"gree" poems
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hings his head, an’ a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Our toils obscure, an’ a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp;
The man’s the gowd for a’ that,
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-gray, an’ a’ that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that;
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that:
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His riband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a’ that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that;
But an honest man’s aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ sense, an’ pride o’ worth,
Are higher rank than a’ that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That sense and worth, o’er a’ the earth,
May bear the gree, an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s coming yet, for a’ that,
That man to man, the warld o’er,
Shall brothers be for a’ that.
2.6k
We’re
Red
Gree
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen
Yellow; dot. dot. -- lines:
Unendless; Beginningful.
Every evening sunrise awash in morning
rush-tide
sea-gates creaming
streams flew into
serenades remorse
what of every beaten vessel on the concrete highway ribbon
That crashed down beneath the overpass
That splashes
That ebbing
Of sirocco heart valves and
attitude.---------------------------------------Whoa!
snap through
****** palms, exit ramps
like reigns.
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
The frosty white lane
Down the 'Wolve's Bane'
Tagged along with the joy of jingle bells
My foremost heart
Frown at the part
where I stood with the most visual grin
I remember about the
Rudolph and the red nose reindeer
The countryside along with its pioneer
With the sudden rush of happiness.
Little red socks, the big gree tree
Lights and locks
I feel so free
When Christmas is along the corner
Stand with the most beautiful
Visual of the year
But to those little tears
Of that little two sisters
Who barely had any good Christmas
Still standing with glittery eyes
hoping the foremost.
May past all the sad and sorrow
May past all those who cried tomorrow
Now is the time to jingle along with the light
The spirit of heaven and hell between the fight.
Dec 14, 2021
Dec 14, 2021 at 11:46 PM UTC
da jess wurds
airnt no reel meenin
jess whats we a-ply
n’ gree on
fer da so-ciety
ta communicat
jess greemens
no ting mar n’
no ting less
ya undastan?
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
With the pen, we linger.
Our heart, we pored out.
Our feelings, the clearer.
Finding words; when we are, it's like a bout.
Very spiritual, ask the real ones.
Pain-free, when it's coming easily.
Pain-ful, the writer's block forms.
Sigh! Finding motivation for our gree.
Blissful, it's our hope.
Unsubdued, a talent that brets.
In a globe full of glope.
We've found our own trait.
Having fun with intelligence, we often let out.
Ideas, muchly underrated.
Flashed stuffs, the world's missing out.
Desole poets, I know I've understated.
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC