,
Leaving no foot prints or monuments behind.
Between the rows of forefathers who exited out
And the countless progeny lining up,
I have squeezed a space to be a face in the multitude.
Does my longevity mean much?
No..! All that counts is how well I have lived here.
To wake and taste nothingness,
perhaps, is the cruelest feeling,
when ink craves to crease its lines
with truth that will not run
in recurring refrains
of a time-bruised routine,
where language reflects the lunatic
and words hold no weight.
Let the heart relearn hurt once more,
as the Reaper listens, loving
the pulse of my breathing sigh,
beholding me write longevity into the sky,
amidst iron syllables of steady seconds,
secretly savoring the stillness
of morning minutes that refuse finality…
Immersed in the current of continuity,
in love with the soul’s frequencies ~
I know my faith’s flame:
the rhapsody of a rose, unshaken…
So I revel in being alive,
at the age of seventy four,
with no tangible boundary,
long and longer one does yearn,
for life’s garden of pure health,
my blossom, bloom, and bliss,
devoid of serious ailment,
that bristling spirit undimmed,
I still savour with such abandon,
verdant sights, scenes, sounds,
profuse vista, azure skyline,
wondrous rapids, bright streams,
tender love and human passion,
sheer late phase zest enduring,
my olden yet golden proud march,
year on year earthly nirvana
Our heartbeat stalled for a moment,
whence with life extinguished, we fell
but the Grim Reaper stayed his hand,
placing us back in body shell.
Lost in trance we think not of death,
wishing to live on for all time,
pursuing objects of desire,
heart seeking new mountains to climb.
Befriending the vast, vibrant void,
at source, as the eye of the eye,
becoming the bliss flame itself,
we saw life’s a dream, a big lie.
Who we are is pure living light
and not decaying form of dust;
our quintessence can never die,
nurtured by God, whose touch we trust.
I asked an old lady of 103
What’s the secret of your Longevity
Listen very carefully my young man
Then so very softy she began
On Monday the Milkman delivered the milk
And I wore a negligee trimmed with pure silk
On Tuesday coalman with coal in his sacks
And I wore some sexy super tight slacks
On Wednesday the postman would knock on the door
Come in my dear I’m here on the floor
On Thursday the husband from number 8
I told my sister don’t worry he’s just a mate
On Friday Albert the fish man would bring me the fish,
I tell you my boy he was a bit of a dish
Saturday was a day with WI
When we started talking the time didn’t half fly.
Sunday should have been a day of rest
But I kept that for hubby, because he was the best.
Longevity inherited?
Brevity touches many
Strong constitution cherished
This world without pollution envy
Quality of life is a favor ferreted
Those who desire quanity and quality plenty
Desired to live to a hundred
Wired to be one- hundred- twenty
Life cut short for mankind, have wondered
Someday answers find, scripted plenty
When the whole world has been plundered
Will longevity belong to any
Finis'
Contest:Quartets
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
I know a lady who is 99 years aged
she will be 100 by winter
Every day she walks to the disused post office
- an hour each way
Eats, drinks healthily ...
and does all the housework herself
Even in the garden she is diligent
You should have seen her roses
In the evening she has a glass of port wine
and a piece of chocolate liqueur
It gives her a peaceful night's sleep
- without medicine
1.
the crystallised handkerchief
of one’s span of life
your handloom-bird brings with its lips
some musical notation of the nimbus
holding that waves within the heart
how much growth does occur
to the sandal-line of a man
or
it does
fall
the blades of grasses are known well
to be vegetarian
the eyes of the reindeer
have cent per cent smelling of fish
then what translation would you suggest
for the fingers of wild titlark
the shirt
they have put on the body of this night-stone
what best word-meaning does match it
but land-lotus
2.
i’ve re-constructed
all the trees and plants
with
the dry straws grass twigs collectively
fetched by beak
and the monsoon
as well
the full-brim of vodka
is deep in the palms
in that moonlight
a sleeping-tablet
does take a dip-swimming
within her enfolding
there may be the whole works of rabindranath
from the breathing of cd-player
spreads around
the sound of horse’s hoof
there is the bed-sheet of dusts
on the anger
kept bound within the cover of rexin
it’s true
our vineyards are still
prone to stones
then it does not seem
that the boiled moon sets
into the tea-cup
3
in your songs
still lies
immense green
the bed-room is too
very bright
the walnuts
walking along the path
that touches the rain-shore
make me think likely
on a sunday
kept in an envelop
when the bedcover of the early morning
speaks frankly
what’s in its mind
to the soap-water
the ears of the horse
in the wall-calendar
look very crazy
i can remember
one day
the sun-boats would tear their wrappers
their whisper would want to discover
the inclinations and thoughts of the creepers and herbs
possessed by the lady-volunteers
their yawing would notice
so many unused handlooms
taking a run-away on the clouds
now
would the cat under the beautiful jersey
finally think of waking up
then i’ll go
to deposit the clever apples
along with
all the triangles accompanying it
to the nearest cold-storage
I
God always wins the wager if we live long on earth... and even if we don't.
II
Some questions die with questioners; even if God heard the questioning daily (for 90 years)
III
If Jesus died for the sins of those born after 2000, will more from India and China be in heaven? Will whites be a minority in heaven?
IV
If race and color don't matter in heaven, God is miserly not to have given more practice here
1.
observing the ardent eagerness of the wind
it is clearly understood
that nascent pollens are overflowing
the niche of her heart
in response to the signals of the river
she keeps on ringing
all long the month of earth-quakes
the bench of the rail-station
wants to hug her
the medicine-counter of the ***-end of the day
beckons her with the hand to come nearer
in the assembly-hall for musical demonstration
adorned with ash-trays
going on the rehearsal of her dancing and singing
she also distributes some life
to the meticulous dressing
of the magnolia
2.
let the swimming pool be fully absorbed
with its dark-room
when the feather of your fore-finger
becomes green
the merchant of venice
will leave his business of photo-coping machine
to start walking directly
in search of new earnings
evening sets in
on the boiler of the delta
putting on yellow-dress comes
the water-vessel of the paper-balloon
there is no singing bird
shivering with cold
in the fold of the dear bed-sheet
it is possible that the boldness of the metro-railway
may give some wood of tamarisk
on the expanded palms
yet oh the western page of night
do tell today
why so much tamed polythene
are here in our cohabitation
3.
after so many days
published in the wind
painted in wings
the recent heart’s desire
of the doors and windows
they have rolled up their fairy-tales
from the ignorant drawing-room that wanted
to set her mind to the hill slanting downward
they did not want to know
how much rheumatism is there
in the hands and legs of the bark
to whom is delegated
the control of the mason-made bus-journey
sleep hugs the eye-lids of the rivers
though there is no postage-stamp
within the reaching-point
then what magic is there
in the hill slanting downward
why the wall does not learn
how to swim like a fish
truly it is he from whom
those negligible moments of man-ism
itch for blue candle-stand
The Illusion of beauty
Fades...facade cracks
Yet fill with wisdom
And charm, yearning
Longevity
6.
i am to be blown off on the first bombardment
then it is to be flown
in the crowd of fire-flies
on the bushes of the scented-lemons
and it is to see the memory race of the grown-up girls
it is to see more
that after the opening of the sluice gates
one by one
how the gathering in the hindu hotels
increases
by leaps and bounds
the pores of the skin of the body
whose hoods are open
and who are running up
along the spiral route
that leads to the top of the mountain
their child
due to late-marriage
now only knows
how to move on all fours
7.
under the table-glass
i unfold the life-chronicle of one lakh year
and in the olive-cabinet
all the applications for living
from the monsoon-noon to the winter-afternoon
the lines you draw on the parchment
none of them is so condensed
as to touch the palms of a sailor
from the numerable timber-joists
come down the swarms of personal white ants
no spring seems to become corporeal
without the spell of misunderstandings
so of late
besides the dry statistics
with the cough
comes out grey thermometer
prickly-heats spread over the whole body
the sticks of young antenna
shake off their wings
behind the bath-scene
lies the succulent hailstorm
8.
there is no lovely add
yet the market-value of your headache
is going up day by day
all the noon send her mad
the intellectual kisses
the coos
or is it the running about of the tennis-ball
so much pop-corns are flying out
from the draw-well
or that sound of foot-steps
in the north-east
may be
that is of some brown horses
or some horse-drawn perambulators
when the moon spreads out the platinum
does it judge the recipients
thus the bin-leaves can ring
from head to foot
it unfurls an incorrigible right-angle
in the early-evening
the troop with armours
open a shop of condom
beside the vainglory of the lake
There still trying to figure it out
How you make another year
No doctors Pills Aseptic techniques
Or Answers
Just tons of Books Strong Coffee
And Sunlight
They say it's in the "genes"
And of course the "therapies"
Where you hash
Your past
Confront your demons
And for a future
Stay stuck
While people find themselves
Lose their habits
And remain the same
You work on
Loosening yourself
Please
"The Longevity Factor"_
Alex Nelson_
Early 90's_
The sun is rising in the Eastern sky,
its rays cutting the early morning mist.
To shine on the inky black waters cried,
by fallen maidens to an unjust fist
Why have they been beaten so hard they break.
Causing such pain and sorrow as to cry,
for an eternity to spawn a lake.
Not seen by night or serf as they pass by.
Its not their fault time has taken their looks
they become knurly and twisted with age.
To wander the forest to hide their shame.
Until time takes their life and their rage.
But their masters, the Ogres, life is long
Beauty is their lust and young their desire.