My Play; Poverty's Play
And if poverty whips, largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of withering grievance.
I shall be the one, mannered by Earth's dog-wetness,
To garner my broken possession, murk and bins,
Writhe, clamber steep nigh moister Earth
From foot of lazy deities, pick the sacred mound,
Muzzle it deep against my leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of preserving ardour
From deities' bossom
As trambled Kola lobe and marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in rushing footfalls,
Prickled, insatiate in the belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting 'adogan'
I shall be the racketeering prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's meaning play,
Washed- out by riches' maze
I shall be the mocking haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived redemption
poem by Oludipe Samuel
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Related quotes
Nature's Commodities
Are you not?
Am I not?
What have we both forgot?
Nothing upon this Earth we see...
Is without meaning.
A purpose has been dropped.
We have not picked that up.
Stopping to perceive,
We are deities of royalty.
Deciding who is better.
But like leaves that fall from trees...
We are nature's commodities.
And if you delight in the bleeding of another's blight...
Your blight will come to be believed.
In a way you would not for yourself conceive.
But it comes.
What nature discards,
Will be ours to witness as its received!
Are you not?
Am I not?
What have we both forgot?
Nothing upon this Earth we see...
Is without meaning.
A purpose has been dropped.
We have not picked that up.
Stopping to perceive,
We are deities of royalty.
And those crowns can not be worn better,
Than the breath of life assisted by trees.
Without them our disgust with each other...
We would not be allowed to breathe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Poverty In The 21st Century
It’s the 21st century
The media displays it day and night,
Poverty.
Poverty across the globe lies
Poverty cries out from the belly of little boys
Little girls, parents too
Desperately searching for food,
Shelter, clothing, for love,
Companion, for attention
Those with plenty, refuse
To amend, a world haunted by
Poverty.
Is poverty affecting the rich?
Are their poverty the same
As the poor in financial constrains?
For they, too, poverty of love
I see poverty in the learned
I see poverty in those whose
Selfish acts are destroying society.
I see poverty in all level of humanity
The world is still an imperfect place
Yet life is still beautiful, the wind
Blows, we see it not, give thanks
For what you possess, now go,
Help if you can along the way,
Help to eradicate poverty
In your surrounding, widen
Your boundary across your
Country, to nations of the world.
Help to fight poverty, now!
poem by Winston Harding
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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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Deity Of Deities
DEITY OF DEITIES
VAVROO VAHANA PATRA
Mother Mahamaya Devee Durga
Appears on Earth on Saptamee day Of Autumn
Beauteous is that dawn.
Devotees chant the Mother’s name
delightfully and prostrate at Her feet.
Children play with delight;
Devotees assemble before the altar,
under the Sun God’s cosy light.
The Mother listens to the pleas
of all, and satisfies their desires.
Poets too chant Mother’s name
with devotion and depict her great beauty.
The mother is the Deity of Deities, Supreme.
The Mother’s heart is soft and cosy,
She comes to shower love and affection
on all Devotees seeking her protection.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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The Shadow Inside My Shadow
poverty is not my cousin,
is not my lover,
is not my preacher,
poverty is not my brother.
poverty is not my prayer,
or the song that i sing
is not my answer
poverty is not my dream.
poverty is not my teacher,
not the hand that i hold.
poverty is not my anger,
not my spirit, not my soul.
ah! but this poverty is real
it races thru my mind
crashes into my heart,
& leaves me deaf and blind.
poverty is my companion.
the aching cold inside my hollow.
the blow behind my eyes,
poverty is the shadow
inside my shadow.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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War on poverty
War is a common solution for a lot of things,
countries go to war and so do gangs and teams
Its kind of crazy and kind of a shame,
because i always see wars on the streets fighting drugs like cocaine
Pick and choose your battles because the drugs will never stop, instead you need to control poverty and why people dont have a lot
Money, food, theres a lack of it all,
this is why they turn to drugs and manage to fall
No poverty, no drugs and thats the honest truth,
so have a war on poverty and not a war on youth
poem by Stylin Williams
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The Last Poor Man
All suffering falls on a
sinful world without pointing
on where to be
sickness and saddness has made
me popular; poverty makes
me feel pride of lack
I am not rich yet my
heart creeps into poverty
My suffering has grant
my generation riches and
success; my tyrant is
here speak not of wealth
close the doors and windows
lets talk in te`te-a-te`te
My home is inside his
oath my tyrant speak in fate
and call me a poorman
No the price must be
paid for my success
i have seen the
twenty twenty vision
i am needless of my
tyrant fate,
my struggle is my glory.
poem by Senator alufalism
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Tears of the Sun
Thy sun in grimace
I say 'We are the ones, he is disgraced'
'Weeps' Sky said
'I shall bring thy tears'
I already know
The Sky thoughts are clouded in fear
Sky says, 'I shall bring his sadness'
'To cover his depression? ! '
Moon says, 'He has his own light! '
'Why should I stay? '
I say, 'Trust from Earth's friends is all he can crave'
For my words have fade in the mist
The Sun hides behind Sky
I say, 'He is getting sadder.'
Sky cover in darkness
Now the Sun begans to weep
Droplets began to fall apon me
'These are Sun's tears'
I say, 'We are killing Earth'
The Sun's heart is leaking
Leaking into Earth's broken soul
'If we don't help her'
I say, 'She will truely go'
'For now I call this greif,
For Earth's grounds we have walk on
We must restore her
Or there won't be a other rainbow.
(10-22-09)
poem by Elisha De La Rosa
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Poverty Is A Relative Thing
It is true poverty is a relative thing
A poor bloke buys his girlfriend a ten dollar ring
But to a pauper one with ten dollars is not poor at all
What to one seems big to another seems small,
That poverty is a relative thing seems so true
You may well be poor but many poorer than you
There are millions of homeless on Poverty Street
Searching in rubbish bins to find something to eat
And there are millions who lay down to rest hungry at night
And sleep in the open under the starlight
At least you have a roof over your head and a bed on which to lie
And it will not be of malnutrition that you will die
And of those down on their luck the singer may sing
But poverty can be a relative thing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Steep From A Peak A Fall Deep
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Just like a ball rolling,
Gaining speed.
Eyes open wide as they witness to see...
A clarity that stops their sleeping.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Just like a ball rolling,
Gaining speed.
Eyes open wide as they witness to see.
A clarity that stops their sleeping.
Deceit is wished to be defeated.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
People see this and the creeps.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Honesty reveals all evils.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
And those of wicked ways.
Try not to look afraid,
But.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
People see this and the creeps.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
People see this and the creeps.
Deceit is wished to be defeated.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
People see this and the creeps.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Honesty reveals all evils.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
And those of wicked ways...
Try not to look afraid.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Just like a ball rolling,
Gaining speed.
Eyes open wide as they witness to see...
A clarity that stops their sleeping.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
Steep from a peak a fall,
Deep.
People see this and the creeps.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mother Mangala: Deity Of Deities
Mother Mangala’s temple beside the
river ‘Prachi’ dazzles with the Sun ray,
Devotees’ mind concentrated, surrendered
Under thy feet with glee, gaiety, souls
bathed with delight feel gay.
From time immemorial, remote past the
Deity of Deities pervades on the tranquil
serene sanctified glaring altar.
The Shrine is endowed, wreathed with
garlands of love, affection and with beautiful
lovely flower.
She blessth the human creatures, deities
Of Heaven as an eternal brook of pleasure,
love and affection.
Diseased, disappointed, rich, poor,
anguished pray thee to free the plight and
tention.
Thy shrine is a Heaven on Earth, Ye
Create in human beings delight and mirth.
Ye shower bliss, benevolence, love affection
Fraternity, purity on human creature,
With thy touch their souls become pure
sitting on the shrine in the lap of nature.
‘Deities of Heaven’ pray before ye to
operate the generation.
The water of “Prachi” river washes thy
feet for ever without hesitation.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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When Does Poverty Get Poor
Seated in the confinds of poverty, dressed in overall butten up to his neck
and close fitted shoes that elope the streets,
now becoming aware;
the influences of poverty from being the richest man alive captures the mass,
bent on ignorance, that shows no gain;
garbage bins becomes there prey,
cleaning windows of car is income, suffice the day,
supervised by poverty! and out scoring all the other delligates,
poverty also own the trade that teaches the longivity of hardship,
rested enough on a king size sidewalk spread with carboard denim
providing comfort paid for by poverty as a treat to the best laborer,
but poverty takes no break, seemingly a workaholic.......
proclaim'i'm a hustler'.and
Has the fleet of his employee's feet get wearsome, poverty dear not to retreat! but relent the surviving scares that ridge their free created flesh
at a cost!
classified bumbs they become victims to the slums, coke-cocaine, cannabis and rum!
enslaving the mindstead of the innocent and young, the future remains unchanged!
but who do they liberate, when life bounds them at the expense of living another day!
who showers their skin from the residue of misfortune and bad luck
moreso, who is to be blame,
when education 'the key' only opens the door seemingly once every eternity! to those of whom that are not on the paid roll of poverty!
and when does poverty give us cars, land and a good home; Homes that
over looking the scenery of beauty, with rose petals scattered liked shurbs
bring out the feel of pardise fresh to the smell of a splash of l.o.v.e! and a white picket fence to the ending of living
happily forever and ever like the tale of a fairy! to know
how much do we have to endure to asure we achieve
and when does poverty get poor?
poem by Terrence Beckford
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Autumn Vavroovahana Patra
Autumn reigns on Earth;
In all creatures plays waves of mirth.
Chilly breeze blows on Earth;
People enjoy the beauty with mirth.
Green paddy plants smile in the lap of Nature;
Goddess operates the lives of all creatures.
Is the Deity of all Deities;
Is our Almighty.
Creatures surrender on mother’s feet;
She is our lives savior, delight.
Provides duty;
Chanting hymns we live with gaiety.
Beauteous looks Autumn firmament.
In all creatures plays waves of merriment;
Silvery cloudy play in the sky;
In poet’s mind plays gay.
Earth looks beautiful;
Creatures are delightful.
Pray goddess gleefully;
Surrender on the Rosy feet gaily.
poem by Vavroovahana Patra
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In opposition to this detachment, he finds an image of man which contains within itself man's dreams, man's illness, man's redemption from the misery of poverty - poverty which can no longer be for him a sign of the acceptance of life.
quote by Salvatore Quasimodo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fire Air Water
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their snakish humor
Blessed you with beauty-
What a horrible solitary beauty they blessed you with;
And cursed the men in touch with you with the lust of flies.
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their punning humor
Pour passion on me to produce poetry:
As though I am fire air water too,
As though I am producing you,
As though your face is not blood, nor flesh, nor lust
But a nightly deodar island;
A desolate distant bluish island;
Nevertheless you are being used by the vulgar hands
And being dissolved across the earth of soil;
And I am being dissolved amid the shadow of stars over the distant island.
Fire air water: the primitive deities in their kaleidoscopic humor
Keep on spreading the seed of beauty,
The seed of dream on earth.
I ponder with surprise,
Where are you tonight?
Why can't beauty recognize the shadow of the stars over the solitary deodar island-
The beauty of that lady of the earth?
By the vulgar hands her beauty is being used- used- used- used- used-
Being used- used-
Fire air water: the primitive deities burst into laughter 'ho ho'
'Being used again and again and turning into pork? Ho ho'
'Ho ho ho' my troubled heart burst into laughter too! -
Amid this terrible laughter all around, the dark sea seemed to bloom
With a dead body of the enormous whale of darkness;
All the beauty of the universe stinks like the dead body of the enormous whale of darkness,
Wherever I go, among the comets over those seas and oceans
How normal, how natural!
Translation by S M Maniruzzaman
poem by Jibanananda Das
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We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.
quote by Mother Teresa
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spectators Of Poverty
Life spectators
from high living status
with their Owl binocular's eyes
dwell on wealth while munching pie,
Spectate life of I and poverty in a fight
Battling and wrestling for better life,
Life blushed lost sight
Soul kicked outside
The mind suffered
Pieces of I scattered all over
And all they do is intervening with freebies
Everyman for himself!
That's what they said
They fed their pockets with fat
And I was completely sad
They told me remedy is a school
And hereafter life is cool
Only if they know how I feel
This paining merciless sting of poverty
Sinking deep in my life of no property
Just a pauper living in a liberty
filled with constraints
I loath poverty
It's menacles handcuff dreams
It made homies to depend on the bins
Homies are everyday environmental cleaners, collecting boxes and tins
to scrapyard
Almost all adults and teens
On their shoulders with heavy beams
of poverty
And left spectators to relish life of kings
Damn spectators and poverty!
Damn!
poem by Mojalefa Owami Mogakane
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Laborer
In the sizzling heat of the afternoon
Clothes drenched and shoes filled with sweat
Last nights long shift makes the body ache
In growing age when the muscle is the only strength
The will like faith growing stronger with each passing day
A disease knocking at the visceral parts of the body
Joints now like the hinges in the machine need oil
Moved in hundreds and like all others
Away from the family and the little ones memory
A letter from the home in need of money
For the doctor’s fee as education is forlorn desire
Minimum wage half robbed by the supervisor
And like a true competition in economics
Out on the metal gates a replacement is waiting
Alienated from the production of the product
Creating surplus for the consumption of the rich
His toils are in the shine of the markets in goods glittering
Unaware of the political upheaval
No care for his welfare
He has no future; his children will also work like him
The power of the muscle, will and faith
He is a laborer who if not given the job
Will go for a daily wage and sleep on the road side
Poverty is his bread, poverty his butter
Poverty that alienates
Poverty the missing link
Poverty the slogan
Poverty it said is loved by the prophets
Poverty it said is gods chosen creed
Poverty the banner
Poverty the tears
Poverty the helplessness
Poverty the consciousness
Break it free
The ordained writing on the book of fate
To bring it down
Open its pages
Remove the names
Of all the people poor
Break it free
The pages they call divine
For divinity is me
Divinity is you
For I shall write
My own destiny
On the book of fate
Up from the skies
Down to the earth
In poverty I will live
But on my own choosing
Break the bond
Of eternal slavery
Poverty
Thou art the bitterest vice
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Sacred Land
Our earth is sacred
The fruits of unclean grounds
Shall be deemed unfit for consumption
For centuries others have exploited
The foundation of our existence
Total colonization
Systematic Exploitation
Mis-education, Poverty,
Intoxications...
Our earth is sacred
Our fruits have been chemicalized
Their growth monopolized
Outsiders have raped her
Polluted her
Abused her
Now she burdens us
To clean, care and nurture her
For she is our essence
She is our life
poem by Mustafa Marconi
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Mark of a Man
Deep as the ocean, steep as a hill
Watch out for the currents... they may even kill
The softness in his voice, the lust in his eyes
Is the mark of a man he'll tell many lies...
He'll walk into your life, like a morning breeze
Will play with your emotions and then he'll freeze...
He will leave many roses, and wait for your call
Crazy to the extent, to inscribe on the wall
Will follow you like a shadow, at times it will haunt
But just the three words will melt you he's all that you want.... (I love you)
He is a born player and knows how to play
Once you are trapped he'll mould you like clay
His presence is all that will sweep you off your feet
And this is the tactic of a man who will cheat...
Leaving you helpless, your eyes full of tears
Will use and abuse you with out any fear
'Cause he is a cheater, and will always be that way
So watch out for the signs, this is all I say.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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