Pity For Poor Africans
I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves;
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.
I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea?
Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains:
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will:
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still.
If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Much more in behalf of your wish might be said;
But, while they got riches by purchasing blacks,
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks?
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind
A story so pat, you may think it is coined,
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint;
But I can assure you I saw it in print.
A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.
He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered -- 'Oh, no
What! rob our good neighbour? I pray you don't go!
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread;
Then think of his children, for they must be fed.'
'You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us, you shall have a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.'
They spoke, and Tom pondered --'I see they will go:
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so!
Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind will do him no good.
'If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree;
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too:
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.'
His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan;
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.
poem by William Cowper
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The Boys And The Apple-Tree
As William and Thomas were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side:
They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Thomas to William then cried:
'O brother, look yonder! what clusters hang there!
I'll try and climb over the wall:
I must have an apple; I will have a pear;
Although it should cost me a fall!'
Said William to Thomas, 'To steal is a sin,
Mamma has oft told this to thee:
I never have stolen, nor will I begin,
So the apples may hang on the tree. '
'You are a good boy, as you ever have been,'
Said Thomas, 'let's walk on, my lad:
We'll call on our schoolfellow, Benjamin Green,
Who to see us I know will be glad.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Apples of Hesperides
Glinting golden through the trees,
Apples of Hesperides!
Through the moon-pierced warp of night
Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,
Swaying to the kissing breeze
Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,
Apples of Hesperides!
Far and lofty yet they glimmer,
Apples of Hesperides!
Blinded by their radiant shimmer,
Pushing forward just for these;
Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,
Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,
Always thinking soon to seize
And possess the golden-glistening
Apples of Hesperides!
Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,
Apples of Hesperides!
Not one missing, still transcendent,
Clustering like a swarm of bees.
Yielding to no man's desire,
Glowing with a saffron fire,
Splendid, unassailed, the golden
Apples of Hesperides!
poem by Amy Lowell
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Sweet Sour Apple Bites
Orchard of apple and variety
Here you come, the apples lover
Come sing and praise like always
'Shining around the skin
Your colour is my favorite apple
The fresh one
So is your taste'
Apples smile and sing
'If i am green
A sweet sour love
Bite one, bite two
Bite still
Taste me my apples lover
Taste my sweet sour love
I'm green and sour
Pluck me bite me my lover'
The hunter replies
Bite one and some
Tasted your sour love
Bite still because i am the apple lover'
Apples smile continue the song
'If i am red apple
Sweet and moist
Bite one, then two
Bite more
Taste my sweet life
I'm red and taste nice
Bite one bite some
Taste me sweet you will like it'
'Green or Red
Bite sweet or bite sour
I must love you my apples
simply because...
I am the true apple lover'
Explained hunter
Sweet red or sour green
Sugar rich energy will reach your heart sooner
Running in your blood and pump the beat so dear
'O apples my dear i grow you in orchard to be with me so near'
Confessed by gardener, before apple answered
'You work hard and love so sincere, will fruit you love every year'
Bite one, sweet or sour everyday
Promise keeps you away from doctor
Bite one Bite some Bite all say the lover
Energy, Protect you always said apple
If you love something, make it further
This is what apple and hunter tell you, No Fears
Credit to Ahmed Khaled to point some issues of apples
so what i can say here it was inspired by Ahmed Khaled and fair to say this is our collaboration. Took of the chance to dedicate this poem for Steve, Co founder of Apple...All his courage to chase his dream is what i really called as an apple lover...
Meaning of this poem,
I want to talk about 'Do what you want' choose what you like
It's not all about apples, it is about...if you have a dream (your future)
make it real either you taste it difficult or easy you will always enjoyed it
just like i tell you in the story, green or red, sweet or sour
the apple hunter/gardener still like it, why simple cause the hunter like it
..As you know what you like and nod for the challenge, you will
get satisfied with what are you having, doing...it's your favorite choice
..Include the words 'An apple a day keeps doctor away' hoping you
understand, you will safe and satisfy if you choose the path you like
and you will safe from regret..Chase your dream :) _Unwritten Soul
poem by Unwritten Soul
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The Crossed Apple
I’ve come to give you fruit from out my orchard,
Of wide report.
I have trees there that bear me many apples.
Of every sort:
Clear, streaked; red and russet; green and golden;
Sour and sweet.
This apple’s from a tree yet unbeholden,
Where two kinds meet, -
So that this side is red without a dapple,
And this side’s hue
Is clear and snowy. It’s a lovely apple.
It is for you.
Within are five black pips as big as peas,
As you will find,
Potent to breed you five great apple trees
Of varying kind:
To breed you wood for fire, leaves for shade,
Apples for sauce.
Oh, this is a good apple for a maid,
It is a cross,
Fine on the finer, so the flesh is tight,
And grained like silk.
Sweet Burning gave the red side, and the white
Is Meadow Milk.
Eat it, and you will taste more than the fruit:
The blossom, too,
The sun, the air, the darkness at the root,
The rain, the dew,
The earth we came to, and the time we flee,
The fire and the breast.
I claim the white part, maiden, that’s for me.
You take the rest.
poem by Louise Bogan
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Country Scrumping
Your country cousin took you
Across a field to a vast orchard
Where low hung branches
Made the green apples within
Reach of your young boy’s hands.
Don’t eat too many of them
Or you’ll get gut ache, she said.
Your eyes had never seen so
Many apples, row after row
In long lines down the field and
Fields beyond. You picked an apple
And bit into it. They make cider
From these, she said, picking off
An apple too and biting with relish.
Your younger sister looked nervously
On wondering if she too should pick.
Go on, your cousin said, pick and eat.
Your sister reached up and pulled
And a few apples fell to the ground
With soft sounds of thump on the
Short grass. She picked up one and
Brushed it off on her dress. Have to
Run if the farmer comes, your cousin
Said, and don’t tell of this or we’ll be
For it. For what? Your sister asked.
Your cousin looked around and replied,
A good telling off or a good tanned ass.
You stood all three of you eating, beneath
The apple trees, in the short green grass.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Giving Tree
Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.'
'I am too big to climb and play' said
the boy.
'I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?'
'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy.'
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.'
'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy.
'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said.
'I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?'
' I have no house,' said the tree.
'The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.'
And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
'Come, Boy,' she whispered,
'come and play.'
'I am too old and sad to play,'
said the boy.
'I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?'
'Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,' said the tree.
'Then you can sail away...
and be happy.'
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.
And after a long time
the boy came back again.
'I am sorry, Boy,'
said the tree,' but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone.'
'My teeth are too weak
for apples,' said the boy.
'My branches are gone,'
said the tree. ' You
cannot swing on them - '
'I am too old to swing
on branches,' said the boy.
'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree.
'You cannot climb - '
'I am too tired to climb' said the boy.
'I am sorry,' sighed the tree.
'I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry....'
'I don't need very much now,' said the boy.
'just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.'
'Well,' said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.'
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Apple Orchard
A sunny afternoon, with blanket spread,
Beneath some apple trees, with ample shade,
We'd sit with tray of tea and gingerbread,
Scones with cream, and these were freshly homemade.
Apples hung above us, each ripe and red,
So colourful, they somehow set the scene.
Sampling strawberry jam on thin sliced shortbread,
We'd lay and watch the leaves, with sun between.
Peaceful lazy days were these, and so free,
Whiling away hours, with paint and book,
Our orchard, where under a favoured tree,
We'd relish Peter Pan and Captain Hook.
Those rosy apples, that we'd all consume,
And savour juicy flesh so soft and sweet,
Eating them until we had no more room,
Those halcyon days were to us a treat.
Dappled sunshine sparkled amids the boughs,
And danced on, with a gentle pleasing sway,
Oh What I would give to again just browse,
In that apple orchard, for one more day.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Apples, Peaches, Bananas & Pears
Apples, peaches, bananas and pears
I love you, girl, now thats the truth
I need you
Dont be cruel, dont be cruel
Give me just a little help and to show how much I care
I bring you apples, peaches, bananas and pears
Run to me
Girl dont wait to long
And youll see
I wont do you wrong
Promise me no matter what
Forever youll be there
Ill bring you apples, peaches, bananas and pears
Ive said all I can today, girl
Thats the way I am
Take it for what its worth,
Throw the rest into the sun
Give me you
Girl, thats all I ask
Please be true
All I wants a love to last
Ill give it all back to you
And just to prove Im fair
I bring you apples, peaches, bananas and pears
Whoa!
I love you, girl, now thats the truth
I need you
Dont be cruel, dont be cruel
Give me just a little help
And to show how much I care
I bring you apples, peaches, bananas and pears
Apples, peaches, bananas and pears
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Apples And Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
She's on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do 'cause I'm feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might like to know
I'm the lorry driver man
She's on the run
Down by the river side
feeding ducks in the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Red Apples
Out of Mother Nature
Came little red Apples'
That were grown
In the Garden of time
But God don't like
Little red Apples'
From which the Devil does dine
Women love to eat little red Apples'
In the Summer time
Men desire little red Apples'
Any old time
Winter, Summer, especially
When the Sun is high
In a clear blue Sky
The Devil does love
Little red Apples'
Man does love
Little red Apples'
Women love
Little red Apples'
poem by Allan James Saywell
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I Pity The Poor Immigrant
I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he wouldve stayed home,
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone.
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with evry breath,
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death.
I pity the poor immigrant
Whose strength is spent in vain,
Whose heaven is like ironsides,
Whose tears are like rain,
Who eats but is not satisfied,
Who hears but does not see,
Who falls in love with wealth itself
And turns his back on me.
I pity the poor immigrant
Who tramples through the mud,
Who fills his mouth with laughing
And who builds his town with blood,
Whose visions in the final end
Must shatter like the glass.
I pity the poor immigrant
When his gladness comes to pass.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Review
the tree was loaded with apples
in the garden of Eden
and Eve was so Hungry
for apples she always dreamed of apples
even if Adam is just beside her
that jejune
she is the first jejemon,
and on that day when God was not watching
when the Snake was merely behaving like a Snake
she touches an apple
her dream
and he ate one and Adam so likes it
she takes a bite...
nothing new really, just a pass and review
of their story that we believe without any question at all
the moral lesson: reflect on ourselves, we are the consistent
gullible readers
we are never original on this.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On Promising Fruitfulness of a Tree
A comely sight indeed it is to see
A world of blossoms on an apple-tree:
Yet far more comely would this tree appear,
If all its dainty blooms young apples were.
But how much more might one upon it see,
If all would hang there till they ripe should be.
But most of all in beauty 'twould abound,
If then none worm-eaten should there be found.
But we, alas! do commonly behold
Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold.
They too, which hang till they young apples are,
By blasting winds and vermin take despair,
Store that do hang, while almost ripe, we see
By blust'ring winds are shaken from the tree,
So that of many, only some there be,
That grow till they come to maturity.
Comparison.
This tree a perfect emblem is of those
Which God doth plant, which in his garden grows,
Its blasted blooms are motions unto good,
Which chill affections do nip in the bud.
Those little apples which yet blasted are,
Show some good purposes, no good fruits bear.
Those spoiled by vermin are to let us see,
How good attempts by bad thoughts ruin'd be.
Those which the wind blows down, while they are green,
Show good works have by trials spoiled been.
Those that abide, while ripe upon the tree,
Show, in a good man, some ripe fruit will be.
Behold then how abortive some fruits are,
Which at the first most promising appear.
The frost, the wind, the worm, with time doth show,
There flows, from much appearance, works but few.
poem by John Bunyan
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Apples & Oranges
Got a flip-top pack of cigarettes in her pocket
Feeling good at the top
Shopping in sharp shoes
Walking in the sunshine town feeling very cool
But the butchers and the bakers in the supermarket stores
Getting everything she wants from the supermarket stores
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Cornering neatly she trips up sweetly
To meet the people
Shes on time again
And then
I catch her by the eye then I stop and have to think
What a funny thing to do cause Im feeling very pink
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
I love she
She loves me
See you
See you
Thought you might to know
Im the lorry driver man
Shes on the run
Down by the river side
Feeding ducks by the afternoon tide
(quack quack)
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
Apples and oranges
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thought Frost Could Not Surprise Me
Robert Frost is one of the ones
That got me started
When the only poems I would read
Had to be assigned
'Read pages 21 to 28 and
on Monday be prepared
to discuss campare and contrast.'
Yeah - yeah more homework
Thank God Robert was in there
Somewhere between
Pages 21 to 28
I don't recall which one grabbed me
But he had me looking for more
On my own nothing due by Friday
We talked about doubt and
Dealing with death 'OUT, OUT-'
This was before I met Macbeth
Robert was talking to me
Not down at me
I thought I knew him
I've invited him to family funerals
'Reluctance' got him a ticket
To my great-grandmother's
'Bravado' to her daughter's
'Devotion' for my father
'Never Again Would Bird's
Song Be The Same' shared
With my mother aunts in chorus
Today he surprised me
Found some humor in there
That I had read over before
I tripped over his cow
'...IN APPLE TIME
As a very young youngster
I was at our family ranch
When it had cattle and apples
Part of my job
Was to keep them apart
Robert shows in this poem
He knew why better than I
While she the cow
May scorn 'a pasture
withering to the root.'
He knows what happens
When as he describes
'Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit.'
Don't look for Adam and Eve
Allthough they may have been on his mind
Get out of the way when 'She leaves'
the apples 'bitten when she has to fly.'
AKA The green apple dirties
That's what my great-grandmother
Called the affliction when I had eaten
Too many free apples off the trees
AKA The back door trots
Quickest way to the outhouse
It was more important
And not as funny when
A cow would get into the orchard
As Robert ends his poem
'She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry'
If it's taken me this long to get this
What hope is there for generations hence
Whoes apples all have bar codes on each one
In season they are not free
They are going to overthink this poem
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Apples And Water
Dust in a cloud, blinding weather,
Drums that rattle and roar!
A mother and daughter stood together
Beside their cottage door.
'Mother, the heavens are bright like brass,
The dust is shaken high,
With labouring breath the soldiers pass,
Their lips are cracked and dry.'
'Mother, I'll throw them apples down,
I'll bring them pails of water.'
The mother turned with an angry frown
Holding back her daughter.
'But mother, see, they faint with thirst,
They march away to die,'
'Ah, sweet, had I but known at first
Their throats are always dry.'
'There is no water can supply them
In western streams that flow,
There is no fruit can satisfy them
On orchard trees that grow.'
'Once in my youth I gave, poor fool,
A soldier apples and water,
So may I die before you cool
Your father's drouth, my daughter.'
poem by Robert Graves
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Apples
I love apples,
Apples have crunch,
Lovely red apples,
Red, pink color, punch.
I love apple pies,
Family ties,
I love apple juice,
I call it zapple juice,
Without the fizz,
Or sugary twist,
Healthy fibre, Apple is.
High Priest Of Rhythmic Noise
Its been a long time, baby
High priest of rhytmic noise
Living inside of me
I been goin round in ciricles
And Ive considered first degree
Just a singer in a mind choir
Lives on harmony
If the song dont change the choir wont sin
Wont sing the same song forever
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
You look strange, thats what I like
You look strange like me
Fit to be tied, a little bedtime story
Next position please
Just a singer in a mind choir
Lives on harmony
If the song dont change the choir wont sing
Wont sing the same song forever
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
When the high priest of rhythmic noise
Is inside of you
Dont give up, get out, get down
(forever is a long long time)
Dont stand up, shut up, sit down
(youre strange, thats what I like)
Dont make a move till you hear that sound
(Im just a singer in a mind choir)
Dont give up, get out, get down
(high priest of rhytmic noise)
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
When the high priest of rhythmic noise
Is inside of you
Forever is a long long time
If you can...
Im a ...little tiny plastic pills
From my little plastic pills
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
Its such a pity
Whats a poor boy to do
When the high priest of rhythmic noise
Is inside of you
Dont give up, get out, get down
(forever is a long long time)
Dont stand up, shut up, sit down
(youre strange, thats what I like)
Dont make a move till you hear that sound
(Im just a singer in a mind choir)
Dont give up, get out, get down
(high priest of rhytmic noise)
Dont give up, get out, get down
(forever is a long long time)
Dont stand up, shut up, sit down
(youre strange, thats what I like)
Dont make a move till you hear that sound
(Im just a singer in a mind choir)
Dont give up, get out, get down
(high priest of rhytmic noise)
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sob Story
Give me your poor.
Give me your self righteous.
Give me your...
'The poor?
Self righteous?
I've never known the poor to be self righteous.'
There has been a new category added,
To include those now claiming...
To be amongst those the most in need.
'I see.
So does that mean,
The ones historically disadvantaged...
Are pushed even further back,
On your list of priorities? '
Hey,
Whatever works.
And they have promised to deliver us 'perks'
IF and WHEN the current crisis turns around.
'I see.
So...
You are getting paid for your deeds,
To announce their current dilemma? '
Yes.
A fool I am not.
I've got empty pockets I wish to see filled too.
Give me your poor.
Give me your self righteous.
Give me your homeless and destitute.
Give me your most believed desperate situation.
Give me any sob story at all...
And I'll add your claims to my pity party list.
No one will be refused.
However...
Be creative in the telling of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From A Suggested But Wrong Tree
They've been reaching to grab apples,
From a suggested but wrong tree.
They chose to accept,
Their own offerings not as competitive.
And...
Their own apples just as sweet.
And far more delicious to nourish and eat.
They have been conditioned to ignore,
The brightness of their own colors...
Many others said they adored.
Letting those apples dropp and rot.
Only to discover too late,
The weakness of their branches...
That could have sustained them to enhance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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