Some Say 'I'd Rather Be Dead Than Poor
SOME SAY 'I'D RATHER BE DEAD THAN POOR ''
Some Say 'I'd rather be dead than poor'
Others, 'Poor than dead',
I am in the meantime working on and being worked on
for both-
The day will come
although it will be regrettably much longer than a day
when I shall have small pleasure in them-
Poorer and poorer
weaker and weaker
I grow older and older
How long I do not know
How much my meek efforts will delay it
if at all-
I do not know-
I do not know
But the time is coming
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Poor
God is with the poor
But do the poor know God is with them?
As they look out from the crowd
Lost in their 'man made prison'
God is with the poor
But do the poor know God is with them?
As they look up to the proud
Who looks back with derision
And who can tell the poor that God is with them?
He who paints angel wings on ragged backs?
Makes hungry mouths sing for their supper
He who nothing lacks?
Who poorer still can say God is with us?
When homeless turn away from too much fuss
But God is with them
Is he with us?
And poorer still in having more
But never having too much
Who can say then God is with us?
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Stronger, Faster, Younger
Stronger, Faster, Younger.
In my prime of life.
No use for strife.
More need for a wife.
Stronger, Faster, Younger.
When the day was long.
Not knowing right from wrong.
Singing a working mans song.
Stronger, Faster, Younger.
My midlife crisis will pass.
Winter brown on dead grass.
Retirement just out of grasp.
Weaker, Slower, Older.
I was given a slip today.
More so to just go away.
Silver hair a dull grey.
Weaker, Slower, Older.
No more working mans hunger.
Replaced like lightning to thunder.
By someone Stronger, Faster, Younger.
poem by Gulliver Gimble
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A man’s tendency
Man, you might be richer with wealth
But I am neither poorer,
With my bowl content with contents.
Man, you might be stronger with power
But I am neither weaker,
With my sac’s wants empty.
Why must I fall behind you?
Woman, you might be poorer in looks
I am not richer either
With my kit of virtues torn.
Woman, you are weaker in virtues
I am not richer either
With my bag of conscience worn.
That is why I fall behind you.
31.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet: The Rich and the Poor
The rich become richer and the poor poorer;
This is the way in which this world goes on!
Men may become suddenly rich, not born;
A rich man turns suddenly a beggar.
The few pennies are snatched off from the poor;
The brunt of taxes are but borne by them;
They can’t make both ends meet by any sum;
The rich hoodwink the taxman- their brother!
Will the world treat people alike ever?
All men are born unequally today;
Yet, if it happens, ’twill be a wonder;
No matter what you do, things happen this way.
The rich become richer not by real work;
The poor become poorer though they hardwork!
poem by John Celes
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Poverty
Tears filled in the eyes, as a compare the rich with the poor;
Palatial buildings laugh at the small cottages of the poor.
With scanty income the poor feeds the children, contents their desire;
Life of poor is filled with fear.
O god, in thy kingdom, partiality reigns hither, thither;
Poor becomes poorer with thy desire.
Corruption is rampant among the officers;
Exploiting junior employees' property they content their desire.
O god! Thy Earth is wonder;
Poor people roam hither, thither;
With their little income they content their desire.
On Earth they are cursed creatures.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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Poverty Vavroovahana Patra
Tears filled in the eyes, as I compare the rich with the poor;
Palatial buildings laugh at the small cottages of the poor.
With scanty income the poor feeds the children, contents their desire;
Life of poor is filled with fear.
O god, in thy kingdom, partiality reigns hither, thither;
Poor becomes poorer with thy desire.
Corruption is rampant among the officers;
Exploiting junior employees' property they content their desire.
O god! Thy Earth is a wonder;
Poor people roam hither, thither.
With their little income they content their desire.
On Earth they are cursed creatures.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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In A Human World Where Many Grow Poorer
In a Human World where many grow poorer for one to become a millionaire
Who can blame the forgotten have nots for thinking that life is unfair
The homeless poor of the big city to survive have to battle the odds
Many of them die in their twenties the children of the lesser gods,
The children of disadvantaged parents for them no such a thing as a fair go
A good home and a good education of such things they never will know
Compared to them I feel so lucky one might say a fortunate man
I have never been hungry or homeless at anytime in my life span
For the wealthy to grow wealthier the poor must grow poorer in a fair Human World this would not be
Far too many are disadvantaged and condemned to live in poverty
Even in the so called wealthy Nations the hidden poverty is rife
By circumstance of birth far too many are condemned to a miserable life
'Tis true enough we are mere mortals and to the scythe of the Reaper we fall
But in a Human World where many grow poorer no such a thing as a fair go for all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Are There Poems For the Poor?
ARE THERE POEMS FOR THE POOR?
Are there poems for the poor?
What are they about?
Not having?
Not being able to buy?
Hunger?
Sleeping on the street?
Saying ‘no’ to those one loves?
Critical medications not afforded?
Children without bread?
Are there poems for the dead?
Going through the garbage cans
And remembering
How I once looked with slight contempt
On those who did so?
Are their poems for the poor?
The dead?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Trust Not the Rich
The world is large but people’s minds are small!
They do not trust the God who loves man much;
They blunder often, repeatedly fall;
They want their hands to have the ‘golden touch’!
Beware of nations rich with much resource;
They lead the world in every field they choose;
They steer the poorer ones clearly off-course,
And hang their economy’s neck by noose!
The world today doesn’t care for poorer men;
The rich usurp all pow’r and ill-treat rest;
They neglect downtrodden and poor brethren;
The poor can’t rise although being the best.
Don’t trust the rich but stay independent;
The rich make slaves out of those dependent!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-28-2010
poem by John Celes
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Shallow Grave
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Dead, All Dead
Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days
She came without a farthing
A babe without a name
So much ado about nothing
Is what shed try to say
So much ado my lover
So many games we played
Through every fleeted summer
Through every precious day
All dead all dead
All the dreams we had
And I wonder why I still live on
All dead all dead
And alone Im spared
My sweeter half instead
All dead
And gone
All dead...
All dead all dead
At the rainbows end
And still I hear her own sweet song
All dead all dead
Take me back again
You know my little friends
All dead
And gone
All dead and gone
Her ways are always with me
I wander all the while
But please you must forgive me
I am old but still a child
All dead all dead
But I should not grieve
In time it comes to everyone
All dead all dead
But in hope I breathe
Of course I dont believe
Youre dead
And gone
All dead
And gone
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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The man who has no money is poor, but one who has nothing but money is poorer. He only is rich who can enjoy without owning; he is poor who though he has millions is covetous.
quote by Orison Swett Marden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rich are richer, and the poor are poorer, in the city than elsewhere; and, as a rule, the greater are the riches of the rich and the poverty of the poor.
quote by Josiah Strong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who is richer?
The rich who are mean
Are poorer than the poor;
The poor who are liberal
Are richer than the rich.
28.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Shallow Graves
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that Ill be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
And leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
I wont lie, I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That's Life One Must Suppose
At the bottom of the social rank and low in self esteem
That's where the haves want to keep the have nots or that's how it does seem
For every new member of the millionaires club there is more poverty
And that people of malnutrition die does not make sense to me,
When many have far more than enough but not enough to satisfy their greed
For them 'twould seem that much wants more that does seem sad indeed
Though some quite wealthy people some of their profits share
Amongst the struggling have nots of the bigger World out there
The social gap keeps widening getting bigger every day
And the poor are getting poorer or so 'twould seem that way
Many hungry and homeless and low in social rank
For the poverty of millions we do have greed to thank
Some have to go for months on end without a change of clothes
And the poor keep getting poorer that's life one must suppose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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21 - Victorian Poverty
A period of extreme poverty of the lower working classes
As they worked to the death the rich sat politely on their arses
London’s poor tried to scrape a living doing jobs the devil created
As the rich sat at their windows laughing at the pitiful souls they hated
The poor would have sooner died than enter the poor houses control
As it was not fit to harbor a single living human soul
Small boys were used to clean narrow sooted chimneys
While in the coal mines children worked on their hands and knees
Although this golden age pioneered many useful inventions
Children privileged to go to school were whipped instead of detentions
And as the poor worked for a life at every waking hour
The rich covered their stench with perfume and wild flowers
The poor had nothing and hardly anything to eat
While the rich enjoyed tea and honey and sherbet lemon sweets
In Victorian London the poor just lived and died
The rich never really noticed the rich never really cried
A period of extreme poverty of the lower working classes
As they worked to the death the rich sat politely on their asses
poem by Nicola Burkett
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What A Feeling
What a feeling it is to say, “This is my own house”
For one who lived years in a rented residence
What a feeling it is to say, “I’m full to my neck”
For one who starved for weeks, being out of work
What a feeling it is to say, “This rag is so warm”
For a half-nude hobo who lives under sky-dome
Small pleasures, yet great gratifications they are,
For those grieving souls, in sheer indigence
The poor are poor; but poorer are the ravenous rich
Who can never reach these richer indulgences
poem by Sathya Narayana
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