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Needing Advice
(Son) Hey, Dad, have you got a minute? Actually
it's a little complicated. Could you meet me
at Cuss from Hoe over a beer or two?
(Dad) Now you have got me worried, big spender.
What's up?
(Son) I need some advice.
(Dad) O.K., see you in about twenty minutes.
(Dad) Well, son, I think I need something stronger
than two beers.
Are you sure he is dead?
(Son) Yeah, he is not breathing.
(Dad) And he is in your apartment?
(Son) Yeah, he came downstairs to watch the ball game. We
had a couple of beers and I fell asleep on the couch.
Next thing, I wake up and there he is lying on the floor
in a pool of blood.
(Dad) And he is still there?
(Son) Yeah, he is dead, Dad. He can't leave.
(Dad) Did he ever pay you back the money he owed you, that you owe me.
(Son) No, that's why I checked his wallet to see if that was his
intention, to pay me back.
(Dad) And what did you find?
(Son) His wallet was empty, nothing in it.
How do I explain that to the cops, Dad?
(Dad) Holy Moley, how do you get yourself into these messes?
We've got to throw his wallet in the river, get back to
your place, break a window, empty your wallet, and after
I have punched you out, I'll call the police.
(Son) Thanks, Dad, I knew you'd think of something,
except Gus at Cuss from Hoe heard us talking.
(Dad) Yeah, but he was the only one there and he owes me
$20 grand. He said he'll pay me tonight.
Want to take care of it?
(Son) Sure, Dad.
poem by Elke Nigro
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Arbitrary
I am in my Honda Civic car at Haji Ali:
Boy of thirteen knocks on window screen,
But I turn away from this beggar, sure,
Not knowing how to go about it always.
In the morning however at Worli
I had asked driver to slow down
While I took out a ten rupee note
And gave it to that young beggar.
There is no difference between the two,
Both are begging by tapping on car window;
One makes my hand to open a wallet
And the other make my eyes move away.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Pickpocket
He found the King's wallet on a roadside
But it was empty and only the Queen's photograph remained.
He decided to return the wallet to the King without any failure.
What a pity?
He was sentenced to the life-imprisonment
As the King claimed all his money were there.
(I dedicate this poem to the poetess Tranquil.Ocean in gratitude.)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Beautiful Bashful Eyes
Big beautiful bashful eyes
with lashes oh so long
I love your beautiful bashful eyes.
They remind me of a song.,
a song to describe their color
and their lids that are half closed.
They never let me see behind them.
What they're feeling is never exposed.
Big beautiful bashful eyes
are lost in timid intent.
I wish for them to open wide
to see where they have spent
their shy-retiring gazes?
Were they ever looking my way?
Or were they lost in silent thought
afraid that they might stray
And find that all around you
eyes would be looking your way?
My eyes would be among them
and you would hear me say.
'Big beautiful bashful eyes
with lashes oh so long
you've captivated my attention
and are now the words to my song.
'Beautiful eyes, bashful and blue
my thoughts are lost in you.
Your lashes long, your lids dreamy-eyed,
no one can tell what secrets they hide.
I have secrets my eyes hide too.
They're all about my feelings for you.
Those bashful eyes have become for me
everything that I dreamed they would be.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Beggar To Beggar Cried
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Picture.
Ihave your picture in my wallet.
But I have your kiss in the jasmine
Of the summer dusk.
I have your picture in my wallet.
But I have your eyes in the starlight.
Dancing across a frosted field.
I have your picture in my wallet.
But I have your touch on the breeze
That bends the flowers in green meadow.
I have your picture in my mind.
poem by Kevin East
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The Beggar
The thought of great social solitude,
The sight of everyone having an attitude,
Being the neglected in the maltittude,
The pity viewed in verisimilitude,
The life of a beggar
His clothes torn and stomarch empty,
Always dancing to their tune,
Exploited and greatly tortured,
His presence mean nothing to them,
Their presence mean everything to him
He walks door to door for livelihood,
They dont walk to him to give life,
He is seeking life everyday,
Yet life does not seek him even one day
The beggar with rolling tears
Life like that of a beggar,
Love like that of a life,
Begging for the conditional love,
Do I have to beg your love?
Like the beggar beg for life,
My determinism flashes through,
Im breaking the steel bars my love,
Loosening the metalic chains off,
Love is love, not to be begged for,
Love is love, not to use each other,
Love is love, no need for persuation,
For so long it is love,
I will never be begging anymore,
Such love will be deceit,
Such truth will be fake,
And such commitment will be futile
Such a lover will be like a beggar,
Such a beloved will be like a lifegiver,
And such their love will be a shame
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The heaviest baggage for a traveler is an empty wallet.
Lost for Good
In Southampton, England was found
My Gramps wallet lost long ago.
The finder was intent and bound,
And found my Dad in Chicago.
The wallet was then sent to Dad,
With all the contents still therein;
Some pictures of Gramps as a lad,
With his parents and other kin;
An I.D. with info embossed,
Also bills and a ticket worn.
If that wallet had not been lost,
I might not have even been born.
The ticket was for a sea trip,
First class on the Titanic ship.
A Literary Method
His poems Riley says that he indites
Upon an empty stomach. Heavenly Powers,
Feed him throat-full: for what the beggar writes
Upon his empty stomach empties ours!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Wait for bait
Each girl takes every care
To lure anyone on the earth
And yet is unapproachable
Why?
She is a buyer in the market,
Going around with her wallet
To choose the best of the products
To suit more than her wallet.
Wait!
16.11.97,
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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King Of Dreams
It doesnt matter if Im right or wrong
It really doesnt mean a thing
It doesnt matter if you like my song
As long as you can hear me sing
cause Im the thorn in every little girls rose
You know I cut but never bleed
A shadow in the night, pure delight
I can satisfy your every need
Im a real smooth dancer, Im fantasy man
Master of illusion, magic touch in my hand
All the stages are empty when I steal the scenes
A beggar of love, second hand hero...king of dreams
Dont make a difference what you got
It doesnt matter what you lose
Dont make a difference if you like it or not
Baby Im gonna change your attitude
cause all around me there is mystery and wonder
Now cant you see it in my eyes
Ill crack the sky, make you feel the thunder
Youll never see through my disguise
Im a real smooth dancer, Im fantasy man
Master of illusion, with my sleight of hand
All the stages are empty when I steal the scenes
A beggar for love, second hand hero... king of dreams
All around, all around
Emotional squeeze through again and again
I know how to please you, your mind is on the bend
Cant you feel the power, surrender in my arms
Beyond the witching hour were travelling on and on
Im a real smooth dancer, Im fantasy man
Master of illusion, magic touch in my hand
The stages are empty when I steal the scenes
A beggar of love, second hand hero... king of dreams
Im a real smooth dancer, fantasy man
Master of illusion, sleight of hand
The stages are empty when I steal the scenes
A beggar for love... king of dreams
song performed by by Deep Purple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be not a beggar
Avoid seeking aids
Unless in bare needs;
Avoid getting helps
Unless in dire needs.
Provide in equals
To those aids and helps.
You should not afford
To be a beggar.
Offer help and aids
That must not be baits;
Offer gifts and kinds
That should not be a debt.
Your pay out should not be
Less than your receipts.
You cannot afford to be a beggar,
You be not greedy
Which makes you ugly.
Then you aren’t shut
Doors by the dear ones.
You may remain poor
But not a beggar.
Being a beggar
Is worse than a slave.
18 09,2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You're Making My Purpose Very Difficult
Content and substance
Intended to deliver
A meaning driven by a purpose
With a hopeful comprehension
That explores misunderstanding
'Huh?
I'm exploring my intent to mug you
You are the 'muggee'
And I
I am the 'mugger'
You're making my purpose very difficult
Do you OR do you not intend
To hand over to me your wallet? '
Are your serious?
Do you realize I am on a fixed income?
And you are here
Brandishing a gun?
Talking some nonsense?
Hand you my wallet?
I don't carry a wallet!
And furthermore
HEY! ?
You come back here
I'm not finished!
Hey?
Did you hear me?
Damn kids
Walking around making demands!
Pants hanging off his butt
Running away like he's carrying a diaper load.
AND
He expects to get something from me?
And he couldn't stay to understand a word I said?
When I was that age,
At least I was polite!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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