Sonnet- The World Of Ignominy
The farmer works back-bent in scorching Sun;
The house-maid mops the floor all on her knees;
The beggar feeds his child with tea and bun;
The driver lives with H.I.V. disease.
And children work ill-paid, most dangerously;
The circus girls are meant for ogling men;
Unemployed youth, literate, walks aimlessly;
And bullets speak better than writ by pen.
The 'battered-wife' curses her wedding-day;
Work harassment goads husbands take liquor;
The child gets neglected in every way;
There ain't limits to commit crimes or err.
The richer nations threaten poorer ones;
And peace is ushered by the pow'r of guns.
poem by John Celes
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Related quotes
Our Child
this is our child.
not just yours or mine
but everyones, that are born in our time.
a child is born every minute around this world
beautiful boys and girls.
these children are gifts from god.
and he has chosen you to be the one
who will carry the daughter or son
look into any childs face and you will see
that they belong to you and me.
the child has a bit of all humanity
this is the way god meant it to be.
these are the children of peace
the children of love
given to us from god above.
.
i read in the papers of childrens lives taken
because of anger, fear, sickness and hate.
lets stop them before it too late
put them in jail and throw away the key.
just so that children can sleep peacefully.
if as a child you was abused, neglected, and not loved
then it's time for you to change your life around
and not let these children die on the ground.
stand up and fight, and take
pride in what you do.
the child you save, could have been you.
poem by Louis Rams
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Out Of Work
8 a.m. Im up and my feet beating on the sidewalk
Down at the unemployment agency, all I get is talk
I check the want ads but there just aint nobody hiring
Whats a man supposed to do when hes down and hes
Out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
I go to pick my girl up
Her name is linda brown
Her dad invites me in
He tells me to sit down
The small talk that were making
Is going pretty smooth
But then he drops a bomb
Son, what dya do ?
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Hey mr president I know you got your plans
Youre doing all you can now to aid the little man
We got to do our best to whip that inflation down
Maybe you got a job for me just driving you around
Im out of work
These hard times, theyre enough
To make a man lose his mind
Im out of work
Up there you got a job but down here below
Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im unemployed, Im out of work
I need a job, Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
Im out of work
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Commit Crimes Against Children
Those who commit crimes against children will surely be made to pay
If the Law does not catch them then Karma will one day
Self esteem they do erode and self confidence destroy
In the mind of their young victim the innocent girl or boy.
The abuse of children by an adult surely a crime of shame
Not many worse crimes than it that one could wish to name
Their innocence stolen from them in their most vulnerable years
For the victims of child abuse humanity sheds tears.
The abuse of a child on human innocence an attack
And innocence when stolen cannot be given back
Some of those who commit such crimes as children may have known abuse
But that for their behaviour not a good enough excuse.
Any crime against a child is a hard crime to forgive
And those guilty of child abuse with their sins have to live
And though on another human being one ought not to wish ill
If the Law does not punish them then Karma surely will.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Great Gift Of Youth
The great gift of youth is a thing to enjoy
And the crimes of the man are not the crimes of the boy
That all children are innocent to all children apply
And why we lose our innocence don't ask me why?
That time changes us as people does seem sad to say
We lose our youthful innocence as we grow old and gray
And some even become more hardened with the passing of time
Lose respect for self and others and turn to crime.
Any crime against children cannot be seen as small
And the abuse of a child one of the greatest crimes of all
Any crime against a child a hard crime to forgive
Those who commit such crimes with their sins have to live.
It's praises the singers and Songwriters sing
For the great gift of youth is a marvellous thing
And sad to say some children at a young age have innocence stole
From them by damaged adults who lack in self control.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
(traditional, adapted by ry cooder)
(d) - (a) - (e)
(a) we worked through spring and winter, through (d) summer and through (a) fall
But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (e) steadiest of us all
It (a) worked on nights and sundays, it (d) worked each holiday
(e) settled down among us and it never went (a) away
The farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
The farmer is the man who feeds us all
If you only look and see I know you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds us all
(a) the farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He buys on his credit until (e) fall
Then they (a) take him by the hand
And they (d) lead him from his land
And the (e) merchant is the man who gets it (a) all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He lives on his credit until fall
With the interest rates so high
Its a wonder he dont die
But the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
Well, the banker says hes broke and the merchant stops and smoke
But they forget that its the farmer that feeds them all
It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest
And theyd know that its the farmer that feeds them all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
Lives on his credit until fall
Well, his pants are wearing thin
His condition, its a sin
cause the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Day
Well Im hiding my eyes from the morning sun
And I keep on working till the work is all done
But a voice in my head keeps ticking away
As the sweats hosed down from yet another day
Well he works hard
And he lives hard
And he breaks his back without nothing to gain
While the boss man sits around and drinks champagne
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Well Im peeling the blisters off my working hand
Is that what it takes to make you understand?
That its something you read, not something you meant
To be slaving away without a shred of integrity
He worked hard
And he lived hard
And he broke his back without nothing to say
While the man in control was just laughing away
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
Was it something you read?
Was it something you meant?
Was it something you said?
Or was it heaven sent?
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one transition
All day (you work and you work and you work and)
In life, theres just one decision
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How can I be quite happy when…?
I see the beggar on road-side,
Unable to stand and to walk;
Begging for alms from passers-by,
Sitting upon a plank with wheels?
The lunatic so scarcely dressed,
Walking from garbage dump to dump,
Eating the left-overs on leaves,
And chased away by barking dogs?
The school-child works part-time to earn
A pittance for the family’s sake,
As mother cannot manage house,
And father drunk abandoned home?
Unborn children are killed in scores,
And elderly stay neglected,
And heinous crimes keep rising high,
Corruption runs across all ranks?
The poor turn poorer by the day;
The innocent are killed and maimed;
The educated jobless stay,
And country reels from debt-burden?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-12-2010
poem by John Celes
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Somewhere in this big city
Somewhere in this big city
a man lives alone
in a big old house,
of which the roof
has been rusting for a while.
There’s khaki bush and weeds
in what was once a garden
and his car
is gathering dust in the garage,
when in the early morning
he catches a bus to work.
a Runaway truck
went straight over
his wife and child
and it’s as if,
he never can live past
that event.
At times he buys flowers
before he walks through
rows of graves,
where on his own
he thinks about the
aimlessness of life.
Although he is neatly shaven
and dressed well
when he does his
assignments at work,
he almost never
talks with anyone
and no woman
or anything catches his eye
and he lives within himself
and are scared
to get a life again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Going Solo
She left a message after the tone,
I hear it over and over on the answer phone.
No one can find her, address unknown.
She just decided to go out and make it alone.
Solo, solo,
My little child is going solo.
Solo, solo,
My little child is going solo.
I feel like crying, Im in a rage.
I cant understand why she just ran away.
What made it happen, guess well never know.
She just decided to go out and make it solo.
Solo, solo, solo, solo, solo.
We work like dogs all of our lives,
Like millions of other husbands and wives.
Sent her through college, didnt care what we spent.
Think of how we feel,
She didnt say, she didnt ask, she just went.
Solo, solo,
My little child, youre going solo.
Its like a pattern, its like a crime,
We see it happen time after time.
You raise your children, you watch them grow,
Then one day its good-bye, theyve decided theyre going solo.
Solo, solo, solo, solo, solo.
The toys are forgotten, now it appears,
Youve let them down after all of these years.
Sacrificed all, now theres nothing to show,
Ungrateful youth, decided youre going solo.
Solo, solo,
My little child, youre going solo.
Solo, solo,
Ungrateful youth, youre going solo.
The obligations, all of the ties,
Have got to be broken so you can survive.
Just because they gave you life, they cant stop if you grow,
Now they cant hold you back cause youre going solo
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every Child!
the faces of...
every child who'll
go to bed hungry tonite...
every child afraid to sleep
for fear of the soldiers,
the bullets, the bombs....
every child abused
by his parents...
every child humiliated
for being different.
every child who's never
known his own father...
every child with no hope
for an education...
every child sleeping
in homeless cars.
every child alone,
lonely, without love.
every child of every broken home,
every child, every color, every country...
staring at me this sleepless night,
tearing at my heart...
all my children!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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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Children's Day in India,2012
Being a child is what all love to be;
And when adult, we know we can never;
Childhood was best and everyone agrees;
But do children have freedom they deserve?
The smaller family norm has done great harm;
The child is neglected right from its birth;
It wallops in its faeces and urine!
It has to study when 'tis age to play!
What selfishness fills hearts of most adults!
They spare no time to watch the bud blossom;
World's children pine for love and yearn for care;
They are denied their rights when still in womb!
The crimes against children are on the rise;
Children are used, abused and not amused;
No nation thrives if children stay enslaved;
Let parents love their children sincerely!
Children are living wealth of nations prime;
Children are priceless gifts from God above;
Children are future parents and leaders;
Children need to be kept healthy, unharmed!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-11-12
poem by John Celes
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The Child
From pillar to post,
Some couples go,
In trying to have,
A child of their own!
They go on pilgrimages,
And they pray to God;
They donate money,
Expecting a child!
They see horoscopes;
They see the stars-position in the sky!
They do repentance,
To get a child!
They see the best doctors,
And undergo medical check-ups;
Some go abroad
For gift of child!
Some seek the help of science,
And try the latest advances;
But only a few
Manage to have a child!
Some give up every hope
And adopt a child;
Some remain childless
Until their death.
God gives children to so many,
And denies the same to some;
Some foolishly abort,
Invoking wrath of God!
Some beat the child;
Some enslave it;
Some starve it long;
Some neglect the child!
God’s sends nature’s furies –
Floods, quakes, famines, diseases,
Destroying people
Who kill children!
Child – the gift of God;
Child – a miracle;
Child – the joy of mankind;
Child – progeny of the human race!
Child – the love of God;
Child – mercy of God;
Child – grace of God;
Child – blessing of God!
A child makes the family wholesome;
A child ushers immense joy;
A child makes life worth living for;
A child is a divine toy!
God gives a child with ease;
Man drives it to disease;
God makes a life anew;
Man ends most lives but few!
Why kill children?
Why maim the tiny tots?
Why abuse children?
Why destroy lives, God-made?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-18-2008
poem by John Celes
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Double Life
Business women second
Running to get ready for work
Putting children in car seats
Rushing to get to work
Not only employee but also mother
Providing for work and child's needs
Building a company during the day
Raising a child after hours
poem by Morgan Klinger
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The girl from Cebu City
I know a girl from Cebu City
I have never met her but I know of her
through her lover… a much older man
who lives in my city.
She is much younger
very beautiful… a bit like a child
He has arranged for her to come for an
extended visit
He is worried that people might think
he has bought and paid for her, lest
her feelings be hurt
I say she is too young to understand…
He says he will throw money at the problem
and take her here and there, spoil her,
buy her things…
only to take her mind off things, of course…
I think it is ironic that this girl will go back
to Cebu City with more possessions
thinking herself richer for the experience –
not having been bought and paid for, of course…
and that this man from my city will be
all the poorer for his judgment….
for buying the paper queen
a heart of stone.
poem by Yuri Duraan
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Daughters on sale!
(Indian girls go through hell like situation. This poem raises a question, where will it end!
Yes, its true!
-Daughters are on sale
Yes, one rues!
-Ethics are on bail
A girl child
works as maid
A child bride
is paid!
A girl
still lags
A daughter
Still begs!
Yes, it true
Girl is banned!
Alas, daughter
Is means to reach an end!
poem by Ashish Dimri
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Hes A Go Getter
Hes a go getter, go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Now Ive got a neighbor that lives down the road a ways
His wife holds down a steady job, he dont turn his hand all day
I know that most of you will know the kind Im talkin about
The kind that rather than have to work, hed rather do without
But hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Theres a group of men in the court house yard any time that you go by
Playin checkers and tradin odds and makin jokes about their wives
They wait all week for pay day and they hold the moneys plenty
And the wife thats worked those long hard hours never gets a penny
But hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Yes hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
Hes a go getter, a go getter
When his wife gets off from work, hell go get her
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House of the Scarlet Moon
I fell in love with a Chinese girl
Her name was Chen Xiao Fei,
We worked together in Middle School
In the Province of Anhui,
She'd join me in my apartment when
The working day was done,
But never would take me to home to meet
Her mother, Chen Shaojun.
Xiao Fei was going on thirty, which
Had meant, in Chinese terms,
That she was a spinster, on the shelf,
She had no marriage plans,
I asked her once if she'd marry me
But she laughed and said, 'No way!
My mother would jump from the balcony
If I married an old Yang Wei.'
I called in once to the family home
To win her mother round,
She glared at me as I paced the floor,
Her father sat and frowned,
She wouldn't sit at the table while
I stayed there, under her roof,
But screeched at her daughter, in Chinese,
Some slang that was quite uncouth.
She came one day to say, Xiao Fei,
The wedding date was set,
I asked her who was the lucky man -
But she'd not even met him yet!
Her mother had schemed and arranged it all
To thwart what plans we had,
She cried a bucket of silent tears
But would do as her mother said.
She stayed away for a month or two
To let things settle down,
Then married the man that her mother chose
From a village, out of town.
When a month had passed, I was feeling lost
'Til there came a knock at my door,
It was Chen Xiao Fei in some deep dismay
So I sat with her, down on the floor.
She clung on tight to my shoulder, sobbed,
And cried, wouldn't let me go,
The man she'd married was such a brute
As the marks and the bruises showed,
But worse than that, she looked at me
As her eyes had begun to mist,
'I'm having a child, and I don't quite know
If the baby's yours, or his! '
I sat quite shocked in the evening gloom,
And I felt a sudden chill,
'You'll know as soon as the baby's born, '
I said, but my heart stood still.
If she should deliver a foreign child
She'd be left in a deep disgrace,
And her family then would turn their backs
From the horror of 'losing face'.
Our fears were proven a few months on,
The child was a baby boy,
At first the father and parents danced,
They couldn't conceal their joy,
In China, there is the one child rule,
One chance is all that you get,
So girls go missing there all the time
If the father's mind is set.
For sons are valued as girls are not,
A boy can work on the farm,
A girl will grow to be someone's wife,
Will travel away from home.
So often, just when the child is born
The father will wait outside,
The judge and the executioner,
It's often a question of pride.
A boy is swept up in loving arms,
A girl will wait on the thumb,
If the thumb goes down then the baby drowns
Or is dumped in the cinder drum.
If a boy is born with a fatal flaw,
His fate is the same as hers,
Or he may be sold to a heartless soul,
They call it the Chinese Curse.
The boy was fine 'til he opened his eyes
And they saw that his eyes were blue,
His skin was yellow, his hair was black
But the eyes... the eyes... They knew!
Not even a day had passed before
The baby had paid for our sin,
He was sold to a beggar for ten yuan,
A beggar named Sun Lang Lin.
The birth, already forgotten there
Was marked - 'delivered but dead! '
The Doctor was paid a forgetting fee,
As Xiao Fei cried in her bed,
She told me, when she returned to work,
What they'd done with our beautiful son,
She looked aside, avoided my eyes,
Pretended they'd done nothing wrong.
It took me a month to discover the name
Of the beggar, Sun Lang Lin,
I haunted the areas beggars haunt,
But could find no sign of him,
Then just by chance, a crippled child
Who begged by a streetside bin,
Cowered away when I asked her the way
To the beggar called Sun Lang Lin.
She raised a hand to protect herself
At the sound of his hated name,
She said that he'd kicked and he'd beaten her
Had crippled and brought her to shame,
This child was one of a dozen he had
Who begged for him, night to noon,
She whispered his place of ill-fame in my ear,
'The House of the Scarlet Moon'.
I couldn't find anyone willing to talk about
Where this old Tavern was,
I knew it was out in the countryside,
Beside a deserted Mosque.
I travelled by day and I slept rough at night
As I searched in the dusk and the gloom,
Then finally, there in the distance I spied
The House of the Scarlet Moon.
Sun Lang Lin lay in his dirty rags
On a bed on the floor at the back,
I waited 'til midnight, picked up a rock
And I worked out my plan of attack,
Children were crying in fitful sleep
In a room in that dark old den,
I crept through the dark to the crying there
To look for my blue-eyed son.
Around the walls were earthenware jars
And each with a child within,
He'd jammed them in tight, where nothing could grow,
Their legs would be twisted and thin,
This house of horrors and nightmares kept
Its secrets all wrapped in gloom,
My son lay there on a coverlet,
In the House of the Scarlet Moon.
I seized my son, I smashed the jars,
The children fell to the floor,
They each were maimed and deformed, I knew,
They'd never be able to walk,
They'd spend their lives in the gutters for him,
Set up with a begging bowl,
I wondered how people like Sun Lang Lin
Could open the doors to the soul.
He woke, came running right into the room,
And he pulled out a long, sharp knife,
I laid my son on the coverlet
And prepared to fight for my life,
He lunged just once, I stepped aside,
I hit him just once with the rock,
He fell and he didn't get up again
So I picked up my son, and took off.
Once well away in the undergrowth
I stopped and I turned, to see,
A flame was flickering through the roof
Of the Tavern that used to be.
It all went up with a mighty roar
As I hugged my son in the gloom,
There's no more babies, or cripples made
At the House of the Scarlet Moon.
2 December 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
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A treatment method or an educational method that will work for one child may not work for another child. The one common denominator for all of the young children is that early intervention does work, and it seems to improve the prognosis.
quote by Temple Grandin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Men Who Made Bad Matches
'Tis the song of many husbands, and you all must understand
That you cannot call me coward now that women rule the land;
I have written much for women, where I thought that they were right,
But the men who made bad matches claim a song from me to-night.
Oh, the men who made bad matches are of every tribe and clime,
And, if Adam was the first man, then they date from Adam’s time.
They shall live and they shall suffer, until married life is past,
And the last sad son of Adam stands alone—at peace at last.
Oh, the men who made bad matches, and the Great Misunderstood,
Are through all the world a mighty and a silent brotherhood.
If a wife is discontented, every other woman knows—
But the men who made bad matches keep the cruel secret close.
You may say that you can tell them, by their clothing, if you will,
But a man may seem neglected, and his home be happy still.
You may tell by their assumption of conventional disguise—
But, the men who made bad matches, I can tell them by their eyes!
I have seen them by the camp-fire, where a child’s voice never comes,
I have seen them by the fireside, in their seeming happy homes—
Seen their wives’ false arms go round them, and the kisses that were lies—
Oh, the men who made bad matches! I can tell them by their eyes.
I have seen them bad in prison—seen them sullen, seen them sad;
I have seen them (in the mad-house)—I have seen them raving mad.
Watched them fight the battle bravely, for the children’s sake alone,
Like a father who has wronged them, and who lives but to atone.
But it’s cruel, oh! it’s cruel, for the husband and the wife,
Who have not one thought in common, and are yoked for weary life.
They must see it through and suffer, for the children they must rear—
Oh, the folk who made bad matches have a heavy cross to bear.
There is not a ray of comfort, in the future’s gloomy sky,
For the children of bad matches will make trouble by-and-bye.
And though second wives be angels, while the first wives were the worst,
No second wife yet wedded makes a man forget the first.
Ah! the men who made bad matches think more often than we know,
Of the girls they should have married, in the glorious long ago,
And there’s many a wife and mother thinks with bitter pain to-day,
Of her giddy, silly girlhood, and the man she sent away.
Life is sad for men and women, but the thoughts are bitter sad
Of the girls we should have married, and the boys we should have had.
But we’ll part now with a handshake, if we cannot with a kiss,
And bad matches may be mended in a better world than this.
poem by Henry Lawson
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