He has not even a clod of earth left to cover his remains. [A man reduced to extreme poverty.]
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He has not even a clod of earth left to cover his remains.
My Heart Poverty.........................
My heart is filled wit poverty it's alone i am hungry to be accepted
But my heart is filled wit poverty it speaks words of volmue but know one hears it
it's rejected.
My heart desire love and affection but it been shot in it's chest it needs reurrections.
Some say it's just a symptom but this heart is broken and steps on left on the ground unwanted......
this heart bleeds internally
My heart is filled wit poverty it's been deprived i don't know if it wants to beat anymore will it last another day to survive?
the conditions is bad ememies fightin in my veins went to my brain it blow up everything else was left was my heart and the remains.
Christian Guice
poem by Christian Guice
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXVI: Cover
We cover bitterness with satyr
We cover sadness with smile
We cover happiness with tears
We cover pride with stubbornness
We cover anger with jokes
We cover grudge with loyalty
We cover love with play
We cover lust with generosity
We cover sorrow with toughness
We cover ambition with hard work
We cover hope with pessimism
We cover fear with deniable
We cover dream with horror
We cover shame with sarcasm
We cover lone with rebellion
We cover clueless with boasting
We cover ignorance with invisibility
We cover truth with shadow
We cover trouble with distraction
We cover envy with humiliation
We cover lie with innocence
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To His Paternal Country
O earth! earth! earth! hear thou my voice, and be
Loving and gentle for to cover me!
Banish'd from thee I live;--ne'er to return,
Unless thou giv'st my small remains an urn.
poem by Robert Herrick
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One Of The Great Mysteries Of Nature
A bird or wild animal when they sense death is upon them will crawl under thick cover for to die
Why this should be great minds have often pondered though they did not come up with the answer why
Beast or bird to die will try to crawl to cover it's something way beyond them to explain
It's one of the great mysteries of Nature and as a mystery forever 'twill remain.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and us humans despite our advanced technology
Cannot unlock Mother Nature's deepest secrets and Nature to us still a mystery
Some seem to think that wild creatures die in cover from their enemies to hide themselves away
But that is just one of a thousand theories and I would rather stick with 'who can say'.
There are so many mysteries in Nature and her secrets she doesn't share with you and I
And Mother Nature to me still remains a mystery though I've lived near her since I was a young boy
And those who say they know of Nature's secrets they kid themselves or if not that they lie
For Mother Earth to us remains a mystery though to understand her ways we never cease to try.
The bird or beast for to die will try to crawl to cover even
from their own kind they wish to die alone
And why this should be to us remains a mystery and none of Nature's secrets to us known
As the years go by we acquire greater knowledge but people like the Seasons come and go
But Nature with secrecy will guard her secrets and her secrets are not for us to know.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Concealment And Covering
you conceal so many things
for so many reasons
you cover them
for so many ratiocinations
you cover you cup of coffee
so it may not get cold that easily
in the same manner you cover your cooking pot
so it may get hot earlier and at least fuel
you cover your ears perhaps because there's so much noise
you cover your head because it may be so hot or there may be rain
you cover your book to protect it from stains
you cover your furnitures because there is so much dust
you cover your body, your heart, your mind
for so many reasons
to each his own because we want to survive we want to live
we want to be just left to ourselves in our chosen privacies
no one has ever said that survival is a crime, a sin, a wrong,
it is the most fitting thing to do, and you must do it too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: The Magic of Poverty
A birth in poverty is luck supreme!
A death in poverty, a great blessing;
A life of poverty is rare a dream;
Achievements great, stark poverty can bring.
’Tis poverty that goads nations do feats;
’Tis poverty that stimulates scientists;
In everything, poverty, wealth just beats;
The greatest men were in poverty’s lists.
And poverty lessens our worries much;
Account to God will be much easier;
Poverty gives the saint a divine touch;
In poverty, poets can fly higher!
Poverty helps to shun worldly pleasures;
A soul in poverty, Heaven allures.
9-14-2002
poem by John Celes
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The Weight of Poetry
Poetry is core of arts
It’s not strange!
Not knowing that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not strange as well!
The many who don’t know that poetry is core of all arts
It’s not a strange at all!
Although the poets usually make foes against vulgarity
A city makes the poets wandering on the streets
Should utterly lack of the manner and style
A society brings the resentment to the poets
Should fully lack of consciousness
Solitude is the major topic in life
Solitude is poetry
Lack of poetry, art is a form of imitation
Lack of poetry, power is a presumptuous mediocrity
Lack of poetry, fortune is a wealthy poverty
Lack of poetry, love is a superficial organ
The extreme of love- solitude
The extreme of wealth- solitude
The extreme of power – solitude
The extreme of art- solitude
The extreme of climax - solitude
The extreme of world - solitude
The extreme of planets- solitude
Those who have never explored loneliness
Can write down the weight of poetry?
poem by DePen Chang
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To Survive
to survive i go for the golden mean
not so tall and not so short
the tastier, meatier part i suppose
is the middle part of the sandwich
the smoother flow is the middle
part of the river
the safer part is the middle in every
location
at the extreme right what do you get?
or at the extreme left?
i sing between
you extreme joy is killing you with arrogance
your extreme sorrow is killing you with hopelessness
you see,
i live in the middle of everything
not so hot and not so cold and they always call it
this paradise.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Extremes, though contrary, have the like effects. Extreme heat kills, and so extreme cold: extreme love breeds satiety, and so extreme hatred; and too violent rigor tempts chastity, as does too much license.
quote by George Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Whip
The doubt you fought so long
The cynic net you cast,
The tyranny, the wrong,
The ruin, they are past;
And here you are at last,
Your blood no longer vexed.
The coffin has you fast,
The clod will have you next.
But fear you not the clod,
Nor ever doubt the grave:
The roses and the sod
Will not forswear the wave.
The gift the river gave
Is now but theirs to cover:
The mistress and the slave
Are gone now, and the lover.
You left the two to find
Their own way to the brink
Then—shall I call you blind?—
You chose to plunge and sink.
God knows the gall we drink
Is not the mead we cry for,
Nor was it, I should think—
For you—a thing to die for.
Could we have done the same,
Had we been in your place?—
This funeral of your name
Throws no light on the case.
Could we have made the chase,
And felt then as you felt?—
But what’s this on your face,
Blue, curious, like a welt?
There were some ropes of sand
Recorded long ago,
But none, I understand,
Of water. Is it so?
And she—she struck the blow,
You but a neck behind …
You saw the river flow—
Still, shall I call you blind?
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Poverty must be reduced not only for reasons of moral and justice, but also of security.
quote by Anna Lindh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shadow Inside My Shadow
poverty is not my cousin,
is not my lover,
is not my preacher,
poverty is not my brother.
poverty is not my prayer,
or the song that i sing
is not my answer
poverty is not my dream.
poverty is not my teacher,
not the hand that i hold.
poverty is not my anger,
not my spirit, not my soul.
ah! but this poverty is real
it races thru my mind
crashes into my heart,
& leaves me deaf and blind.
poverty is my companion.
the aching cold inside my hollow.
the blow behind my eyes,
poverty is the shadow
inside my shadow.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Your Face...
stay still, do not turn your face
to the extreme end, , , this is the right angle
i click the camera,
this is the side of happiness, keep your cool,
do not move, do not change the angle,
now, try moving to the extreme left,
this will be the same face, but the extreme one
on a 190 degree turn, shows the other
side of you, and this i will try to take too,
this face of sorrow,
this angle of lament, , , , you see, it is the same face
with just one turn, a little change,
at the extreme, i can see both of you...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I worked my way up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty.
quote by Groucho Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I worked myself up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty.
quote by Groucho Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Cant Judge A Book
You cant judge a book by looking at the cover
No, you cant judge a man by looking at the cover
And you cant judge a book by looking at the cover
When I was young and went to school
My mama taught me the magic rule
And what she said I tried my best to follow
She said
You cant judge a book by looking at the cover
No, you cant judge a man by looking at the cover
And you cant judge a book by looking at the cover
Then I left school and moved around
And what I saw and what I found
Made me remember what she said to follow
She said
You cant judge a book by looking at the cover
No, you cant judge a man by looking at the cover
And you cant judge a book by looking at the cover
And now I think, by now Id know, that what appears is not always so
And I remember what she said to follow
She said
You cant judge a book by looking at the cover
No, you cant judge a man by looking at the cover
And you cant judge a book by looking at the cover
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clown
A famous clod rescues nobody in this world,
A transaction is being made for all this recent world.
The clown or clod reads into books of logic,
Demonstrating damage, filling the time,
Accusing us and his pupils of all the crimes.
A clod who worked hard enough to ruin
Has escaped and not spoken to our mouth.
The ruins are mountains of spoken language,
The towers suddenly convert us into aliens and clods.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The essence of Africa's crisis is fundamentally its extreme poverty.
quote by Jeffrey Sachs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of course I am frustrated with regard to extreme poverty, to violence that never seems to cease.
quote by Roger Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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