A beggar needs no God.
The rich are the ones earning by cunning.
They want the God to guard their earnings.
They want the God to forgive their sinning.
A beggar needs no God for his living.
11.01.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beggar To Beggar Cried
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Sinning
Back in the night is the father of hell,
By command that I wont go (? ),
If your a stranger your life is in danger,
So guard your lives.
Ive a vocation of verse meditation,
I know if its to ditch,
Optimum (? ),
Yes Im a witch.
No fantasy,
Youre stuck with me,
No wonder evil, none is there to be found.
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way,
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way.
No fantasy,
Youer trapped with me,
Just dont get tired and I wont bring you down,
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way,
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way.
Rather be a bitch, just look at me,
Bein a witch is what Id rather be,
You just make me mad, Ill let you see,
What Id rather be,
What Id rather (be/feel),
Bad as I can be,
Mad as I can be,
What Id rather see,
What Id rather be,
Bad as I can be,
Bad as I can be.
No fantasy,
Your stuck with me,
There ae no reasons on this earth to be found.
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way,
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way.
No fantasy,
Youre trapped with me,
Just dont get tired and I wont bring you down,
Bad as I can be.
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way,
Sinning every day,
Cussing all the way.
Rather be a bitch, just look at me,
Bein a witch is what Id rather be,
You just make me mad, Ill let you see,
What Id rather be,
What Id rather (be/feel),
Bad as I can be,
Mad as I can be,
What Id rather see,
Mad as I can be,
What Id rather be,
Bad as I can be.
Thats what I would rather be,
Just as bad as I can be,
Thats what I would rather be,
Just as bad as I can be,
Thats what I would rather be.
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Demons 2
we like to sin
we like to think that when we sin
it is not us that sin
but some demons pushing us to make the sins
even in sinning we need some escape goats
the demons made me do it
damn these demons in my head!
i am innocent
the demons pushed me to do the sins i do
they are so many of them
these damn demons in my head
and i am just alone
(my sweet conscience
implanted by God)
these damn demons
they push me on the dead-end edge where i can do nothing but sin
nice, human logic,
less responsibility for sinning because someone did the sinning for you
not me,
when i sin, i sin alone, i sin myself, and there is no escape goat to blame
there are no horns, no goats, no snakes handing me the apple to bite,
no adam no eve no cains or abels no genetics involved in here
i have sinned through my own fault.in my own fault,
in what i think, in what i do, in what i have failed to do,
in what i have failed to think,
and i ask all the angels and saints to help me get away from
my own faults, my own and nothing but my own
this sinning
my own responsibility and i ask my God to forgive me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cunning Man
A cunning manner has been absorbed
By the builders of logic, the philosophers;
Subduing thoughts travelling into ideas,
Jostling with common people and their minds.
Minds are too much, minds excel according
To the brains of a rich heaven, the richer time.
A cunning leader may swerve in judgement
To give a solution, but when do we please
The tailors of windows and chairs? then
They are themselves, and are given fairness.
A cunning man is not a woman of craft
But a cunning man swerves in judgement.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The beggar that begs near another beggar will never be rich.
Running To Paradise
As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap.
For I am running to paradise;
And all that I need do is to wish
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout,
And I am running to paradise;
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving-maid and a serving-man:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled a old sock full:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
The wind is old and still at play
While I must hurty upon my way.
For I am running to paradise;
Yet never have I lit on a friend
To take my fancy like the wind
That nobody can buy or bind:
And there the king is but as the beggar.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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A Poem For A Friend Dying of Cancer
I forgive you, Lord, for all your cruelty
And the way you really had it in for me,
The way you let them break my heart,
The way they tore my happiness apart.
I forgive you, Lord, but I don't see why
I should honour you because you chose to die,
I hate the way you've crucified my friends
Proclaiming that your Great Love nrver ends!
I forgive you, Lord, for all the suffering
That you allowed, and how you didn't bring
Relief for friends who lay there in their pain,
I forgive you, Lord, perhaps you are insane!
I forgive you, Lord, you really make me sick,
Your clever words are just a cunning trick,
Why don't you save my friend who's going to die,
She's only 31, and you won't tell me why.
I don't forgive you, Lord, the end has come
For a Creator who's both deaf and dumb,
I hate you now for all eternity,
And the reason for my hatred is obvious to see.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Guardian Angel
Be my guard just for tonight, that is all Im asking for
Take me under your wing, I cant make it anymore
I am so full of fear, may you read a book to me
And when the shadows grow wont you stay with me
Will you be my guard tonight. that is all Im asking for
Will you be my guard tonight, that is all I need to know
Be my guard beside my bed, that is all I need to know
Will you please hold my hand, dont you ever let it go
All the wonders of the world for a little second more
I cant speak but cant you see, its your touch Im crying for
Will you be my guard tonight. that is all Im asking for
Will you be my guard tonight, that is all I need to know
Be my guard just until dawn, when I can hear the birds again
Im as helpless as can be, will you guard my little flame
If we never meet again, you shall always keep in mind
That you were my guard tonight, that you were my guard tonight
Will you be my guard tonight. . .
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Forgive Them God, Lord
Forgive them God, they know not what they do;
Forgive them Lord, they know not what they say;
Forgive them God, they are my siblings too;
Forgive them Lord, they seem just bad today!
Forgive them God, they were all born with me;
Forgive them Lord, they suffered really;
Forgive them God; they were so good truly;
Forgive them Lord, they have done their duty!
Forgive them God, the tempter has them prey;
Forgive them Lord, they were so sad most days;
Federal been God and send your guardian fay;
Forgive them Lord, they have innocent face!
Forgive them God; I’ll pray for them instead;
Forgive them Lord; better You strike me dead!
28-5-2001 Perundurai, ERODE. T.N. INDIA
poem by John Celes
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The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Who Is Rich?
I strive to be rich,
to travel on the roads,
of the capital cities,
in Sedan or limousine.
I work hard to be rich,
to find a lot in Beverly hills,
to buy an aircraft and
a hover to fly and float.
I work day and half night,
to be rich to others sight,
to smoke a cigar of an inch,
and a few girls to pinch.
scanty girls of Los vegas,
dress up, for a living,
trendy sad faced Indians,
walk alone for a living.
I want to be rich,
traveling as a rat,
through the holes of,
capital cities.
She wants to be rich,
He wants to be rich and
we want to be rich, but
people call us rich.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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No two are equal
A penny in the hand of a beggar
And the one in the hand of a rich
Are not the same in value.
The rich is not proportionately rich.
14.08.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Of Charity
A beggar died last night; his soul
Went up to God, and said:
'I come uncalled, forgive it, Lord;
I died for want of bread.'
Then answered him the Lord of heaven:
'Son, how can this thing be?
Are not my saints on earth? and they
Had surely succoured thee.'
'Thy saints, O Lord,' the beggar said,
'Live holy lives of prayer;
How should they know of such as we?
We perish unaware.
'They strive to save our wicked souls
And fit them for the sky;
Meanwhile, not having bread to eat,
(Forgive!) our bodies die.'
Then the Lord God spake out of heaven
In wrath and angry pain:
'O men, for whom my Son hath died,
My Son hath lived in vain!'
poem by Arthur Symons
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They get, you know, whatever they want from their earnings, and their earnings go into their own company.
quote by Brian Epstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In real terms, there is a greater disparity of earnings between the very rich and the very poor.
quote by Ferdinand Mount
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Call To The Grave
The rain washes away and purifies
It washed down the flesh we catered for
And we who sell so much and wanted more
The crows will come and peck away our eyes
Perhaps [...]
It drove us to these tides from which we swing
Like [...] starlings on the wing
Like horses droppings on a country road
Oh brothers learn from us, so it begins
And pray to God that hell forgive my sins
The girls who flaunt their breasts as bait there
To catch some sucker who will love them
The youth so sly, they stand and wait there
To grab their single earnings off them
The crooks, the tarts, the tart protectors
The muggers and the maggots
The psychopath, the [...]
I pray that they forgive my sin
Someone has taken [...] crowbar
And caved their ugly faces in
I only ask to know its over
Pray that they forgive my sin
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Was A Living Guard (Parody)
It was a living guard
I think, when reality
started. That walked off his piece of lawn
feeling affectionate,
laying down his head and wordless
against the tree,
became friends with it.
A first tree
from which he as a guard
paced off his way,
while it screamed next to him,
he pulled
and the stem was stripped off to the top,
until he saw:
the awakening of a young branch
that after the first pruning
carefree
started flowering.
But when the tree started to shake and offspring
started budding into the corner of the garden,
growing under the tablecloth,
to the woman, nobody in that summer
thought
to tell the guard
about the meaning. It was a living guard,
if I do not have it wrong,
that walked away from his piece of lawn.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Where I come from, you don't really talk about how much you're earning. Those things are private. My dad never told my mum how much he was earning. I'm certainly not going to tell the world. I'm doing well.
quote by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are people who can never forgive a beggar for their not having given him anything.
quote by Karl Kraus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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