"beggar" poems
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way:
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side,
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
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The Buddha slept under the night sky on His back
eyes open; fearless love looked up. humbling the majesty
of the Void's gift.
eyes fixed... both peerless.
first among equals.
but transcendent.
The Buddha,
wearing grass-stained robes
chose a blank spot
for a blank stare
" Nowhere Girls are EveryWHERE "
He thought, astonished.
a moment after
where once He stood
there Was No
spoon.
[ PART ii ] NOT THE KOAN BUT THE KOAN THAT YOU GOT
on the X-ray zen splints were clearly spidered webs in ghost bone... how should I feel that my sensei saw the X-ray first?
life is where the answer to this question is a real thing draped in ominous clarity like a town fool, the beggar foreclosing
on your house of cards, the winged swine and some guy named Patrick having a smoke in your face; the mailman, who
always looks so serious about your trivia in a blue hat... who always trips over your precious dying very potted plants!
yes, all that, or maybe not. saute some fresh green kale in olive oil with fresh garlic
[ give it to me ] and i'll tell you that was very thoughtful, and right then;
it would also be
true.
for a minute there... you and i were typing you reading this part.
these are the diamonds.
my exposure to the radiation is everlasting in the middle of it's brief long duration
my ghost bones wear new flesh like iPod headphones, don't hate the player
[ better yet ]
make a macaroni necklace. go wild. be reckless.
it'll cost you an ounce of real kimchi
from the motherland
with the ugly
sister.
i wouldn't put it pass you. cause that would be clairvoyance, and you already know!
a loose tooth entrenched in candy apple can't taste your stupidity but has bad dreams!
some people will always look at you the wrong way and appreciate
how you sat perfectly still for hours; you only took a break to suggest
a better room with southern exposure to eastern thought.
when you threw in a Tripod, they knew you were somekinda somethin'.
and they knew it all along
but juuust wasn't
sure.
and kumquats are quantumly eaten.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
After the wind lifts the beggar
From his bed of trash
And blows to the empty pubs
At the road's end
There exists only the silence
Of the world before dawn
And the solitude of trees.
Handel on the set mysteriously
Recalls to me the long
Hot nights of childhood spent
In malarial slums
In the midst of potent shrines
At the edge of great seas.
Dreams of the past sing
With voices of the future.
And now the world is assaulted
With a sweetness it doesn't deserve
Flowers sing with the voices of absent bees
The air swells with the vibrant
Solitude of trees who nightly
Whisper of re-invading the world.
But the night bends the trees
Into my dreams
And the stars fall with their fruits
Into my lonely world-burnt hands.
_______
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
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they laugh at my use of the word 'feminism'
it makes me different, makes me unique.
a woman asking for a voice is like a child asking for a gun.
they cringe at my use of the word 'feminism'
it means i am angry, means i must be gay.
a woman demanding respect is like a beggar asking for more than you're comfortable giving.
i want to feel safe,
i want to be acknowledged,
i want to be valued,
to be seen as a whole person,
not an object of ****** desire-
a mother,
a wife.
i want to go a day without my validity being questioned,
but i am just a girl,
and that's not how things work.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.
I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.
I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...
I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.
Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"
Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
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Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
instantly, instantly falls
victim of long intrigue,
assuming memory and mortal
mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
prepares stupendous studies:
the fiery event
of every day in endless
endless assent.
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She's like a drama queen,
Plays the 'blame game' like a loser,
Fair minded as a bigot,
Wages war like drones,
As free as surveillance,
As open as privatized prisons,
As equal as feudalism,
As rich as the beggar masses,
Bankrupt as homeowners,
Socialist as the military,
Truthful, trustful as "NEWS," as propaganda,
Pagan as the manufactured Goddess 'Columbia,'
Christian as the stingy,
Pious as a sinner,
Wicked as securities, exchanges on 'Wall Street,'
Insecure as an empire,
Greedy as a fast food glutton,
As brave as a fool,
Warmongering as a chicken hawk politician,
Machevellian as a coward,
As rigged as the free market,
As selfish as Capitalism,
As tolerant as Islam,
Beautiful as a clear cut forest,
Charming as a strip mall,
Forward thinking as chaos,
Lawless as congress,
United as a belligerent crowd,
Compassionate as a swat team,
Green as any petrochemical company,
Organic as pollution,
Deep as a strip mine . . .
. . .
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
When the bakery was bought,
For the sake of novelty, uniqueness, etc,
Called it ‘bitter’
Laddu was bitter
Jalebi ws bitter
Cherry was bitter
Bitter, bitter
What bitterness, said people
The servant got bitter
Sir,
There are no bill collectors to turn away
Flies mock
She at home
Serves bitterness
While sharing the alienation
Which novelty and uniqueness supplied,
With eatables,
Biscuit said
Let’s add the salt of tears,
Eatables will not sell
If bitter
‘Please give me something old”
When the sound of a beggar
Intervened
Myself, who stood for novelty and uniqueness
Told him ‘ you can have this bakery’
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
Oh, mind, do you mind me minding?
I'm finding it hard to open my eyes,
It's blinding.
I see only darkness in here.
She kind of likes the feeling of fear.
Oh, mind, why is this pleasure unknown?
True happiness is found when you are alone.
Why do the aimless things linger in my head?
Are they incidental? I remember what everyone says.
Oh, mind, I'm minding the path to my soul.
I hear my heart beat after all.
Just as a soulless beggar on a drum
I pass by and begin to hum.
Thoughts turn into song,
Her thoughts turn into wrong.
Oh, mind, do you mind me minding?
I'm finding it hard to open my eyes,
Sorry for wandering.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Like a beggar feeling for gold in the dark
I mosey in the shadows searching for the scent of bliss
Blind to everything but my own thought
I skirt the edge of light and dark
A stuttering heartbeat
I rest upon a sturdy form and begin to flutter
Slowly
I come away from my stupor and tilt my head
Upward
Illuminated by a golden sphere
A moth grasping at God
Gripped in the glow I am light
Reflecting unto faded stars
We
Inanimate forms buzzing along to the
Dull hum of the universe.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
THE SEA rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
I know hours empty as a beggar's tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a soldier's sleeve with an arm lost.
Speak to me ...
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We are none truly alone,
I've written of this before
I shall write of our souls
And the invisible chains, once more
We are all connected,
By these universal chains
From the beggar on the corner,
To the broker squandering gains
We are seven billion shades,
Different shades of the same hue
From me here in my mountains,
Across the earth to you
Whether you're a dancer,
Stepping to a tune
Or a night fisherman,
Gathering food, under the moon
These universal chains,
They bind us each together
That's what the universe wanted,
And so it is forever
Each time you defame,
Your fellow human across the way
You're defaming part of yourself,
So be careful what you say
This is how its been since the beginning
This is how it is until the end
Be kind to each other,
Remember we're all akin
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 9:34 PM UTC
So that's the Kudu-Horn used on your Prize:
The Kind which no Mundial will ever blow
To pity their Ears; And Focus revise
But Senior Petrol in Love filled her Glow:
In turn flashed her Grin as a Cool Relief,
Humbled her Lady and recalled you Friend
Indeed, the Word so long etched in Belief
Was the Same Sharp Sound which caused Fans to spend
And did this Spike ever taught you to Boast
Though Genious the Temple Beggar reminds:
That Good Deeds Un-Posted are Noble Toast
But Kisses under the Fender are Fine.
I guess what's left to do this Summer's End
Is Toot that Horn; And Flames burn Flames again.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
The platforms are full of passengers
The fruits, coffees and tea stalls
The train runs on the track with heels
Like the whops of horses
Passengers enter the train in a hurry
And leave without any worry
Someone sleeps in the berth and snores
Some other sits and reads the news
The gluttonous eater eats the eats
The vendor sells nuts and peas
and cries like the buzzing bees
the T.C comes, wakes up and asks
for the ticket and bribes for berths
the beggar begs for alms singing hymns
some play cards making unbearable noises
the child weeps ,cries and moans
the thief enters the coaches
and tries to steal the bags
the passengers make friends with ease
but it will very soon cease
life like railway travel is a passing shower
it doesn’t last forever
It lasts only till the destination comes
The passenger takes the bag and leaves
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:16 AM UTC
Feed my addiction
Feed my addiction
Have a nice day
Yes have a nice day
Give me money
So I can buy a pack of smokes
And give me money to buy myself
A case of beer dude
You need to feed my addiction
Feed my addiction
Have a nice day
I want to eat junk food
I want to smoke like I am a chimney
I know there are people in third countries but who cares
Just care for me
Feed my addiction
Feed my addiction
Have a nice day, mate
I just want to ask for money
Like you are a walking atm
You see you should give me money
So my addiction is fed
I look like to people on the street
Like I am big ted
Feed my addiction
Feed my addiction
Have a nice day
Give me money for smokes and beer
So I can have my solitude
That is important very important
To give me what I want
Feed my addiction
Give me money right now buddy
To feed my addiction
Feed my addiction
Have a have a have a really nice day
This isn’t about me personally
It is about beggars on the street
They ask for money every day
Which can be annoying especially
When it is just to feed their addiction
For beer or smokes
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 3:18 AM UTC
Blindness haunts the king who seeks
In vain do riches question
- but-
A beggar with a poor man's coat
Receives the greatest wisdom.
We, of sound and sturdy mind
Sniff rich bouquets of vanity
-but-
Fine wine is pressed by she who raves
Her hems stained with insanity.
Old men would have learn'd much
Had they been thus styl'd
-and-
There are no wiser phrases brought
Than those of a child.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
My dreams
do not come attached to
the ideals of my people
or the sacrifices of another country.
Instead I am poor
and mine are clinging to life
the very idea of existence.
Mundane flashes--
not adventurous endeavors
nor flights around the world
this is what richly folks do.
Simply a mingler
someone whose life
flourishes around the bends
of florescent street lights
and panhandling
nearby a farmers market
just after sunrise.
This remnant is few
as these are neighbors
local countrymen
who stoically face
the world's deviation
and deprivation
from coexisting
by the bonds of
agriculture and personality
even as a beggar
it is but a joyous memento
to a world that
no longer thrives.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 3:51 AM UTC
If wishes could be measure,
Clem would have reign in wealth,
Before he had a date with death.
Poverty battled with him with all pleasure.
In the tribulation, all his gray eyes saw was a
jubilating future.
In my clan, the death are kings,
Their testimony barely bear guilts,
Tales of that of dove and angelic.
In these imperfect world, they are made perfect and heroic.
That of clem wasn't different,
No hair suspected him of having a great for a kin,
Who in death embraced him to a golden casket, in Italian suit, shoes and a cow killed.
His burial got what he never begged for in hundred fold
Hmm! A late beggar decorated more than a groom to a royal fold.
As all gathered round his six feet for a final bye,
The in prophesied happened, Clem breath resurrected and all flee,
Even the priest, men, women and their kids.
Clem awoke into a dream,
Agitating against mankind and why array of
fortune should perish with a beggar like him,
While there are countless beings escaping death each dawn in perpetual poverty.
Griefs stricken for his old him,
He rose, undertook his golden casket, sold it and became a king.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
"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.'
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I was crowded by the beggars
One of them said," Lovers are the melancholic beggars".
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
Sometimes I think we’re all mere magnets
Pulling towards this, pulling away from another
Getting closer to your grandmother while fighting with your mother
Moving out to find your identity but shielded online by anonymity
I swear we’re all mere magnets
Tired of running towards our goals but happily running from boredom
Telling others we know so much but then adept to play dumb
Wanting a bigger slice of success yet unwilling to gift the beggar a crumb
Aren’t we all mere magnets?
All relationships looking for some big reward
And pulling away if our emotions become too sore
Yet, what if some weren’t really magnets but pretended to be
Could those outliers find one another and stick for eternity
So my dear, are you a magnet?
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 6:57 AM UTC
Diogenes has traded
philosophy for riches
and poor Diogenes must beg -
for neither does he want to belong
to any organisation
and so Diogenes begs
and this man in the street
says to the begging Diogenes:
*"OK, I'll give you money
if you can persuade me"*
"Persuade you?" says Diogenes
*"If I could persuade you
I'd persuade you to go
jump off the nearest cliff"*
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
yes it's right, i am an abomination
created to gods own image
i am a gorgeous African queen
black, with ***** hair
fearless words, not watered down by lies, i speak
freedom my journey, never a servant
no other copy of me created
you look down at me
speak rough and loud
treat me like a beggar
down play my ideas
ignore my 150% at work
all this to keep me in my place
i pity you
your eyes tell it all, i need a beating to be put right
snake ***** gets kinder eyes
see how nice uneducated barbarian writes
keep me in my place?
keep me in my place!
keep me in my place
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
Now through night's caressing grip
Earth and all her oceans slip,
Capes of China slide away
From her fingers into day
And th'Americas incline
Coasts towards her shadow line.
Now the ragged vagrants creep
Into crooked holes to sleep:
Just and unjust, worst and best,
Change their places as they rest:
Awkward lovers like in fields
Where disdainful beauty yields:
While the splendid and the proud
Naked stand before the crowd
And the losing gambler gains
And the beggar entertains:
May sleep's healing power extend
Through these hours to our friend.
Unpursued by hostile force,
Traction engine, bull or horse
Or revolting succubus;
Calmly till the morning break
Let him lie, then gently wake.
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