The Search
I bought a young and lovely bride,
Paying her father gold;
Lamblike she rested by my side,
As cold as ice is cold.
No love in her could I awake,
Even for pity's sake.
I bought rich books I could not read,
And pictures proud and rare;
Reproachfully they seemed to plead
And hunger for my care;
But to their beauty I was blind,
Even as is a hind.
The bearded merchants heard my cry:
'I'll give all I posses
If only, only I can buy
A little happiness.'
Alas! I sought without avail:
They had not that for sale.
I gave my riches to the poor
And dared the desert lone;
Now of God's heaven I am sure
Though I am rag and bone . . .
Aye, richer than the Aga Khan,
At last--a happy man.
poem by Robert William Service
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An Autumn Reverie
Alas! Beautiful Summer now hath fled,
And the face of Nature doth seem dead,
And the leaves are withered, and falling off the trees,
By the nipping and chilling autumnal breeze.
The pleasures of the little birds are all fled,
And with the cold many of them will be found dead,
Because the leaves of the trees are scattered in the blast,
And makes the feathered creatures feel downcast.
Because there are no leaves on the trees to shield them from the storm
On a windy, and rainy, cloudy morn;
Which makes their little hearts throb with pain,
By the chilling blast and the pitiless rain.
But still they are more contented than the children of God,
As long as they can pick up a worm from the sod,
Or anything they can get to eat,
Just, for instance, a stale crust of bread or a grain of wheat.
Oh! Think of the little birds in the time of the snow,
Also of the little street waifs, that are driven to and fro,
And trembling in the cold blast, and chilled to the bone,
For the want of food and clothing, and a warm home.
Besides think of the sorrows of the wandering poor,
That are wandering in the cold blast from door to door;
And begging, for Heaven's sake, a crust of bread,
And alas! Not knowing where to lay their head.
While the rich are well fed and covered from the cold,
While the poor are starving, both young and old;
Alas! It is the case in this boasted Christian land,
Where as the rich are told to be kind to the poor, is God's command.
Oh! Think of the working man when he's no work to do,
Who's got a wife and family, perhaps four or two,
And the father searching for work, and no work can be had,
The thought, I'm sure, 'tis enough to drive the poor man mad.
Because for his wife and family he must feel,
And perhaps the thought thereof will cause him to steal
Bread for his family, that are starving at home,
While the thought thereof makes him sigh heavily and groan.
Alas! The pangs of hunger are very hard to hide,
And few people can their temper control,
Or become reconciled to their fate,
Especially when they cannot find anything to eat.
Oh! Think of the struggles of the poor to make a living,
Because the rich unto them seldom are giving;
Wereas they are told he that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord,
But alas! they rather incline their money to hoard.
Then theres the little news-vendors in the street,
Running about perhaps with bare feet;
And if the rich chance to see such creatures in the street,
In general they make a sudden retreat.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Love is My Money
Love or Money raises a question in mind
But I’d be a fool to give up money for love
For I was born in the center of love by poor
Whom to pay back only my love not money
Some says: “money cannot buy happiness”
But I remembered when I was a little boy
Ma gave me a nickel out from her purse
To buy a candy that made me jumped of joy
Love or Money still raises a question in mind
Yet I’ll still be a fool to give up money for love
For I am now an old man in the center of love
Paying high interest to whom I owed their hugs
Others say: “money cannot buy happiness”
But I recall when I bought a ring for my fiancée
And the smile on her face made me too happy
So now without her love I would be broke
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Our Riches
We came onto this earth and we met money!
But we will die one day and leave it all;
Because i have never seen a rich person being buried with his or her money!
Our riches of this world,
The rich are not even buried with their best car! !
So if we are rich today,
Let us use it wisely to help the poor around us;
Because we will all die one day without the riches following us.
The poor will always be around us,
So it is better to gain heaven than hell!
And it is better to love one another than hate,
For we cannot be buried with all our riches!
And it is better to give than to receive.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Situation Vacant
Suzy and johnny were happy
Earned enough to pay the rent
But johnnys mother-in-law had too much ambition
And this made johnny very upset
So to keep his little mama satisfied
He went and bought the weekly classified
All for peace and quiets sake
Johnny gave up his position
Just to please his mother-in-law
So he left the job where hed been all his life
He left and turned his back on door[? ]
Now hes looking at the situations vacant
Situations vacant
Just to keep his little mama satisfied
He went and bought the weekly classified
All for peace and quiets sake
Then he had to leave the apartment
And sought a less plush residence
And poor suzy and johnny had to skimp and save
Just to help to pay the weekly rent
So to keep his little mama satisfied
He went and bought the weekly classified
All for peace and quiets sake
Johnnys got no money
Got no where to go
Johnnys in a great big hole
Suzys separated, living with her ma
Now little mamas satisfied
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Orphan Boy's Tale
Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale,
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake,
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride,
And my brave father's hope and joy,
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,
And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,
And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought,
She could not bear to see my joy;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor orphan boy.
The people's shouts were long and loud,
My mother, shuddering, clos'd her ears;
'Rejoice! rejoice!' still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.
'Why are you crying thus,' said I,
'While others laugh and shout for joy?'
She kiss'd me -- and with such a sigh!
She called me her poor orphan boy.
'What is an orphan boy?' I cried,
As in her face I look'd and smil'd;
My mother through her tears replied,
'You'll know too soon, ill-fated child!'
And now they've toll'd my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy;
O lady, -- I have learnt too well
What 'tis to be an orphan boy.
Oh! were I by your bounty fed!
Nay, gentle lady, do not chide,--
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride.
Lady, you weep! -- ha? -- this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ
Look down, dear parents! look and see
Your happy, happy orphan boy!
poem by Amelia Opie
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The Widow
Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snows fell,
Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked,
When a poor Wanderer struggled on her journey
Weary and way-sore.
Drear were the downs, more dreary her reflexions;
Cold was the night wind, colder was her bosom!
She had no home, the world was all before her,
She had no shelter.
Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drove a chariot,
"Pity me!" feebly cried the poor night wanderer.
"Pity me Strangers! lest with cold and hunger
Here I should perish.
"Once I had friends,--but they have all forsook me!
"Once I had parents,--they are now in Heaven!
"I had a home once--I had once a husband--
"Pity me Strangers!
"I had a home once--I had once a husband--
"I am a Widow poor and broken-hearted!"
Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining.
On drove the chariot.
On the cold snows she laid her down to rest her;
She heard a horseman, "pity me!" she groan'd out;
Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining,
On went the horseman.
Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger,
Down sunk the Wanderer, sleep had seiz'd her senses;
There, did the Traveller find her in the morning,
GOD had releast her.
poem by Robert Southey
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A Picture From Lifes Other Side
Recorded by hank williams, sr.
Arranged by hank williams, sr.
Capo: 2nd fret/key: e/play: d
[d] in the worlds mighty gallery of pictures
Hang the [g] scenes that are painted from life [d]
Theres pictures of love and of passion
Then theres [e7] pictures of peace and of [a7] strife
There hang [d] pictures of youth and of beauty
Of old [g] age and the blushing young [d] bride
They all [g] hang on the wall - but the [d] saddest of all
Are the [a7] pictures from lifes other [d] side.
[d] just a picture from lifes other side
Some-[g] one has fell by the way [d]
A life has gone out with the tide
That [e7] might have been happy some [a7] day
Theres a [d] poor old mother at home
Shes [g] watching and waiting a-[d] lone
Just [g] longing to hear - from a [d] loved one so dear
Its just a [a7] picture from lifes other [d] side.
The first scene is that of a gambler
Who had lost all his money at play
An he draws his dead mothers ring from his finger
That she wore long ago on her wedding day
Its his last earthly treasure, but he stakes it
Then he bows his head that his shame he may hide
But, when they lifted his head - they found he was dead
Thats just a picture from lifes other side.
Now the last scene is that by the river
Of a heart-broken mother and babe
As the harbor lights shine and they shiver
On an outcast whom no one will save
And yet, she was once a true woman
She was somebodys darlin and pride
God help her, she leaps - for theres no one to weep
Its just a picture from lifes other side.
Extra verse:
The next was a scene of two brothers
Whose pathways so diffrent had led
One lived the life of a rich man
The other one begged for his bread
Then one night they met on the highway
Your money or life, the thief cried
And then with his knife - took his own brothers life
Its just a picture from lifes other side.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Souls Are Safe
Ghouls of heaven are beauty and modesty,
Greater deities come from this ugliness.
Their help is in hand, their aiding us is beneficial
When our life is like a cellar, and not a roof.
One house is forced to our self, and one home is essential
For they have no more than one and one is all.
Poor people are not rich in their paragraphs,
In their sizes and style, life is empty and non-proud.
Much is condemned by the rich,
Where is the speech of the poor?
The poor are ghouls, and we haven’t any goals
Or riches, but now we have.
Our heaven is not hell, and our souls are safe.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Songs of Joy
Sing out, my soul, thy songs of joy;
Sing as a happy bird will sing
Beneath a rainbow's lovely arch
In the spring.
Think not of death in thy young days;
Why shouldst thou that grim tyrant fear?
And fear him not when thou art old,
And he is near.
Strive not for gold, for greedy fools
Measure themselves by poor men never;
Their standard still being richer men,
Makes them poor ever.
Train up thy mind to feel content,
What matters then how low thy store?
What we enjoy, and not possess,
Makes rich or poor.
Filled with sweet thought, then happy I
Take not my state from other's eyes;
What's in my mind -- not on my flesh
Or theirs -- I prize.
Sing, happy soul, thy songs of joy;
Such as a Brook sings in the wood,
That all night has been strengthened by
Heaven's purer flood.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Rich In Our Own World
We are rich in our own world
and far richer than you think,
we are rich love and caring
from our family and friends.
We are rich in what we give
our wisdom and our laughter
that we share with everyone.
We are rich for all sorts of reasons
and none of them includes money.
If you think, you are poor,
forget it and think again.
Think of all the things you have
and you will be surprised to find
you are far richer than you think.
You are rich in your own world
with everything you have
and they are far richer than
anything money can bring.
14 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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Rocket Love
Do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do
Do do do, do do do, do do do-oo
I longed for you since I was born
A woman sensitive and warm
And that you were
With pride and strength no one would test
But yet have feminie finesse
And so much more
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
A female shakespeare of your time
With looks to blow picassos mind
You were the best
Your body moved with grace and song
Like symphonies by bach or brahms
Nevertheless, oh oh
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Ooh you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Da da da, da da da, da da da, da da da
Da da da, da da da-aa
The passion burning in your heart
Would make hells fire seem like a spark
Where did it go
Just why that you would overnight
Turn love to stone as cold as ice
Ill never know
But you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Baby you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Cold, too cold, you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Oh, oh, oh, took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to into this cold, cold world
I would not do that to a dog
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Ooh baby
Rocket love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death of the Old Mendicant
There was a rich old gentleman
Lived on a lonely moor in Switzerland,
And he was very hard to the wandering poor,
'Tis said he never lodged nor served them at his door.
'Twas on a stormy night, and Boreas blew a bitter blast,
And the snowflakes they fell thick and fast,
When a poor old mendicant, tired and footsore,
Who had travelled that day fifteen miles and more,
Knocked loudly at the rich man's door.
The rich man was in his parlour counting his gold,
And he ran to the door to see who was so bold,
And there he saw the mendicant shivering with the cold.
Then the mendicant unto him said,
My dear sir, be not afraid,
Pray give me lodgings for the night,
And heaven will your love requite;
Have pity on me, for I am tired and footsore,
I have travelled fifteen miles to-day and more.
Begone! you vagabond, from my door!
I never give lodgings to the poor;
So be off, take to your heels and run,
Or else I'll shoot you with my gun!
Now do not think I'm making fun;
Do you hear, old beggar, what I say?
Now be quick! and go away.
Have mercy, sir, I cannot go,
For I shall perish in the snow;
Oh! for heaven's sake, be not so hard
And God will your love reward.
My limbs are tired, I cannot go away,
Oh! be so kind as let me stay.
'Twas vain! the rich man said, I shan't,
And shut his door on the mendicant,
And said, That is the way I'll serve the poor
While I live on this lonely moor.
Then the old mendicant did go away,
And, murmuring to himself, did say,
Oh, woe's me that ever I was born!
Oh, God, protect me from the storm!
My feeble limbs refuse to go,
And my poor heart does break with woe.
Then he lay down and died among the snow.
He was found by the rich man's shepherd next day,
While he was searching for sheep that had gone astray;
And he was struck with fear and woe
To see the body lying dead among the snow.
So the shepherd ran home and told his master
About the very sad disaster;
That he had found a dead body in the snow,
But whose it was he did not know.
Then the rich man ordered the body to be brought to his house
And to be instantly dressed by his loving spouse,
For his conscience smote him with fear and woe,
When he heard of the old mendicant being found dead in the snow.
So the poor old mendicant was buried without delay
In a very respectable way,
And from that very day the rich man was kind to the poor
And never turned any one away from his door.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Little Match Girl
It was biting cold, and the falling snow,
Which filled a poor little match girl's heart with woe,
Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street,
Crying, "Who'll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!"
When she left home she had slippers on;
But, alas! poor child, now they were gone.
For she lost both of them while hurrying across the street,
Out of the way of two carriages which were near by her feet.
So the little girl went on, while the snow fell thick and fast;
And the child's heart felt cold and downcast,
For nobody had bought any matchea that day,
Which filled her little mind with grief and dismay.
Alas! she was hungry and shivering with cold;
So in a corner between two houses she made bold
To take shelter from the violent storm.
Poor little waif! wishing to herself she'd never been born.
And she grew colder and colder, and feared to go home
For fear of her father beating her; and she felt woe-begone
Because she could carry home no pennies to buy bread,
And to go home without pennies she was in dread.
The large flakes of snow covered her ringlets of fair hair;
While the passers-by for her had no care,
As they hurried along to their homes at a quick pace,
While the cold wind blew in the match girl's face.
As night wore on her hands were numb with cold,
And no longer her strength could her uphold,
When an idea into her little head came:
She'd strike a match and warm her hands at the flame.
And she lighted the match, and it burned brightly,
And it helped to fill her heart with glee;
And she thought she was sitting at a stove very grand;
But, alas! she was found dead, with a match in her hand!
Her body was found half-covered with snow,
And as the people gazed thereon their hearts were full of woe;
And many present let fall a burning tear
Because she was found dead on the last night of the year,
In that mighty city of London, wherein is plenty of gold -
But, alas! their charity towards street waifs is rather cold.
But I hope the match girl's in Heaven, beside her Saviour dear,
A bright reward for all the hardships she suffered here.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Handbags & Gladrags
(michael dabo)
Ever seen a blind man cross the road
Trying to make the other side
Ever seen a young girl growing old
Trying to make herself a bride
So what becomes of you my love
When they have finally stripped you of
The handbags and the gladrags
That your grandad had to sweat so you could buy
Baby
Once I was a young man
And all I thought I had to do was smile
You are still a young girl
And you bought everything in style
Listen
But once you think youre in youre out
cause you dont mean a single thing without
The handbags and the gladrags
That your grandad had to sweat so you could buy
Sing a song of six-pence for your sake
And take a bottle full of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds in a cake
And bake them all in a pie
They told me you missed school today
So what I suggest you just throw them all away
The handbags and the gladrags
That your poor old granddad had to sweat to buy
They told me you missed school today
So I suggest you just throw them all away
The handbags and the gladrags
That your poor old granddad had to sweat to buy ya
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Feet
There was a little boy once upon a time
Who in spite of his young age and small size knew his mind
For every copper penny and clover he would find
Make a wish for better days the end of hard times
For no more cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
His clothes were always clean
His face was always scrubbed
There was food on the table enough to fill him up
His house was full of life - his house was full of love
But when winter days arrived
There was never money enough to shod his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He grew up to be a worker determined to succeed
He made a life for himself, free from worldly wants or needs
But with nobody to share the life hed made
No body to keep him warm at night
When hed go to sleep hed sleep alone with his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
One night he walked the street looking to the heavens above
Searching for a shooting star a benevolent god
When a woman passing by brushed his arm
He turned and found love
He then wished for the courage to ask this stranger
Who she was to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought shed like the party life and want the finer things
So he promised more than he could buy
And he promised her the sun and moon to not have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He worked day and night his fingers to the bone
Hi worried mind guilty conscience drive him on
He cant give her what she needs
He wants to give her what he thinks she wants
Her sad-eyed face, his empty pockets drive him on and his cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Hed struggled all his life to be an honest man
Proud that the dirt on his palms was the soil of the land
But some guys he knew from high school days
Said they had a plan to get rich quick
And they could count him in if he dont have cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He thought about their offer accepted it without qualms
Dreamt about the life hed buy
The comfort that would come without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
He decided to tell his wife things would soon turn around
He said the little boy is dead
A man stands with you now without cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
Without cold feet - cold cold cold cold feet
He thought hed set his clock right - he though hed read his watch
He left in such a hurry he didnt think to wish for luck
Makes no difference if youre early - no difference if youre late
When youre out of time - the flowers have been laid
Youre six feet underground
With cold feet
Cold cold cold cold feet
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pity Me, Loo!
On the sunset borders of the mountains I stray,
Of a dear home dreaming 'yond the snow peaks far away,
While the bubbling brook beside me goes dancing along,
As it seeks the "Golden Gate" of the ocean blue;
And a lone bird murmurs in the bush-top his song--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
Tra la la la, la la la la
From mate to mate the carol rings:
Tra la la la, la la la la!
la la la la
A thousand valleys through;
Yet the lone bird sorrows as he plaintively sings--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
'Neath the rocks I'm treading there are treasures of gold,
But by far more precious is my own native mold.
Nevermore, in search of Beauty need Fancy take wings:
Here is beauty, here is grandeur, at ev'ry view;
Yet my heart grows heavy, and the lone bird still sings--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
In the green-clad valley where the wayward brook mends
There are homes most charming--there are warmhearted friends.
Lovely dell! it seems an Eden, afloat in mid-air,
As if God had sent from Heaven a creation new;
But its charm is broken, for my heart is not there--
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
poem by Henry Clay Work
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I Bought Myself A Liarbird
I bought myself a liarbird
He came with free drinks just to blur
The lies falling out like rain
On an average english summers afternoon
I bought myself a new notebook
Sharpened my guitar and went to look
If this biz was just as bongo as the liarbird made out
All he would say
Is ''i can make you famous
All he would say
All he would say
''just like a household name is
All he would say
Methinks world is for you
Made of what you believe
If its false or if its true
You can read it in your bible
Or on the back of this record sleeve
I bought myself a liarbird
Things got more and more absurd
It changed to a cuckoo
And expanded filling up with all I gave
I bought myself a big mistake
He grew too greedy, bough will break
And then we will find that liarbirds
Are really flightless on their own
All he would say
Is ''i can make you famous
All he would say
All he would say
''just like a household name is
All he would say
Methinks world is for you
Theres no handing it back
If its false or its true
You can read it in your prayer book
Or on the side of a cornflake pack
I gave away a liarbird
A couple less drinks and now Ive heard
The truth shining out like sun
On an average english winters afternoon
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Bought Myself A Liarbird
I bought myself a liarbird
He came with free drinks just to blur
The lies falling out like rain
On an average english summers afternoon
I bought myself a new notebook
Sharpened my guitar and went to look
If this biz was just as bongo as the liarbird made out
All he would say
Is ''i can make you famous
All he would say
All he would say
''just like a household name is
All he would say
Methinks world is for you
Made of what you believe
If its false or if its true
You can read it in your bible
Or on the back of this record sleeve
I bought myself a liarbird
Things got more and more absurd
It changed to a cuckoo
And expanded filling up with all I gave
I bought myself a big mistake
He grew too greedy, bough will break
And then we will find that liarbirds
Are really flightless on their own
All he would say
Is ''i can make you famous
All he would say
All he would say
''just like a household name is
All he would say
Methinks world is for you
Theres no handing it back
If its false or its true
You can read it in your prayer book
Or on the side of a cornflake pack
I gave away a liarbird
A couple less drinks and now Ive heard
The truth shining out like sun
On an average english winters afternoon
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Compassion
A beggar in the street I saw,
Who held a hand like withered claw,
As cold as clay;
But as I had no silver groat
To give, I buttoned up my coat
And turned away.
And then I watched a working wife
Who bore the bitter load of life
With lagging limb;
A penny from her purse she took,
And with sweet pity in her look
Gave it to him.
Anon I spied a shabby dame
Who fed six sparrows as they came
In famished flight;
She was so poor and frail and old,
Yet crumbs of her last crust she doled
With pure delight.
Then sudden in my heart was born
For my sleek self a savage scorn,--
Urge to atone;
So when a starving cur I saw
I bandaged up its bleeding paw
And bought a bone.
For God knows it is good to give;
We may not have so long to live,
So if we can,
Let's do each day a kindly deed,
And stretch a hand to those in need,
Bird, beast or man.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prelude
How could I love you more?
I would give up
Even that beauty I have loved too well
That I might love you better.
Alas, how poor the gifts that lovers give
I can but give you of my flesh and strength,
I can but give you these few passing days
And passionate words that, since our speech began,
All lovers whisper in all ladies' ears.
I try to think of some one lovely gift
No lover yet in all the world has found;
I think: If the cold sombre gods
Were hot with love as I am
Could they not endow you with a star
And fix bright youth for ever in your limbs?
Could they not give you all things that I lack?
You should have loved a god; I am but dust.
Yet no god loves as loves this poor frail dust.
poem by Richard Aldington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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