There is no pride like that of a beggar grown rich.
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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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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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The Humbling / Parable of 'Kentucky Lucky
There once was a man,
Come from Kentucky.
He was the luckiest
Of the lucky.
He was better,
He was best.
He claimed to be higher
Than all the rest.
His favorite pastime
Was revelling in everything
He thought he knew.
Little did he relize,
He was about to recieve his due.
Nothing could happen to him!
He was The Elite.
But as he walked along,
He met a beggar in the street.
Said the beggar,
'A shekel, for a worthy cause? '
But Pride strutted by,
Without a pause.
Pride was a long way off,
When suddenly,
He ground to a stop.
For there stood the beggar,
Draped with downy wings,
And clad in robes of pure white!
Said foolish Pride,
'You are an angel,
And yet you asked of me,
A shekel? '
Then the angel replied,
'For a shekel, I did ask.
Just one little shekel,
'Twas all.'
'But you think it too humble a task.'
'Forget it!
A shekel, I do not need.'
'My Lord and God provides me all.'
As the angel turned to take leave,
Pride soon began to greive.
'Wait! ' cried Pride,
'Don't leave! '
'Come! '
'Eat! '
'Look! '
'I give you my all! '
Said the angel,
'Had you known
Who I really was
When I was poor,
You would not have turned me
From your door.'
'But - But, I! '...
Tried to reason Pride.
'Excuses', said the angel,
'Will not do you well,
Nor shall it justify your sin.'
'Now! , Look not upon earthly things,
But store up for yourslf teasures in Heaven.
'You can do this by serving God,
And not just looking out for yourself,
But by concerning yourself in the interests
of others.'
'But, Pride,
One thing you should remember above all' -
'Is that pride comes, before a fall.'
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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The beggar that begs near another beggar will never be rich.
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 pride and the vanity
Flaunt if you have it.
If you don’t, why have you it?
Pride is your opinion about yourself;
Vanity is a display
To secure others’ opinion
About you in exaltation.
If rich, be rich; it is pride.
If poor, be poor; it is pride.
The rich being humble
Itself is a vanity.
10.07.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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No two are equal
A penny in the hand of a beggar
And the one in the hand of a rich
Are not the same in value.
The rich is not proportionately rich.
14.08.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A homework
We were told to draw a portrait at our choice
but we were send only words.
The beggar was still there, near the apple-tree in blossom,
punished to count stars or to assist the leaves' death.
I refused my tears and began my homework.
The light was for all and for free,
the beggar was thought the fear's pride.
I took the words and have drawn this poem at my choice.
The apple-tree smiled to the beggar
in this light for all and for free
poem by Clava Ghirca
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Sonnet: The Rich and the Poor
The rich become richer and the poor poorer;
This is the way in which this world goes on!
Men may become suddenly rich, not born;
A rich man turns suddenly a beggar.
The few pennies are snatched off from the poor;
The brunt of taxes are but borne by them;
They can’t make both ends meet by any sum;
The rich hoodwink the taxman- their brother!
Will the world treat people alike ever?
All men are born unequally today;
Yet, if it happens, ’twill be a wonder;
No matter what you do, things happen this way.
The rich become richer not by real work;
The poor become poorer though they hardwork!
poem by John Celes
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To Either
Back further than
I know, in San
Francisco dwelt a wealthy man.
So rich was he
That none could be
Wise, good and great in like degree.
'Tis true he wrought,
In deed or thought,
But few of all the things he ought;
But men said: 'Who
Would wish him to?
Great souls are born to be, not do!'
One thing, indeed,
He did, we read,
Which was becoming, all agreed:
Grown provident,
Ere life was spent
He built a mighty monument.
For longer than
I know, in San
Francisco lived a beggar man;
And when in bed
They found him dead
'Just like the scamp!' the people said.
He died, they say,
On the same day
His wealthy neighbor passed away.
What matters it
When beggars quit
Their beats? I answer: Not a bit.
They got a spade
And pick and made
A hole, and there the chap was laid.
'He asked for bread,'
'Twas neatly said:
'He'll get not even a stone instead.'
The years rolled round:
His humble mound
Sank to the level of the ground;
And men forgot
That the bare spot
Was like (and was) the beggar's lot.
Forgotten, too,
Was t'other, who
Had reared the monument to woo
Inconstant Fame,
Though still his name
Shouted in granite just the same.
That name, I swear,
They both did bear
The beggar and the millionaire.
That lofty tomb,
Then, honored-whom?
For argument here's ample room.
I'll not debate,
But only state
The scamp first claimed it at the Gate.
St. Peter, proud
To serve him, bowed
And showed him to the softest cloud.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Rich Man And Lazarus
A Worldling spent each day
In luxury and state;
While a believer lay,
A beggar at his gate:
Think not the Lord's appointments strange,
Death made a great and lasting change.
Death brought the saint release
From want, disease, and scorn;
And to the land of peace,
His soul, by angels borne,
In Abraham's bosom safely placed,
Enjoys an everlasting feast.
The rich man also died,
And in a moment fell
From all his pomp and pride
Into the flames of hell:
The beggar's bliss from far beheld,
His soul with double anguish filled.
O Abram send, he cries,
But his request was vain
The beggar from the skies
To mitigate my pain!
One drop of water I entreat,
To soothe my tongue's tormenting heat.
Let all who worldly pelf,
And worldly spirits have,
Observe, each for himself,
The answer Abram gave:
Remember, thou wast filled with good,
While the poor beggar pined for food.
Neglected at thy door
With tears he begged his bread;
But now, he weeps no more,
His griefs and pains are fled:
His joys eternally will flow,
While thine expire in endless woe.
Lord, make us truly wise,
To choose thy peoples' lot;
And earthly joys despise,
Which soon will be forgot:
The greatest evil we can fear,
Is to possess our portion here!
poem by John Newton
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Curse and bliss
Over grown, others may cut you into size.
Poorly grown, others will help you to grow.
Being poor is not that much a curse.
Being rich is not that much a bliss.
11.06.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pride!
All I have left is my pride.
But a shield, yet a buoy.
Keeps me afloat against vice,
Against your spite that annoy.
My pride; a protective pride,
Affords me dignity's joy-
When you want to stomp my might,
When you want to stop my force.
It is my pride that clears my sight.
Thus leave me to my proud course.
Lest you feel my wrath ever fierce.
My pride, the only dignity I know.
Only wall between trodden tears;
The defender of weak, helpless souls,
Those looking upon the rich with fear.
Pride; the bold titanium shield of sorts.
Blocking the piercing stares and jeers.
Unseen strength that can't be stopped.
Can't be broken; is my pride here.
poem by Real Wordz
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A Poem Of Empathy
my shoes are shiny
black
leather and expensive
i look rich and i speak
like a true gentleman
last night i went of the house
without my
Man Friday
and i wore a mask of the
beggar
and i erased my first name
i am Tonio
the mendicant
and i sit upon a corner
with a can on my hand
begging for
mercy
and you pass by
and you never recognize me
and you spit on me
and then i wrote a poem
about the matter
and you say it is the best poem
i have written
and that you pity the beggar
and that you like to do
something about all the beggars
in this world
make a foundation
fund a cause
and i stop reading the poem
and then
i begin to ask
'who are you? '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beggar is close to God
Begging for something is a cut
That is made at the root of your ego.
Begging for food is the deepest cut.
A monk goes begging for food,
Where he feels pride, not humiliation.
A beggar knocks the door for food,
Cursing his fate, tasting the humiliation.
Ego is active in monk, dead in beggar.
Who will get quick salvation?
04.11.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pride aping humility
A class mate of mine is extremely rich.
One of my cousins has grown powerful.
A village mate is a judge in the High Court.
None of them is in my contact list.
I’m humble; they’re big. Let them be as they are.
Standing by them, why must I show myself small
Though by that to others I shall be big?
This is what’s the pride that apes humility.
20.05.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It is a beggar's pride that he is not a thief.
The beggar is not afraid of the drawbacks of being rich.