Written at Lovere, October, 1736
If age and sickness, poverty and pain,
Should each assault me with alternate plagues,
I know mankind is destin'd to complain,
And I submit to torment and fatigues.
The pious farmer, who ne'er misses pray'rs,
With patience suffers unexpected rain;
He blesses Heav'n for what its bounty spares,
And sees, resign'd, a crop of blighted grain.
But, spite of sermons, farmers would blaspheme,
If a star fell to set their thatch on flame.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Little Dindin
now the sound of the rain
makes her see ghosts
lots of ghosts
white women with long black hair
muscular men with monkey's hair
all over their bodies
she cries her pains
out to every dropp of rain
that hurts her body
Little Dindin suffers
and she points to the rain as the cause
of her pain
lots of pain
her heart bleeds but no one sees it
now they are confused
about Little Dindin's malady
the medicine man
shakes his head for not knowing the real cause
the doctor says there is nothing wrong
with her pulse
or nose
Little Dindin is sad and sick
Because her mother left her
It is her that suffers most
When another marriages goes
Into the rocks
And no fairy tale in any book
that she reads
Cures the sickness in her soul.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Patty of the Vale
'A weedling child on lonely lea
My evening rambles chanced to see;
And much the weedling tempted me
To crop its tender flower;
Exposed to wind and heavy rain,
It's head bow'd lowly on the plain;
Hand silently it seem'd in pain
Of life's endanger'd hour.
And and wilt thou bid my bloom decay,
And crop my flower, and me betray,
And cast my injured sweets away?-
Its silence seemly sigh'd
'A moment's idol of thy mind!
And is a stranger so unkind
to leave the shameful root behind,
Bereft of all its pride?'
And so it seemly did complain;
And beating fell the heavy rain;
And low it droop'd upon the plain,
To fate resign'd to fall:
My heart did melt at its decline,
And ' Come,' said I, ' thou gem divine,
My fate shall stand the storm with thine;'
So took the root and all.'
poem by John Clare
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This time in june
It's june
The farmer's spell
With cutlasses and hoes
We rushed off our feet;
Off to the feild we go
It's june
The farmer's delight
With so much rigor
We worked our fingers sore
And in the night
We barely had a sleep
It's june
The farmer's joy
The heavens had opened up
Their hearts upon the earth
For the farmers household
It's time to toil
So, in november;
When harvest finally comes
The farmer walked with pride
It's the pinnacle of his yeild
And he is proud to trade
So, in november;
When harvest finally comes
With basket and sacks
We headed for the feild
It's time to fill our barns;
Even our bellies,
Also; the farmers wallet
A heavy weight to lift
And for the farmers household
It's time for spoils
This time in june;
It was a different story
And my father says;
No pain, no gain!
poem by Bolami lawal
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It Blesses
To know love,
One must never fear the pain of it.
Since it is not ammuned to the onslaught of flaws.
It is not blemish free.
It comes to be nurtured.
With understanding and patience,
Given to it.
However...
If it is appreciated for what it is,
It blesses those who receive it.
And can accept it as it is!
Love.
To grow and bloom and be.
It...
Blesses.
To know love,
One must never fear the pain of it.
It...
Blesses.
Since it is not ammuned to the onslaught of flaws.
It is not blemish free.
It...
Blesses.
It comes to be nurtured.
With understanding and patience,
Given to it.
Accept it as it is!
Love.
To grow and bloom and be.
It...
Blesses.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We Complain
We complain
When in other countries people are in pain
We complain
And on the other side, conditions are inhumane
We complain
Many people want to ascertain
I don't eat cheese
While in other countries people die of disease
I don't want to clean my room
While many people starve just wanting food to consume
My mom just gave me 50 dollars and thats not enough
In different places people can't even pay for rent; life is tough
We complain
Many people, their life they can't sustain
Parents their kids they can't maintain
On Christmas people can't even buy a candy cane
People feeling like they're drowning in acid rain
And we complain
People out there who can't even afford to watch an ad campaign
People hiding on the streets because of shame
Because themselves are the ones to blame
Many things they detain
People out there who wish they were slain
People who wear the same clothes with the same little stain
People sleeping out in the rain
People who have given up and just start to cut their vein
When some people work and get their paycheck, they feel nothing they gain
Without insurance they gotta be careful because there's nothing they can sprain
Many people like in Africa have nothing to eat, not even a little grain...
And we complain
poem by Bianca Edwards
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If the rain spoils our picnic, but saves a farmer's crop, who are we to say it shouldn't rain?
quote by Tom Barrett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope: A worthless Virtue
Wherever you find Mankind, two plagues follow Him: War and poverty, both preventable but impossible to eradicate. The reason: greed. The sorrier of the two is poverty; war sometimes is a necessity, poverty never is.
Man is forever looking for more but always that pursuit is misdirected. He never includes his fellow human beings, only his narrow clique’s self-interests. The rest are left to fend for themselves. Often an impossible task to achieve, the result is poverty.
Once a victim of this state of being, what is left is hope- worthless hope.
The poorest are the ones who hope
They hope against (all) hope it seems.
They pray to god to help them cope
Yet fruitless as their faded dreams
They hope someday for better stead
A worthless virtue I suspect
Adding to misery instead
That propagates in that respect.
Look to the past to see their plight:
Dreaming of castles in the sky;
But that isn't all, not by a long sight:
The chance it will happen? In a pigs eye!
The “haves” are a self-centered breed
Who rarely help people in need.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Nothing Left To Complain About
I am fearing the nearness of you.
Something within me wishes to submit.
Something that you do,
Allows with me to feel a comfort...
And a peacefulness.
I am fearing the nearness of you.
Too long have I been,
Denying to friends...
A compassion with love,
Would complete me once again.
But...
I find that I am fearing,
A nearness of you.
And it is the ease of a chemistry,
I feel with you I never knew before.
And...
I am fearing this nearness of you.
A closeness totally unexpected.
And one that strips me of my defenses,
Too.
I am fearing the nearness of you.
And so afraid you know this.
By the things you say and do...
With a patience that confuses.
And you are getting close,
To breaking down 'this' wall...
To have me love you most!
I am fearing the nearness of you.
You know just what you are doing!
And...
I've never been like that.
Wanting with desire to be the one pursued.
And here we are you and I.
With me fearing the nearness of you,
So close by my side.
And yet feel upset...
That I have nothing left to complain about.
'There is nothing left for you to complain about.'
How did you know I was thinking that?
'You seem to be upset.
With me you will have no regrets.
Just let whatever happens,
Be!
A life lived will uncover the facts.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Must I Complain, O God, I Pray?
When you made me by love thine,
And called me sweetly by my name,
And wrote it in your palm divine,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you chose me for job fine,
And gave me breath in special way,
And made me walk on earth, ravine,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you led me through hill, vale,
And desert, plain, seasons umptine,
And kept me safe through flood and hale,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you watched o'er me night, day,
And fed, clothed, sheltered me all life,
And held me by right hand en way,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you suffered, died on cross,
And resurrected on third day,
And wait for me with Father Boss,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
When you are Almighty God,
And love to see my soul back pure,
And fair in judgment, just in rod,
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
Must I complain, O God, I pray?
Fondly dedicated to my dear elder sister,
Miss. Noeline Mary Clemencia BSc., B.T.,
On her birthday today
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-02-'12
poem by John Celes
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A Modern Day Miracle
Where could you find an example
of true faith in the twentieth century?
‘Faith Like Potatoes’ to plant
in El Nino, in drought, in dust
a never grown before potato crop?
Angus Buchan, a farmer, in Durban
South Africa declared before 35,000
“To hell with El Nino! We are going
to plant this year! And we are going
to plant potatoes.” Fool or Man of Faith?
The Wisdom Of The Modern World
Scientists warned farmers not to plant!
“Do not plant this season unless
you have irrigation.” Angus had none!
Planting planting potatoes in dust
would be a massive massive risk!
It would require a miracle!
Did Angus expect a miracle?
Or was he an experienced potato farmer?
Angus was a maize and cattle farmer!
He had never grown potatoes!
No farmer could grow potatoes in drought!
Not in drought without irrigation!
But all farmers and men of faith
know a crop, a harvest is grown,
from a seed, a seed of planted faith.
Angus prayed and prayed
during the planting and he knew;
in his heart that the Lord;
wanted him to plant potatoes.
Angus expected a modern day miracle from God!
God has complained men lack faith!
To dream their dreams large enough!
Angus planted potatoes in dust on his farm in drought!
Without irrigation without water on his farm in faith!
Angus hired two extra farms, planted potatoes in their dust!
If the potato crop failed, Angus would loose everything!
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not yet seen.” Hebrews 11: 1.
Potatoes grow under the ground
and are not seen until the harvest!
Angus planted in faith; reaped a miracle of faith!
“because the righteous one will live by reason of faith.” Galatians 3: 11.
“The condition for a miracle is difficulty,
however the condition for a great miracle
is not difficulty, but impossibility.” Angus Buchan
“Seek and you shall find knock
and the door shall be opened to you.”
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sometimes I Pray
Sometimes I pray before I sleep;
Sometimes I pray, the lord; my soul to keep,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray in the morning;
Sometimes I pray for those in mourning,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray for rain;
Sometimes I pray for nomore pain,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray before i eat;
Sometimes I pray for good bread and meat,
Sometimes I pray.....
Sometimes I pray, my baby; that you'll stay;
But only sometimes for these things do I pray,
For I talk to my Lord everyday...
poem by Nkululeko Mdudu
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 10
A grain dealer to whom Sufis were owing some money asked them for it every day in the town of Waset and used harsh language towards them. The companions had become weary of his reproaches but had no other remedy than to bear them; and one of them who was a pious man remarked: ‘It is more easy to pacify a hungry stomach with promises of food than a grain dealer with promises of money.’
It is preferable to be without the bounty of a gentleman
Than to bear the insults of the gate-keepers.
It is better to die wishing for meat
Than to endure the expostulations of butchers.
Farmer's Song
Well I hate to say the farmer
Was the last of a dying breed
Living off the land
And taking what he needs
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
In the struggle for parity
Not one man's voice can sound
Cause the foundation
of the conglomerate
Is firmly in the ground.
Yeah, they want to feed the world
But for power and for greed
Then they'll cut off the supply
Until they get what they need.
Well I dreamed I saw a dust bowl
Where the farmers used to live
Earth was flying through the sky
It had nothing left to give
Tractors were burning
On the Whitehouse lawn
Just woke up one morning
And the farmers all were gone
I hate to say the farmer
Was the last of a dying breed
Living off the land
And taking what he needs.
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive.
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive.
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Of His Kind
Well I hate to say the farmer
Was the last of a dying breed
Living off the land
And taking what he needs
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
In the struggle for parity
Not one man's voice can sound
Cause the foundation
of the conglomerate
Is firmly in the ground.
Yeah, they want to feed the world
But for power and for greed
Then they'll cut off the supply
Until they get what they need.
Well I dreamed I saw a dust bowl
Where the farmers used to live
Earth was flying through the sky
It had nothing left to give
Tractors were burning
On the Whitehouse lawn
Just woke up one morning
And the farmers all were gone
I hate to say the farmer
Was the last of a dying breed
Living off the land
And taking what he needs.
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive.
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
Don't say much for the future
When a family can't survive.
I'd hate to say the farmer
Was the last of his kind.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Leave That To
I've never known what it's like real poverty
And I've always been lucky life is good to me
And since I've never known illness or physical pain
I am not one with the right to complain
Leave that to those who are doing it tough
The homeless and destitute who have to live rough
The forgotten people of Poverty Street
Who search in rubbish bins for thrown out food to eat
Leave that to the millions of Stateless refugees
Hungry and subject to every known disease
Life for them a constant survival fight
If they complain they have earned the right
I've lived for sixty one years in time a good span
And I cannot complain I am a lucky man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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35
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cause and effect
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About The Cause And The Effect
Some are not really causes
But just symptoms
And we misdiagnose
A sickness
For a symptom
Of the real sickness
The cause
And the effect
Are often interchanged
For instance
Is poverty the cause
Of crime
Or is poverty
Only the symptom
Of it?
For instance
Is ignorance
The cause of poverty
Or is it simply
An effect of poverty?
Or is poverty
Nothing but an effect
Of ignorance?
Or is poverty
Just an effect
Of an oppression
Of the rich
Taking much
From the poor
Who gets poorer
Everyday
Because there
Are no reforms
Coming
To solve
His poverty
His ignorance
His having to commit a crime
To survive
His poverty
His ignorance
His being a crime
Of
Society itself
who never cared
And wanted him
Who never
Instituted the much
Promised reforms?
And so you doubt
The cause and effect
The effect from cause
And if you did not mind so
Well
They may always be
Interchanged
And mistaken
For the symptoms
The conditions
That always
Are
there deceiving.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Death Song
THE sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day,
But glory remains when their lights fade away:
Begin, you tormentors ! your threats are in vain,
For the son of Alknomook will never complain.
Remember the arrows he shot from his bow,
Remember your chiefs, by his hatchet laid low:
Why so slow? do you wait till I shrink from the pain?
No; the son of Alknomook shall never complain.
Remember the wood, where in ambush we lay,
And the scalps which we bore from your nation away:
Now the flame rises fast; you exult in my pain;
But the son of Alknomook can never complain.
I go to the land where my father is gone,
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son:
Death comes like a friend to relieve me from pain;
And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to complain.
poem by Anne Hunter
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This Years Kisses
Irving berlin
This years crop of kisses
Dont seem as sweet to me
This years crop just misses
What kisses used to be
This years new romance
Doesnt seem to have a chance
Even helped by mr. moon above
This years crop of kisses is not for me
For Im still wearin last years love
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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