happiness

[Jerrybaldy]

We all know that everybody else is useless
Never going to be there for you
Not going to get you
Dry eyed when you are crying
Swimming in pathos
When you are strong
Not getting you
On your unique journey
Friends, the ones who get you
But don’t have sex with you
They will take a half day holiday
When you pass away
Children with paternal love
Will forgive almost anything
For just being there
We all know that we are useless
Father of the year
Biggest smile in the office
Person I would most like to be like
When I was four
I played with sand
I drank milk in half pint bottles
I can see now
I was so happy then
I have to admit
Through gritted aching teeth
I will never be that happy again.

[Delta40]

Now that's a good emotional poem and those half pint bottles of milk? I'm holding onto those memories till my knuckles turn white...

[cacian]

Aw this is such a cool piece and oh why end on such a low note Jerrybaldy..
Great read!!

[AuntShecky]

"Swimming in pathos" -- an apt self-deprecating phrase. (My dear, late "baby" sister used to say "self-depreciating.") Incidentally, when you get a chance you should read John Cheever's short story "The Swimmer."

"Happiness", now. Sometimes I wonder if it's all that it's cracked up to be. Its very elusiveness, its stake in a nebulous "someday," a future that may--but probably won't-- exist makes me wonder if anybody can attain "happiness" in this world. Anybody who thinks it's possible is just setting himself (or herself) up for inevitable disappointment.

Maybe the Buddhists were on to something-- attempt to be more aware of the "now," the very present moment. Instead of happiness, shouldn't we strive for contentment? That would be enough for yours fooly.

Then again, if everybody were content, who'd write the poems?

Fondly,
Auntie

[MystyrMystyry]

Something to consider this, JB: you have happy childhood memories that involve playing with yourself? Why not just keep doing that, I mean if it makes you happy?

It's like a dividing point when you become aware of the wider world and have to take on responsibilities to be self-sufficient and motivating. It's why people have little hobbies to keep them in their happy world of retreat. Away from the workaday I'm still in the sandpit, the bucket and spade might be more sophistimocated, the sandcastles more complimocated, but it's the same song. Sometimes I think about the final castle, but then quickly snap out of it - no point finalising the design yet. Besides which there are too many ghosts walking the ground before us not to learn from their mistakes.

This one's put me in an odd state of mind, life-philosophy wise. I realised quite some moons back that whichever age I am I'll always feel that I should have travelled, seen, been and done more during the previous Solar Orbit, and it's in the dwelling on what was missed that turns me lemonlike. I'm not going to do all I want with a mere 700 thousand hours, but I can work on reducing the sense of disappointment.

I think this poem is your 'The Wall'. A lot of blab, and in the end the audience is supposed to feel sorry for rock stars. Sorry - I don't buy it...

[Delta40]

bump. This is good guys