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It is much more difficult to measure nonperformance than performance.

quote by Harold S. Geneen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Easy and Difficult

Easy and Difficult

Easy to get a place in someone’s address book
Difficult is to get a place in someone’s heart
Easy is to judge the mistakes of others
Difficult is to recognize our own mistakes
Easy is to talk without thinking
Difficult is to control the tongue
Easy is to hurt someone who loves us
Difficult is to heal the wound
Easy is to forgive others
Difficult is to ask for forgiveness
Easy is to set rules
Difficult is to follow them
Easy is to dream every night
Difficult is to fight for a dream
Easy is to show victory
Difficult is to accommodate defeat with dignity
Easy is to admire a full moon
Difficult is to see the other side
Easy is to stumble on a stone
Difficult is to get up
Easy is to enjoy life every day
Difficult is to give its real value
Easy is to pray every night
Difficult is to find God in small things
Easy is to promise something to someone
Difficult is to fulfill the promise
Easy is to say we love
Difficult is to show it every day
Easy is to criticize others
Difficult is to improve oneself
Easy is to make mistakes
Difficult is to learn from them
Easy is to weep for lost love
Difficult is to take care of it so as not to lose it
Easy is to think about improving
Difficult is to stop thinking and putting it into action
Easy is to think bad of others
Difficult is to give them the benefit of doubt
Easy is to receive
Difficult is to give

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Ill Take Love

(words & music by fuller / barkon)
Some people think that pot of gold
Is all they ever want to hold
But theres a treasure, I think more of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Some people think that their success
Is all they need for happiness
But theres a pleasure, I think more of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Pound for pound oh yeah and
Ounce for ounce love is all that really counts
So let them have their wealth and fame
Eat caviar and drink champagne
Youre all the treasure Im dreaming of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Pound for pound oh yeah and
Ounce for ounce love is all that really counts
So let them have their wealth and fame
Eat caviar and drink champagne
Youre all the treasure Im dreaming of
Measure for measure .. Ill take love
Ill take love, Ill take love
Ill take love, Ill take love

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Measure Of Love

The measure of love, in truth, is this:
To treasure each sigh, close by, then kiss!
I've revelled each girl I yearn,
Just to discern the measure of love!
Soft embraces, gazes... In search for one true friend...
Let go... then watching love grow...
Then lips pressed tight, just right,
As if our two hearts said, 'Hello! '
Love prays this is so...
The measure is true in gentlemen...
Right out of the blue! So who knows when?
It's meant to astound you, too...
So you can view the measure of love!

The measure of love, in truth, is this:
To treasure each sigh, close by, then kiss!
I've revelled each girl I yearn,
Just to discern the measure of love!
Soft embraces, gazes... In search for one true friend...
Let go... then watching love grow...
Then lips pressed tight, just right,
As if our two hearts said, 'Hello! '
Love prays this is so...
The measure is true in gentlemen...
Right out of the blue! So who knows when?
It's meant to astound you, too...
So you can view the measure of love!

poem by Denis Martindale
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How Do You Measure Up?

If you measure yourself by ambition,
There will always be someone more ambitious than you.
If you measure yourself by money,
There is always someone wealthier than you.
If you measure yourself by power,
There is always someone more powerful than you.
If you measure yourself with material things,
There is always someone with more stuff than you.
If you measure yourself by where you are in life,
There is always someone farther down the path than you.
If you measure yourself by appearance,
There is always someone that appears than you.
If you measure yourself by God,
Then we are all the same.
We are all wonderfully and beautifully made.
God is love.
And love has no end.
So in God's heart,
You will always measure up!

poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Unsaid Breeze

unsaid body clean-that's the life performance!
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

the way reality

real
IT
Y generation

the way real
I
ty

is
SPeaKiNg! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Can you hear it?

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

Can you hear it?
The poetic life singing tragically and paradoxically.

Can you hear it?

Can you hear it?

unsaid body clean
unsaid breeze gleans but difficult to be felt

[...] Read more

poem by Nyein Way
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The Task: Book VI. -- The Winter Walk at Noon

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem’d not always short; the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,
Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length.
Yet, feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revoked,
That we might try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss’d that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son’s best friend,
A father, whose authority, in show
When most severe, and mustering all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love:
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower,
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threatening at once and nourishing the plant.
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear’d us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounced
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent
That converse, which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy’s neglected sire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed
The playful humour; he could now endure
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent’s presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure’s worth

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Difficulties with women

It’s difficult to dress a woman

According to her wish,

It’s easier to undress a woman

Against her wish.

It’s difficult to argue with a woman

Because she is always right,

It’s easier to agree with her

Without any fight.

It’s difficult to find the words

A woman would like to hear,

It’s easier to keep silent

If you want to be her dear.

It’s difficult to guess her mood

So that to be understood,

It’s easier to tell her a funny story

And once more to say: sorry.

It’s difficult to explain

How much you miss her

It’s easier to give her a kiss

For her to remember you and miss.

[...] Read more

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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How Difficult Can It Be?

How difficult can it be,
To admonish others...
Whose lives are affliated,
With direct desperation?
And indirected misrepresentation?

And this is commented upon,
By those from the warmth...
Of custom built comfortable homes,
As they view 3-D wide screen TV.

What suffering is being done,
By someone laying back...
And munching on snacks.
To demand a sandwich be made...
As a mate hollers back,
'You want rye or wholewheat bread?
Lettuce, tomato, mustard or mayo?
Did you finish your beverage yet?
Or should I get another...
Cold from the 'frig'?
What for you would be best? '

Just how difficult can life be?
When the basic of needs are taken for granted.
Just how difficult can it be?
When those born into 'standards' of quality,
Have not a clue of struggle...
Or have lived a moment in poverty,
To be believed.

And yet,
Can live in the midst of prosperity...
With contempt for others who are only aware,
Of a poverty lived not one of them chose.
And if they did,
Not one of them thumbs up their nose.

How difficult can one's life be...
When conversations of importance,
Centers around shopping sprees.
Just to buy new clothes to impose an image.
An image sustained in superficiality.

How difficult can it be,
To admonish others...
Whose lives are affliated,
With direct desperation?
And indirected misrepresentation?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Measure Of Men

what is the measure of one man
is it the measure of one's strength
I think not
is it the measure of one's stature such as height
I don't think so
is it how wealthy one is
not even close
or is it how much power one possesses over another
not impressive
can a measure of a man be measured with a yardstick
well it can but that park doesn't show he's a man

the tolerance of a man for another man hitting him
can be measured with a ruler
the tolerance of a man for another man attacking his country
can be measured with a grain of salt
the tolerance of a man for another man hitting the one's he loves
now that can only be measured within a whisper

you can only measure a individual man or woman
with how big their heart is and
what qualities lie within that heart
such as dignity for what he works for
such as a stable household for his famly
compassion for people in need
the understanding of what's right and what's wrong
the pride of not what he has done but what
his wife and child has done
the sweat
the blood
and the tears he spars
to keep his marriage from falling apart

once you find a way to measure those things then
and only then will you be able to say
that is
because that is certainly
the real measure of all men

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Performance stands out like a ton of diamonds. Nonperformance can always be explained away.

quote by Harold S. Geneen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Fourteenth

I
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss --
But then 't would spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

II
But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

III
For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

IV
A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay!
The very Suicide that pays his debt
At once without instalments (an old way
Of paying debts, which creditors regret)
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,
Less from disgust of life than dread of death.

V
'T is round him, near him, here, there, every where;
And there's a courage which grows out of fear,
Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare
The worst to know it -- when the mountains rear
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there
You look down o'er the precipice, and drear
The gulf of rock yawns -- you can't gaze a minute
Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth

If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss--
But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy.
One system eats another up, and this
Much as old Saturn ate his progeny;
For when his pious consort gave him stones
In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.

But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,
And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,
After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast
You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one.
Nothing more true than not to trust your senses;
And yet what are your other evidences?

For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,
Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you,
Except perhaps that you were born to die?
And both may after all turn out untrue.
An age may come, Font of Eternity,
When nothing shall be either old or new.
Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.

A sleep without dreams, after a rough day
Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay!
The very Suicide that pays his debt
At once without instalments (an old way
Of paying debts, which creditors regret)
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,
Less from disgust of life than dread of death.

'Tis round him, near him, here, there, every where;
And there's a courage which grows out of fear,
Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare
The worst to know it:--when the mountains rear
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there
You look down o'er the precipice, and drear
The gulf of rock yawns,--you can't gaze a minute
Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

'Tis true, you don't - but, pale and struck with terror,
Retire: but look into your past impression!
And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror
Of your own thoughts, in all their self--confession,
The lurking bias, be it truth or error,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Difficult Age

Difficult age
Youre just fourteen
And youre not friends with your body
Painfully thin
Look at your skin
Play with yourself for a hobby
How can they love a man who does that to himself?
Difficult age
Turn on the page
Have that wee drink in the meantime
Difficult age
Now youre eighteen
Heres all the freedoms you wanted
All the best clothes
A looker who goes
The size of your wage packet flaunted
How can they love a man who does that to himself?
Difficult age
Turn on the page
And have that wee drink in the meantime
Difficult age
Hes twenty-nine
Thirty just lurks round the corner
Settled for life
Nice kids and wife
Pull out a plum like jack horner
Difficult age
Turn on the page
Have that wee drink in the meantime
Difficult age
Now thirty-eight
And youre not friends with your body
Wish you were thin
Look at your skin
Wasting yourself for a hobby
How can they love a man who does that to himself?

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Life Is Difficult

Life is difficult-
Surprises are not always what we hoped they would be-

People misunderstand us-
We imagine we are kind
And they understand us differently-

Some problems never get solved
Some remain lingering for years-

There are cruel people in the world
Stupid ones also-

The fair do not always get the prize
The pushers push push push the good guys aside-
We see the Evil grinning and we cannot touch them-

All kinds of Hopes we have are disappointed-
Rejection is the Fate of everyone at one time or another

One has to try and try and try
And often that is not enough-

Life is difficult
And after a certain age is more difficult
And when young is also difficult-

Life is difficult in some time or some way for all of us
It just is-

Life is difficult
And even when it seems not to be
There is another time coming-

Life is difficult
And so long as we live
It will be.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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If you never stand in glory

If you never stand in glory
If you never find 15 minutes of fame
I will tell your story
I’ll stand up and chant your name

If you measure yourself
With your own hands
If you don’t make excuses
If you do the best you can

You’ll be my hero
The heart, young one
Is the measure of the man.

If you don’t break the record
But yet you run the race
If you give it all your effort
And come in second place

If you do the best you can
You’ll be my hero
The heart young one,
Is the measure of the man.

If don’t sing in the spotlight
But refrained into the chorus
If you don’t climb MT Everest
But spend time in the forest

You’ll be my hero
The heart young one
Is the measure of the man.

If you don’t’ get elected
But you shake every hand
If the cause is effected
If clearly mark out where you stand

If you do the best you can
You’ll be my hero
The heart young one
Is the measure of the man.

IF you lose your direction
And meander for awhile
But seek out the correction
With each foot of every mile

You’ll be my hero

[...] Read more

poem by Eaton Bard
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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What's so difficult...

What's so difficult,
About the word,
No.

What's so difficult,
About our,
Relationship.

What's so difficult,
About,
Us.

What's so difficult,
About the words,
Stay away.

What's so difficult,
About,
Don't talk to me.

What's so difficult...

poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Alankar (Decor) -30

Kitchen clash (Double Rondeau)

How difficult it is to cook
In hot summer how a wife to cook
'Take rest, shall buy food from outside'
He says with concern on her side
Wife is happy she need not cook
Happy so life runs like a brook
Variety food, pleased they look
Seasoned hot, they know kitchen's stride
How difficult
Time in hand changed is her outlook
Changed is also her old cook-look
Styleless to stylish in set glide
Makes her new with glow to her pride
She can speak on her strife to cook
How difficult

How difficult but back a cook?
Daughter visits with siren look
There, stirs in dad's heart a high tide
Sneaks'cooking has been set aside
These days mom does not at all cook'
Enough for her to word and hook
Daughter counsels mom back to cook
To be in shifty husband's stride
How difficult!
Luck is but a wheel in life-book
So such a wife can't overlook
And mom vows never to abide
Honeyed words but put them aside
Blamed wife telling herself 'to cook
How difficult! '

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Is It Hard

Is it hard,
To depart...
From a broken heart?

Is it hard,
To give up...
A feeling creeping to weep?

And is it hard,
To leave that feeling...
Felt so deep.

Is it hard to leave that feeling that is felt so deep.
Is it hard.
Is it hard.
Is it hard to close your eyes and to fall to sleep.
Is it hard.
Is it hard.

Is it difficult to stop a heart from yearning.
Is it hard.
To depart.
Is it difficult to stop a fire burning?
Yes it's hard,
When it starts.

Some say that nothing's difficult.
Or too critical to let things go.
To then restart,
A mending heart.

Is it difficult to stop a fire burning?
Yes it's hard,
When it starts.

Some say that nothing's difficult.
Or too critical to let things go.
To then restart,
A mending heart.

Is it difficult to stop a fire burning?
Yes it's hard,
When it starts.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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