En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Men

I'm Ramón González Barbagelata from anywhere,
from Cucuy, from Paraná, from Rio Turbio, from Oruro,
from Maracaibo, from Parral, from Ovalle, from Loconmilla,
I'm the poor devil from the poor Third World,
I'm the third-class passenger installed, good God!
in the lavish whiteness of snow-covered mountains,
concealed among orchids of subtle idiosyncrasy.

I've arrived at this famous year 20000, and what do I get?
With what do I scratch myself?� What do I have to do with
the three glorious zeros that flaunt themselves
over my very own zero, my own non-existence?
Pity that brave heart awaiting its call
or the man enfolded by warmer love,
nothing's left today except my flimsy skeleton,
my eyes unhinged, confronting the era's beginning.

The era's beginning: are these ruined shacks,
these poor schools, these people still in rags and tatters,
this cloddish insecurity of my poor families,
is all this the day? the century's beginning, the golden door?

Well, enough said, I, at least, discreet,
as in office, patched and pensive,
I proclaim the redundancy of the inaugural:
I've arrived here with all my baggage,
bad luck and worse jobs,
misery always waiting with open arms,
the mobilization of people piled up on top of each other,
and the manifold geography of hunger.

poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor Skeleton Steps Out

Poor skeleton steps out,
Dressed up in bad blood,
Bad brains, bad thoughts, and others deeds.
Poor skeleton no doubt,
One of these days,
You can cast aside your human, be free.
When the cities run with blood,
And you drink our health in mud,
All flesh be gone.
Save your dry and joyous shout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Sprung from his life sentence,
Deep inside some muscle mask.
Poor skeleton devout,
Propping up truck drivers,
Filmstars, thieves or queens, your brave task.
When technology is rust,
And you write your book in dust,
All flesh be gone.
Cant buy tickets from a tout,
For the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out,
Liberated from sex organs,
And brown, black, white skin.
Poor skeleton you lout,
Dont you think that we might,
Like to have been asked to join in?
For good skeletons are we,
And were dying to be free,
All flesh be gone.
I will scream or sulk and pout,
Until my poor skeleton steps out.
Better watch out, here comes bony boy.

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Me

Woke up this mornin'
feeling low
where my love one used to live
she ain't there no more.
Poor me, why such bad luck fall on me?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery
What I gonna do?
Hard to tell
Lord, I'm not going to kill myself
but I might as well
Poor me, I'm so lonely can't you see?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery.
All I do
the whole day long
fall down on my knees and pray
you'll come back home.
Poor me, why such bad luck fall on me?
Poor me, I'm livin' in misery.

song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poverty

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.

Yet there a poor family dwelt,
In a hovel so dismal and rude;
And though gnawing hunger they felt,
They had not a morsel of food.

The children were crying for bread,
And to their poor mother they’d run;
‘Oh, give us some breakfast,’ they said,
Alas! their poor mother had none.

She viewed them with looks of despair,
She said (and I’m sure it was true),
‘’Tis not for myself that I care,
But, my poor little children, for you.’

O then, let the wealthy and gay
But see such a hovel as this,
That in a poor cottage of clay
They may know what true misery is.
And what I may have to bestow
I never will squander away,
While many poor people I know
Around me are wretched as they.

poem by Jane Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are two types of poor people, those who are poor together and those who are poor alone. The first are the true poor, the others are rich people out of luck.

quote by Jean-Paul Sartre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charity Case

People pensive that I won't amount to anything in life
I hate the fact that people penSive that I am a CHARITY CASE Because I come from the poor family
This is not true
I am very proud of my bacKground
Because it has made me the person I am today
It has made me a stronger person after all the trials. I have visaged
I have full control of where I will end
Although I ddnt choose my beginning

poem by Ben Majola
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None More Selfish Than I

Some humans are such selfish creatures and none more selfish than I
The World revolves around me and praise of self I do enjoy
Some call it self survival or call it what you may
And meanwhile people dying of hunger every day.

I've never known what it feels like to be hungry or known of hunger pain
Yet of my poor existence I often do complain
So many poor and oppressed people would envy one like me
It surely can be a relative thing when one talks of poverty.

I meet so many selfish people who for themselves only care
Of the sufferings of others they don't even seem to care
As well as self centred they are ignorant and without thinking they say
That poverty is self inflicted in the World of today.

I may be a selfish bugger but in that I'm not alone
And I am one not without sin so I can't cast the stone
I feel that the World revolves around me how selfish can one be
And only the best of people are blessed with the gift of empathy.

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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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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Beginning To See The Light

(reed)
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard,
But still they never get it right.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Wine in the morning
And some breakfast at night.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again
Playing the fool again.
Here we go again
Acting hard again.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Im beginning to see the light.
I wore my teeth in my hands
So I could mess the hair of the night
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Hey Im beginning to see the light.
I met myself in a dream
And I just wanna tell you - everything was alright
Im beginning to see the light.
Here comes two of you,
Which one will you chose?
One is black, one is blue.
Dont look just what to do.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard
But still they never get it right
Well Im beginning to see the light.
There are problems in these times
But none of them are mine
Baby, Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
How does it feel to be loved?
How does it feel to be loved?

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Xyz

Once was, never the better by worse -
Adopted by the attitude which is used by the rich -
Stones are stones, yet they carry gold -
Why do we exchange to letter the poor, poor -
Struggle becomes normal, rags dressed to be formal -
Food is the sacred passage whereby some have to survive -
That which is thrown away by you as useless -
Builds another mans house -
A home, protection for his family -
What will be the outcome, to standby to fly -
And the rest of the humans die -
Of hunger, starvation is an equations -
One does not equal the other -
Rich does not equal poor -
XYZ
Yet, without the poor you will be dead

poem by Unic Cjonr
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My Poor Old Heart

I've been a fool for love
Ever since I was a baby
Just a rockin' in a cradle
As a rule I was the kind
That laid his feelings
Up front and on the table.
I gave up my world so many times
Just to see 'em tear it apart
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
--- Instrumental ---
I oughta know by now
After all this debt
And heartache lessons
I could go without
Going through hell
Just to find a little heaven.
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leavin' down to an art
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Hey, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...

song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Man With Money

She wants a man with lots of money,
not a poor boy,
He buys her things she calls him honey,
she calls me poor boy,
What good could it do,
to give a love pure and true,
when any fool could understand,
she thinks that money makes the man,
She wants a man with lots of money,
not a poor boy,
She wants the things she'll buy with money,
not a poor boy,
a man with money,man with money,man with money,
Just down thwe street,
I know a place
When there asleep,
I'll cover my face,
I'll break the lock,open the door,
I'll slip inside, I'll rob the store,
Then I'll be a man with lots of money,
not a poor boy,
I'll buy her things, she'll call me honey,
not a poor boy,
A man with money, man with money, man with money, man with money

song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The same people live...the same people die

The same people live, the same people die,
the same people laugh, the same people cry,
as they push on through, life's open door,
the old and the young, the rich and the poor.

The same people love, the same people hate,
the skeptics of heaven, the mockers of fate,
some use the gun, some just don't choose,
the proud and the vain, they win and they lose.

Death takes them all, the end's all the same,
no one can help us, cause no one's to blame,
When the door shuts and the bright lights go dim,
We all follow the same path and we all go to Him.

The same people live, the same people die,
Some still find wealth, while others get by,
the weak and the strong, the slow and the fast,
alone on life's journey, they all stumble past.

It's been this way, since the beginning of time,
To live...it's a joy, to die...it's a crime,
and still, we question and still, we ask why?
The same people live...the same people die.

poem by David Lessard
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Poor Man's Rain

Some people call it poor man's rain
When pots and pans on nightly stairs
Sound drips and drops from roof leak strain

Some people call it poor man's rain
When duct taped cracks brace to withstand
The pounding flood on window panes

Some people call it poor man's rain
When coats and shoes are frayed and worn
And puddles morning sidewalks stain

Some people call it poor man's rain
When sheets of water wait for dark
A blessing that the night contains.

poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
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The So Called Good Economic Managers

Due to Government mismanagement we see a society in decay
And the wealthy at the expense of the poor get wealthier it should never be that way
In so called affluent Western Nations people live rough on the street
Without a place to call home to out of rubbish bins they eat.

The Government due to so called good economic management get re-elected but the poor getting more poor
And for the youth of the poor Suburbs job opportunities are fewer
And many young people never find employment because of their address
And lack of career opportunities give rise to feelings of hopelessness.

Life is tough for those in the poor Suburbs where poverty is rife
From the day that they are born they must struggle on through life
The Monarch became Monarch due to birthright doesn't life seem so unfair
Whilst millions are dying of hunger in the bigger World out there.

The so called good economic managers are back in power again
But from their good economic management only the wealthy gain
And even in so called wealthy Western Nations there is widespread poverty
And more people dying of malnutrition than ever before in the twenty first century.

poem by Francis Duggan
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You Feel That The World Is Against You

You feel that the World is against you and nothing for you is going right
And you struggle just for to make ends meet and life is a hard uphill fight
But than you there are far worse off people though you do not see things that way
In Rwanda a Country in Africa teenagers to support their families work today.

Their parents by war taken from them and the eldest members of the family
Must work for to support their younger siblings they only know of poverty
In our society you may seem a poor man but poverty one can compare
And in the eyes of a Rwandan you would be a multi billionaire.

On five hundred dollars a week take home pay you support your two young children and your wife
As well as buy food, pay bills and the mortgage you do know about the hard life
In this Land they call you a battler you struggle just for to get by
Though the millions of battlers of Rwanda would say that the good life you enjoy.

You feel the whole World is against you a poor fellow on a poor street
But your fridge of food never empty and you and your family
have plenty to eat
And the hungry poor of Rwanda with you only would disagree
They would see you as a wealthy person for they know of extreme poverty

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Beginning and The End

The beginning and the end
Every moment the beginning and the end
Every breath the beginning and the end
Every thought the beginning end the end

Every feeling the beginning and the end
Every choice the beginning and the end
Every action he beginning and the end
Every breath the beginning and the end

The beginning and the end
Always together the beginning and the end
Nothing separates the beginning and the end
It is all one the beginning and the end

poem by Maria Manias
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My Poor Old Heart

I've been a fool for love ever since
I was a baby just a rockin' in the cradle
As a rule I was the kind who
Laid his feelings right down on the table
Gave my world so many times
Just to see them tear it apart
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Chorus:
I wonder just how many times a broken heart can mend
Oh, when I get back on my feet Lord, I always fall again
Rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes they've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity on my poor old heart.
Well, I ought to know by now
After of these dead and heartache lessons
I can go without going through hell
Trying to find a little heaven
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leaving down to an art
Oh Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Chorus:
I wonder just how many times a broken heart can mend
Oh, when I get back on my feet Lord, I always fall again
Rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes they've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity on my poor old heart.
Well, I said rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I said Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Wealthy Whingers

Why do some very wealthy people see fit for to complain
When they already have more than enough seems beyond me to explain
Since to whinge they do not have a reason it does occur to me
That their money is not an antidote for their spiritual poverty
Worth millions in money and assets but it does seem sad to say
That their type more to be pitied spiritually poor in their small way
Like 'tis said much always wants more in their case this does apply
Why some wealthy people crave for more I really wonder why
Not far from their leafy suburb live the poor of poverty street
The homeless and the down and outs who never have enough to eat
Five hundred thousand dollars in yearly profit after tax and they complain for us not a good year
The more some have the more some want or so it does appear
They are just wealthy whingers some are so hard to please
In a World where millions of poor people are dying of hunger and disease.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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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