It's Just Poverty, Fight On!
Though my growing up days weren’t easy
I kept my little hands and mind always busy
I went around with shoes without laces
Doing odd jobs that took me to odd places
I never had a sliced bread pasted with jam
All we had was boiled or roast cocoyam
We had an empty room in the day and crowdy at night
But yet we smiled around as if our life was glowing bright
I had a father who worked more than his pay
And a mother who had enough sighing to replay
Poverty was the story, but it wasn’t our destiny
Because we daily hosted mosquitoes picking on our bodies
Though we stayed content and devoid of worries
We had poverty restricting us to our lowly class
While others were born with silver spoons, our was brass
My story was bad and rusty yesterday
Thank God, I have a success story to tell today
Don’t give up on your dreams, hold on
Because there’s always a reason why one was born.
poem by Vyktor Ekott
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Related quotes
Own creation: A story
The story of my life,
Is the story of today,
It's the story of tomorrow,
And the story of yesterday.
Every waking moment,
Is a surge of pen to paper,
To create a whole new life,
A life to which I favour.
Yet from this page arises,
A world of new ambition,
The compromising irony;
I am my own creation.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Me A Story
Tell me a story that isn't gory
tell me a story that isn't fake
tell me a story where you made a mistake
tell me a story where the cows come home
tell me a story I want to know
tell me a story where the princess finds herself
not a prince who is more like an elf.
Tell me a story that I can laugh out loud
tell me a story where storm makes lighting clouds.
For in the end we only have our stories to tell
what make them funny, give them hell.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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THE QUICK BRUISE AND RUN Of LOVE by Marjorie Evasco
(for Mary Ann & Marc)
I.
Summer twilight slices into two
Halves of a sweet cantaloupe;
At table, the speckled stargazer
Opens its fragrant petals windward;
At my foot, our old cat dreams.
Nothing here betrays the grace
We speak of at each meal, together
Or alone. Today, while one of us
Sits under the tamarinds,
And another wades the golden river,
I alone sit at table, a mother
Attending to the core of fruit
Cleaving to the knife, the fuchsia
Flower sundered by summer’s heat,
The cat purring its ninth life away.
II.
Yesterday night after dinner, we told
An old story, pausing at a part
We did not love but could not
Gnaw off. It is your hurt fathered
Into child’s shape, vulnerable
To faithlessness. As the story twists
In the telling, you speak of a new-
Born child, whose limbs could break
Or neck snap. were one of you to hold
The tender heels and swing against a wall.
We need to put this story right.
III.
Long, long ago on a fevered night,
A mother sat by her child’s bed,
Damp cloth soothing flame of forehead,
Limbs. in her vigil she vowed
On pain of death, to beg the life
Or health back into those cheeks.
The fever broke, she held her kind
And knew the gods had ears.
Son, Daughter, take this story-child
With care. In the curve of your arms
Your father’s fruit survives the fall,
Becomes your bruised but living grace.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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No Way Out
No intentions
Whatsoever
I was gone for a night
Nothings forever
The cruel daylight
Brought me back to my senses (back to my senses)
Got caught in here
Under false pretenses
No way out
None whatever
I made up the story
Thought it was clever
She didnt ask
And I got no reply (got no reply)
But later that night
I heard her cry
Chorus:
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No accusations
Whatsoever
But can she forget
Nothings forever
Since yesterday
Shes a little bit colder (little bit colder)
Wont happen again
What could Ive told her
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
Doesnt buy my story
How can she tell the truth from the lies
When does she know when to close her eyes
She doesnt want to lose me
So she only sees what she wants to see
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out she doesnt buy my story
No way out, no way
No way out...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A2 Story
Lot of hunger and empty bowl without food is poverty,
Not having one more dress to take bath is poverty,
Sheltered, willing but failing to accommodate a guest is also poverty,
Mother's sick but cannot afford treatment is also poverty,
If treated, prescribed but cannot buy medicine is poverty;
A mother's thought,2 mouthful of rice with 3 children is poverty.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
The fort of confidence is dismantled by poverty and frustration;
They can build castles in air though lack inspiration,
They simply look for food threw in dustbin in month of May!
They die while living, live in dying daily with their life of dismay;
Poverty is not crime but it is a curse and worse...
I'm brand ambassador of poverty and I endorse!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Don't show poverty as excuse...
God gave you brain and make use and bemuse,
No matter if you are born in poverty's slum-dom
While some are handicap blind, dumb, deaf and a cough;
You work and Strive dawn to dusk with inspiration, if
You make education oxygen of your life and your kingdom.
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
Hence, don't look up to someone or don't cry and cry;
Go far, father and farthest, Age is no bar so try and try!
Take all ladders, Surpass Eiffel Tower and reach the sky!
Remember one Booker T Washington and Abraham Lincoln
Became presidents of America, and poverty is won!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
From in India to Cambodia and Georgia to Indonesia,
From Kazakhstan to Afghanistan, China and all Asia;
From Namibia to Zambia and Algeria to Nigeria,
From Uganda to Rwanda, Morocco and all South Africa;
Bolivia to Columbia, Guyana to Argentina and all South America;
Third world is resounding with Mania! Mania! Food Mania!
April, March! Soldiers search for Hunger march at poverty's home.
........................................ ................................................. ........................
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> >>>READ PART ONE >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
BIG NOTICE BOARD: Sorry, if you LIKE to grasp central theme of poem Just take a break! Now READ PART1 to make your reading wholesome.
April, March! Soldiers Search for HUNGER MARCH - A1 Story
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Sonnet: The Magic of Poverty
A birth in poverty is luck supreme!
A death in poverty, a great blessing;
A life of poverty is rare a dream;
Achievements great, stark poverty can bring.
’Tis poverty that goads nations do feats;
’Tis poverty that stimulates scientists;
In everything, poverty, wealth just beats;
The greatest men were in poverty’s lists.
And poverty lessens our worries much;
Account to God will be much easier;
Poverty gives the saint a divine touch;
In poverty, poets can fly higher!
Poverty helps to shun worldly pleasures;
A soul in poverty, Heaven allures.
9-14-2002
poem by John Celes
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What Else Can Be Done
dont make poverty an excuse
god gave you mind you better make its use
no matter if you are born in the poverty's slum
while some are handicap, blind and dumb
its better to work hard and strive
and make education bone of your life
for studying makes you dignified
and helps your nation feel pride worldwide
as a good citizen select a right politician
who have perfection to lead your nation
let's remove poverty from our country
which compells a mother to sell her baby
prove yourself and show the world what you can be
inspite of being idle and blindly following your destiny
when there is a will there is a way
after every dark night there is bright sunny day
poem by Fahmina Arjumand Misha
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Within Easy Reach
'You have brain tumor and few days to live'
My eyes remained wide and hardly could believe
I had few problems with my headache and food appetite
No hunger, anger in no time and less sleep in nights
I had observed this change since many days
I was well off and had enough of means to find the ways
The medical cure was distinct possibility
I lost no hope for future and trusted the final destiny
I had been different for all these years
Life had posed so many difficulties with fears
I only know how could I come out of such stage?
The hunger felt for many days could not have been written on page?
I had taken vow not to suffer any more poverty
It was certainly curse on the person and humanity
How can any single soul sleep without meal?
It was felt badly by me as an unequal deal
I thought for a while an worked day and time
I forgot to take regular meal even sometimes
I cared for no day and night and thrived to collect money
I thought this was the only means and successful key
Not to mention means or make note of my journey
I had taken it as challenge and demand of the destiny
For me means was no end but a start of first step
The water was to flow smoothly from the water tap
The wealth flowed in enormous quantity
It was purely credited to my personal capability
I had worked day and night to come up to that level
Rest everything spoke of my success and story to tell
In doing so I deteriorated my health
Nothing could come to my rescue including wealth
For the first time my spine shivered
Death was smile from distance and murmured
My story may not be different from others
So many die in streets and so many die in field like soldiers
Yet death takes them over even if they are poor or rich
Life can be made beautiful and within easy reach
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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No Way Out
No intentions
Whatsoever
I was gone for a night
Nothings forever
The cruel daylight
Brought me back to my senses
(back to my senses)
Got caught in here
Under false pretenses
No way out
None whatever
I made up the story
Thought it was clever
She didnt ask
And I got no reply
(got no reply)
But later that night
I heard her cry
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No accusations
None, whatever
But can she forget
Nothings forever
Since yesterday
Shes a little bit colder
(little bit colder)
Wont happen again
What could Ive told her
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
Doesnt buy my story
How can she tell the truth from the lies
How does she know when to close her eyes
She doesnt want to lose me
So she only sees what she wants to see
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
She doesnt buy my story
No way out
No way out
No way out
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And in reality, I don't think it's a real documentary. It's more a story of her life. It's a story of survival. It's a story of the time in which she lived. The story of success and failure.
quote by Maximilian Schell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Story Of Modern Verses
The story that had started in wonder
The story that had started in pain
The story that always remained untold
The story that could never unfold
The reality of complex human natures
The story that could only capture
The superficial aspects of humanity
That is the story of modern verses
That is the only story of our modern age.
There comes the hatred full of love
And love full of hatred
There stands the familiarity at a distance
And a distant association and nearness
More glorified than any day to day familiarity.
The story of modern verses always reminds us
About the shallowness of modernity
About the obscurity of the material world.
This story once told shall touch the base
And would make everybody else to lose the race
Because winning is no more the destiny,
The destiny is only love, faith and submission
The destiny is only achieved by losing
At all phases of life - as the winning game
Is full of distortions and unhappiness.
The story of modern verses clicks in the mind of society
To push it through the hollow modern age
And make it reach the destiny of truth and harmony.
poem by Somsubhro Ghosh
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Ask One Other Than Me
What's life all about ask one other than me
The madness I see in others in my own self I see
For success with each other we are made to compete
And victory for one to another defeat.
I envy those with the gift of empathy
Our selfishness in a true sense our spiritual poverty
How can you say that one is truly a great
If she or he to the suffering of others seem unable to relate.
In a success driven Human World what is success anyway
We are born into life only to die one day
The same for the president, the monarch, the pauper and billionaire
The reaper of lives any life does not spare.
Time ticks along fast and every day we grow old
And what matter if your life story is never told
Do be kind to others and respect to all pay
And do at least one good deed if you can every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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But tears only for my Grandma
I was born the day and date I cannot remember like many;
I was leisurely growing watching my little sisters
scratching heads, wiping tears of poverty!
Coconut oil was scarce; brother’s knickers were sparse
My mother too bore silently the smoke in her eyes twice daily,
In front of the husk stove daily;
with her mother (our lovely grandma) together,
Worship their family Doctor Baba Goush Baba
For the cure of my mother’s Leucoderma;
well over 3 yrs; walking well over 3 km
Day after Day;
Faith finally paid; curse finally parted
A walk together with mother and mother with affection
Sharing poverty and poverty in succession
Crying sobriety in progression;
Hapless future with six kids on hand;
Her mom on back; her hubby in barrack
Finally
A life is lead
Up to this Summit of opulence
With my Mom and Dad happily
But Tears
only for my Grand Maa!
© Krishna Baalu2010
poem by krishna Baalu
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Once when I was in Hawaii, on the island of Kauai, I met a mysterious old stranger. He said he was about to die and wanted to tell someone about the treasure. I said, "Okay, as long as it's not a long story. Some of us have a plane to catch, you know." He stared telling his story, about the treasure and his life and all, and I thought "This story isn't too long." But then, he kept going, and I started thinking, "Uh-oh, this story is getting long." But then the story was over, and I said to myself "You know, that story wasn't too long after all." I forget what the story was about, but there was a good movie on the plane. It was a little long, though.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born To Fail
I was born to fail.
I was told that I would never make it.
I was told that I would end up in jail and within a cell,
Or a woman of the night and loving it.
I was counted as the least to succeed.
My story was that I'll be the girl that would walk across the stage
With a baby on her side.
I was never challenged, not even a plea.
I was labeled as easy, just offer a ride.
I was never expected to be successful.
I was never expected to graduate with any honor.
I was told that I was everything less than grateful.
I was told that I'll never have the brain power,
But look at me now
As I stand tall and very bold.
As I walk with pride repping that purple and gold.
C.O.G.I.C is where it's at.
Don't get me wrong I love where I came from,
But could never go back.
It made me who I am today,
A woman that's very strong.
Now that I made it through,
Some may expect me to be boasting,
But I'm not because I wouldn't be me if it wasn't for you.
You were the one that declared I was destined to fall,
But I am more than what you expected.
My destiny is mine to call,
And for you to accept it.
So you see, I wasn't born to fail.
I was born to be me and that's all to tell.
poem by Shukiera Johnson
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My Mothers Life
Born into poverty, abandoned very young
No mother or lullabies to be sung
Left all alone, her the oldest of three
Boards nailed on the windows so they couldn't see
She would write on the wall, one mark each day
So she would know how long they'd been away
Dad said to her, mom is really sick
Got to get her to the hospital, need to go real quick
Take care of the kids till we get back
Not a light in the place, all was black
Barely any food for them all to eat
The room so drafty, there was no heat
One day when she had fourteen marks on the wall
She heard a man shout out a call
He told the others, I hear crying inside
Pulled the boards of the door, while they tried to hide
He told the others, these children need food and clothes
He sure glad he heard them before the building was bulldozed
He called child welfare, and ladies came out
They took these poor children without a doubt
They took these children to different foster parents
Their neglect and and poverty was quite apparent
Their parents never returned to get them back
But at least they weren't still living in that old shack
They all were adopted to different places
Never to hold or see each others faces
Helen was the oldest, the one who had cared for them
Haunted for life, from the memories that stem
I know this story oh so well
Because of the past her whole life was hell
I was her daughter, till she passed away
It effected my life too, I was others prey
She didn't know how to be a mother
All we three, her children had was one another
So I suffer the curse of loneliness and depression
I've been loved and another's possession
I've been abused, the pain goes deep
What other have sewn is what I've reaped
By Dogs4donna
© 2008 Dogs4donna (All rights reserved)
poem by Donna Nimmo
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So long, too long!
So long, too long!
Back in the days and back in time;
Struggling from the roots of Africa to identify myself;
But, born in 1961! !
So long, too long!
From yesterday with my muse of love;
And like today with the problems of the earth,
But, is this the future? ! !
The African story,
The African struggle,
The African muse,
The African experience,
The African hardships,
With the hustle and bustle to identify myself to the status of this world;
But, i am still moving on without giving up! !
For, nobody knows tomorrow.
So long, too long!
But, all the fingers are not equal;
And like the movements of the snail and tortoise,
However, i will surely reach there when you also do get there.
This life,
This muse,
This continent,
This mind,
This writer and his story! !
But, it has taken me so long, too long!
This is my life,
This is my muse,
This is my mind,
This is myact,
And, i am now presenting my love to you;
But, it has taken me so long, too long!
1961,
Born in Africa;
Yes, from 1961 to the present time! !
Struggling to make ends meet;
And, like the life seen in the slums of Africa!
But, it has taken me so long, too long! !
Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa! ! !
The land of my birth and my homeland;
But, i am still finding my way through the dark forest to represent myself to the world,
With hopes and dreams every now ansd then without giving up!
But, it has taken me so long, too long! !
Back in the days,
Oh yes! ! And, like the days of yesterday gone by;
But today, you can read my lines to know who i am!
And like the muse of sweet love in the land of peace,
But, it has taken me so long, too long!
This is it,
This is me,
That is it,
That is my muse,
Here i am and, this is my mind! !
With the sweet love from my heart brewed in the African Pot;
Touching the minds of many and, ready to educate others,
But, it has taken me so long, too long!
Come and enter into my world so sweet with your love,
Come and taste the muse of my love with your mind,
And like the aroma of sweet love from the bed of roses;
Where, the delight of love is crowned with peace and care,
But, this journey on this earth started from my mother's womb.
Oh yes! ! in the land of Africa to represent my muse;
Out of the womb of my mother to cry out to the world! !
And like the tears of love in the land of beautiful flowers,
However, it has taken me so long, too long!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Special Child Is Born
He was a very special child, who was born in a very miraculous way,
He was born of a virgin on what was otherwise a very ordinary day.
For He was conceived by The Holy Spirit inside his mother's womb,
He was then born in a manger, because in the inn there was no room.
However, He was born a King and would become the Savior of us all,
This was not very obvious, as He was born among animals in a stall.
This was very humble beginning for the creator of the entire world,
Yet He brought a message of peace and hope for all of us to herald.
God spoke first to his mother Mary about the child she did conceive,
You shall give him the name Jesus and many in Israel will believe.
God spoke next to Joseph about the child Mary suddenly found within,
His name shall be Jesus for He will save His people from their sin.
And one day this little child who many people will come to adore,
Won't be lying in a manger, but be on David's throne forevermore.
The night that He was born the sky was filled with an awesome light,
And fear fell over shepherds who were watching their sheep at night.
It was an angel saying fear not, as I bring you good news to herald,
In the City of David a child has been born the Savior of the world.
Today Jesus who died and was raised to The Father's side in Glory,
Waits with Salvation for all who believe it's more than just a story.
(Copyright © 03/2003)