Got any poems for lost opportunities, your own or others'. Think maybe, Joni Mitchell's "For Free."

Here's one of mine from a different thread:

A true story:

New York City
at the Plaza
sitting at the Oyster Bar

There beside me
sunglassed blondie
skin just like a movie star

So I offered
her an oyster
really...just to be polite !

She said no thanks
not too hungry
eating crackers..staying light

"last time that i
ate an oyster?
Paris maybe ? I don't care!

sometimes I find
I'm in Paris
and- I dont know why I'm there"

So my thought was
"who's THIS bimbo""
I made up a quick excuse

She said "I must
have a liedown"
and went back to her recluse.

Moments later
met my friend there
he said "how was Hemingway?"

"Guess you don't know
that was Margeaux"
oh the ones that get away !

ANOTHER TRAIN
Words and music - Pete Morton

The beginning is now and will always be,
You say you lost your chance, then fate brought you defeat.
But that means nothing, you look so sad,
You've been listening to those who say you missed your chance.
There's another train, there always is.
Maybe the next one is yours,
Get up and climb aboard another train.

You feel you're done, there's no such thing,
Although you're standing on your own, your own breath is king.
The beginning is now, don't turn around,
Regrets of bad mistakes will only drain you.
There's another train, there always is.
Maybe the next one is yours,
Get up and climb aboard another train.

We crawl in the dark sometimes and think too much,
Then we fill our heads with crazy things that only break our hearts.
And I know you've seen what the earth can do,
When it's dragging down another load of worrisome fools.
There's another train, there always is.
Maybe the next one is yours,
Get up and climb aboard another train.

I know it's hard when you feel confused,
You can crown yourself with fear, now you feel you cannot move.
You're building worlds that don't exist,
Imagination plays the worst tricks.
There's another train, there always is.
Maybe the next one is yours,
Get up and climb aboard another train.

Wasted Time (Don Henley/Glenn Frey/Jim Ed Norman)

Well baby, there you stand
With your little head down in your hand
Oh, my God, you can't believe it's happening again
Your baby's gone, and you're all alone
and it looks like the end.
And you're back out on the street.
And you're tryin' to remember.
How will you start it over?
You don't know what became.
You don't care much for a stranger's touch,
But you can't hold your man.

You never thought you'd be alone this far
down the line
And I know what's been on your mind
You're afraid it's all been wasted time

The autumn leaves have got you thinking
about the first time that you fell
You didn't love the boy too much, no, no
you just loved the boy to well, Farewell
So you live from day to day, and you dream
about tomorrow, oh.
And the hours go by like minutes
and the shadows come to stay
So you take a little something to
make them go away
And I could have done so many things, baby
If I could only stop my mind from wondrin' what
I left behind and from worrying 'bout this wasted time

Ooh, another love has come and gone
Ooh, and the years keep rushing on
I remember what you told me before you went out on your own:
"Sometimes to keep it together, we got to leave it alone."
So you can get on with your search, baby, and I can get on with mine
And maybe someday we will find that it wasn't really wasted time

Fire And Rain
James Taylor (song lyrics)

Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone.
Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you.
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song,
I just can't remember who to send it to.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
but I always thought that I'd see you again.

Won't you look down upon me, Jesus, You've got to help me make a stand.
You've just got to see me through another day.
My body's aching and my time is at hand and I won't make it any other way.
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
but I always thought that I'd see you again.

Been walking my mind to an easy time, my back turned towards the sun.
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around.
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come.
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.

Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
but I always thought that I'd see you baby, one more time again, now.

Thought I'd see you one more time again.
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now.
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you, fire and rain, now.

Filling her compact & delicious body
with chicken paprika, she glanced at me
twice.
Fainting with interest, I hungered back
and only the fact of her husband & four other people
kept me from springing on her

or falling at her little feet and crying
'You are the hottest one for years of night
Henry's dazed eyes
have enjoyed, Brilliance.' I have advanced upon
(despairing)my spumoni.-Sir Bones: is stuffed,
do world, wif feeding girls.

-Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes
downcast...The slob beside her feasts...What wonders is
she sitting on, over there?
The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.
Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.
-Mr. Bones: There is.

John Berryman

Morning song, for two voices

verse 1

I’ll come down
to keep you company
on death row

refrain

if you’ll come down
to keep me company
on death row.

verse 2

I’ll come down
to keep you company
on death row

refrain

if you’ll come down
to keep me company
on death row.

verse 3

I’ll come down
to keep you company
on death row

refrain

if you’ll come down
to keep me company
on death row.

More songs:

Cat Stevens, "How Can I Tell You?" and "If I Laugh"

Harry Chapin, "Taxi"


And the grand-daddy of missed-opportunity poems: Whittier's "Maud Muller" (famous for "It might have been").


Also a folk verse that may or may not have an "official" version:

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,
I wish I were a maid again. (or "sixteen again")
Ah, but a maid I'll never be
Till apples grow on an ivy tree.

Thanks to all the generous responses.

Peter

It has an "official version" here
[sniff.numachi.com]

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

I knew this as a song, but just looked it up and found out the words are by Yeats.

There are English and Gaelic words and the melody at:

[www.irishpage.com]

Thanks, Linda,

Peter

A quite effecting poem, as Yeats can be indeed.

THE MORAL TAXI RIDE
Erich Kasten (1899- )
(translated from the German by Jerome Dennis Rothenberg)

They found a taxi. He took her home.
She spoke of her husband the while.
He knew she had power to charm him, some.
He didn't as much as smile.

They rode down the midnight thoroughfare
While somebody sat at the wheel.
The stars had painted their faces fair.
The streets were empty and still.

And when the taxi swung around curves
Their knees just managed to touch.
And it was plainly a case of nerves
Whenever it was too much.

He recommended a show to see
His manner was slightly forced.
She spoke of her lovely family.
Her voice sounded thin and lost.

And though he looked out of the window, he knew
That the gaze she gave him was steady
And she was suddenly troubled too,
And thought, "We are there already."

Then both of them didn't speak for a space.
Above them, some lightning broke.
The thing was awkward. He felt that the place
Was right for a funny joke.

The air was mild. And the taxi ran,
It galloped on faith and fuel.
They didn't think Nature could do them a damn,
But rubbing knees was cruel.

So at last they got out. He gave her his hand.
And went. And left it at that.
Though later, at home in his room, he would stand
And kick a hole in his hat.

Wow, that reminds me of something similar I read a while back. They participants were riding a train in the other one, though. Now it will bother me until I can find it doubtless.

Thanks Ian

Jerry was an old friencd and mentor, servicing on my doctoral committee, always asking intriguing, thought-provoking quesitions. He taught me about underground self-publication in the Soviet Union. Good man.

PPeter

Meeting in a Lift

We stepped into the lift. The two of us, alone.
We looked at each other and that was all.
Two lives, a moment, fullness, bliss.
At the fifth floor she got out and I went on up
knowing I would never see her again,
that it was a meeting once and for all,
that if I followed her I would be like a dead man
in her tracks
and that if she came back to me
it would only be from the other world.

Vladimir Holan (1905-1980)

A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN
(A reminiscence: 1893)

She wore a new ‘terra-cotta? dress,
And we stayed, because of the pelting storm,
Within the hansom’s dry recess,
Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless
We sat on, snug and warm.

Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain
And the glass that had screened our forms before
Flew up, and out she sprang to her door:
I should have kissed her if the rain
Had lasted a minute more.

by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)

Peter, I suspect you come from a non-cricketing background; and the game of cricket is doubtless a mystery to most people in the USA; but for those Emule participants and visitors who do enjoy it, here's a light hearted poem about a lost sporting opportunity:

'Missed!'
by P. G. Wodehouse

The sun in the heavens was beaming;
The breeze bore an odour of hay,
My flannels were spotless and gleaming,
My heart was unclouded and gay
The ladies, all gaily apparelled,
Sat round looking on at the match,
In the tree-tops the dicky-birds carolled,
All was peace till I bungled that catch.

My attention the magic of summer
Had lured from the game ? which was wrong;
The bee (that inveterate hummer)
Was droning his favourite song.
I was tenderly dreaming of Clara
(On her not a girl is a patch);
when, ah horror! there soared through the air a
decidedly possible catch.

I heard in a stupor the bowler
Emit a self-satisfied ‘Ah!?
The small boys who sat on the roller
Set up an expectant ‘Hurrah!?
The batsman with grief from the wicket
Himself had begun to detach ?
And I uttered a groan and turned sick ? It
Was over. I’d buttered the catch.

Oh ne’er, if I live to a million,
Shall I feel such a terrible pang.
From the seats in the far-off pavilion
A loud yell of ecstasy rang.
By the handful my hair (which is auburn)
I tore with a wrench from my thatch,
And my heart was seared deep with a raw burn
At the thought that I’d foozled that catch.

Ah, the bowler’s now querulous mutter,
Point’s loud, unforgettable scoff!
Oh, give me my driver and putter!
Henceforward my game shall be golf.
If I’m asked to play cricket hereafter,
I am wholly determined to scratch.
Life’s void of all pleasure and laughter;
I bungled the easiest catch.

Ian....turns out that Cricket is alive and well in the US, well, at least in the New York Metropolitan area, due to the Jamaican and Guyanese population here.....Flushing Meadows Park (site of the 39 and 64 Wolrds Fairs) holds quite a few events each week.