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Peace to Turmoil
When I omitted a line to read
I felt I lost the cost to that extent in
A tamil weekly that I then bought
With four annas of my privy purse.
I now buy it for seven rupees
To see across and throw it.
Is it due to the purging of my purse
Or mind running ahead of events?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Flag Day
Too many florence nightingales
Not enough robin hoods
Too many halos not enough heroes
Coming up with the goods
So you though youd like to change the world
Decided to stage a jumble sale
For the poor, for the poor
Its a waste of time if you know what they mean
Try shaking a box in front of the queen
cause her purse is fat and bursting at the seams
Its a waste of time if you know what they mean
Too many hands in too many pockets
Not enough hands on hearts
Too many ready to call it a day
Before the day starts
So you thought youd like to see them healed
Got blue peter to stage an appeal
For the poor, for the poor
Its a waste of time if you know what they mean
Try shaking a box in front of the queen
cause her purse is fat and bursting at the seams
Its a waste of time if you know what they mean
Flag day, flag day, flag day
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ladies First
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Pushing in front of the ice cream line.
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first,'
Grabbing the ketchup at dinnertime.
Climbing on the morning bus
She'd shove right by all of us
And there'd be a tiff or a fight or a fuss
When Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
Pamela Purse screamed, 'Ladies first,'
When we went off on our jungle trip.
Pamela Purse said her thirst was worse
And guzzled our water, every sip.
And when we got grabbed by that wild savage band,
Who tied us together and made us all stand
In a long line in front of the King of the land-
A cannibal known as Fry-'Em-Up Dan,
Who sat on his throne in a bib so grand
With a lick of his lips and a fork in his hand,
As he tried to decide who'd be first in the pan-
From back of the line, in that shrill voice of hers,
Pamela Purse yelled, 'Ladies first.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Grabby Gabby
Grabby Gabby was a little boy who was talking all the time
One day as he was walking, he saw on the sidewalk a dime
This started him to be grabby
Whenever he saw something shining, he would be grabby
One3 dayas he was walking, he saw a black shining lady's purse
He grabbed it and looked inside and found a lot of money in the purse
Also, he found a driver's license so he knew who the person was who owned the purse
So, he hurried to the ladie's house to return the purse
She was so happy that Grabby Gabby returned to her the purse and money
She gave him a reward of a large amount of money
June 29,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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He who has his purse full preaches to the poor man.
Terse Verse
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
In my soul thou so give
And on its worth my life I live
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Love is a morsel of thine treasure
In one ounce is my immense pleasure
Terse little verse, gold from beauties purse
Sing like a muse
and in poetry fuse
my soul into verse from beauties purse
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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An empty purse can't stand alone and a full purse can't bend.
The Poor
God is with the poor
But do the poor know God is with them?
As they look out from the crowd
Lost in their 'man made prison'
God is with the poor
But do the poor know God is with them?
As they look up to the proud
Who looks back with derision
And who can tell the poor that God is with them?
He who paints angel wings on ragged backs?
Makes hungry mouths sing for their supper
He who nothing lacks?
Who poorer still can say God is with us?
When homeless turn away from too much fuss
But God is with them
Is he with us?
And poorer still in having more
But never having too much
Who can say then God is with us?
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Poor Baby
Orbison/c & r price
Glittery eyes; witchy smiles
A good time is all you are after
Skin tight thighs; little white lies
Put you in the center of the laughter
But your reign of queen is over
Your fortress has been broken down
You're still the center of the laughter
But your role has changed to the clown
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Someone broke your heart in two
Ooh poor baby
Who would have thought it could happen to you
Poor baby
A pretty face; sweet talkin' ways
Got you a part of the action
A come-over-touch, glances and such
You always had to be the main attraction
Now you're the one who's crying
You lost at your own lonely game
You're still the center of attraction
But now i'm gone, you've got yourself to blame
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Do what you said you'd never do
Ooh poor baby
You let someone get much too close to you
Poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty pockets empty purse
Inside my pockets
the wind..
continues to play
an old game, hide and seek
But then too bored,
not pleased enough
starts searching for
a playmate or a friend
who does he find?
Just take a guess? ?
My purse, thats right!
The wind tries hard to
hook him up
and Mr Purse?
naahh...
Too lazy and too weak..
promises to play
actually starts but
then, just hide away and
sleep.
Sweet dreams, you clever
empty Mr Purse,
Sweet dreams! !
poem by Elena Sandu
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Gospel For A Very Sad Rich Man (part 2)
and you hear what God says
that you mr. rich man
has to sell all you have and
give all the proceeds to
the poor
and mr. rich man
why are you so sad?
do you hate the church? do you not like God?
are you bound by the strings of your purse?
you still want to be saved?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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She Masters Now The Art Of Losing
at first she lost a coin
then her purse and then her bag and then her blouse
and then her skirt and pants and then it went back to losing her underwears
until she becomes naked
she gets used to losing and when she finally lost herself
she did not complain
she is used to losing she has mastered losing as a form of art itself
she has become an artist and losing has become her main business
now, i have loved her and i am having this problem
of finding her
i guess i must learn too, this art of losing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Honesty doesn't belong
Honesty doesn't belong to rich
It is not beyond anybody's reach
It is easy to profess and preach
But we always defy rules and breach
Neither can it be expected from everyone
Not can it be taken for granted from someone
No one knows when someone may stab from the back
It happens many times when something big is at the stake
Today the scenario has been completely changed
Human needs have risen many fold and remains unmanaged
This compels people to go for quick and easy money
They may attempt to reach farthest tree branch for honey
No one wants to work hard for getting fortune
They know very well that they me be thrown out of gear and tune
If not worked hard and kept always in readiness
You got to go in whole heartedly and chase
One of the American female was on tour
Her dream for sight seeing and beautiful scenes turned sour
She lost her money purse along with passport
As being new and tourist she had nothing to support
She spent day and night restless for urgent need
She was sure nothing may come back due to greed
But to her fortune the purse was spotted by vegetable vendor
Beautiful lady at heart with noble ideas to live with honor
She was illiterate but soon got the real things behind
Got hold of one hotel bill and started to find
In the hotel room the lady had wept whole night
Had lost all hopes and feared for not going everything right
Vendor woman entered room with whole purse intact
The American woman couldn't believer her eyes in fact
She was in tears and simply could meet with simple lady
Here she was with all precious things and ready
The tourist lady thanked a lot and offered some money
The vendor lady refused and asked her to pray almighty
Even though she was poor, illiterate and had not more
She would not accept it in return for favor
I consider this gesture as shining example
For simple greed one could have been put into trouble
The vendor lady showed courage and honesty
I bow my head to her for doing the almost charity
* The name of lady is Kankuben Sakrabhai Pattani
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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All to War
I lost my mother
I lost my father
I lost my brother
And lost my dreams too
I lost my friends
I lost my family
I lost my sister
And lost my will too
I lost my school
I lost my work
I lost my city
And lost my rights too
I lost my day
I lost my night
I lost my sight
And lost my morning dew
(to the soul of every victim of war)
poem by Ezekiel Johnson
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The Ship That Never Returned
On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze;
A ship set sail with a cargo laden for a port beyond the sea.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
There were sad farewells, there were friends forsaken, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said a feeble lad to his aged mother, I must cross that deep blue sea,
For I hear of a land in the far off country, where there's health and strength for me.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
'Tis a gleam of hope and a maze of danger, and our fate is still to learn,
And a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said this feeble lad to his aged mother, as he kissed his weeping wife,
"Just one more purse of that golden treasure, it will last us all through life.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
"Then we'll live in peace and joy together and enjoy all I have earned."
So they sent him forth with a smile and blessing on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Ferry Me Across The Water
‘Ferry me across the water,
Do, boatman, do.’
‘If you've a penny in your purse
I'll ferry you.’
‘I have a penny in my purse,
And my eyes are blue;
So ferry me across the water,
Do, boatman, do.’
‘Step into my ferry-boat,
Be they black or blue,
And for the penny in your purse
I'll ferry you.’
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Death Of The Poor
It is Death, alas, persuades us to keep on living:
the goal of life and the only hope we have,
like an elixir, rousing, intoxicating, giving
the strength to march on towards the grave:
through the frost and snow and storm-wind, look
it’s the vibrant light on our black horizon:
the fabulous inn, written of in the book,
where one can eat, and sleep and sit oneself down:
it’s an Angel, who holds in his magnetic beams,
sleep and the gift of ecstatic dreams,
who makes the bed where the poor and naked lie:
it’s the glory of the Gods, the mystic granary,
it’s the poor man’s purse, his ancient country,
it’s the doorway opening on an unknown sky!
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lost in everything
Lost in thought
lost in pain
lost in fear
that you can never retain!
Lost in trouble
lost in grief
lost in heartbreak
that you can never relief!
Lost in sorrow
lost in death
lost in misery
That you can never refresh!
Lost in life
lost in words
lost in everything
That you can never return!
Lost in chaos
lost in peace
lost in burdens
that you can never release!
Because these are the things
we think and feel
through the good and the bad
It's a forever done deal!
poem by Katarina Bowman
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