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An Epigram. Since Milo Rallies Sacred Writ

Since Milo rallies sacred Writ,
To win the Title of a Wit;
'Tis pity but he shou'd obtain it,
Who bravely pays his Soul to gain it.

poem by Mary Barber
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Soul must purge out.

When you pity,
When you are true
And when you lend
You will feel that
You are relieved
Out of what you have got.

When you obtain,
When you attain
And when you gain,
You will feel that
You have got enough
Feeling a kind of fullness..

Soul is a bowl,
Which when in full,
Must empty too
To get rid of
Constipation.

The greedy must note it.
26.11.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To The Painter Of An Ill-drawn Picture of Cleone

Sooner I'd praise a Cloud which Light beguiles,
Than thy rash Hand which robs this Face of Smiles;
And does that sweet and pleasing Air control,
Which to us paints the fair CLEONE's Soul.
'Tis vain to boast of Rules or labour'd Art;
I miss the Look that captivates my Heart,
Attracts my Love, and tender Thoughts inspires;
Nor can my Breast be warm'd by common Fires;
Nor can ARDELIA love but where she first admires.
Like Jupiter's, thy Head was sure in Pain
When this Virago struggl'd in thy Brain;
And strange it is, thou hast not made her wield
A mortal Dart, or penetrating Shield,
Giving that Hand of disproportion'd size
The Pow'r, of which thou hast disarm'd her Eyes:
As if, like Amazons, she must oppose,
And into Lovers force her vanquish'd Foes.
Had to THEANOR thus her Form been shown
To gain her Heart, he had not lost his own;
Nor, by the gentlest Bands of Human Life,
At once secur'd the Mistress and the Wife.
For still CLEONE's Beauties are the same,
And what first lighten'd, still upholds his Flame.
Fain his Compassion wou'd thy Works approve,
Were pitying thee consistent with his Love,
Or with the Taste which Italy has wrought
In his refin'd and daily heighten'd Thought,
Where Poetry, or Painting find no place,
Unless perform'd with a superior Grace.
Cou'd but my Wish some Influence infuse,
Ne'er shou'd the Pencil, or the Sister-Muse
Be try'd by those who easily excuse:
But strictest Censors shou'd of either judge,
Applaud the Artist, and despise the Drudge.
Then never wou'd thy Colours have debas'd
CLEONE's Features, and her Charms defac'd:
Nor had my Pen (more subject to their Laws)
Assay'd to vindicate her Beauty's Cause.
A rigid Fear had kept us both in Awe,
Nor I compos'd, nor thou presum'd to draw;
But in CLEONE viewing with Surprize
That Excellence, to which we ne'er cou'd rise,
By less Attempts we safely might have gain'd
That humble Praise which neither has obtain'd,
Since to thy Shadowings, or my ruder Verse,
It is not giv'n to shew, or to rehearse
What Nature in CLEONE's Face has writ,
A soft Endearment, and a chearful Wit,
That all-subduing, that enliv'ning Air
By which, a sympathizing Joy we share,
For who forbears to smile, when smil'd on by the Fair?

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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The constipation

Pity is a kind of love
That you must experience;
Doing so, you cleanse your soul.

Being true is a kind of love
That you must experience;
Doing so, you please your soul.

To part with is a kind of love
That you must experience;
Doing so, you ease your soul.

To earn, to gain and to count
Are things done with creed and pride
To fill and stuff the soul with.

The soul is the bowel, which’s full
When you’re in the pinnacle.
The bowl must ease out its contents.

Unless you pity, be true
And gift in the path of life,
Your soul has to constipate.
10.10.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Get Up Off Your Pity Pot To Stop It

To wiggle out from under all doubts,
With a hanging them out to dry...
In front of passersby to eye,
Is intended to get attention.

Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Get up off your pity pot to drop.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
And...
Believe this or not,
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!

Get up off your pity pot to stop this quick.
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit.

Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit,
One bit.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Pity You

I pity you when you walk down the street
I pity you when you open your mouth to speak
You will tell your story, with its pity and glory
As sympathy is all that you do seek.

I pity you and your parents dear
I pity you when from you they don’t want to hear
As you put them to blame, for your sadness and pain
That’s why for you no-one will shed a tear.

I pity you when you laugh and smile
I pity you as your life is full of guile
But you are the source, for your sadness and remorse
And you wont change even when walking your last mile.

I pity you as you once had something
I pity you as now you have nothing
You threw everything away, so you could stray
Now your retribution will be coming.

I pity you as with time you will age
I pity you with your hate and your rage
You will always fight, whether you are wrong or right
You are the animal and your soul is your cage

I pity you and I do it without a clue
I pity you whenever I see or hear of you
There is no sympathy, as your not my friend or enemy
And all I can say is, that I truly pity you.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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'Tis very great pity that they who are so apt to over-rate themselves in smaller matters, shou'd, where it most concerns them to know, and stand upon their Value, be so insensible of their own worth.

quote by Mary Astell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Title

Give a title
Pursue it.

Giving title is in your hand
After giving title it is you
To go behind it.

Through this title
You are going to search truth
And the secret of truth
Though the title is
Not based on truth.

Title given on imagination
And imaginary world is not real world.
Without imagination
You can not go anywhere
You can not achieve anything.
It is your imagination
That pull and push you.

From the starting
You are wandering
With the title
You have given.
Unless you forget
All that are yours
You can not reach me.

Go not with anything.
Come to me only
Come to me in empty.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A Song

I.

No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a meant his love.

III.

But now for me, in search of gain
From shore to shore he flies:
Why wander riches to obtain,boon I valued more—
He gave me all his heart!

II.

His soul sincere, his gen'rous worth,
Might well this bosom move;
And when I ask'd for bliss on earth,
I only
When love is all I prize?

IV.

The frugal meal, the lowly cot
If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
Were more than wealth to me.

V.

While he the dang'rous ocean braves,
My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
To which I pour my woe?

VI.

The night is dark, the waters deep,
Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep—
The storm is in my soul.

poem by Helen Maria Williams
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To Edward Jenkinson, Esq

Fair Youth! who wish the Wars may cease,
We own you better form'd for Peace.
Nor Pallas you, nor Mars shou'd follow;
Your Gods are Cupid and Apollo;
Who give sweet Looks, and early Rhimes,
Bespeaking Joys, and Halcyon Times.
Your Face, which We, as yet, may praise,
Calls for the Myrtle, and the Bays.
The Martial Crowns Fatigues demand,
And laurell'd Heroes must be tann'd;
A Fate, we never can allow
Shou'd reach your pleasing, polish'd Brow.
But granting what so young you've writ,
From Nature flow'd, as well as Wit;
And that indeed you Peace pursue,
We must begin to Treat with you.

We Females, Sir, it is I mean:
Whilst I, like BRISTOL for the QUEEN,
For all the Ladies of your Age
As Plenipo' betimes engage;
And as first Article declare,
You shall be Faithful as you're Fair:
No Sighs, when you shall know their Use,
Shall be discharg'd in Love's Abuse;
Nor kindling Words shall undermine,
Till you in equal Passion join.
Nor Money be alone your Aim,
Tho' you an Over-weight may claim,
And fairly build on your Desert,
If with your Person goes your Heart.
But when this Barrier I have gain'd,
And trust it will be well maintain'd;
Who knows, but some imprudent She
Betraying what's secur'd by me,
Shall yield thro' Verse, or stronger Charms,
To Treat anew on easier Terms?

And I be negligently told–
You was too Young, and I too Old,
To have our distant Maxims hold.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Pity, pity, pity

Look at to the unwanted child
Look at to the divorced wife
Look at to the homeless man
What people do other than saying
“Pity, pity, pity”

Look at to the tragic hero
Look at to the sympathized villain
Look at to the clueless victim
What witnesses do other than staring
“Pity, pity, pity”

Look at to the crazy dreamer
Look at to the unlucky gambler
Look at to the stubborn fighter
What friends do other than whispering
“Pity, pity, pity”

Look at to the withering flower
Look at to the starving animal
Look at to the extinct nature
What human do other than howling
“Pity, pity, pity”

Look at to the empty spaces
Look at to the blank faces
Look at to the lost traces
What devils do other than laughing
“Pity, pity, pity”

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Real Losers

one is the soul of the country one is the wealth
both seem not to know how best to give to the country

one says one is the real son of the country
the other says he is equally a son of the country
for he helps build up the country, feed the nation
and develop it blood and sweat
]
one insists he is the real master
the other says he wishes to have similar status

both go on and on until they forget there is
a country to be fed, to be built, and both
end up in the drain, soul and wealth

so much to fight over in a country
without much of a country to gain in the end
my pity, my pity

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Big Money

More info about this song in the song database
My older brother tommy was a lineman rest his soul
His job was hanging hot wires on them high-line power poles
Every morning bright and early hed climb way up in the sky
And I never understood it so one day I asked him why
Chorus:
He said it pays big money and man Im into that
It pays big money if youre willing to take a chance
Let me tell you something sonny, you ought to see my bank account
It pays big money but he sure cant spend it now
Well, my late uncle charlie was this demolition hound
Hed travel across the country blowing buildings to the ground
He carried a case of dynamite seemed everywhere he went
He smoked them big long cigars and hed wink at you and grin
Repeat first chorus
Well now the moral of this story boys, is dont go getting yourself killed
Be kind to your rich relatives they just might put you in their will
Chorus:
That pays big money and were all into that
It pays big money and big moneys where its at
Let me tell you something sonny, you ought to see my bank account
It pays big money and were rolling in it now
Chorus:
It pays big money having foolish kin
It pays big money guess I owe it all to them
Let me show you something sonny, take a look at this bank account
It pays big money; lets all spend some of it now

song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uneasiness And Doubt Wrestle

Uneasiness and doubt wrestle
With my soul in an epic battle
For who will gain control
The feeling of uneasiness grows
While doubt lingers
I have lost all control

But as ancient ally rallies
To help battle for my soul
All my strengths and weaknesses
All come crashing home
I share them with my captain
His wisdom I have never known

He bows his head in prayer
Although a word is never heard
He taught me how to pray
As he rose from his ancient wounds
He began to bleed
Peace sprang from his soul

Uneasiness and doubt still wrestle with me
It is no longer for control
For my captain won that battle for me
A long time ago
Now peace just oozes
Oozes like blood from my soul

poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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That Pity B-Gone!

Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!

Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!

We knew that pity had to split!
B-gone.
We knew that our hearts would split, and soon...
B-gone.
If we let that pity sit,
Between us....
Both of us would have a fit.
If we let that pity sit,
Both of us would have a fit.
If we let that pity sit...
Between us!

And...
You'd believe,
That I could never love you.
To leave me feeling sorry,
And blue.

But...
I would know,
How deep inside my love goes.
And protecting what I love,
Before it overflows.

Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!

So...
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And maybe not so much the benefits.
Since I would miss too much your many moods.

That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet 11

XI

A Book was writ of late call'd Tetrachordon;
And wov'n close, both matter, form and stile;
The Subject new: it walk'd the Town a while,
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por'd on.
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
A title page is this! and some in file
Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
Hated not Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.

Note: Camb. Autograph supplies title, On the Detraction which
followed my writing certain Treatises.

poem by John Milton
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Mercury And The Elephant

As Merc'ry travell'd thro' a Wood,
(Whose Errands are more Fleet than Good)
An Elephant before him lay,
That much encumber'd had the Way:
The Messenger, who's still in haste,
Wou'd fain have bow'd, and so have past;
When up arose th' unweildy Brute,
And wou'd repeat a late Dispute,

In which (he said) he'd gain'd the Prize
From a wild Boar of monstrous Size:
But Fame (quoth he) with all her Tongues,
Who Lawyers, Ladies, Soldiers wrongs,
Has, to my Disadvantage, told
An Action throughly Bright and Bold;
Has said, that I foul Play had us'd,
And with my Weight th' Opposer bruis'd;
Had laid my Trunk about his Brawn,
Before his Tushes cou'd be drawn;
Had stunn'd him with a hideous Roar,
And twenty-thousand Scandals more:
But I defy the Talk of Men,
Or Voice of Brutes in ev'ry Den;
Th' impartial Skies are all my Care,
And how it stands Recorded there.
Amongst you Gods, pray, What is thought?
Quoth Mercury–Then have you Fought!

Solicitous thus shou'd I be
For what's said of my Verse and Me;

Or shou'd my Friends Excuses frame,
And beg the Criticks not to blame
(Since from a Female Hand it came)
Defects in Judgment, or in Wit;
They'd but reply - Then has she Writ!

Our Vanity we more betray,
In asking what the World will say,
Than if, in trivial Things like these,
We wait on the Event with ease;
Nor make long Prefaces, to show
What Men are not concern'd to know:
For still untouch'd how we succeed,
'Tis for themselves, not us, they Read;
Whilst that proceeding to requite,
We own (who in the Muse delight)
'Tis for our Selves, not them, we Write.
Betray'd by Solitude to try
Amusements, which the Prosp'rous fly;

And only to the Press repair,
To fix our scatter'd Papers there;
Tho' whilst our Labours are preserv'd,
The Printers may, indeed, be starv'd.

poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Disease is the tax which the soul pays for the body, as the tenant pays house-rent for the use of the house.

quote by Ramakrishna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Up Off That Pity Pot

Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.

No need to keep weeping tears,
That long ago overflowed.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.

Holding onto woes,
Have eroded your motives.
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
So wipe your eyes to dry,
And realize...
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
Get up!
Off your butt!

Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
And realize...
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
Get up!

Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
You need to get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
You need to get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot,
And stop those woes to drop.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With A Pity That You Want

With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.

And with a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.

You weep too deep,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
To realize...
A pain you keep.
With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.

Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.

But...
You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.

You weep too deep,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
And your wants are weak.
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.

Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.

But...
You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.

You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.

Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.
Oh...
But you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.

With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.

And with a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want,
To show you're one of those...
With a pity that you want,
To show exposed.
With a pity that you want,
To be one of those!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This World is not Conclusion

501

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don't know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—

poem by Emily Dickinson
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