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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Shallow Grave
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shallow Graves
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that Ill be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
And leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
I wont lie, I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Lullaby
Broken Lullaby
By: Adam M. Snow
Awaken the children,
let them see,
all agony's within,
and perhaps just maybe,
they would lose all hope,
all their dreams,
all feelings would cope,
not the moon's shattered beams.
Awaken the infant,
the one who's mild,
as the moon once crescent,
now sings to that child.
All is lost,
so it seems,
like floods of life in frost,
living on shattered dreams.
Sing a broken tune,
so death may come,
all mourns the moon,
and all becomes numb.
Sing this broken lullaby,
so all may hear,
the last tear becomes dry,
as morrow comes near.
Sing and awaken all,
let them see,
how easy it is to fall,
and just let them be,
so they may sleep,
and fix all dreams,
for they're in deep,
as they ride moonlight's beams.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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A Dialogue-Anthem
Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?
Alas, poor mortal, void of story!
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby?
Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die;
These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before;
Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.
poem by George Herbert
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You March On
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
Look back, never, even by mistake
forget, never, the hardships you bore
guide, will be your past deeds of life,
full of pangs on the bed of stake
What holds destiny?
Not to worry?
............Just march on, march on, march on.
Adversities make you a fast learner
Desires are snakes, so be a shirker
search the deep sea to find a pearl
get to the shore, while facing the whirl
Think never to be feeble & meek
deliver everyone from the misdeeds
while truth you seek
clear all hurdles regaining your strength
you will reach the destination
march on...march on....march on.
Carve out your name on the horizon
as your stars are on the ascendant
work towards the goal night and day
be illuminated in such a way
sluggish should appear the milky way
You, unknown traveller of untreaded path
march on, march on, march on
will reach your destination
one day
though far off
march on, march on, march on.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Sleep No Man Desires
There is a sleep no man desires
There is something about that sleep
That sends fear down the hearts of men
That world unknown yet revered by fear
That surrounds a man when he goes to sleep
It is the sleep of the tired women
It is the sleep of the defeated elands
It is the sleep that makes the hyenas laugh
It is the sleep that feeds the vultures
It is the sleep that no man loves
But is the eventual sleep for all that breaths
It is the sleep of paradise
A paradise so desired for good deeds on earth
Yet it is the sleep that hounds the aged and the poor
A sleep that embraces the dying
A sleep that knows no class
It is the silent sleep on angels' chariots
Take a pillow and courage to slip into it
Courage, be brave and face that sleep
That sleep that frightens the mighty
That sleep that is wild on eart
That sleep that has no path
That is hated and more than loathed
A sleep that captured great men of history
It is the sleep of the GONE.
poem by Major Elazia
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The Very Thing That Makes You Rich
My father told me, lying on his bed of death,
"boy," he says, "woman she's gonna make it, don't fool your self
'cause she's got something to make a man lay that money, uh, right in her hand
And the very thing that makes her rich will make you poor
The very thing that makes her rich will make you poor"
That's right!
Well, i put you behind the wheel of a deuce and a quarter, yes i did
Had you living like a rich man's daughter, yes i did, i sure did
While you were living high on the hog
You had me down here scuffling like a dog
Well, the very thing that makes you rich makes me poor
The very thing that makes you rich makes me poor
Don't you never ever make such a bad mistake
You know i'd rather climb into bed with a rattlesnake
Then to work hard every day bringing that woman all my pay
The very thing that makes you rich makes me poor,
Makes me so damn poor
The thing that makes her rich makes me poor
The very thing that makes you rich make me poor
Very thing that makes you rich makes me poor
Makes me so damned poor
Money won't change it, no no...
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Sleeper
Sleep that half dead,
sleep the body not the head.
Sleep that bad said,
Poor owns that bed,
Dreams are found on that herd.
Sleep while awake,
Sleep that dead not closed eye fake.
Sleep that weak,
Tommorow u gona take.
Eat that sleep and enjoy its steak.
Sleep still stands,
None to overtake.
Sleep that height dare for cake.
Sleep that stress and have the bless,
Sleep to confess as she do to embrance,
Sleep for paid cash as he do to love false.
Sleep that sleep as no one sleep ever deep.
Sleep that better as no other sleeper.
Wear that sweater as did Brother Peter,
Sleep that firm to dream that greater,
Sleep not slopy arrise all the weaker.
poem by Abdallah Mpogole
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Sleep with angel
Every night when moon close my eyes, I go to sleep with angel.
My angel takes me in my darkness dreams on the place where joy
And sorrow embraces each other. Where shadows are friends and lovers are from Eden curse. Every night when I go to sleep with angel, in my darkness wishes, he
gave to me black withered roses with blood from his pure heart. Angel is hurt and I cannot do any thing.
Every night when I go to sleep I cry. There is no angel any more…
Angel died, and slowly disappeared from my dreams.
Tonight when I close my eyes, I will die. I will sleep with my angel for all time…
poem by Vanesa Rabic
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I Can't Sleep
I cannot sleep, cannot sleep!
My heart does not ache
But like a funeral drum
It is beating slowly to my grave...
I cannot sleep, cannot sleep!
Where is the moon that shone
And the star that was my guide?
My eyes are not wet,
I have no dreams tonight...
I cannot sleep, cannot sleep!
Yet, the wind whispers
'Come and fly with me,
Over the highest heavens
And sleep tight, sleep tight! '
poem by Jane Quijano
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In A Swedish Graveyard
After wearisome toil and much sorrow,
How quietly sleep they at last,
Neither dreading and fearing the morrow,
Nor vainly bemoaning the past!
Shall we give them our envy or pity?
Shall we shun or yearn after such rest,
So calm near the turbulent city,
With their heart stilled at length in their breast?
They all sleep with their heads lying westward,
Where all suns and all days have gone down.
Do they long for the dawn, looking eastward?
Do they dream of the strife and the crown?
Each one held a lit taper when dying:
Where hath vanished the fugitive flame?
With his love, and his joy, and his sighing,
Alas! and his youth and his name.
The living stands o'er him and dreameth,
And wonders what dreams came to him.
While the tender, brief twilight still gleameth,
With a light strangely mournful and dim.
And he wonders what lights and what shadows
Passed over these dead long ago,
When their feet now at rest trod these meadows,
And their hearts throbbed to pleasure or woe
What dreams came to them in their living?
The self-same that come now to thee.
If thou findest those dreams are deceiving,
Then these lives thou wilt know and wilt see:
The same visions of love and of glory,
The same vain regret for the past;
All the same poor and pitiful story,
Till the taper's extinguished at last.
All the treasures on earth that they cherished,
Now they care not to clasp nor to save;
And the poor little lights, how they perished,
Slowly dying alone in the grave!
With a flickering faint on the features
Of age, or of youth in its bloom:
Lighting up for grim Death his weak creatures,
In the darkness and night of the tomb,—
With a radiance ghostly and mournful,
On the good, on the just and unjust;
For a space, till the monarch, so scornful,
Turned the light and the lighted to dust.
No taper of earth he desired
In his halls where they quietly rest;
For all those who have toiled and are tired,
Utter darkness and sleep may be best.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Insomnia
Reading magazines and counting sheep to pass the time away
Hoping that tomorrows gonna bring a smile home again
Images of palm trees swaying in the wind on south beach
Takes me back to better days, summer days the everglades in june
My brain, my poor brain
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia
Flying high in golden skies, Im flicking channels in my mind
Finding my utopia a different chapter in a book
Thinking back to younger days as I escape in coopers break
It takes me back to 84 the futures knocking at my door
My brain, my poor brain
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia
Turning off a switch inside me, leaving all the stress behind me
Flying over streams and houses, passing over the wye valley
It takes me back to 84 the futures knocking at my door
My brain, my poor brain
Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia Im drinking myself to sleep again, nightnurse pills to keep me sane
Drinking myself to sleep again, insomnia.
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Addicted Till Death
Sleep sleep sleep away
take another pill
sleep sleep sleep all day
doctors of death
one could say
giving you more pills
day by day
watching you slowly die
i wont contest no more
i wont cry
as you knock on deaths door
stealers of life
giving you drugs
dealers of strife
legalized thugs
poem by Ernest Clary
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The Poor, Poor Country
Oh 'twas a poor country, in Autumn it was bare,
The only green was the cutting grass and the sheep found little there.
Oh, the thin wheat and the brown oats were never two foot high,
But down in the poor country no pauper was I.
My wealth it was the glow that lives forever in the young,
'Twas on the brown water, in the green leaves it hung.
The blue cranes fed their young all day - how far in a tall tree!
And the poor, poor country made no pauper of me.
I waded out to the swan's nest - at night I heard them sing,
I stood amazed at the Pelican, and crowned him for a king;
I saw the black duck in the reeds, and the spoonbill on the sky,
And in that poor country no pauper was I.
The mountain-ducks down in the dark made many a hollow sound,
I saw in sleep the Bunyip creep from the waters underground.
I found the plovers' island home, and they fought right valiantly,
Poor was the country, but it made no pauper of me.
My riches all went into dreams that never yet came home,
They touched upon the wild cherries and the slabs of honeycomb,
They were not of the desolate brood that men can sell or buy,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
* * * * *
The New Year came with heat and thirst and the little lakes were low,
The blue cranes were my nearest friends and I mourned to see them go;
I watched their wings so long until I only saw the sky,
Down in that poor country no pauper was I.
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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The Abandoned
The moonlight touched the sombre waters white.
Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold?
She shivered. Her poor shawl was worn and old,
And she was desolate, and it was night.
The slow canal crept onward; to her sight
It seemed to beckon, and the lapping told
Of rest and quiet sleep: how sweet to fold
The hands from toil and close the eyes from light,
And so shut out all memory, and go
There where men sleep, and dreams, perhaps, are not.
O never any dreams, she murmured; so,
Longing for sleep, the sleep that comes with death,
She fell, she felt the water, and forgot
All, save the drowning agony of breath.
poem by Arthur Symons
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Sleep Well Angel Sweetness
Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place in dreams
Keep well within your mind
That nothing's as it seams.
This night angel sweetness
You have opened up my eyes
You have changed in form
Beyond the storm and opened up the skies.
Sleep well angel princes
In your kingdom's shade
Keep well within your boundaries
The time allowed to fade.
Sleep well angel dearest
Moon beam maiden of this realm
Keep steady in your hand the dreams
Which keep you steady at the helm.
Sleep well angel sweetness
Find your place within the clouds
Beyond the reach of savage men
Beyond the gathered crowds.
Let us dance beyond the moon
Allow us time to sing
Let us dance upon the moon
Allow us love to bring.
Let us swim the ocean sky
Allow us love to know
Let us fly and never sigh
Above worlds of porcelain snow.
My love for you sweet angel
Knows no boundaries in its kiss
Sleep well angel dearest
Upon a cloud of heavens bliss
Rest your head a moment
Just one moment in descent
Allow us time to kiss the moon
The future, past and present.
Let us swim the ocean sky
See angels dreaming there
Let us swim and never sigh
Run fingers through their hair.
Sleep well angel dearest
Below the clear moon sky
Embrace all it is you fear
Could bring tears to your eyes.
Embrace the day that beckons you
For it is as each moment the birth
And death of all creation.
poem by David Lacey
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Sweet Dreams My Angel
Go to sleep my angel and dream
Of heavenly places and heavenly faces
You shall be missed, my angel but rest in peace
In this world you could easily get hurt
Don't fret my angel you are safe in God's arms
He will take care of you
And will always be with you
Mortal dreams of riches, but my angel
You are rich for eternal life
So sleep now angel you are full of love and beauty
We will all be with you soon
Sweet dreams my angel
When you wake up you'll know that
Your dreams have come true
poem by Angie Watson
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Dreams
We go to bed with a dream,
We get up with a dream.
All our life we strive for a dream.
All our life we dream.
It’s beautiful to live with a dream,
Though sometimes we suffer.
There are moments we scream
And life seems to be a tougher.
We all dream to achieve a goal.
Our dream is an elixir of longevity.
It’s an elixir for our undying soul,
It’s Gods gift and His charity.
The one who can dream survive,
A dream widens the world,
That one always feels alive.
Inside the brain a dream unfurls.
Calendars are just ruthless,
But we are still proud of our age.
Even being toothless (ha ha)
We dream to perform on a stage.
The book of life I cherish,
I try to reach my dream.
My soul makes it garish
And strive for another dream.
May be my dream won’t come true
As devil hurts sometimes
But the beautiful picture I drew
Will be the bells chimes.
So, dream, my dear friend,
Up to the last breath, up to the end!
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
February 15,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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I'sleep with the angel
I'sleep in the lap angel, where the face of angel is very clear, is seen in the eyes of me*
His lap is felt warm in my spirit,
I'sleep with the angel,
The angel spreads the attraction and appealing me*
Calm my life from all dejected*
I'sleep with my angel.
My angel come from heaven.
Bring would one million loves and peace.*
Needs would he always is for me.
My angel sleeps in my heart forevermore.
Afterwards the angel gives my greetings to the Lord in heaven.
So that i'always receive him blessing.**
I'sleep with the angel.
His face like the gold painting.
Imagine about the angels body.
Is full of the flower scent.
I'sleep with the angel forevermore**