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Coronation
At the king's gate the subtle noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell one by one.
Through the king's gate, unquestioned then,
A beggar went and laughed, 'This brings
Me chance, at last, to see if men
Fare better being kings.'
The king sat bowed beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand;
Watching the hour-glass sifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
'Poor man, what wouldst thou have of me?'
The beggar turned, and pitying,
Replied, like one in dream, 'Of thee,
Nothing. I want the king.'
Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown, and threw it by.
'O man, thou must have known,' said he,
'A greater king than I.'
Through all the gates, unquestioned then,
Went king and beggar hand in hand.
Whispered the king, 'Shall I know when
Before
his
throne I stand?'
The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced.
'This is his presence now.'
At the king's gate, the crafty noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun;
Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked one by one.
'Ho here! Ho There! Has no man seen
The king?' The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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Running To Paradise
As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
For I am running to paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to paradise;
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving-maid and a serving-man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled a old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play
While I must hurty upon my way.
For I am running to paradise;
Yet never have I lit on a friend
To take my fancy like the wind
That nobody can buy or bind:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Equal Rights,2011
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love.
equal rights to believe,
to speak out, to stand up
and be counted.
equal rights to work,
equal rights to study.
equal rights to build.
equal rights to profess faith,
equal rights to pray.
equal rights to give...
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If 1 And 2 Were Equal
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have as many hearts as fists
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have confused shopping lists
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be less phone numbers to dial
If 1 and 2 were equal
noon would surely last a while
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be a nose under each eye
If 1 and 2 were equal
you couldn't say no to 'you and I? '
If 1 and 2 were equal
I think I'd be much more happy
'cause if 1 and 2 were equal
I would not be so lonely
poem by John W. McEwers
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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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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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Hind Horn
In Scotland there was a babie born,
Lill lal, etc.
And his name it was called young Hind Horn.
With a fal lal, etc.
He sent a letter to our king
That he was in love with his daughter Jean.
He's gien to her a silver wand,
With seven living lavrocks sitting thereon.
She's gien to him a diamond ring,
With seven bright diamonds set therein.
"When this ring grows pale and wan,
You may know by it my love is gane."
One day as he looked his ring upon,
He saw the diamonds pale and wan.
He left the sea and came to land,
And the first that he met was an old beggar man.
"What news, what news?" said young Hind Horn;
"No news, no news," said the old beggar man.
"No news," said the beggar, "no news at a',
But there is a wedding in the king's ha.
"But there is a wedding in the king's ha,
That has halden these forty days and twa."
"Will ye lend me your begging coat?
And I'll lend you my scarlet cloak.
"Will you lend me your beggar's rung?
And I'll gie you my steed to ride upon.
"Will you lend me your wig o hair,
To cover mine, because it is fair?"
The auld beggar man was bound for the mill,
But young Hind Horn for the king's hall.
The auld beggar man was bound for to ride,
But young Hind Horn was bound for the bride.
When he came to the king's gate,
He sought a drink for Hind Horn's sake.
The bride came down with a glass of wine,
When he drank out the glass, and dropt in the ring.
"O got ye this by sea or land?
Or got ye it off a dead man's hand?"
"I got not it by sea, I got it by land,
And I got it, madam, out of your own hand."
"O I'll cast off my gowns of brown,
And beg wi you frae town to town.
"O I'll cast off my gowns of red,
And I'll beg wi you to win my bread."
"Ye needna cast off your gowns of brown,
For I'll make you lady o many a town.
"Ye needna cast off your gowns of red,
It's only a sham, the begging o my bread."
The bridegroom he had wedded the bride,
But young Hind Horn he took her to bed.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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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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Where's the Poet?
Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him.
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan
Or any other wonderous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Come articulate and presseth
Or his ear like mother-tongue.
poem by John Keats
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Fragment. Where's The Poet?
Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
Muses nine! that I may know him.
'Tis the man who with a man
Is an equal, be he King,
Or poorest of the beggar-clan
Or any other wonderous thing
A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
'Tis the man who with a bird,
Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
All its instincts; he hath heard
The Lion's roaring, and can tell
What his horny throat expresseth,
And to him the Tiger's yell
Come articulate and presseth
Or his ear like mother-tongue.
poem by John Keats
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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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Equal
equal,
..equal,
...equal,
....equal,
.....equal,
......equal,
.......equal!
dont it sound good?
wouldnt it feel good?
think about it,
and then do something about it!
equal!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sonnet: All Men are Equal in God's Eyes
All things on earth are equal 'fore God's eyes;
There ain't a thing thats insignificant;
It does not matter payment or job-size;
All men are equal too who slog or chant.
Take pride in things whatev'r that you may do;
Give respect due to everyone around;
Let money not your earthly conduct woo;
To keep away from evils, men are bound.
Even the beggar will reach God's Abode;
Even the wealthy man could lose His Bliss;
But, keep we must in every way, God's code;
To keep soul pure, we can't afford to miss.
The Ant or Elephant are same for God,
But souled is man alone tho' made from clod.
poem by John Celes
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Love and hate, put aside
All are equal by birth;
All are equal by death.
Let them have equal rights.
Love and hate, put aside.
28.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Love Is A Wonderful Thing
Love is a wonderful thing
It makes me dance makes me sing
Love is a superb feeling
It gives my mind magical wings
Love is a fantastic thing
It makes me feel like a king
Love is a marvelous thing
It keeps me always smiling
Without love I am nothing
But a beggar begging love
Without love I am nothing
But a lonely wingless dove
poem by Asif Andalib
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‘He came unto His own, and His own received Him not’
As Christ the Lord was passing by,
He came, one night, to a cottage door.
He came, a poor man, to the poor;
He had no bed whereon to lie.
He asked in vain for a crust of bread,
Standing there in the frozen blast.
The door was locked and bolted fast.
‘Only a beggar!’ the poor man said.
Christ the Lord went further on,
Until He came to a palace gate.
There a king was keeping his state,
In every window the candles shone.
The king beheld Him out in the cold.
He left his guests in the banquet-hall.
He bade his servants tend them all.
‘I wait on a Guest I know of old.’
‘’Tis only a beggar-man!’ they said.
‘Yes,’ he said; ‘it is Christ the Lord.’
He spoke to Him a kindly word,
He gave Him wine and he gave Him bread.
Now Christ is Lord of Heaven and Hell,
And all the words of Christ are true.
He touched the cottage, and it grew;
He touched the palace, and it fell.
The poor man is become a king.
Never was man so sad as he.
Sorrow and Sin on the throne make three,
He has no joy in mortal thing.
But the sun streams in at the cottage door
That stands where once the palace stood.
And the workman, toiling to earn his food,
Was never a king before.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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A king for a moment, and a beggar soon after.
Equal?
How many men are created equal?
That's to hard to figure out.
How many men are created equal?
Preacher says 'ALL of us'
Hear him shout.
I guess he's forgotten what equal means.
He must be thinkin' about countin' beans.
One for you, two for me.
Count 'em up and you'll see
just what equal's all about?
Equal's really all about
who's doin' the countin'.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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From the king to the beggar, they all depend on the farm.