The Reproof
Mamma heard me with scorn and pride
A wretched beggar-boy deride.
'Do you not know,' said I, 'how mean
It is to be thus begging seen?
If for a week I were not fed,
I'm sure I would not beg my bread.'
And then away she saw me stalk
With a most self-important walk.
But meeting her upon the stairs,
All these my consequential airs
Were changed to an entreating look.
'Give me,' said I, 'the pocket-book,
Mamma, you promised I should have.'
The pocket-book to me she gave;
After reproof and counsel sage
She bade me write in the first page
This naughty action all in rhyme;
No food to have until the time,
In writing fair and neatly worded,
The unfeeling fact I had recorded.
Slow I compose, and slow I write;
And now I feel keen hunger bite.
My mother's pardon I entreat,
And beg she'll give me food to eat.
Dry bread would be received with joy
By her repentant beggar-boy.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Related quotes
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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Will I?
[Originally recorded by The Easybeats]
I, I'll give, I'll give you, I'll give you love.
I'll give you loving all the time.
Give you kisses just like wine
Does his lips taste sweeter than mine?
I'll make you happy (just like your mamma wants)
I'll make you happy (just like your daddy said)
I'll make you happy just like your mamma said to me
If, if you, if you don't, if you don't think.
If you don't think i'm your man
Find somebody if you can
And get them to hold your hand, not me.
I'll make you happy (just like your mamma wants)
I'll make you happy (just like your daddy said)
I'll make you happy just like your mamma said to me
I, I'll give, I'll give you, I'll give you love.
I'll give you loving all the time.
Give you kisses just like wine
Does his lips taste sweeter than mine?
I'll make you happy (just like your mamma wants)
I'll make you happy (just like your daddy said)
I'll make you happy just like your mamma said to me
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Mama Blue
Written by orbison/melson.
I know a place in new orleans.
They call the castle of kings and queens.
Where an old sweet black woman sings.
And plays piano like a dream.
She puts out all her beautiful heart and soul for you.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue
One night I stayed past closing time.
Sweet mamma blue my troubled mind.
She sang the night away for me.
She made me see what I couldnt see.
That only by loving life will all your dreams come true.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
They say shes gone from misery.
But she still lives in my memory.
I still can see her smile and say
Ill bet you make it all the way.
If you will try the lord will surely see you through
.
Sweet mamma blue,
The world sure will miss you.
And when I feel blue I think of you.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Weary
Aw, I'm sick o' the whole darn human race,
An' I'm sick o' this mundane ball;
I'm sick o' the sight o' me brother's face,
An' his works an' talk an' all;
I'm sick o' the silly sounds I hear,
I'm sick o' the sights I see;
Ole Omar K. he knew good cheer,
An' it's much the same with me.
Gimme a bit o' a bough to sit
Beneath, an' a book of rhyme,
An' a cuddlemsome girl that sings a bit,
But don't sing all the time:
That's all I ask, an' it's only just;
For it's all that I hold dear
A bough an' a book an' a girl an' a crust;
That, an' a jug o' beer.
Then I'll cuddle me girl an' I'll quaff me ale
As we sit on the leafy floor;
An' when the book an' the beer jug fail,
I'll cuddle me girl some more.
For jugs give out an' books get slow.
But you can take my tip for square
Tho' the bough an' the book an' the beer jug go,
The girl, she's always there.
For I'm sick o' the sight o' me brother's face,
An' the world's a sight too slow;
An' I'm sick o' tryin' to go the pace,
When there ain't no pace to go;
I'm sick o' the 'gilded halls of vice,'
An' I'm sick o' the 'sainted shrine,'
I'm sick o' me own an' me friends' advice,
An' the gold that won't be mine.
I'm sick o' the sound o' me fellow's voice,
I'm sick o' his schemes an' shams;
O' trying to choose when there ain't no choice,
An' of damin' several dams;
So, gimme a girl that ain't too slow,
You can keep your book of rhyme,
An' you bough an' bread an' your beer. Wot O!
An' I'll cuddle her all the time.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Rachel
Give me bread to eat and clothing to put on my love,
Give me water to drink and money to put into my pocket too;
Look and behold! Rachel is coming with the sheep and,
I am in love with this shepherdess.
And like Romeo and Juliet,
She is very beautiful and her food is so natural!
Surely, she is my bone and my flesh.
Of the love that i have for her,
Of her beauty and appearance!
I really have delicate eyes on her love.
Of bread and a skin of water,
Along the banks of the Nile;
But i am a stranger in this foreign land of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sweet Life
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
I'm going to be a farmer
Blowing the fields in the morning sun
I'll have a millon horses
Take me a ride when the work is done
I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And when the day is over
Going to go to sleep in the field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Going to be a acter
Playing a part in a light of gold
Oh yes I will
I'm going to make a lot of money
Going to spend it all before I get to old
And I'm going to have a sweet life
Sweetest life you ever seen
And you know when the day is over now
I'm going to go to sleep in a field of green
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
Got,got, got to have a sweet life
Got to have a sweet life
Daddy do you know what I mean
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Mamma can you hear me
Daddy do you know what I mean
[fade out]
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book
If I write a book,
Would I approach
You to write its
Review?
Why?
If my book is
Worth reading,
Wouldn't you be
Tempted to write
Its review?
Why should I
Use you for its
Marketing and
Publicity?
If you like my book,
You'll yourself feel like
Sharing with everybody
It's an instinct
That comes
Naturally…
We believe in
Loving and giving,
And so if we genuinely
Like something,
We'll recommend it
Or choose it for gifting
So if I write a book,
I'll never beseech you
To write its review
I would rather wait
For you to feel free
To read it and perhaps
Write its review…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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My Book
Before I drink myself to death,
God, let me finish up my Book!
At night, I fear, I fight for breath,
And wake up whiter than a spook;
And crawl off to a bistro near,
And drink until my brain is clear.
Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength
To write and write; and so I spend
Day after day, until at length
With joy and pain I'll write The End:
Then let this carcase rot; I give
The world my Book -- my Book will live.
For every line is tense with truth,
There's hope and joy on every page;
A cheer, a clarion call to Youth,
A hymn, a comforter to Age:
All's there that I was meant to be,
My part divine, the God in me.
It's of my life the golden sum;
Ah! who that reads this Book of mine,
In stormy centuries to come,
Will dream I rooted with the swine?
Behold! I give mankind my best:
What does it matter, all the rest?
It's this that makes sublime my day;
It's this that makes me struggle on.
Oh, let them mock my mortal clay,
My spirit's deathless as the dawn;
Oh, let them shudder as they look . . .
I'll be immortal in my Book.
And so beside the sullen Seine
I fight with dogs for filthy food,
Yet know that from my sin and pain
Will soar serene a Something Good;
Exultantly from shame and wrong
A Right, a Glory and a Song.
poem by Robert William Service
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Mamma Dont
Mamma Don't Lie,
I feel your hard years,
I hear your heart sighs.
Mamma Don't Cry,
I see those raw tears,
I know those aw eyes.
Mamma Don't Die,
I share the same fears,
I drink the same cries.
Mamma Don't Try,
I will cover our ears,
I will shower our lies.
poem by Karoliena Somura
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A clown among the stars
The best Actress of the year accepted her award
And she's stepping down the stairs,
By a windfall the ugliest man in the World
Met her on the way and he offered his autograph.
She wrote I love you and gave her small pocket book to write him something.
He scribbled; ' Madam! I learned swimming easily in the Dead Sea! '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The History Of You And Me
Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.
'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..
Yaahh! The history of you and me....
Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Juanita
(Gram Parsons Chris Hillman)
No affection were the words that stuck on my mind
When she walked out on me for the very last time
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done to be treated this way
In a cold dirty room that's where I found myself
With a bottle of wine and some pills off the shelf
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
I don't know what I've done and I'm feeling so ashamed
Then an angel appeared she was just 17
In a dirty old town with a conscious so clean
Oh mamma sweet mamma can you tell me what to say
She's brought back the life that I once threw away
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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 True Story
Little Ann and her mother were walking one day
Through London's wide city so fair,
And business obliged them to go by the way
That led them through Cavendish Square.
And as they pass'd by the great house of a Lord,
A beautiful chariot there came,
To take some most elegant ladies abroad,
Who straightway got into the same.
The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen,
The chariot was painted all o'er,
The footmen behind were in silver and green,
The horses were prancing before.
Little Ann by her mother walk'd silent and sad,
A tear trickled down from her eye,
Till her mother said, "Ann, I should be very glad
To know what it is makes you cry. "
"Mamma," said the child, "see that carriage so fair,
All cover'd with varnish and gold,
Those ladies are riding so charmingly there
While we have to walk in the cold.
"You say GOD is kind to the folks that are good,
But surely it cannot be true;
Or else I am certain, almost, that He would
Give such a fine carriage to you. "
"Look there, little girl," said her mother, "and see
What stands at that very coach door;
A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she
A halfpenny tries to implore.
"All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye,
And her hands look like skeleton's bones;
She has got a few rags, just about her to tie,
And her naked feet bleed on the stones. "
'Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears trickle down,
'Relieve a poor beggar, I pray;
I've wander'd all hungry about this wide town,
And not ate a morsel to-day.
'My father and mother are long ago dead,
My brother sails over the sea,
And I've scarcely a rag, or a morsel of bread,
As plainly, I'm sure, you may see.
'A fever I caught, which was terrible bad,
But no nurse or physic had I;
An old dirty shed was the house that I had,
And only on straw could I lie.
'And now that I'm better, yet feeble and faint,
And famish'd, and naked, and cold,
I wander about with my grievous complaint,
And seldom get aught but a scold.
'Some will not attend to my pitiful call,
Some think me a vagabond cheat;
And scarcely a creature relieves me, of all
The thousands that traverse the street.
'Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow:'
Just then a tall footman came round,
And asking the ladies which way they would go,
The chariot turn'd off with a bound.
"Ah! see, little girl," then her mother replied,
"How foolish those murmurs have been;
You have but to look on the contrary side,
To learn both your folly and sin.
"This poor little beggar is hungry and cold,
No mother awaits her return;
And while such an object as this you behold,
Your heart should with gratitude burn.
"Your house and its comforts, your food and your friends,
'Tis favour in GOD to confer,
Have you any claim to the bounty He sends,
Who makes you to differ from her?
"A coach, and a footman, and gaudy attire,
Give little true joy to the breast;
To be good is the thing you should chiefly desire,
And then leave to GOD all the rest. "
poem by Ann Taylor
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The Chronicles of A Criss Crossed and Broken Heart part 4 Poem after Poem
some written as medicine
some poems inveigh about consequence of sin
some don't rhyme
some i just don't have time
others negelected, just left to waste
away, like butter spread over too much bread making strange paste
i just write and write
to keep feelings to let them out without explosion
i just have to fight
myself, write myself all on a paper, hear implosion
going, going, coming to an end slow motion
not enough life to pass by
by through my eyes too much life withheld
i hope i havent begun to die
not yet not here...
poem by David Knox
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Coming Back To The Corner Where I Just Sat A Minute Ago
without much thought
i come back to that corner where i just sat
a minute ago
i am not looking for anything
i know i have not forgotten anything like a pen
or a lighter or a piece of paper
for in truth i do not bring these kind of stuff anymore
a pen in my pocket cannot be
i don't have a pocket
a piece of paper to write some notes of things that i easily forget
like things to do this morning
or a meeting tonight
or a date with someone else
for i do not write those things which are so important to me
because i do not really forget anything so important
what more for a lighter...
in truth, i ceased to be an arsonist
of love..
i get burned, i do not burn anyone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When you share your last crust of bread with a beggar, you mustn't behave as if you were throwing a bone to a dog. You must give humbly, and thank him for allowing you to have a part in his hunger.
quote by Giovanni Guareschi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye's (The Saddest Word)
Mamma
You gave life to me
Turned a baby into a lady
Mamma
All you had to offer
Was the promise of a lifetime of love
Now I know
There is no other
Love like a mother's love for her child
And I know
A love so complete
Someday must leave
Must say goodbye
Goodbye's the saddest word I'll ever hear
Goodbye's the last time I will hold you near
Someday you'll say that word and I will cry
It'll break my heart to hear you say goodbye
Mamma
You gave love to me
Turned a young one into a woman
Mamma
All I ever needed
Was a guarantee of you loving me
'Cause I know
There is no other
Love like a mother's love for her child
And it hurts so
That something so strong
Someday will be gone
song performed by by Celine Dion from New Day Has Come
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arbitrary
I am in my Honda Civic car at Haji Ali:
Boy of thirteen knocks on window screen,
But I turn away from this beggar, sure,
Not knowing how to go about it always.
In the morning however at Worli
I had asked driver to slow down
While I took out a ten rupee note
And gave it to that young beggar.
There is no difference between the two,
Both are begging by tapping on car window;
One makes my hand to open a wallet
And the other make my eyes move away.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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