Child of Our Time
O, pity the poor unfortunate child,
Neglected and forlorn!
No-one to care for or nurture him:
He didn't ask to be born!
All he wants is a happy home
And food to fill his belly -
Designer clothes, mobile, a PS3
And a huge LCD telly!
poem by Dawn Ferrett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Going Mobile
I'm goin' home
And when I wanna go home
I'm goin' mobile
Well, I'm gonna find a home
And we'll see how it feels
Goin' mobile
Keep me movin'
I can pull up by the curb
I can make it on the road
Goin' mobile
I can stop in any street
And talk with people that we meet
Goin' mobile
Keep me movin'
Out in the woods
Or in the city
It's all the same to me
When I'm drivin' free, the world's my home
When I'm mobile
Hee, hoo!
beep beep!
Play the tape machine
Make the toast and tea
When I'm mobile
Well I can lay in bed
With only highway ahead
When I'm mobile
Keep me movin'
Keep me movin'
Over 50
Keep me groovin'
Just a hippie gypsy
Come on move now
Movin'
Keep me movin', yeah
Keep me movin', groovin', groovin', yeah
Movin', Yeah
Mobile, mobile, mobile, mobile, ...
I don't care about pollution
I'm an air-conditioned gypsy
That's my solution
Watch the police and the tax man miss me
I'm mobile
Oooooh, yeah, hee!
Mobile, mobile, mobile yeah
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Child of Zar'roc
Child of Zar'roc
Born during the storm
Raining down blood
Striving on hate
Drinking the tears
Of those in pain
Poor child
Born of Zar'roc
Sheath your sword
And bow your head
Dont take the path
Thats set before you
Turn dear child turn
Run down the path of good
Hurry child of Zar'roc hurry
For fate may soon come
Crashing down on your world
I pity you child of Zar'roc
Truly I do
To be born in such a life
I truly pity you
poem by Janelle Morehart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salad is Incompatible with Life
Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.
Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good
For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!
I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!
But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guilt purrs action
When a man has been refused,
A woman feels pity for him
And loves him more than she did before.
When a mother has been neglected,
A son feels pity for her
And takes care more than he did before.
When a child has been beaten,
The mother feels pity for it
And pampers more than she did before.
Guilt purrs action; pity brings love
10.02.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Sri Ganesha
Him who begot you as a child you made
Into a beggar; as a child yourself
You then lived everywhere just to support
Your own huge belly; I too am a child.
Oh Child God in that niche! Encountering one
Born after you, is your heart made of stone?
I pray you look at me!
poem by Ramana Maharshi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Will Cry?
Who will cry for the little child who goes for days without food?
Who will cry for the little child who parents beat them?
Who will cry for the little child who is mistreated for being different?
Who will cry for the little child who goes unloved?
Who will cry for the little child whose stomach is swelled up?
Who will cry for the little child who doesn't have clothes to wear?
Who will cry for the little child who is shunned for not being popular?
Who will cry for the little child who is molested every night?
Who will cry for the little child who's parents are not around?
Who will cry for the little child who has to take care of his self?
Who will cry?
Will you cry?
Cause I have.
poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This All Too Mobile Home
I get four or five miles a gallon in this old car
I don't care as long as it takes me to where you are
You ain't leavin' no tracks to follow
It's driving me mad but what else can I do?
This all too mobile home
Is calling out for you
You were thirty miles out of Phoenix on a three-day drive
When you left to find the angular number five
You slammed the door behind you
You walked out on the life that we once knew
This all too mobile home
Is calling out for you
[Solo]
Well, they say it's Salt lake city
But now we're man on man
Take your hand outta my pocket
Don't put it in again
You get married in San Diego
And these times that roll out need to be brought on through
This all to mobile home
Is calling after you
Well, this all too mobile home is killing me
And there's nothing that you can do to set me free
Darling, oh now, darling, come back to me...
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Street Child
Who will care for me when i am born into this world?
For day and night i've been walking on the streets;
And i have to struggle to survive for i am a street child.
No, not even one!
For many parents do not even know their children;
And i was born into a lovely home but now,
I do live on the street as a street child.
Lust and sex,
We were born out of it;
But how many parents still know that we do exist?
How many?
They really do not care abour us,
And i have to struggle to survive on my own;
How many days more left for me?
And i have to make ends meet from the streets;
Because there is nobody around to help me,
And i have no place called home again.
A street child that i am,
And of the many rivers to cross for my survival;
How many social workers do know of our plights?
How many?
How many streets do we have to sleep on?
How many? Hopw many governmenets do we have to wait for?
How many?
Yet still i am a street child.
Who really care about us?
And who really care about me?
My parents do not even know my where about;
Right from Kwazulu Natal Province to Tingitingi,
And from Obbia to Nima!
How many do care?
I am born into this world but,
I am living on the street;
And who will care about me?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child Is Sweet Any Day Of The Week
A child that's born on a Monday
holds beauty in sight and mind.
A child that's born on a Tuesday
is graceful, sweet and kind.
A child that's born on a Wednesday
is a treasure, so they say.
A child that 's born on a Thursday
sees a quest with each new day.
A child that's born on a Friday
is loving and freely gives.
A child that's born on a Saturday
shows great work through how they live.
A child that's born on a Sunday
is happy, carefree and gay.
I guess you could say that a child is
special, no matter what the day.
poem by Christine K. Trease
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Poverty..
How will the poor man raise his voice,
Without food in his belly?
He is willing to work,
But wishes he had the energy.
Like many things in this universe,
This cycle too has been reversed.
He will have to become someone,
So as to feed his belly.
He will have to ignore his hunger,
If food he wants to see.
poem by Sameer Daniel Gardner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Food is god
Food is god
for poor people...!
God is not
Only food...
Rich home
Dog is eat
Nice food...
That food is god...?
yes that also
A god...
Good food is
God...
What is good food...?
Given good health
Always good food...
So...
Non veg
Or veg...
Every good food
Is god...
Simply sit
Silentely eat food
With out hot
And cool drinks...
Food is not only
Poor's god...
With each and
Every one also
food is god...
Give respect and
Take food...
Happley too try too
Thank for god...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child Is Born
a child, a child, a child is born
to a mother who lies near death;
no food, no home, no place to go,
smell the stink of fear on her breath.
you build and destroy, and build again,
pound your chests with arrogant pride.
litigate and over populate,
sell your vision while children die.
if there's a God He doesnt live
in your temples and your shrines.
but in the cry of the hungry child,
and the ones you've left behind.
a child, a child, a child is born....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give This Child What She Needs
Give this child what she needs
Love
Give this child what she needs
Shelter
Give this child what she needs
Prayers
Give this child what she needs
Some food and water
Give this child what she needs
Good parents
Give this child what she needs
Good manors
Give this child what she needs
A smoke free home
Give this child what she needs
Peace and happiness
Give this child what she needs
To know God
Give this child what she needs
Your guidance
Give this child what she needs
Clothes
Give this child what she needs
Your support
Give this child what she needs
Some family time
Give this child what she needs
A nice bath every day
Give this child what she needs
Some discipline
Give this child what she needs
A warm bed to sleep on
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Food
I wake up every morning
stomach growling
No food to eat but
Momma won't let me tell nobody
Not even Jesus
When Momma leaves I'm happy because
For a second I think
That when she comes back
She'll have something to eat
But still-no food
The Roman Noodles are gone
Momma ate the last pack this morning
And I'm getting weaker
By the moment
Because there is no food
And when I get to school
I sneak to the bathroom and cry
My friends ask what's wrong
I tell them it's something in my eye
And- they believe me
And when I go home
Which is this abandoned house off in the woods
I hug my Momma because I know she did
The best she could with what she had
It just didn't work out
I didn't blame her because she
Put her trust in a man who
Not only verbally abused her but beat her, too
Which is why I entitle this poem No Food
She apologizes to me everyday
I ask het the reason why
But all she does is close her eyes and cry
And I wash those tears from her eyes
No food
Momma there's no reason to cry
I tell her; and she holds my hand
As tight as she possibly can
And says one day I will understand
And still- we have no food
She dies
Right there in my arms
Ironically the same place she held
Me- in her arms
The day I was born
No food, no lights,
No one around to hear
Finally, all her pain is gone
After all of these years
poem by Ebony Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goin Mobile
Im goin home
Im goin home
And when I wanna go home
And when I wanna go home
Im goin mobile
Im goin mobile
Well, Im gonna find a home
Well, Im gonna find a home
And well see how it feels
And well see how it feels
Goin mobile
Goin mobile
Keep me movin
Keep me movin
I can pull up by the curb
I can pull up by the curb
I can make it on the road
I can make it on the road
Goin mobile
Goin mobile
I can stop in any street
I can stop in any street
And talk with people that we meet
And talk with people that we meet
Goin mobile
Goin mobile
Keep me movin
Keep me movin
Out in the woods
Out in the woods
Or in the city
Or in the city
Its all the same to me
Its all the same to me
When Im drivin free, the worlds my home
When Im drivin free, the worlds my home
When Im mobile
When Im mobile
Hee, hoo!
Hee, hoo!
Beep beep!
Beep beep!
Play the tape machine
Play the tape machine
Make the toast and tea
Make the toast and tea
When Im mobile
When Im mobile
Well I can lay in bed
Well I can lay in bed
With only highway ahead
With only highway ahead
When Im mobile
When Im mobile
Keep me movin
Keep me movin
Keep me movin
Keep me movin
Over 50
Over 50
Keep me groovin
Keep me groovin
Just a hippie gypsy
Just a hippie gypsy
Come on move now
Come on move now
Movin
Movin
Keep me movin, yeah
Keep me movin, yeah
Keep me movin, groovin, groovin, yeah
Keep me movin, groovin, groovin, yeah
Movin, yeah
Movin, yeah
Mobile, mobile, mobile, mobile, ...
Mobile, mobile, mobile, mobile, ...
I dont care about pollution
I dont care about pollution
Im an air-conditioned gypsy
Im an air-conditioned gypsy
Thats my solution
Thats my solution
Watch the police and the tax man miss me
Watch the police and the tax man miss me
Im mobile
Im mobile
Oooooh, yeah, hee!
Oooooh, yeah, hee!
Mobile, mobile, mobile yeah
Mobile, mobile, mobile yeah
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sister Left Home...part I
My sister is leaving home
Leaving ever for Rome
Her return is to be history
Enchanted by an untold mystery
I hated her, oh-so much
Her and her stupid lot of friends
Bossy, screaming, arrogant girls
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more knocking before entering
No more kicking and screaming
I don’t have to listen to her muttering
And a big room, I’ll get to myself at last
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more tears, no more cry
No more fear or dark red eyes
I can chat so long, no one to bother
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
No more busy phones
No more messy rooms
No more itchy-bichy screaming tones
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home
Poor gnomes of poor Rome
Feel pity for their near future
To listen to her, to resist her
Oh- I’m so happy she’s leaving home!
(written for SAFAH HARRIS, when she left home)
poem by Sania Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Neglected Dog
The neglected dog looks such a sight! His coat is full of fleas!
Yet once he filled you with delight! He really loved to please!
The neglected dog has tapeworms, too! They're ghastly to behold!
Yet once this dog showed love for you! He once was good as gold!
The neglected dog has matted hair and sores upon his feet!
Yet once you combed him with such care till he looked cool and neat!
The neglected dog has eyes that fall... He's lost the will to live!
Yet once he answered every call! He had so much to give!
The neglected dog lies flat and still... He hasn't fed in days!
Yet once you cared when he was ill! Now who cares if he prays! ?
The neglected dog pleads for your love! Is that too hard a task! ?
Yet once your love was quite enough! He didn't need to ask!
The neglected dog has passed away... It's too late... anyhow...
Though once you loved him day-by-day... Too late to pet him now...
poem by Denis Martindale
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The 'Poem A Day' Project - Day 16
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’m feeling all alone
I can’t connect with my friends out there
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I miss its ringing tone
I’ve searched for it everywhere
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve lost my mobile phone
And now I cannot roam
I must stay near in case it rings
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I do not wish to moan
It has numbers, dates and all kinds of things
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve lost my mobile phone
And now I guess I’m prone
To wander like a lost zombie
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’ve no mind of my own
Without it there to organise me
I’ve lost my mobile phone
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take things for granted
We all take things for granted,
Like we have mobile phones,
A nice warm house,
Clean clothes and clean water,
Fresh food,
And a nice cosy bed.
People in other countries,
Don't have all of that,
They wish they do,
They want clean water,
They want food,
And a warm secure home.
We take other things for granted like:
Education to learn,
Jobs to get money,
Shops to buy food,
Toys, games and computers to entertain,
Also hospitals and cures for diseases.
Poor countries don't get education,
To learn like us,
They don't have jobs to get money,
Or shops to get food,
Or hospitals or games,
They make their own toys and dolls,
From materials near by.
We take loads of things for granted,
We just don't realise it.
Wrote when in a random mood
poem by StaceyLeigh Olner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knocked And Ran
He, on a road, was standing
Ignorant of the road-laws.
He was in his tattered clothes;
A poor village child he was.
I was sitting in a car
On the left of the driver.
When the car came near the child,
It was slowed by the driver.
He sounded aloud the horn,
But the child did not it care.
The child, in his tattered clothes,
Remained standing mutely there.
He was aping the gesture
Of the driver of the car.
How joyful in his action,
As if he were in the car!
He was moving round his arms
In driving his unreal car.
The driver, taking the side,
Safely steered his real car.
But a truck from the front side
Down the road speedily ran.
The child, in his tattered clothes,
The truck driver knocked and ran.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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