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Candle makes me believe,
In humanity,
In charity,
In selflessness,
In bringing clarity
To one's life,
In making the world
A better place,
Not judging someone
By colour and creed
Harvesting their purity
Just by their deeds!
Can one be like a candle, giving light to the world, by sacrificing itself ?!
JA Perkins Jun 30
"Just keep your love about you."
said the kettle to the ***.
"What you have, you have to give
and charity is all you've got."
"And keep yourself together."
said the kettle to the cup.
"Some day soon you'll find a spoon
that stirs your spirit up."
Keep your love about you
We called her the local clown of Fifth Avenue
Because she gave out popcorn and balloons
To all the poor children who had no food
In store for the long, hot summers.

Her balloons were her favorites, though
They were in all colors of the rainbow
She blew hundreds and sent them to where the angels go
"They're filled with love," She used to say with a dreamy smile.

Then came a time when her clown-days were over
The end of life forced her to retire from being the joker
At her last hour, though, we were positively sure
That a lonely balloon was gliding across the horizon.

That's when we realized,
This was her sweet goodbye

To the poor children who lived on Fifth Avenue.
"She" graffiti is why you were blocked
"Last night" riddle
is why you are dispised.
Your art has a habit
to dig knifes swords
followed by
unecessary pushing your fans away with good byes

When a simple truth was revealed
never to hinder nor harm
but to be understood wished well
never to inflict pain
so quit.
You surely entise
sadist and masochists
especially sociopathic
psychopathic personalities
perhaps that's what you both are two crucked souls living in the abundance that in it's mayority was promised to another.

You are both timeline pandemic looting burning thiefs,
Non of your behaviors define mine
I am not pleased to be followed by this troubled
soiled cat litter rhyme;

nor others advocating being a troubled teen and lying
to steal story poems into private collections filled by members and followers not interacting with me at all.  It's wrong!
it just smells like **** through this impersonal venue of communicating
inner feelings and emotions in poetic scribble or in graffiti formats I am unwilling to follow that.
If anger cursing hating others always the victim is your poem soup don't follow me please

I seek peace love hope forgiveness truth wisdom
freedom of speech isn't humiliating cursing flagging.
My true story poems are legit
and my own work!
It's twisted to see so many of those poems just gone missing!

Competition isn't my aim
praising truth wisdom courage to growing within is
Supporting praising following the endless past conflict troubling chemistry of fuggy brains
by willful use of dangerous drugs
and seeking everyone's attention here
helping anyone booked on drugs
isn't my goal either.

Part of self love and self respect thats reflected on to others wins
possibly until that fails.

I am aware your
"She" Capricorn kept her ugly tail to flap yours with and then convinced you she wolf lost her voice to grow deformed
witchy typing fingers to write insults about my Mothers private birthing me as her personal lubricant dried out

Typing obscenities and death threats to me and my kids
you got back to make up with that?
by returning to that specter black hole
and you call that a "giant"
it's madness.
And so, who cares if your ugly
Ula 68 Capricorn old hag smc
still rides your "He-
Aquarious unicorn."
why post that in a poem?

No need to advertise it
such pornographic graffiti
it ain't poetry
it's plain brutal idiotry.

Noone is going to spray ice cristals into your kind of brimstone fiery bedroom soups, nor eat your cruel hunting pray
Go you two please
burn for all eternity.

I shall let my tears cool you both down like Lazarus's did
as you two gasp for air
in your infernal
volcanic bed
sprouting deadly ash.

I am re-linked to the source of all truth the creator G**
my prayers are heard my sin blotted clean no longer remembered
At heaven's gates my names all appear engraved in pure gold.
by the hands of G.
Heaven knows me if you don't.
I honor Him-G
his will through scripture and receive intuitive grace patience and love even for you He/She

Linked I remain to the memory
of one or two cheerful givers,
gold hearts like my own
who willfully shared their good fortune unasked thank you.

To God even my lowest whispers, deciphered a
legitimate plea to the higher source for needed help today.

So come down from your cloud
Your not my only Jesus Christ I pray to
My Lord won't mock my whispering plee.
("I never say good buy to noone....C.H.I.N.N.Y.")
By Mr. Mrs. Andrews
Copy Rights.
Tough love mercy love is God's love through His son Jesus. Do not flag my Copy Righted story poems don't be jealous mean enjoy riding that revolving door I wouldn't.
An Excelente Balade of Charitie (“An Excellent Ballad of Charity”)
by Thomas Chatterton, age 17
modernization/translation by Michael R. Burch

As wroten bie the goode Prieste
Thomas Rowley 1464

In Virgynë the swelt'ring sun grew keen,
Then hot upon the meadows cast his ray;
The apple ruddied from its pallid green
And the fat pear did bend its leafy spray;
The pied goldfinches sang the livelong day;
'Twas now the pride, the manhood of the year,
And the ground was mantled in fine green cashmere.

The sun was gleaming in the bright mid-day,
Dead-still the air, and likewise the heavens blue,
When from the sea arose, in drear array,
A heap of clouds of sullen sable hue,
Which full and fast unto the woodlands drew,
Hiding at once the sun's fair festive face,
As the black tempest swelled and gathered up apace.

Beneath a holly tree, by a pathway's side,
Which did unto Saint Godwin's convent lead,
A hapless pilgrim moaning did abide.
Poor in his sight, ungentle in his ****,
Long brimful of the miseries of need,
Where from the hailstones could the beggar fly?
He had no shelter there, nor any convent nigh.

Look in his gloomy face; his sprite there scan;
How woebegone, how withered, dried-up, dead!
Haste to thy parsonage, accursèd man!
Haste to thy crypt, thy only restful bed.
Cold, as the clay which will grow on thy head,
Is Charity and Love among high elves;
Knights and Barons live for pleasure and themselves.

The gathered storm is ripe; the huge drops fall;
The sunburnt meadows smoke and drink the rain;
The coming aghastness makes the cattle pale;
And the full flocks are driving o'er the plain;
Dashed from the clouds, the waters float again;
The heavens gape; the yellow lightning flies;
And the hot fiery steam in the wide flamepot dies.

Hark! now the thunder's rattling, clamoring sound
Heaves slowly on, and then enswollen clangs,
Shakes the high spire, and lost, dispended, drown'd,
Still on the coward ear of terror hangs;
The winds are up; the lofty elm-tree swings;
Again the lightning―then the thunder pours,
And the full clouds are burst at once in stormy showers.

Spurring his palfrey o'er the watery plain,
The Abbot of Saint Godwin's convent came;
His chapournette was drenchèd with the rain,
And his pinched girdle met with enormous shame;
He cursing backwards gave his hymns the same;
The storm increasing, and he drew aside
With the poor alms-craver, near the holly tree to bide.

His cape was all of Lincoln-cloth so fine,
With a gold button fasten'd near his chin;
His ermine robe was edged with golden twine,
And his high-heeled shoes a Baron's might have been;
Full well it proved he considered cost no sin;
The trammels of the palfrey pleased his sight
For the horse-milliner loved rosy ribbons bright.

"An alms, Sir Priest!" the drooping pilgrim said,
"Oh, let me wait within your convent door,
Till the sun shineth high above our head,
And the loud tempest of the air is o'er;
Helpless and old am I, alas!, and poor;
No house, no friend, no money in my purse;
All that I call my own is this―my silver cross.

"Varlet," replied the Abbott, "cease your din;
This is no season alms and prayers to give;
My porter never lets a beggar in;
None touch my ring who in dishonor live."
And now the sun with the blackened clouds did strive,
And shed upon the ground his glaring ray;
The Abbot spurred his steed, and swiftly rode away.

Once more the sky grew black; the thunder rolled;
Fast running o'er the plain a priest was seen;
Not full of pride, not buttoned up in gold;
His cape and jape were gray, and also clean;
A Limitour he was, his order serene;
And from the pathway side he turned to see
Where the poor almer lay beneath the holly tree.

"An alms, Sir Priest!" the drooping pilgrim said,
"For sweet Saint Mary and your order's sake."
The Limitour then loosen'd his purse's thread,
And from it did a groat of silver take;
The needy pilgrim did for happiness shake.
"Here, take this silver, it may ease thy care;
"We are God's stewards all, naught of our own we bear."

"But ah! unhappy pilgrim, learn of me,
Scarce any give a rentroll to their Lord.
Here, take my cloak, as thou are bare, I see;
'Tis thine; the Saints will give me my reward."
He left the pilgrim, went his way abroad.
****** and happy Saints, in glory showered,
Let the mighty bend, or the good man be empowered!

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: It is possible that some words used by Chatterton were his own coinages; some of them apparently cannot be found in medieval literature. In a few places I have used similar-sounding words that seem to not overly disturb the meaning of the poem. Keywords/Tags: Chatterton, Romantic, Rowley, fraud, forger, forgery, ballad, charity, alms, almer, varlet, beggar, pilgrim, storm, thunderstorm, tempest, holly, Abbot, Saint, Godwin, priest, Limitour
What needs have I
In the face of yours
My father cares for me
As I tend my chores

By spreading his blessings
And sharing his love
Someday we may live below
As he does above

Extend a hand
To someone in need
Take the stand
I promise you'll see

So give of your time
Be of cheerful heart
Remember this rhyme
Remember where it starts
Anna Torsu May 21
Oh money
Please come now
Where art thou
Come now
I want to visit charity
Come now
She is chewing her dreams
Come now
She is swallowing her breath
Come now
Day by day she looks into my eyes
Week by week she calls my name
Month by month she awaits my arm
Year by year she traces my being
Today is today and her eyes are fixed
Oh money
Please come now
My wants are many,
my desires - endless;
yet my needs are few.

Of that which I have,
I take what I need;

of that which remains,
are portions for you.
Wealth can be a great blessing if we choose to spread good cheer and pay it forward by redistributing it among those who are truly in need.

Abdullah ibn Amr reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The merciful will be shown mercy by the Most Merciful. Be merciful to those on the earth and the One in the heavens will have mercy upon you.”

Source: Sunan al-Tirmidhī 1924
Nigdaw Apr 29
the bread you gave us yesterday
was warm and smelt of home
it tasted sweet and comforting
our stomachs full to bursting

the bread you gave us today
was mouldy and hard to swallow
it tasted of bitter memories
of how you loved us once

the bread you'll gives us tomorrow
will be hard and cold as stone
it will taste forgotten like ashes
when the fire has lost it's soul
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