Styles Of Beggary 3
Bundled pregnancy with pregnant beggary
Foretold aunty's future
Over a hillocked fortune
Of turmeric, sindhur, flowers
Incense, perfume, bath-soap
Cash, jewellery, rice and pulses
Hillocky on a kanjeevaram silk brocade..
Aunty spat three times..
Ten minutes-meditation
Closed eyes, no turning back....
Temple evening spat back
on lady-beggary
Aunty's blood-pressure heightened
Chasing the fleeing with shaken coins
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
The talking animal's
As I become, a fictitious narrative.
Creating a fable story, about a dog, cat and a mice.
The dog name Bog, the cat name Spat, and the mice is Spice.
Bog said to Spat, why are you chasing Spice?
Spat said, because, I want some of that rodent slice's.
So, you want to cut him into piece's.
I am hungry, Bog! Spice come to me, I protect you?
Okay Bog, I hope you really, going to protect me.
Spat get back, please! I don't want to hurt you?
So you think im a cat; I can't beat you?
We going to find out, Spat the big alley cat.
Bog the little mutt; you a bluff Bog.
Spat, end up, chasing the both of them.
poem by Derrick Clark
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Substitution
You can not find
Substituiton of mother.
Mother is mother
Aunty is aunty.
Mothers duty
has got top priority.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A monkey
A monkey
I remember when I was only two and curious
At writing, had set on the blackboard in the
Kitchen, started scribbling with a chalk,
Aunty startled, laughed and complimented:
'Clever Boy, your writings are so good.'
Since then my days have been filled
With letters and figures, the stars, moon,
And the seas, my little brain going
Everywhere. 'One thing at a time, John,
Don't bite more than you can chew. Don't
Run before you can walk, ' aunty chided.
The world tumbles through my life like
A train carrying myriad passengers,
Each a different facet of a diamond
That makes this world sparkle with
Brilliance. 'Yes, John, there is beauty
In each of us, in fact everything, if we
Learn the ropes to get to them, ' Aunty
Suggested pointing to a monkey throwing
A coconut from a tree to its owner.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Happy Little Cripple
I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to grow
An' get a great big man at all!--'cause Aunty told me so.
When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bed
An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'--'at's what the Doctor said.
I never had no Mother nen--fer my Pa runned away
An' dassn't come back here no more--'cause he was drunk one day
An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine!
An' nen my Ma she died--an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!--
Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!--An' I weigh thirty yet!
I'm awful little fer my size--I'm purt' nigh littler 'nan
Some babies is!--an' neighbers all calls me 'The Little Man!'
An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you know,
You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!'
An' nen I laughed--till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'--
Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine.'
I set--while Aunty's washin'--on my little long-leg stool,
An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by to school;
An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say:
'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all today?'
An', nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks through,
An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' you!'
An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine--
They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire,
An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it higher,
An' fetched the wood all in fer night, an' locked the kitchen door,
An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the floor--
She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea,
An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg fer me;
An' sometimes--when I cough so hard--her elderberry wine
Don't go so bad fer little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see,
I'm 'most afeard she'll be took down--an' 'at's what bothers me!--
'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick an' die,
I don't know what she'd do in heaven--till _I_ come, by an' by:--
Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know,
An' no one there like me, to nuss an' worry over so!--
'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' fine,
They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Good Memories Remain With Me
Good memories remain with me and good memories never die
Of Summer days on uncle Dan's and aunty Mary's farm in green old Lisnaboy
Above the rushy meadow the lark carolled in the sky
And the new mown hay it scented sweetly in the sunshine of July.
The wild brown bees were gathering nectar on the flowers by the hedgerow
And above the sunlit meadows the swallows flew to and fro
And butterflies of many hues flitted around the wildflowers
Their life is brief when compared to ours they are old in forty hours.
The childhood years they went too fast the time just seemed to fly
But our happy memories of the past we reflect on and enjoy
Cock robin with the rich red breast sang on the willow tree
The robin king of his small World his hard won territory.
With my Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary I tossed the hay to dry
In the mid fifties in July in green old Lisnaboy
In old Duhallow north of here and thousands of miles away
But the boy back then now getting old and showing his years in gray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Christmas In Lisnaboy
Memories of a childhood Christmas for a lifetime we enjoy
And I often recall Christmas as a child in Lisnaboy
Santa left his bag of presents by the porch door in the moonlight
When the air was damp and frosty on the eve of Christmas Night
In Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary's house of here far north and far away
We enjoyed the ham and turkey and pudding on Christmas Day
But the years went by so quickly and time has left me looking gray
And the biological clock on my life silently ticking away
Weeks before Christmas we wondered what toys Santa to us would bring
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing,
The Seasons go so quickly and the past forever gone
But the happy times from childhood in the memory living on
Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary in eternal rest now lay
But they come into my memory on the eve of Christmas Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Meeting The Society
Tradition has fallen
Meeting me with horning meat
Prime in the witchy dawn
Outside the porch on my kolam-space
Disgusting me much
to consider my kolam, address elsewhere
Hoping to be peaceful
While my heart still likes to stay
To watch a man every morning
Singing softly to his soul
An idealistic song of M.G.R
An apotheosis of heroism
But with holy-ash conspicuously on forehead
With a sequel of two lady-walkers
Crooning 'Shashtikavacham'
Blissful yet blissful not
As once the Lord at Swamimalai
When blessed me
Amid a thronging wedding crowd
Which blessedly spat betel-red
In the precincts of the temple
While the children wetted and fretted
over there to my increased agony
Which has not calmed down yet
As the flower-girl is still illoyal
Rating high for every flower-count
To the Goddess in the nearby temple
Where the auto-rickshaw drops me
Intending to hurt me much
Not taking me back home
Unexpectedly fleeing and not waiting
Very often to unlock my home
In sunless, powerless night
Fearing to be stabbed, strangled
Chain-snatched, robbed
To be bundled in cold-sweat
Followed by
Others' frequent sickening advice
'Don't look down low on '
Or 'don't step out old lady'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Success Story fo M 'lady Ernestine
She was as timid as a mouse.
Kept firmly under mothers thumb
she very rarely left the house.
Her mother taught her she was dumb.
But mother died and she was free
to do the things she wanted to.
None to frown disapprovingly
and tell what her she had to do.
An innocent of twenty three
Although she lacked self confidence.
She was still wise enough to be
well guided by her common sense.
She knew that she must take it slow.
There was so much she had to learn,
so many things she did not know.
Each hurdle she would take in turn.
She was resolved to seek advice
but was not sure where she would find
Although she could afford the price,
Advice that was both wise and kind.
Her mother’s sister Aunty Jean
was who she took her troubles to
A lady who had always been
disapproved of by mother too.
So Aunty Jean took her in hand
and showed her how she ought to dress.,
Wise enough to understand
that her young niece felt helpless.
A lifetime under Mothers thumb
had left its mark indelibly,
A problem she must overcome
before she was completely free.
to be the woman she should be
They worked together as a team
moving forward very slowly
But in due course fulfilled her dream.
Now with her new found confidence.
She was a woman self possessed,
well made up and smartly dressed.
Her mother’s ghost now laid to rest.
Freed from her mothers influence.
No longer dowdy and afraid.
Epitome of elegance
She was a model highly paid.
Though mother would have disapproved
well armoured in her prudishness
that she was wrong her daughter proved
By her own efforts a success.
Mothers do not always know best
Although they always think they do
I think this mother failed the test
She knew less than she thought she knew.
12-Aug-08
http: // blog my space.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Do you love your name?
She likes to be called mummy by children,
Honey by husband, aunty by young ones,
Madam by strangers and by many more
But not by Kamala which is her name.
She herself calls herself ‘I’, not Kamala,
And if called Kamala, feels disrespected.
Why must she have then her name?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Slaved Education
Why
as a black male I feel so underrated even from my own brothas
Maybe it's because we call each other nigga
because we are to ashamed and ignorant to comprehend that they were
Once enslaved by the very word NIGGA
My brotha,
far down your ancestry
Your great great dear aunty watches over the
ashamed.. and disgraced..
the very freedom she earned through all of her pain
I promise you If she could she would lynch you by your own chain
But she won't..
Hurt like stepping on a thumb tack
Failed education because marijuana became your new colon
Blacks dropping out of school to chase a street dream
We all suffer trying to get whips and chains
But I can bet your great aunty suffered from the same thing
Don't be clouded by the smoke from the black
Remember brother you black and the education you need that
In slavery they were afraid to educate a black man
Afraid of what vast secrets can be released
I stand before you today Asking
are we ignorant and enslaved as we were a 100 years ago
Are we bound..
Chained from light like a caged dog on a Sunday night
Why,
why did we give up or dreams,
Dreams of becoming strong educated and free
Education was always the key
Or maybe society advanced so far
and made it seem like we were locked out
But in reality we have become too weak to pick up the key
But why
Why are we so weak?
You tell me, what time, what season and who allowed us colored people to follow knee deep in our own sorrows where we allowed our dreams to be strangled by the root of evil,
Which made BLACK choose to play Russian roulette with their lives
Instead of educating each other, and themselves
poem by BoEdward Lawrence
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Being A Black Male....in 2012
..... Why as a black male I feel so underrated even from my own brothers.. Maybe it's because we call each other nigga because we are to ashamed and ignorant to comprehend that they were Once enslaved by the very word NIGGA.. My brother, far down your ancestry Your great great dear aunty watches over the ashamed.. and disgraced.. the very freedom she earned through all of her pain I promise you If she could she would lynch you by your own chain But she won't.. Hurt like stepping on a thumb tack Failed education because marijuana became your new colon Blacks dropping out of school to chase a street dream We all suffer trying to get whips and chains But I can bet your great aunty suffered from the same thing Don't be clouded by the smoke from the black Remember brother you black and the education you need that In slavery they were afraid to educate a black man Afraid of what vast secrets can be released I stand before you today Asking are we ignorant and enslaved as we were a 100 years ago Are we bound.. Chained from light like a caged dog on a Sunday night Why, why did we give up or dreams, Dreams of becoming strong educated and free Education was always the key Or maybe society advanced so far and made it seem like we were locked out But in reality we have become too weak to pick up the key But why Why are we so weak? You tell me, what time, what season and who allowed us colored people to follow knee deep in our own sorrows where we allowed our dreams to be strangled by the root of evil, Which made BLACK choose to play Russian roulette with their lives Instead of educating each other, and themselves...
Ron Poetry
poem by Ron Poetry
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A Matchmaker brings a Fuddy-Duddy Bridegroom for a teasing conservative Bride
The well known Matchmaker comes along the muddy road with him
And his bell bottoms swept the road,
The white pantaloon turned into brown color.
When he's introduced to the bride
She's shocked by seeing the baggy mud soaked trouser.
She grumbled with her parents in the kitchen;
'Mom & Dad I do not like to marry this Public Works Department Overseer,
Better propose him to the next door teacake aunty
And they are well match it seems.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Dont talk about my mom
Dont talk about her
Dont talk about my mom
Dont talk about something you dont know
Just go and leave me alone
I dont need your sympathy
I dont need your lies
I dont want to see your aligator tears
Hey aunty its a fact that she wasnt with me and she didnt raise me
But she is my hero
She is my supermam
poem by Nouri Queen
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A Walk On Memory Lane
To me a walk on memory lane can be a thing of joy
To visit my uncle Dan and aunty Mary in their home in Lisnaboy
I could call there at anytime and a welcome i would find
The past it seems to stay with us in the memory of the mind,
The little brown lark carolled as upwards he did fly
Above the old coarse meadow on an evening in July,
I am on a walk on memory lane and how lovely to hear and see
The red breasted robin singing on branch of an alder tree
It all seems very real to me not a vision in a dream
The white breasted dipper singing in the rapids of the stream
On it's way to the river babbling as it does flow
Through meadows and through rushy fields and by many a hedgerow
I walk the fields of Lisnaboy when I'm on memory lane
And i visit Dan and Mary it is like old times again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Upside Down
She wiped the dish and turned it upside down;
But my uncle sat quietly watching her because,
She was his wife.
The plum,
Sorcery and divination;
But Asherah is your love and,
I have to stay off your tracks! !
And i have to watch my steps always.
Upside down,
You are making me forget all the pains of love;
But my uncle will tell you much of his own experiences.
You still worship all the lhost of heaven!
Of the sun, the moon, and the stars;
But i will now like to introduce my aunty to you,
For i have come of age.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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127
bring back the good old times
cousin, let us bring back the good old times
climbing trees
gathering mangoes on the green hills
bathing nude on light brown rivers
basking in the sun on that big rock
fishing on ponds for mud fish
with earthworms as baits
jumping from tree trunks
to rivers below
riding on carabaos
barefoot on mud holes
swinging on half-fallen coconut trees
chasing dragonflies
making ripples on the blue seas
sailing on wooden boats
paddling on clear days
suns shining full
and moons glowing cool
cousin, let us bring back the old glorious times
we go back
to where we once were children, where our innocence like
incense in the Taoist temples
glows and spreads
a certain pure perfume in
nature back united
to us
we are awed
we now wander....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Up The `pool
Im going up the 'pool from down the smoke below
To taste my mums jam sarnies and see our aunty flo.
The candyfloss salesman watches ladies in the sand
Down for a freaky weekend in the hope that theyll be meeting
Mister universe.
The iron tower smiles down upon the silver sea
And along the golden mile theyll be swigging mugs of tea.
The politicians there whove come to take the air
While posing for the daily press
Will look around and blame the mess
On edward bear.
Therell be bucket, spades and bingo, cockles, mussels, rainy days,
Seaweed and sand castles, icy waves.
Deck chairs, rubber dinghies, old vests, braces dangling down,
Sun-tanned stranded starfish in a daze.
Were going up the 'pool from down the smoke below
To taste my mums jam sarnies and see our aunty flo.
The candy floss salesman watches ladies in the sand
Down for a freaky weekend in the hope that theyll be meeting
Mister universe.
Therell be buckets, spades and bingo, cockles, mussels, rainy days,
Seaweed and sand castles, icy waves,
Deck chairs, rubber dinghies, old vests, braces dangling down,
Sun-tanned stranded starfish in a daze.
Oh blackpool,
Oh blackpool.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Get No Sleep
Got a house full of fortune and they pay me in gold
For something Id do for free.
But theres still something missing that a man cant hold,
Its like a weight over me, so scared the thrill will be gone.
But Im the one who keeps the pressure on,
All Ive got is all I need,
But I get no sleep and Im tired to the bone...
...i know Im not alone.
Well, Im sick of walking round with blood in my eyes,
Just keeping up with this town.
Im a roadrunner racing, but I dont see the signs,
Ive got to learn to slow down.
My life makes it hard to complain,
But theres time Id take my school days back again...
...four oclock and Im still counting sheep.
Love to change the system, but Im in too deep.
I keep the pressure far away as I can,
But it still comes back again...
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul Song
I will be waiting,
with a song in my soul,
a fortunate weakling,
which I have foretold,
He raises his arms tied,
above the abyss,
singing his sweet song,
his melody opens up the sun,
Freedom raid,
God has come,
Rivers of blood,
pushed back in my veins,
She sleeps with her eyes closed,
to dream of the past,
her mind has gone blind now,
while the memory closes up this sun,
freedom rain,
God has come,
Rivers of blood,
pushed back in my veins,
[yeah]
I will be waiting,
with a song in my soul,
a fortunate weakling,
which I have foretold
(like saturation, i do believe this song was recorded by grey daze,
and not linkin park, even though chester's voice is still unmistakable
song performed by by Linkin Park
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the love of...
When I met her for the first time when I was young,
She was a cute little young woman, who cared,
She was a daughter in law of the house that could hold,
A dozen people of all ages, who were too bold,
An obedient wife, who prepared endless meals,
Called everyone with loving names and gestures,
I saw her growing old, frail and bed ridden,
Visited her many times to show the gratitude,
For showering the love of an aunty,
To her loving husband's nephews and nieces,
Where shall we find this kind of love,
Except in the hearts of all loving women,
Who love their husband's family as theirs.
Millions of women all around the world,
Who have worked hard tirelessly,
For the love that they have upon their husbands.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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