The Immigrant Muslims and the Indian Mongoloids
When the Muslims crowd around and blockmail,
threat calls and panic waves mail,
the mongoloids head home
where our AIDS-hit army roam
to receive alms and in their duty fail.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Beggarliness
The cats march on to the backyard
Of my house and leave their kitten,
taking it for a safe haven.
When I come upon a dog
lying beside the walls of the school,
with its pups rolling over it,
I buy biscuits from a shop
and feed them with grace.
When the rats pluck up courage
to hold jamborees in the porch,
I don’t beat them or drive them out
fearing to be infected with rat-fever.
But I put coleslaw for them to eat.
When little lamps jump into my office room,
and let down their balls of dung,
I smile, lift them up and give them
to the girls of lower classes.
When I see beggars lame or blind,
I touch the coins in my pocket
but hesitate to give them;
as most of them tell tales of lies.
They get freebies from the Government
yet their list swells in trains and public places.
Some who run private homes to orphans
send the inmates to beg in streets
But they beg from cinestars and the rich
with a printed receipt book in hand.
The old ones plead starvation
and go on cheating pliable public.
Some ladies and the differently -abled
roam to beg with letters in trains and buses.
Some criminals appeal for alms with appalling faces.
Terrorists too beg from the rich and cinestars
and demand donations without giving receipts.
Fake sages and seers receive funds from abroad
to frustrate the addicts from drugs
and the men and women garbless to meditate in halls.
When the beggars blockmail me
and curse me to have a dog’s life,
how can I purse my lips and refuse alms?
----------
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whereever I May Roam
Wherever I May Roam
...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
so in her I do confide
and she keeps me satisfied
gives me all I need
...and with dust in throat I crave
only knowledge will I save
to the game you stay a slave
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll redefine anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
...and the earth becomes my throne
I adapt to the unknown
under wandering stars I've grown
by myself but not alone
I ask no one
...and my ties are severed clean
the less I have the more I gain
off the beaten path I reign
rover wanderer
nomad vagabond
call me what you will
but I'll take my time anywhere
I'm free to speak my mind anywhere
and I'll never mind anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
but i'll take my time anywhere
free to speak my mind
and I'll take my find anywhere
anywhere I may roam
where I lay my head is home
carved upon my stone
my body lie, but still I roam
wherever I may roam
song performed by by Metallica
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I seem to roam
And still I seem to roam.
With my way lost.
And the path not on track.
So still I continue to roam.
I've lost the way back home.
My hart is heavy.
My heart is all but very sad.
My head is pounding.
But my hart is broken.
It will not heal.
Becuase I am left to roam.
All I do is roam.
Fighting coping on my own.
I've never felt so alone.
As I still continue to roam.
Facing each day as it comes.
Wishing it was the last.
I still continue to roam.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Olney Hymn 42: Self-Acquaintance
Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.
There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work,
To fan them to a flame.
Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from Thee;
And Discontent would fain prescribe
How Thou shalt deal with me.
While Unbelief withstands Thy grace,
And puts the mercy by,
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, 'Give me, or I die!'
How eager are my thoughts to roam,
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!
Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by Thy power,
And make me Thy beloved abode,
And let me roam no more.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Self-Acquaintance
Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.
There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work,
To fan them to a flame.
Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from Thee;
And Discontent would fain prescribe
How Thou shalt deal with me.
While Unbelief withstands Thy grace,
And puts the mercy by,
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, "Give me, or I die!"
How eager are my thoughts to roam,
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!
Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by Thy power,
And make me Thy beloved abode,
And let me roam no more.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Panic In Detroit
Ah oooh
He looked a lot like che guevara, drove a diesel van
Kept his gun in quiet seclusion, such a humble man
The only survivor of the national peoples gang
Panic in detroit, I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home, I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit (oh oh oh aahh, oh oh oh aahh)
He laughed at accidental sirens that broke the evening gloom
The police had warned of repercussions
They followed none too soon
A trickle of strangers were all that were left alive
Panic in detroit, I asked for an autograph
He wanted to stay home, I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit (oh oh oh aahh, ah ah ah aahh)
Putting on some clothes I made my way to school
(oh oh oh)
And I found my teacher crouching in his overalls
I screamed and ran to smash my favourite slot machine (oh oh oh)
And jumped the silent cars that slept at traffic lights
Having scored a trillion dollars, made a run back home
Found him slumped across the table. a gun and me alone
I ran to the window. looked for a plane or two
Panic in detroit. hed left me an autograph
Let me collect dust. I wish someone would phone
Panic in detroit
Panic in detroit
Panic in detroit
Aoo
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea
The sea has always
held a fascination with me
with its restlessness.
Breakers falling on
far and distant shores.
Waves rushing up sandy beaches,
then retreating to roam some more.
I sit for hours just watching and dreaming
where each wave might have been.
On its waters, roam mighty ships
coming and going from home.
One day I may old sea roam.
My dreams may come true
and on your waters explore
the different lives lead
on far-flung distant shores.
Until that day comes along
on the beach, I’ll sit and dream.
7 June 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Guys And Dolls Medley: Fuge For Tinhorns (feat. Michael Crawford And Hinton Battle)
I got the horse right here
his name is Paul Revier
and here's a guy who says if the weather's clear
can do,can do
this guy says the horse can do
can do ,can do
I'm picking valentine
cause on the morning line
the guy has got him figured 5 to 9
has a chance, has a chance
this guy say the horse has a chance
if he says the horse has a chance
has a chance, has a chance
no way
for Paul Revier I'll bite
I hear his foots alright
of course it all depends
if it rained last night
I know it's valentine
the morning word the find
besides the jokey's brother's a friend of mind
needs grace, needs grace
this guy says the horse needs grace
he says that the horse needs grace
needs grace, needs grace
hey wait a minute fellows
have you consider this
well anyway, it's my turn to sing
so shut up
oh really
but look at appetat
he wins it by a hair
according to this here in the telegraphy
big threat, big threat
this guy calls the horse big threat
if he calls the horse big threat
big threat, big threat
I tell you Paul Revier
now this is no bum stear
it's from my handy cap that is real sincere
I go from valentine
cause on the morning line
the guy has got him figured 5 to 9
has a chance, has a chance
the guy says the horse has a chance
Paul Revier
valentine
appatat
I got the horse right here
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fugue For Tinhorns
I got the horse right here
His name is Paul Revier
And here's a guy who says if the weather's clear
Can do,can do
This guy says the horse can do
Can do ,can do
I'm picking valentine
Cause on the morning line
The guy has got him figured 5 to 9
Has a chance, has a chance
This guy say the horse has a chance
If he says the horse has a chance
Has a chance, has a chance
No way
For Paul Revier I'll bite
I hear his foots alright
Of course it all depends
If it rained last night
I know it's valentine
The morning word the find
Besides the jokey's brother's a friend of mind
Needs grace, needs grace
This guy says the horse needs grace
He says that the horse needs grace
Needs grace, needs grace
Hey wait a minute fellows
Have you consider this
Well anyway, it's my turn to sing
So shut up
Oh really
But look at appetat
He wins it by a hair
According to this here in the telegraphy
Big threat, big threat
This guy calls the horse big threat
If he calls the horse big threat
Big threat, big threat
I tell you Paul Revier
Now this is no bum stear
It's from my handy cap that is real sincere
I go from valentine
Cause on the morning line
The guy has got him figured 5 to 9
Has a chance, has a chance
The guy says the horse has a chance
Paul Revier
Valentine
Appatat
I got the horse right here
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because of the lack of education on AIDS, discrimination, fear, panic, and lies surrounded me.
quote by Ryan White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul Lost In Dirt
Like all of us, your parents
Too dreamed of you as to be
One,
Who will hold their head high!
How do they feel, as you are not
A human!
I don't have the duty to preach you,
To make you able to get in the poet's
World.
You have the right, to be good
To express you but not to
Hurl!
As an Indian I feel I should
Be ashamed of you, my dark
Friend-
From today I shall call you a
Fiend.
Are you chasing me thru the
Ages,
In my life, in my most favorite poet's,
Pages?
When my honorable friends see your,
Mail,
Their assessment of Indian culture will,
Fail.
Your ludicrous attempts have no,
Meanings.
You should end your dirty,
Innings.
Your soul is lost in dirt,
Lucifer.....
No angel can save you, I know
So Far!
poem by Nilakshi Das
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Fifties and a Tomato Cart
Two.50 calibre rounds destroyed the old man's head
there was nothing left in the space
where once eyes, nose, mouth had lived
his face was shredded
The tomato cart untouched because
Americans fire tight shot groups
and they were directed at his head
The female MP surveyed the horror
with cool distaste posed the question
'cause of death? ' It was procedure.
An Army private could not resist delivering
his line with a wry twist of gallows humor
'Seems to me, seargeant, loss of head
would be the cause of death.'
Hearing this story now, second hand,
I am unable to make any sense of it.
I fail to grasp the value of it's telling
The facts are clear-
American convoy drew near
the old man and his tomato cart
two fifties opened up and took his head apart
head controls heart thus, life functions ceased
threat eliminated the American convoy eased
to a stop-
and the paperwork started with clinical indifference
to the recently departed tomato cart man
I feel nothing
I am unable to engage emotions though I guess
Somewhere, someone will be lost in an ocean of grief
that will bear no consolation-
no amount of belief in God, Allah, Jahweh
can begin to explain the immensity of their loss
as I attempt to calculate the cost to the Army as roughly-
nothing,
the empty feeling inside of me as
I try to tell myself I'm not dead-
try to sell myself on the idea that somewhere-deep inside
I'm aghast at the cheapness of life in the combat zone
where everybody dies alone and I know
each loss is a personal tragedy to someone back home
a catastrophy to mothers like Cindy Sheehan.
But what about the tomato cart man, his head squashed
like a ripe tomato by the twin hammers
of two fifties?
How much does his death really affect me?
It hits me then and I want to take the fact
and drive it through my own head like
those two fifties until
my head gives way
and my heart stops because
it is now clear that the numbness has become so severe
that I might as well be dead
Cause of death?
Not loss of Head
Oh no, no
I'd say loss of Heart
poem by Troy Younts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sea
The sea calls for all man
Though it, many try to deny
From the calling of the wind
To the seas salty cry.
From the rushing of the waves
That's pounding against the rocks,
To a boys childhood dream
Or to that sailor, somewhere lost.
The seagulls they are crying
At the tall ships as they sail
The albatross she is flying,
While awakening is the gale.
The sea calls for all man
Though many refuse to hear
But alas, I think I’ll answer her
For I know that she is near.
I long for the seaman's life
To roam the world upon the ship
To sail by the sun and the stars,
Living, with the birds and fish.
Sleeping beneath the open sky
To live a life, that I know is free
So once again I think I will cry
For the sea, she calls for me.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Mrs. Ward
On friday afternoon at three o'clock
A passing lady looked into a shop
Her eyes lit up as this the sign she read
Recruiting office, that is what it said
Exacitedly she stepped inside to see
How her sons would fair if they were militry
The man in charge to her was very sweet
And said, "please sign here on this little sheet"
But when she got home her mind grew many fears
The message from the soldiers in the war rang in her ears
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
At six o'clock the lads came home from work
She told them what she'd done, they went beserk
We'll have to go to war and fight and die
And mrs. ward she wiped a tear from her eye
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rumors of sneezing, kissing, tears, sweat, and saliva spreading AIDS caused people to panic.
quote by Ryan White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I know that a man who shows me his wealth is like the beggar who shows me his poverty; they are both looking for alms from me, the rich man for the alms of my envy, the poor man for the alms of my guilt.
I Need My Stuff Back
On the preacher's day holy preaching
Under and below clay was sent em
On the forceful whips of lowly meeting
The soul taker will never accept em
On the bulge of mercies, and the crowd
The know it all grabber took to heels em
On the side of lowly souls went loud
The friend of fire proclaimed a fail em
And the lord most high, comes, comes and drive them
The heaven lifter won't cath asingle ship em
And the straw remains blessed for ever beam
While he is commanded, I need my stuff back!
And I receive it! I receive it! I receive it!
And the liar, blantant big liar, I receive it!
And he never swindles and swindles em
The lord most high assembles wholly, holy fire on them
The real shepherd, the messiah's love em
While he is commanded, I need my stuff back!
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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The Overland Mail
(Foot-Service to the Hills)
In the name of the Empress of India, make way,
O Lords of the Jungle, wherever you roam.
The woods are astir at the close of the day --
We exiles are waiting for letters from Home.
Let the robber retreat -- let the tiger turn tail --
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail!
With a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in,
He turns to the foot-path that heads up the hill --
The bags on his back and a cloth round his chin,
And, tucked in his waist-belt, the Post Office bill:
"Despatched on this date, as received by the rail,
Per runner, two bags of the Overland Mail."
Is the torrent in spate? He must ford it or swim.
Has the rain wrecked the road? He must climb by the cliff.
Does the tempest cry "Halt"? What are tempests to him?
The Service admits not a "but" or and "if."
While the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail,
In the Name of the Empress, the Overland Mail.
From aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir,
From level to upland, from upland to crest,
From rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur,
Fly the soft sandalled feet, strains the brawny brown chest.
From rail to ravine -- to the peak from the vale --
Up, up through the night goes the Overland Mail.
There's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road --
A jingle of bells on the foot-path below --
There's a scuffle above in the monkey's abode --
The world is awake, and the clouds are aglow.
For the great Sun himself must attend to the hail:
"In the name of the Empress the Overland Mail!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Alley Of Hope
Pint sized allies,
A hidden agenda for which I drink.
A home away from home,
a place to think.
when I drink I roam,
leaving everything I know
back at home.
Homesick from alcohol,
to late to call
so why not just roam,
until I find my home.
poem by Joe Foster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor Wayfaring Stranger
(traditional)
I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
Wandering oer this world of woe
And theres no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go
Im going home to see my father
Im going home, no more to roam
Im only going over jordan
Im only going over home
I know dark clouds will gather round me
I know my way is rough and steep
But beautious fields lie just before me
Where men redeemed their vigils keep
Im going home to see my mother
Im going there, no more to roam
Im only going over jordan
Im only going over home
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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