Fundamental of Liar Chapter XIV: Poverty
I am not poor!
I am penniless
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Related quotes
Freedom Under Writ
What right to unbiased freedom
for penniless landless starving poor?
Their freedom is pain under writ.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dwarfed Human
Give me a small bundle of yarn,
Silk, wool or thread,
I will make beautiful attire,
sweater or loin cloth to cover you.
Give me bricks, stones and cement,
A comfortable house will be built,
for you and your children's children,
My tireless sweat may be hidden.
Give me a mother board, some GB memory,
I can use the buses to drive,
You can view the visuals on the monitor,
Speed the fastest, there evaporate my tears.
When you source my labor,
Have you ever thought about my tear?
Cheaper is better, we, poor are always poor,
May be not at your door steps, but in far away lands.
Ignorance of our politician is an asset to you.
How do people lose their voice, when they are penniless?
The oil pumped out from middle east,
The rich get richer. The Poor become terrorists.
Does the labor have different values,
in different continent?
Do the emotions have different intensity,
in different citizens?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Go To Next Door
'Go to next door'
Shouted neighbor
The man was poor
With pitiful eyes standing on floor
It is disgusting to note
Equally not noble to float
And idea to feel some soft corner
To rush to poor as sympathizer
Many able body persons
Resort to begging for unknown reasons
May be an easy way to enjoy life
Without worry, tension or strife
New born babies are taken on hire
We look at them and but show no desire
To help in any way as they follow you
Take all patience out and displeasure passes through
Poor are of many kinds in high class too
At the end of month they turn poor to be true
Almost all sources dry up and they remain penniless
Question comes up as how to cope up and face no chase
Even powerful nations turn poor on faulty planning
Limitless spending and overstretched plans need scanning
Over night their currency falls below grade and sink
Much below expectation and nation is even starved to drink
Poverty of any kind is just unimaginable
It stands there at the door with all the troubles
Individuals and nations struggle to ward of crisis
Ways and means are pressed into service with more emphasis
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As long as there are fools in the world, no one will be penniless.
Who approaches women penniless will be told: get lost.
Money Is The Medium
The moon cannot shine without the sun.
The odour cannot spread without air.
Your speech cannot reach without money.
Penniless, you cannot achieve anything.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Everyone knows that a man can always marry even if he reaches 102, is penniless, and has all his faculties gone. There is always some woman willing to take a chance on him. (from the Complete Book of Etiquette, 1952)
quote by Amy Vanderbilt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman prefers wealth
With his wallet fat,
A harlot can find
In any old man
A god of love but
Will fail to do so
In a handsome youth,
If he is penniless.
14.11.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To get bearable pain
I don’t ask you anything in return.
I’m helpless, penniless and bed ridden.
You need not treat me to prolong my life.
Instead, see I get bearable pain, son.
06.07.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The thing you've got to watch for is going broke when you're old. Look at all the people that go down and out at the finish. The man who built my country place is blind now and penniless. That's terrible!
quote by Pearl White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Almost all the noblest things that have been achieved in the world, have been achieved by poor men; poor scholars, poor professional men, poor artisans and artists, poor philosophers, poets, and men of genius.
quote by Albert Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Passing Cromwell Street
In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.
He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.
In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.
To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.
I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.
Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.
In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Poor Little Girl
Poor Little Girl
Nobody cares what she does
She only lives what she was
In her mind reliving thoughts of yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Why can’t she love what she’s seen
People don’t want her to’ve been
Wasting time and living in her yesterday
‘til she finds she knows her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
Her heart will shoulder
Who she’s intended to be
She may never know her
Until she has set herself free
Harboring the darkest nights of yesterday
So until she finds her way she’ll have to play poor little girl
Poor little girl
She’s so important to me
I admit I use to be
Runnin’ never knowin’ of my destiny
Blessings in disguise today that end that play
Poor little girl,
Poor little girl
Poor little girl
Little girl’s me
Copyright 1969, Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
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Cyber Crime
Forgotten eating
sitting walking
due to cyber crime
that gushed to my
bank account
and cleared.
Penniless I
disassociated with this
having no relatives
no friends
no god no devotee.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Poor Baby
Orbison/c & r price
Glittery eyes; witchy smiles
A good time is all you are after
Skin tight thighs; little white lies
Put you in the center of the laughter
But your reign of queen is over
Your fortress has been broken down
You're still the center of the laughter
But your role has changed to the clown
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Someone broke your heart in two
Ooh poor baby
Who would have thought it could happen to you
Poor baby
A pretty face; sweet talkin' ways
Got you a part of the action
A come-over-touch, glances and such
You always had to be the main attraction
Now you're the one who's crying
You lost at your own lonely game
You're still the center of attraction
But now i'm gone, you've got yourself to blame
Chorus
Ooh poor baby
Do what you said you'd never do
Ooh poor baby
You let someone get much too close to you
Poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
Poor baby,poor baby
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Sunken Crown
Nothing will hold him longer—let him go;
Let him go down where others have gone down;
Little he cares whether we smile or frown,
Or if we know, or if we think we know.
The call is on him for his overthrow,
Say we; so let him rise, or let him drown.
Poor fool! He plunges for the sunken crown,
And we—we wait for what the plunge may show.
Well, we are safe enough. Why linger, then?
The watery chance was his, not ours. Poor fool!
Poor truant, poor Narcissus out of school;
Poor jest of Ascalon; poor king of men.—
The crown, if he be wearing it, may cool
His arrogance, and he may sleep again.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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