The miser does not own the gold, it is the gold that owns the miser.
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The Old Miser and his 3rd Wife
1
The Old Miser
my husband is dying
and he makes me promise
I must put all his money in his coffin
when he dies
“O my legal third wife
the only one surviving -
you must put all my money
secretly in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring away all the money
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
2
Now, he’s dead
and I’ve arranged for his funeral
and while everyone’s busy
with all these preparations
I dutifully take all his money
from the hiding place
which he whispered to me
with his last breath
and he bit my ear and he snarled:
“Put all my money
in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
3
So I take all his money
and bring it to the bank
and deposit it in my name
and make a cheque out for 10 million
and put the cheque below his head
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you can take all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
poem by Raj Arumugam
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For Years/ A Miser Of Every Minute
FOR YEARS/ A MISER OF EVERY MINUTE
For years
A miser of every minute
For my work.
And now near old age
I understand
All that time given to works
Never to be read,
And so
A seeming tranquility.
If all my time wasted
Why be a miser
Any longer?
And yet,
What have I done?
Can I somehow still
Do something?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Compulsive Obsession
The miser sits and counts his gold
well wrapped in rags against the cold.
He has no fire he lacks the sense
He cannot bear to spend his pence.
He dines upon stale bread and cheese
sometimes porridge made from peas
to satisfy his appetite.
His bags of coin his one delight.
He has no friends he trusts no man
for they will rob him if they can.
He lives in abject poverty
to spend a coin is misery.
I do not envy him his gold
a bitter man who’s heart is cold.
I share what little comes my way
I cannot make my few pence stay.
But count my self a wealthy man
The miser save all that he can
and lives alone in misery.
I think that he should envy me.
8-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Oh, I wish I were a miser; being a miser must be so occupying.
quote by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 72
Gold is obtained from a mine by digging it, but from a miser by digging the soul.
Vile men spend not, but preserve.
They say hope of spending is better than spending.
One day thou seest the wish of the foe fulfilled
The gold remaining and the vile man dead.
Sonnet
The worldly prince doth in his sceptre hold
A kind of heaven in his authorities;
The wealthy miser, in his mass of gold,
Makes to his soul a kind of Paradise;
The epicure that eats and drinks all day,
Accounts no heaven, but in his hellish routs;
And she, whose beauty seems a sunny day,
Makes up her heaven but in her baby's clouts.
But, my sweet God, I seek no prince's power,
No miser's wealth, nor beauty's fading gloss,
Which pamper sin, whose sweets are inward sour,
And sorry gains that breed the spirit's loss:
No, my dear Lord, let my Heaven only be
In my Love's service, but to live to thee.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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While the miser is merely a capitalist gone mad, the capitalist is a rational miser.
The Crying From Misery
The miser has concussion when sick,
It is unholy and right if you end;
It contains blessings, the world,
When holiness has defeated;
We are holy, and they are so unholy,
The miser has concussion when sick
Too sick he is that it matters.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying,
You have divine nature when child
And lose when miserable more,
Like an angel it is, then adults shall change,
When babies were also them, also them.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
The miser has concussion when sick,
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sic Transit
'What did she leave?' . . .
Only these hungry miser-words, poor heart!
Not 'Did she love?' 'Did she suffer?' 'Was she sad
From this green, bright and tossing world to part?'
No word of 'Do they miss her? do they grieve?'
Only this wolf-thought for the gold she had . . .
'What did she leave?'
poem by Muriel Stuart
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You Remind Me Of Gold
Baby, when I think about you
And thats when I think
I think about gold
You remind me of gold
And when I see the sunrise in the sky
And when I hear your brakes come squealing by
I forget
Everything Ive been told
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
Baby I always think about you
I think of the life and glory you hold
You remind me of gold
And even though there was no sun today
And though you are a thousand miles away
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver And Gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver & Gold
Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost of Deacon Brown
In a backwoods town
Lived Deacon Brown,
And he was a miser old;
He would trust no bank,
So he dug, and sank
In the ground a box of gold,
Down deep in the ground a box of gold.
He hid his gold,
As has been told,
He remembered that he did it;
But sad to say,
On the very next day,
He forgot just where he hid it:
To find his gold he tried and tried
Till he grew faint and sick, and died.
Then on each dark and gloomy night
A form in phosphorescent white,
A genuine hair-raising sight,
Would wander through the town.
And as it slowly roamed around,
With a spade it dug each foot of ground;
So the folks about
Said there was no doubt
'Twas the ghost of Deacon Brown.
Around the church
This Ghost would search,
And whenever it would see
The passers-by
Take wings and fly
It would laugh in ghostly glee,
Hee, hee!—it would laugh in ghostly glee.
And so the town
Went quickly down,
For they said that it was haunted;
And doors and gates,
So the story states,
Bore a notice, 'Tenants wanted.'
And the town is now for let,
But the ghost is digging yet.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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The Treasure
When they see my songs
They will sigh and say,
"Poor soul, wistful soul,
Lonely night and day."
They will never know
All your love for me
Surer than the spring,
Stronger than the sea;
Hidden out of sight
Like a miser's gold
In forsaken fields
Where the wind is cold.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Miser
I had the money
To buy aplenty
And I did spend
On buying gold
For the temple deity.
Prayed, I diligently
Every morning of
Every day,
Even my night
Ended in prayers
To the almighty.
I spent lavishly
On incense,
To get the best
Fragrance ~
For my favourite
Gods – Rama, Krishna
And Sai Baba.
I made sure the
Purohits had
Enough booty
From my share of wealth
To perform
All the holy functions
Impeccably without
Any dearth of
Religious amenities
So that I and my family
Are blessed by the
Holy trinity of
Om Shivai Namaha,
Vishnu and Brahma.
And yet after spending
So much on so many
Candles, sweets, savouries
And garlands of flowers
In their beautiful bounty,
I understand not
Why people still call me
A Miser,
When I tell them that my money
Is for the good, noble cause of
Sanctity, upholding the
Sanctum sanctorum of the
Temple deity,
And not squandering
On giving alms to
Beggars and lepers
Who line the streets
Anticipating my pity.
I, a miser?
God Almighty
I gift you so much
Out of love, affection
And duty.
They misunderstand me,
Don’t they?
For they call me a miser
As I feed you instead of
The hungry souls staring
At me with hunger, poverty
And depravity…
But then, for me,
Religion comes first
So does the opulence
In religious duty.
Hence, I please you
Almighty, with all the
Frills and fills of
Sumptuous feasts and
Social elaborations of
Kali Pooja, Durga Pooja,
Ganesha Chaturthi, Dussehra
And Diwali, not to mention
My very own home worship
Of the goddess of wealth
And prosperity – Lakshmi Pooja
Yet, they say I’m a miser?
Can they not see how lavishly
I spend to please thee…
O God Almighty,
Are they blind?
Give them some vision
So that they can see some
Clarity in my charity that I do
To appease the purohits -
So that they take good care of you
And in turn, I’m taken care by you.
The lepers and the beggars,
May they suffer their Karma
Let them go bothering others
But not me – as I’m with thee.
In your esteemed comradeship,
I’m above and beyond them.
Let me not stoop below to uplift them
Lest I fall and slip on the very floor
They are on, and in the process,
Lose thee, O God Almighty.
Me, a miser?
Let them say
And call me such
Miserable names.
I, once and for all,
Will always…
Classify myself
As an ardent devotee.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Love
Lust for power and more power
Is your mask with a power monger
You may think then to annihilate
The weak for the conquest ultimate
Of your devotee- the power monger.
Money and miser in this pair
Of greed you become embodiment
You are a quantity for a miser
Of money and it's aggrandizement
For which he crosses all extents.
Lover and beloved in this pair
You mask adroitly carnel desires
Infatuation & longing on separation.
A mastery you show in presentation
In celestial form human relations.
poem by Ratnakar Mandlik
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Love's Treasure House
I went to Love's old treasure house last night,
Alone, when all the world was still -- asleep,
And saw the miser Memory, grown gray
With years of jealous counting of his gems,
There seated. Keen was his eye, his hand
Firm as when first his hoarding he began
Of precious things of Love, long years ago.
"And this," he said, "is gold from out her hair,
And this the moonlight that she wandered in,
With here a rose, enamelled by her breath,
That bloomed in glory 'tween her breasts, and here
The brimming sun-cup that she quaffed at noon,
And here the star that cheered her in the night;
In this great chest, see curiously wrought,
Are purest of Love's gems." A ruby key,
Enclasped upon a golden ring, he took,
With care, from out some secret hiding-place,
And delicately touched the lock, whereat
I staggered, blinded by the light of things
More luminous than stars, and questioned thus --
"What are these treasures, miser Memory?"
And slowly bending his gray head, he spoke:
"These are the multitudes of kisses sweet
Love gave so gladly, and I treasure here."
poem by David MacDonald Ross
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Why Tell Me About It
Why tell me about it when I already know
That money on bushes and trees does not grow
But having said that does it seem fair to say
That some come by their millions in the dishonest way
Money speaks every language as we are often told
And to the miser the only true god is his gold
And though I struggle financially for to get by
I too do like money that I won't deny
The gap between the haves and the have nots is growing ever wide
And millions are losing out on the social divide
And money and power are siblings 'twould seem
In that they both can do wonders for one's self esteem
Why tell me about it since I know all too well
That life without money can be Earthly Hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Aaron Stark
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, --
Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose.
A miser was he, with a miser's nose,
And eyes like little dollars in the dark.
His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark;
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close,
As if a cur were chary of its bark.
Glad for the murmur of his hard renown,
Year after year he shambled through the town, --
A loveless exile moving with a staff;
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity, touched with tears, --
And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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For The Love Of Gold Shining In Their Eyes
gold gold is the fever metal
for the love of gold shining in their eyes
men resort to violent base morals
gold lust will turn men's
hearts to savage beasts
gold is not a beautiful metal
of salvation
curse of death men's
gold haunts
generations of men
poem by Terence George Craddock
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