Sonnet- This Is The World
When one has power, each will bow his head;
When one has clout great, all will flock like sheep;
When one has wisdom, all tussles are dead;
When one has wealth great, all praises will heap.
When one is living, none takes pain to see;
When one is much ill, no one cares to meet;
When one has glory, all to him will flee;
When one has riches, all gather upbeat.
When one is poor now, not a friend will peep;
When one's retired, none will come to speak;
When one is dead, now garlands, wreaths all steep;
When one is aged, not a soul doth seek.
When one is healthy, people are afraid.
When one is wealthy, people flock for aid.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Heresy / Blind
he sewed his eyes shut because he is afraid to see
he tries to tell me what i put inside of me
he's got the answers to ease my curiosity
he dreamed up a god and called it christianity
your god is dead and no one cares
if there is a hell i will see you there
he flexed his muscles to keep his flock of sheep in line
he made a virus that would kill off all the swine
his perfect kingdom of killing suffering and pain
demands devotion atrocities done in his name
your god is dead and no one cares
drowning in his own hypocrisy
and if there is a hell i will see you there
burning with your god in humility
will you die for this
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Heresy
He sewed his eyes shut because he is afraid to see
He tries to tell me what I put inside of me
Hes got the answers to ease my curiosity
He dreamed up a God and called it christianity
Your God is dead and no one cares
If there is a hell I will see you there
He flexed his muscles to keep his flock of sheep in line
He made a virus that would kill off all the swine
His perfect kingdom of killing, suffering and pain
Demands devotion atrocities done in his name
Your God is dead and no one cares
Drowning in his own hypocrisy
And if there is a hell I will see you there
Burning with your God in humility
Will you die for this?
Production: trent reznor
Mixing engineer: alan moulder
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Loving The Pain
pain,
some people hate it,
some people despise it,
but me, i love it
the pain it lets me know im still alive,
even when i think im dead
the pain is a great ally
but it can also be a great enemy
when the pain becomes great
it destroys you from the inside
tearing down the walls
and exposing you to a new world
a world of pain and living
poem by Brandon Brooks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stanzas Written On The Road Between Florence And Pisa
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled:
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?
O Fame!—if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.
The Last of The Flock
I
In distant countries have I been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads, alone.
But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad highway, I met;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet:
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a Lamb he had.
II
He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide:
And with his coat did then essay
To wipe those briny tears away.
I followed him, and said, 'My friend,
What ails you? wherefore weep you so?'
--'Shame on me, Sir! this lusty Lamb,
He makes my tears to flow.
To-day I fetched him from the rock;
He is the last of all my flock,
III
'When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,
Though little given to care and thought,
Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see;
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;
Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increased my store.
IV
'Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As fine a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the Quantock hills they fed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive:
--This lusty Lamb of all my store
Is all that is alive;
And now I care not if we die,
And perish all of poverty.
V
'Six Children, Sir! had I to feed;
Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief
I of the Parish asked relief.
They said, I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the uplands fed,
And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread.
'Do this: how can we give to you,'
They cried, 'what to the poor is due?'
VI
'I sold a sheep, as they had said,
And bought my little children bread,
And they were healthy with their food
For me--it never did me good.
A woeful time it was for me,
To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared
With all my care and pains,
To see it melt like snow away--
For me it was a woeful day.
VII
'Another still! and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother!
It was a vein that never stopped--
Like blood-drops from my heart they dropped.
'Till thirty were not left alive
They dwindled, dwindled, one by one
And I may say, that many a time
I wished they all were gone--
Reckless of what might come at last
Were but the bitter struggle past.
VIII
'To wicked deeds I was inclined,
And wicked fancies crossed my mind;
And every man I chanced to see,
I thought he knew some ill of me:
No peace, no comfort could I find,
No ease, within doors or without;
And, crazily and wearily
I went my work about;
And oft was moved to flee from home,
And hide my head where wild beasts roam.
IX
'Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,
As dear as my own children be;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress;
I prayed, yet every day I thought
I loved my children less;
And every week, and every day,
My flock it seemed to melt away.
X
'They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb, a wether, and a ewe;--
And then at last from three to two;
And, of my fifty, yesterday
I had but only one:
And here it lies upon my arm,
Alas! and I have none;--
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock.'
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back To Home..
How far and wide we travel,
Our heart is always at home.
How great and small we are,
Our heart yearns for the known.
How healthy and weak we feel,
Our heart looks for our folks,
Wherever we go and whatever we do,
We have to be back, to home.
Nothing wrong to be alone,
But we can't be on our own.
When we are the members of the societies,
How do we say that we are alone?
When healthy we can stay alone,
When wealthy, we may stay alone,
When we are ill, we need people,
When we are poor, we need people,
Nothing wrong in staying alone,
When we are healthy, wealthy and confident,
Everything will be wrong,
When we are ill, broke and insecure,
When we avoid the people,
When we are healthy, wealthy and confident,
They will certainly avoid us,
When we are ill, broke and insecure,
but the family that stay at home,
waiting for you to welcome,
Wherever we go and whatever we do,
We have to be back, to home.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sheep
Sometimes I get so angry with the simple life they lead
The shepherds smile seems to confirm my fears
Theyve never questioned anything, theyve never disagreed
Sometimes I think they must have wool in their ears
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
When I was young they used to get me counting sheep
But the counting I did was all in vain
No when Im tired and Im trying to get to sleep
I count humans jumping onto trains
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
[influential guitar break]
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Amongst Wealth And Fame
Amongst wealth and fame there is great poverty
With such things should not happen here most would agree
A poor homeless bloke with only a mattress for a bed
On the embankment under a railway underpass for six months lay dead.
Under the railway underpass he died where he lay
For months undiscoverd that seems sad to say
A man in his forties one without a friend
He lived a sad life and his was a sad end.
In Melbourne Victoria this must be a lie
In such a wealthy City people of neglect never die?
But the facts tell us differently and i must make it clear
That it is not of fiction i am writing of here.
Some of the less kind will tell you we live and die as we choose
That he was one of those blokes destined to lose
And though they are entitled for to air their views
They seem to make light of what is quite sad news.
Six months he was dead when his remains were found
Amongst wealth and fame poverty does abound
It is not for one like him that you should pray
For if there is a heaven he is there today.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Shepard
The kind, loving shepherd
Takes his hand, with the shears
And shaves his flock of sheep
One by one, fleecing them.
Gently, he makes the wool
To cover his raw skin,
Insulating his body
When the cold weather comes.
The sheep sleep in the snow,
Resting beside the fire.
The shepherd heats the pit,
Throwing wood on the pyre.
He cares for them, their needs;
He feeds them, gives water.
He tends to their living,
Paving their survival.
Then, late in ev'ry week,
When he becomes hungry,
He takes a soft sheep back
And slaughters it. Alone.
The other sheep do not know,
So, still, they will follow
Their generous master,
The kind, loving shepherd.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: Lord Jesus Christ - the Good Shepherd
Christ Jesus Lord is Good Shepherd - the one,
Who is ready to sacrifice His life,
For sake of sheep He leads, and He is Son
Of God, Redeemer and saves all from strife!
Christ gave His life upon the cross for all,
And shed His blood as price for mankind's sins,
So that the penitent can hear God's call,
And enter heaven with pure soul and wins.
The Good Shepherd has other sheep to lead,
For they too heed His call and follow Him;
For all His sheep in flock one, need to feed,
Returning safely when the light turns dim!
Christ is the owner of the flock of sheep;
With Good Shepherd around, no wolves dare peep!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-04-2012
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dead End Street
Theres a crack up in the ceiling,
And the kitchen sink is leaking.
Out of work and got no money,
A sunday joint of bread and honey.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No money coming in,
The rent collectors knocking, trying to get in.
We are strictly second class,
We dont understand,
(dead end!)
Why we should be on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are living on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
On a cold and frosty morning,
Wipe my eyes and stop me yawning.
And my feet are nearly frozen,
Boil the tea and put some toast on.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No chance to emigrate,
Im deep in debt and now its much too late.
We both want to work so hard,
We cant get the chance,
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Head to my feet (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Some Life’s Paradoxes
The dead can’t care about living;
The living must pray for their dead;
Though dead took care of living then,
The living can’t take care of dead!
The elderly cared for all young;
The young must care for aged when old;
The love that parents had shown then,
Can’t be repaid ever by young!
The fruits I enjoy now when young,
Are from the trees planted by aged;
The things I do to others now
Will be returned to me when old!
The measure I use for others
Will be used unto me by God;
The judgments I pronounce on next,
Will decide my after-life’s rod!
Let’s do our duty with great love;
Reward will come from heav’n above.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 20-11-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Difference
I can have wisdom AND knowledge,
With proof to show I do.
And be willing to volunteer my time away,
To those disrespecting I had valuable information,
That could benefit their lives.
And not ask from them a single dime.
I could be that person with no knowledge at all.
Had no wisdom to speak of and no time to volunteer.
But...
If I had made a name for myself,
And made 'claims' of my abilities.
With my name bright up in lights for all to see them flash,
People would flock to pay to see me.
And the doing of that may not be beneficial to them,
A bit.
But just to say they witnessed it.
The difference?
Someone who makes claims,
And has established a name...
With no wisdom to share proving knowledge is there,
Would be more respected to those not receiving benefit,
Than the one having what they need.
Why?
People have become more impressed,
By those addressing pretentions.
Than they are receiving opportunities,
Handed to them for free to meet their needs...
By those who do not impress them with image.
And those with image they seek to pay huge sums,
To get nothing for them done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anhelli - Chapter 1
Exiles came to the land of Siberia, and having chosen a broad site they built a
wooden house that they might dwell together in concord and brotherly love; and
there were of them about a thousand men of various stations in life.
And the government had provided women for them that they might marry,
because their sentence made known that they were sent to people the country.
For a time there was among them great order and great sorrow,
for they could not forget that they were exiles
and that they should see their fatherland no more-unless God should will it.
And when they had already built the house and each one had taken up his own work,
except the people who desired to be called wise men, who remained in idleness, saying:
'Lo, we ponder on the salvation of the fatherland,' they beheld upon a time a great flock
of black birds flying from the north.
After the birds there appeared a sort of train and caravan,
and sledges harnessed with dogs, and a herd of reindeer with branching horns,
and men on skis bearing spears : it was the whole Siberian people.
At their head, moreover, walked the king of the people, who was at the same time a priest,
dressed according to their custom in furs and in corals,
and he wore a wreath of dead serpents instead of a crown.
Then that ruler, drawing near to the throng of exiles,
said in the language of their own land : 'Hail !
'Behold I have known your fathers who were also unfortunate,
and I have seen how they lived in the fear of God and died, saying `Fatherland ! Fatherland !'
'Therefore do I wish to be your friend and to make a covenant
between you and my people, that ye may be in an hospitable land
and in a country of well-wishers.
'And of your fathers now is none living except one only, who is already old
and who is well-inclined toward me ;
but he dwelleth far hence in a lonely hut.
'If ye desire that the friend of your fathers be your leader,
I will abide with you and forsake my own people;
for ye are the more unfortunate.'
Yet more that old man said, and they showed
him reverence and invited him to their tabernacle.
And they made a covenant with the people of Siberia,
who departed and settled in their snowy villages ;
but their king remained with the exiles that he might comfort them.
And they marvelled at his wisdom, saying
'Lo, this he hath surely gotten from our fathers,
and his words are from our ancestors.'
And they called him Shaman, for so the people of Siberia
call their kings and priests, who are wizards.
poem by Juliusz Slowacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 67
Seeking the pastures of Christ the Shepherd.
SS 1:7.
Thou whom my soul admires above
All earthly joy and earthly love,
Tell me, dear Shepherd, let me know,
Where doth thy sweetest pasture grow?
Where is the shadow of that rock,
That from the sun defends thy flock?
Fain would I feed among thy sheep,
Among them rest, among them sleep.
Why should thy bride appear like one
That turns aside to paths unknown?
My constant feet would never rove,
Would never seek another love.
[The footsteps of thy flock I see;
Thy sweetest pastures here they be;
A wondrous feast thy love prepares,
Bought with thy wounds, and groans, and tears.
His dearest flesh he makes my food,
And bids me drink his richest blood:
Here to these hills my soul will come,
Till my Beloved lead me home.]
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tis True What Is Said About People
'Tis true what is said about people that everyone has a life story to tell
Though not everybody's life story in book form a million copies would sell
The biography of a poor homeless person many would not be interested to read
Life's journey from the poorest suburb to success for most people never lead
The lives of elite sports people and celebrities and those of power and money makes the best sellers list
Just reading of and hearing about them the masses cannot seem to resist
Suppose we only admire in others what we ourselves aspire to be
Most wish to be wealthy and famous and none wish to live in poverty
Most do wish to be wealthy and famous and others their praises to sing
Suppose to wish to be loved and admired is quite human it does seem a natural thing
But the road to success is a steep road and few ever climb to renown
And what hope for the poor and the homeless who live in the poor side of the town?
You ask one of their life wishes poverty he or she never choose
But the sad thing about the Human World is that for one to win many must lose.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It Is All A Joke
It is all a joke
When people unknown
Come to your funeral
And drink beer and
cold mineral
They say it's such a
phenomenal
That we do not know
This man in a minimal.
But such people
are animals.
Wealthy children
Fail to aid aged parents.
But when dead
From hunger and frustration
Wealthy children
have such indignation
To flaunt their opulence.
Isn't that negligence?
Well, let's call it foolishness,
I even heard someone said
it's wickedness.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Part
The honored dead lay in their graves
While on this special day we praise
Their unselfish contributions:
Each gave their lives for this nation;
A great country with liberty
Enjoyed by its citizenry.
What do we do to contribute?
Lay flowery wreaths, a tribute?
We the living need to do more:
We must earnestly strive toward
A lasting peace, not just in words
But deeds, so war does not recur.
The toll is too great on the young:
Our dead and wounded are its sum.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh To Be Wealthy And Famous
Oh to be wealthy and famous living in a big house by the sea
With a Rolls Royce in my garage of money worries quite free
Seen as a successful person with heaps of money to spend
Everyone would want to know me everyone would be my friend.
I could help the poor and needy for others I could do good
I could help you out then poor fellow instead of saying I would help you if I could
Money it speaks every language pity the poor and downtrod
Surely there is nothing greater than money the great paper god.
I could do wonders with money help those in dire poverty
Be an example to others to worthy causes donate generously
Instead I struggle for survival one of the poor of our Street
Life for me an uphill battle struggling for to make ends meet.
Oh to be wealthy and famous the wealthiest man in the Town
I could be generous with money help those financially down
Instead I am just a poor battler who would wish to be my friend
I who must be careful with money and count every dollar I spend?
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Among So Many
. . . In a dark street she met and spoke to me,
Importuning, one wet and mild March night.
We walked and talked together. O her tale
Was very common; thousands know it all!
'Seduced'; a gentleman; a baby coming;
Parents that railed; London; the child born dead;
A seamstress then, one of some fifty girls
'Taken on' a few months at a dressmaker's
In the crush of the 'season' at ten shillings a week!
The fashionable people's dresses done,
And they flown off, these fifty extra girls
Sent — to the streets: that is, to work that gives
Scarcely enough to buy the decent clothes
Respectable employers all demand
Or speak dismissal. Well, well, well, we know!
And she — 'Why, I have gone on down and down,
And there's the gutter, look, that I shall die in!'
'My dear,' I say, 'where hope of all but that
Is gone, 'tis time, I think, life were gone too.'
She looks at me. 'That I should kill myself?'
'That you should kill yourself.' — 'That would be sin,
And God would punish me!' — 'And will not God
Punish for this?' She pauses; then whispers:
'No, no, He will forgive me, for He knows!'
I laughed aloud: 'And you,' she said, 'and you,
Who are so good, so noble' . . . 'Noble? Good?'
I laughed aloud, the great sob in my throat.
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep
Of this vast flock that perishes alone
Out in the pitiless desert! — Yet she'd speak:
She'd ask me: she'd entreat: she'd demonstrate.
O I must not say that! I must believe!
Who made the sea, the leaves so green, the sky
So big and blue and pure above it all?
O my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep,
Entreat no more and demonstrate no more;
For I believe there is a God, a God
Not in the heaven, the earth, or the waters; no,
But in the heart of Man, on the dear lips
Of angel Women, of heroic Men!
O hopeless Wanderer that would not stay,
('It is too late, I cannot rise again!')
O Saint of faith in love behind the veils,
('You must believe in God, for you are good!')
O Sister who made holy with your kiss,
Your kiss in that wet dark mild night of March,
There in the hideous infamous London streets,
My cheek, and made my soul a sacred place,
my poor Darling, O my little lost Sheep!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!