A homework
We were told to draw a portrait at our choice
but we were send only words.
The beggar was still there, near the apple-tree in blossom,
punished to count stars or to assist the leaves' death.
I refused my tears and began my homework.
The light was for all and for free,
the beggar was thought the fear's pride.
I took the words and have drawn this poem at my choice.
The apple-tree smiled to the beggar
in this light for all and for free
poem by Clava Ghirca
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A Beggar With Choice
Perturbed as they gazed whereas
Others peeped
Multitudes reconvened
Indescribably blown off
Off, by what they beseeched
Terrible in peril others talked
Onlookers vividly terrified
Bystanders stranded in thoughts
A beggar with choice I thought of
Surely, a beggar with choice
they had come across
poem by Prince Kenny Osei
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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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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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I am a beggar; I have a choice, but
I am a beggar; I have a choice, but
I have been begging since long
Since the time I started realizing
As to what I am doing
I beg, again, to differ
With the common phrasing that
Beggars have no choice
I decide my beneficiary,
The one who is given the opportunity of
Lending me a help, however minor it may be
I do not beg everyone passing by
I choose my potential helper
By his/her look, gait, and what is going on in his/her mind
I can do mind reading too
I can make out that
Someone is in a hurry to a workplace
Someone is much relaxed
Someone is sure of what is ahead
Someone is working out details of investment
Someone is planning a great spending
Someone is worried with health issues of someone in family
And so on
This mind reading helps me decide my beneficiary
I may not get the help each time is
Another story
But, note I have a choice
I know where I will get free food matching my taste
I know when to go which temple
For the midday mercy meals
Again, I have a choice
I decide also the place where I beg
Temple entries are good fetching
Mosque entries on Fridays
Church entries on Sundays
Provide me with resources more than what I need
See, I have a choice
I see great opportunities for examining my own self
When I beg
The inner me coming closer to me
As others go away from me
For fear of being asked for help
I do not see these opportunities
With most of others
Who rush to somewhere
Toil for fixed hours as assigned to them
Wait for alms at the end
The only thing I do to get help is
To ask for it
I am happy with what I am doing
I am a beggar; I have a choice, but
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Old Apple-Tree
THERE's a memory keeps a-runnin'
Through my weary head to-night,
An' I see a picture dancin'
In the fire-flames' ruddy-light;
'Tis the picture of an orchard
Wrapped in autumn's purple haze,
With the tender light about it
That I loved in other days.
An' a-standin' in a corner
Once again I seem to see
The verdant leaves an' branches
Of an old apple-tree.
You perhaps would call it ugly,
An' I don't know but it's so,
When you look the tree all over
Unadorned by memory's glow;
For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,
An' its leaves are gettin' thin,
An' the apples of its bearin'
Wouldn't fill so large a bin
As they used to. But I tell you,
When it comes to pleasin' me,
It's the dearest in the orchard, —
Is that old apple-tree.
I would hide within its shelter,
Settlin' in some cosy nook,
Where no calls nor threats could stir me
From the pages o' my book.
Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion
In its fulness passeth words!
It was deeper than the deepest
That my sanctum now affords.
Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,
They was hand in glove with me,
As they winked at me 'an warbled
In that old apple-tree.
It was on its sturdy branches
That in summers long ago
I would tie my swing an' dangle
In contentment to an' fro,
Idly dreaming' childish fancies,
Buildin' castles in the air,
Makin' o' myself a hero
Of romances rich an' rare.
I kin shet my eyes an' see it
Jest as plain as plain kin be,
That same old swing a-danglin'
To the old apple-tree.
There's a rustic seat beneath it
That I never kin forget.
It's the place where me an' Hallie —
Little sweetheart — used to set,
When we'd wander to the orchard
So's no listenin' ones could hear
As I whispered sugared nonsense
Into her little willin' ear.
Now my gray old wife is Hallie,
An' I'm grayer still than she,
But I'll not forget our courtin'
'Neath the old apple-tree,
Life for us ain't all been summer,
But I guess we've had our share
Of its flittin' joys an' pleasures,
An' a sprinklin' of its care.
Oft the skies have smiled upon us;
Then again we've seen 'em frown,
Though our load was ne'er so heavy
That we longed to lay it down.
But when death does come a-callin',
This my last request shall be, —
That they'll bury me an' Hallie
'Neath the old apple-tree.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Humbling / Parable of 'Kentucky Lucky
There once was a man,
Come from Kentucky.
He was the luckiest
Of the lucky.
He was better,
He was best.
He claimed to be higher
Than all the rest.
His favorite pastime
Was revelling in everything
He thought he knew.
Little did he relize,
He was about to recieve his due.
Nothing could happen to him!
He was The Elite.
But as he walked along,
He met a beggar in the street.
Said the beggar,
'A shekel, for a worthy cause? '
But Pride strutted by,
Without a pause.
Pride was a long way off,
When suddenly,
He ground to a stop.
For there stood the beggar,
Draped with downy wings,
And clad in robes of pure white!
Said foolish Pride,
'You are an angel,
And yet you asked of me,
A shekel? '
Then the angel replied,
'For a shekel, I did ask.
Just one little shekel,
'Twas all.'
'But you think it too humble a task.'
'Forget it!
A shekel, I do not need.'
'My Lord and God provides me all.'
As the angel turned to take leave,
Pride soon began to greive.
'Wait! ' cried Pride,
'Don't leave! '
'Come! '
'Eat! '
'Look! '
'I give you my all! '
Said the angel,
'Had you known
Who I really was
When I was poor,
You would not have turned me
From your door.'
'But - But, I! '...
Tried to reason Pride.
'Excuses', said the angel,
'Will not do you well,
Nor shall it justify your sin.'
'Now! , Look not upon earthly things,
But store up for yourslf teasures in Heaven.
'You can do this by serving God,
And not just looking out for yourself,
But by concerning yourself in the interests
of others.'
'But, Pride,
One thing you should remember above all' -
'Is that pride comes, before a fall.'
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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Don't Sit Under The Apple Tree
Don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
No no no
Don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
'til I come marching home
Don't go walking down lovers lane
With anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
No no no
Don't go walking down lovers lane
With anyone else but me
'til I come marching home
I just got word from a guy who heard
From the guy next door to me
The girl he met just loved to pet
And fits you to a "T"
So don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
'til I come marching home
Don't give out with those lips of yours
To anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
Anyone else but me
No no no
Watch the girls on the foreign shores
You'll have to report to me
When you come marching home
You're on your own
When there is no phone and I can't keep tab on you
Be fair to me I'll garuantee
This is one thing that I'll do
I won't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but you
'til you come marching home
Don't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
I know the apple tree
Is reserved for you and me
And I'll be true
'til you come marching home
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Tree
When spring comes round, our apple tree
Is very full of flowers,
And when a bird sits on a branch
The petals fall in showers.
When summer comes, our apple tree
Is very full of green,
And everywhere you look in it
There is a leafy screen.
When autumn comes, our apple tree
Is full of things to eat.
The apples hang from every branch
To tumble at our feet.
When winter comes, our apple tree
Is full of snow and ice
And rabbits come to visit it...
We think our tree is nice.
poem by Marchette Chute
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The Beggar
The thought of great social solitude,
The sight of everyone having an attitude,
Being the neglected in the maltittude,
The pity viewed in verisimilitude,
The life of a beggar
His clothes torn and stomarch empty,
Always dancing to their tune,
Exploited and greatly tortured,
His presence mean nothing to them,
Their presence mean everything to him
He walks door to door for livelihood,
They dont walk to him to give life,
He is seeking life everyday,
Yet life does not seek him even one day
The beggar with rolling tears
Life like that of a beggar,
Love like that of a life,
Begging for the conditional love,
Do I have to beg your love?
Like the beggar beg for life,
My determinism flashes through,
Im breaking the steel bars my love,
Loosening the metalic chains off,
Love is love, not to be begged for,
Love is love, not to use each other,
Love is love, no need for persuation,
For so long it is love,
I will never be begging anymore,
Such love will be deceit,
Such truth will be fake,
And such commitment will be futile
Such a lover will be like a beggar,
Such a beloved will be like a lifegiver,
And such their love will be a shame
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Unharvested
A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady's fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.
May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.
poem by Robert Frost
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The Rich Man And Lazarus
A Worldling spent each day
In luxury and state;
While a believer lay,
A beggar at his gate:
Think not the Lord's appointments strange,
Death made a great and lasting change.
Death brought the saint release
From want, disease, and scorn;
And to the land of peace,
His soul, by angels borne,
In Abraham's bosom safely placed,
Enjoys an everlasting feast.
The rich man also died,
And in a moment fell
From all his pomp and pride
Into the flames of hell:
The beggar's bliss from far beheld,
His soul with double anguish filled.
O Abram send, he cries,
But his request was vain
The beggar from the skies
To mitigate my pain!
One drop of water I entreat,
To soothe my tongue's tormenting heat.
Let all who worldly pelf,
And worldly spirits have,
Observe, each for himself,
The answer Abram gave:
Remember, thou wast filled with good,
While the poor beggar pined for food.
Neglected at thy door
With tears he begged his bread;
But now, he weeps no more,
His griefs and pains are fled:
His joys eternally will flow,
While thine expire in endless woe.
Lord, make us truly wise,
To choose thy peoples' lot;
And earthly joys despise,
Which soon will be forgot:
The greatest evil we can fear,
Is to possess our portion here!
poem by John Newton
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Be not a beggar
Avoid seeking aids
Unless in bare needs;
Avoid getting helps
Unless in dire needs.
Provide in equals
To those aids and helps.
You should not afford
To be a beggar.
Offer help and aids
That must not be baits;
Offer gifts and kinds
That should not be a debt.
Your pay out should not be
Less than your receipts.
You cannot afford to be a beggar,
You be not greedy
Which makes you ugly.
Then you aren’t shut
Doors by the dear ones.
You may remain poor
But not a beggar.
Being a beggar
Is worse than a slave.
18 09,2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. John (Chapter 9)
Jesus saw a man, blind since birth;
His disciples asked Him, ‘Rabbi,
By whose sins was the man born blind-
His own sins or that of parents’? ’
So, Jesus answered them, ‘Neither.
It is so that the works of God
Be manifested through the man.
The day is meant for all to work;
The night is for slumber and rest.’
‘While in this world, I am the light.’
Then Jesus spat on ground near-by
And mixed the clay with saliva;
He smeared the clay over man’s eyes
And said, ’ Go wash in Siloam Pool! ’
The man did so and got vision.
The beggar was able to see!
The neighbors saw and then remarked,
‘Isn’t this the beggar who was blind? ’
The beggar replied, ‘Yes, I am! ’
They asked, ‘How were your eyes opened? ’
The man described the whole story.
They asked him, ‘Where is Jesus now?
The beggar said, ‘I do not know.’
They brought the man to Pharisees;
Now Jesus did the miracle,
On Sabbath day and all knew that.
The Pharisees queried the man;
They said, ‘This man is not from God!
He does not keep the Sabbath-day.
How can a sinful man do signs?
They asked the beggar’s opinion;
He told them, ‘He is a prophet! ’
The Jews summoned his parents then
And enquired about their son;
His parents said, ‘He was born blind.’
But they didn’t know how he saw then.
They neither knew the healer’s name;
They told them to ask the beggar.
His parents were afraid of Jews;
If anyone believed Jesus,
And acknowledged Him, Messiah,
They were expelled from synagogue.
They called the beggar once again,
And asked him to give praise to God,
For, Jesus was a sinner great!
The man replied, ‘I do not know
If Jesus is a sinner great;
One thing was true that I was blind
And Jesus helped to make me see, ’
They asked him for more details then;
The beggar lost his cool and said,
‘Do you wish to be disciples? ’
They ridiculed the beggar-man
And said, ‘We are Moses’ disciples!
We don’t know where Jesus is from? ’
The man answered them quite bravely,
‘Isn’t it amazing that although,
You do not know who Jesus is,
Yet, He had made me to see then? ’
‘God does not listen to sinners;
If one’s devout, God listens then.
So far no one had given sight
To man who was blind, since his birth.’
‘If Jesus did not come from God,
He wouldn’t do miracles like this.’
They told the man, ‘You’re born in sin;
So, do not try to preach to us.
They drove the beggar-man away!
Then Jesus heard of incident;
He found the beggar-man and asked,
‘Do you believe in Son of Man? ’
He queried, ‘Who is he, tell me
So that, I may believe in Him.’
Then Jesus said, ‘You have seen Him;
The one speaking to you is He! ’
The man believed and worshipped Him.
Then Jesus said, ‘I came in here,
Into this world for judgment just,
And make ones who couldn’t see, to see,
And those who see become so blind.’
Some Pharisees who heard him said,
‘Surely we’re blind, are we not then? ’
Jesus told them, ‘If you were blind,
You wouldn’t have sins, but as you see,
Your sin remains and you are blind! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-23-2007
poem by John Celes
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Tree
O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your beauty.
I'm not as
Beautiful
As thee.
O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your
Endurance.
I'm not as
Resilient
As thee.
O, Tree
Give me
Some of
Your
Silence.
There's
Not much
Calmness
In me.
O, Tree
Give me
Some of your
Divinity.
I'm not as
Godly as thee.
O, Tree
You are a
Treasure trove
Of wealth
With your
Flowers,
Fruits,
Leaves,
And holy
Spirits.
I'm a beggar
Before you.
Won't you
Give alms
To me?
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Adam and Eve Apple Fantasy
I am bored Adam
I am bored Eve
Let's walk together in the garden
It is afternoon Adam
It is afternoon Eve
Our tummies are empty
Let's have something to eat
It is beautiful garden of Eden
How wonderful the fruit trees!
Adam look honey
This beautiful Apple tree
No Eve this is the knowledge tree
Look Eve there is sign in the sky
Can't you see?
Lord command 'Don't eat from the apple tree'
Ha Ha Ha
Who is that?
I am serpent of the garden
Listen Adam
Listen Eve
Go pick the big apple
from the tree
Adam my honey
Do you hear me?
My stomach is aching
go get me this delicious apple
Eve I would not disobey the Lord
Oh Adam
Oh Honey
You seduce me Eve
Ooh Adam
Ooh Eve
Something happened after
we ate the apple
Go Adam get some Fig leaves
Adam Let's rest
under the shaded tree
Adam let's have babies
Eve let's have off-springs
poem by Sherif Monem
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Pick me
Oh my goodness gracious me!
I am an apple on a tree
I'm ripe and red and swinging free
all on a sunny Sunday.
Here I am just right for pickin'
and there you are all far away
dreaming of a fair young maiden
while I dangle and I sway.
Don't you hear me swaying gently?
Don't you smell my fine perfume?
Dare I call you, beg you pick me,
all on a sunny day in June.
Daffodils and honey suckle
Birdies singin' in the trees
I am but a little apple,
pretty apple in a tree.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The boy and the apple tree
Once there was a boy who used to play under an apple tree
He played so happily that it was a joy to see
As he grew old, he got bore of playing alone
Toys and gadgets he desired to be his own
So, under the apple tree the boy muttered
‘Tree can you give me toys I now desire? ’
‘Toys I don’t have, my boy, ’ the tree replied
‘But my fruits you can sell to get your toys.’
So the boy took the fruits and went away
The tree waited for his return day after day
Many years had passed and the boy got older
He married a girl to be his wife and lover
The adult boy now needing a new house for his family
Went to the tree and asked for its advice earnestly
The tree glad to see him once again said
‘My branches will be sufficient to make your nest.’
To these words the adult boy listened
And took all the branches away with him
With these he constructed a house for his family
Where he lived for several years happily
One day, the boy now a fully mature adult thought
‘It will be wise to travel around and sail the sea across’
So, he went to the now old apple tree and asked
‘Tree, can you tell me, a boat, where I can get? ’
The tree which was happy to see him again sighed and said
‘Though I am old, my stem you may take if you want’
On hearing this, the guy cut the tree down
And made a large boat, which was fine and strong
Many years had passed and the guy now became an old man
Tired from his adventures across the sea and land
He went and saw the apple tree once again
Which was now but a stump nobody would want
The old stump on seeing the old man cried
‘My old boy what can I do for you this time’
The old man on hearing this softly replied
‘I just want to lean against you till the end of my life.’
poem by Henry Chen
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Apple Bush
October in a land that's in my back yard
There's a people who succeed they don't try hard
Well, they've found a way to live with ease
Eating from the bush instead of the tree
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Find you a path and you buy with a car
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Cut you a path with a chance may might fall
Move over in a corner, standing there
Tell my house they have to see it again
But my house doesn't worry it's got a path of it's own
And a bush, and a tree
Gotta leave it alone
Apple Bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Find you a path and you buy with a car
Apple bush, apple tree
Back to eternity
Cut you a path with a chance may might fall
Someday like my house you're going to chose too
If you cut this new path well the old one will do
If you live with the people who live with ease
The red apple bush, the blue apple tree
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Prize Winner
Under a street lamp post a beggar reads an old paper in the dim light.
And he showed me a page while I was passing him.
It's an obituary notice with a photograph.
'Papa! Who is this? ' I asked.
Then he said; ' It's me child can't you see that gray beard?
And I won the prize, please take me to that drawing place if possible
And I promise you to give the half my son.'
All of a sudden a poem blooms in my unrest mind
And I scribbled on his paper.
* Let the tree grows in the hard soil
Until its last blossom
And pour much water
Then it gives you more fragrance.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Interchange
The oriole sang in the apple-tree;
The sick girl lay on her bed, and heard
The tremulous note of the glad wild bird;
And, "Ah!" she sighed, "to share with thee
Life's rapture exquisite and strong:
Its hope, its eager energy,
Its fragrance and its song!"
The oriole swayed in the apple-tree,
And he sang: "I will build, with my love, a nest,
Fine as e'er welcomed a birdling guest:
Like a pendent blossom, secure yet free,
It shall hang from the bough above me there,
Bright, bright with the gold that is combed for me
From the sick girl's auburn hair!"
Then he built the nest in the apple-tree;
And, burnished over, a ball of light,
It gleamed and shone in the sick girl's sight,
And she gazed upon it wonderingly:
But when the bird had forever flown,
They brought the nest from the apple-tree
To the bed where she lay alone.
"O builder of this mystery!"—
The wide and wistful eyes grew dim,
And the soul of the sick girl followed him—
"Dear bird! I have had part, through thee,
In the life for which I long and long:
Have shared its hope, its energy,
Its rapture and its song!"
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Mine and Thine (1904)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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