If everything that came from your tongue were to come into your hands, then every beggar would be a pasha.
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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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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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Kemal - The Posh Pasha
We have heard of the mythical lands of the East
And of caliphs and sultans galore;
Of Haroun al Raschid, of Abdul the beast,
And dark deeds by the Bosphorous shore.
But the picture we knew fades completely from view,
When we glimpse modern wonders that are
In the wonderful land of the greatest of Turks
Of Mustapha Kemal Pasha.
With a wave of his hand he has altered his land
From a fabulous country and strange
To an organised State wide-awake, up to date;
And he's made them content with the change.
Bastinado and bow-strings, and bodies in bags,
And the flash of the sharp scimitar
Are but memories dim, since they learned pep and vim
From Mustapha Kemal Pasha.
No magician of old ever dared to unfold
Such a box of tricks and strange spells.
To the joy of the males he has banished the veils
From the faces of Bosphorous belles.
Now with lip-stick and shingle they joyfully mingle
With crowds in the modern bazaar,
Whilst straw-hatted young bloods, in swish tailor-made duds,
Swear by Mustapha Kemal Pasha.
Cross-legged on a couch, cross-grained with a grouch
Old die-hards smoke hookahs and glower,
As they sigh for the days of the fez and old ways
With harems and intrigues in flower;
But the light-hearted lads give the bird to their dads,
While they puff at a fag or cigar;
To have all their trust, as Mustapha must,
Must gladden Mustapha Pasha
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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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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Bottled At The Source
Approaching the oasis this thirsty pairing
A ragged beggar and a snake charmer
Noticed an oddly shaped ominous cloud
Which seemed to be hovering overhead__
Ready for a much needed refreshing drink
They cupped their hands and took aim at the water's surface
But before they could break the tension of the mirror like pond
Their eyes beheld what appeared to be the reflection
Of an utterly demonic yet spiritual creature....
Fearing to take a drink as the water may be poisoned
The beggar behooves and begs pardon for his intrusion
While the snake charmer drinks because he had seen
The devil's face before and had charmed many serpents
The snake charmers thirst was uncontrollable and so it was
He scooped up all his hands could hold and drank fully
Within seconds of quenching his parched throat
He grabbed at it and as if to be strangling himself
He fell face down in the liquid dose and did not move
The beggar fearful and pleading for his life to be spared
Fell on his back petitioning God to deliver him from a similar fate
.....and at that very moment the oddly shaped ominous cloud
Opened up its vessel and from it poured a drink of rain
Into the beggar's mouth....until the heavenly gift was fully evaporated
The beggar now having been revived...
Sits up and taking notice of the snake charmer's status
Robs him of his sandals and his cloak___
2007 © T Sheridan
poem by Ted Sheridan
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For President, Leland Stanford
Mahomet Stanford, with covetous stare,
Gazed on a vision surpassingly fair:
Far on the desert's remote extreme
A mountain of gold with a mellow gleam
Reared its high pinnacles into the sky,
The work of _mirage_ to delude the eye.
Pixley Pasha, at the Prophet's feet
Piously licking them, swearing them sweet,
Ventured, observing his master's glance,
To beg that he order the mountain's advance.
Mahomet Stanford exerted his will,
Commanding: 'In Allah's name, hither, hill!'
Never an inch the mountain came.
Mahomet Stanford, with face aflame,
Lifted his foot and kicked, alack!
Pixley Pasha on the end of the back.
Mollified thus and smiling free,
He said: 'Since the mountain won't come to me,
I'll go to the mountain.' With infinite pains,
Camels in caravans, negroes in trains,
Warriors, workmen, women, and fools,
Food and water and mining tools
He gathered about him, a mighty array,
And the journey began at the close of day.
All night they traveled-at early dawn
Many a wearisome league had gone.
Morning broke fair with a golden sheen,
Mountain, alas, was nowhere seen!
Mahomet Stanford pounded his breast,
Pixley Pasha he thus addressed:
'Dog of mendacity, cheat and slave,
May jackasses sing o'er your grandfather's grave!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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It is better to be naked in your place than to be a pasha with strangers.
Take This Longing
Many men have loved the bells
You fastened to the rein,
And everyone who wanted you
They found what they will always want again.
Your beauty lost to you yourself
Just as it was lost to them.
Oh take this longing from my tongue,
Whatever useless things these hands have done.
Let me see your beauty broken down
Like you would do for one you love.
Your body like a searchlight
My poverty revealed,
I would like to try your charity
Until you cry, now you must try my greed.
And everything depends upon
How near you sleep to me
Just take this longing from my tongue
All the lonely things my hands have done.
Let me see your beauty broken down
Like you would do for one your love.
Hungry as an archway
Through which the troops have passed,
I stand in ruins behind you,
With your winter clothes, your broken sandal straps.
I love to see you naked over there
Especially from the back.
Oh take this longing from my tongue,
All the useless things my hands have done,
Untie for me your hired blue gown,
Like you would do for one that you love.
Youre faithful to the better man,
Im afraid that he left.
So let me judge your love affair
In this very room where I have sentenced
Mine to death.
Ill even wear these old laurel leaves
That hes shaken from his head.
Just take this longing from my tongue,
All the useless things my hands have done,
Let me see your beauty broken down,
Like you would do for one you love.
Like you would do for one you love.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better Be a Beggar
A beggar is not a robber.
He’s not a swindler or a hoarder.
He is as he could not be they.
Being a beggar is not a shame.
(10.04.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beggar is better
A dependant is worse than a beggar,
Though both of them don’t get self respects,
In that he, unlike the beggar, would get
Humiliations from his known people.
01.12.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A beggar will always be a beggar even if they give him the whole world as a gift.
All The Moms Aren't Bad
All the Moms aren't Bad
A smart cop Nandhia
heard the cries of an infant
in the hands of a beggar
who tried to move the hearts
of the passers-by for looting alms
to fill her ever-hungry purse
and pay the balance of the baby-price
to the cursed, widowed mother.
Being alerted by the probing
suspicious looks of the cop,
the beggar hardly tried to board a bus
before the woman-cop pulled her back
and told her to feed the wailing baby.
The shabby mom feigned to feed the baby
but the three weeks old infant
was not stopping her cries.
The police grilled the mule to tell
the story of the baby born to a bitch.
No pallbearers will come forward
to carry her coffin to the grave.
No one will be there to bury the face
in hands and weep for her loss.
The Dengue will kill her
or the tsunami will drag her
by her forelock into the sea.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The beggar that begs near another beggar will never be rich.
O Fool
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Fool
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Night's still awake with flexible souls
At the daybreak a drunkard whispers to a beggar's ear
Who's fast asleep on the concrete bed!
'Sorry for the inconvenience brother!
Short of few coins and I want to go back home
As I lost my way last night and slept in a strange place.'
The kind beggar gave him a brand new dollar note
with a big yawn and he's surprised.
He jumped to the first bus and gone.
Now the beggar remembers the friend
Once offered him a drink and he's worried
That he should have given him more.
* A Diamond is a chunk of coal that made good under pressure.
-Anonymous
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Tongues
the tongue
of my body
is in the nerves
the tongue
of my soul
in the heart
the tongue of
my mind
in the head
the tongue
of truth and deceits
in the mouth
the tongue of
the World (Creation)
in the words
of God
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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