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COME round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee.
My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.
And sometimes from the Saltin' shed
I scarce could drag my feet,
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along thc pebbly street.
I'd always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbour minded her by day,
I minded her till morn.
I lay upon my baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear.
A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale.
He drove me out and shut the door.
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbour could I see.
The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green,
The little straws were turnin round
Across the bare boreen.
I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
Blowin' her mornin' fire.
She drew from me my story --
My money's all used up,
And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,
She gives me bite and sup.
She says my man will surely come
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I'm movin' round,
Without doors or within,
Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,
Or goin' to the well,
I'm thinkin' of my baby
And keenin' to mysel'.
And Sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin' wide His door,
God lights the stats, His candles,
And looks upon the poor.
So now, ye little childer,
Ye won't fling stones at me;
But gather with your shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.
Mike Essig Sep 2015
by Rudyard Kipling*

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
‘Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!'
      Come you back to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay:
      Can't you ‘ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

‘Er petticoat was yaller an' ‘er liggle cap was green,
An' ‘er name was Supi-yaw-lat–jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an ‘eathen idol's foot:
      Bloomin' idol made o' mud–
      Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd–
      Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed ‘er where she stud!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd *** ‘er little banjo an' she'd sing ‘Kulla-lo-lo!'
With ‘er arm upon my shoulder an' ‘er cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
      Elephints a'pilin' teak
      In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
      Where the silence ‘ung that ‘eavy you was ‘arf afraid to speak!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

But that's all shove be'ind me–long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no ‘busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' ‘ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
‘If you've ‘eard the East a-callin', you won't never ‘eed naught else.'
      No! You won't ‘eed nothin' else
      But them spicy garlic smells,
      An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly-temple -bells;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty ‘ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin' but wot do they understand?
      Beefy face an' grubby ‘and–
      Law! Wot do they understand?
      I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;*
For the temple-bells are callin', and' it's there that I would be–
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the old Flotilla lay,
      With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
      On the road to Mandalay,
      Where the flyin'-fishes play,
      An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!
Filomena Feb 2023
Saŝa serĉas saĝan ŝercon.
Ŝi volas servi verse ĝin.
Vi aŭskultu. Ne tumultu.
Solve buŝeliĝos rid'.

Lucas looks for janky jokes.
It may not matter if they might seem daft.
The phrases turn; the poet's spoke.
He wonders which will laugh at last.

pilin mi li wile musi.
toki mi li tawa ona.
sina kute li pilin mute.
o pilin sona e toki pona.
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
It never fails to amaze me
It never fails to astound
How lonely a person can be
Even with hundreds of people around

And never seems to get easy
It never seems to subside
This aching feeling - that - you
Sometimes get way deep down inside

Money and riches are fleeting
To be lost in the blink of an eye
Comforts and possessions are lost so quickly
Like the second hand on a clock can fly
So  when everything seems to be pilin on
And it feels like you're at the end of your rope
Just remember - Hope will get you through
Times of no money .....Better than
Money will get you
Through times of no hope
Filomena Mar 2023
sijelo li wile lape.
wile ante lon lawa taso.
pilin mi li kala nasa.
kala ni li wile waso.

Most of me just wants to sleep
Just my head is still awake
My heart is like a silly fish
A fish that wants to fly
Filomena Mar 2023
sina wile ike e mi la mi kama sama.
sina wile utala e mi la mi kama sama.
sina wile pakala e mi la mi kama sama.

mi jan utala ala.
pakala li jaki tawa mi.
mi wile taso pona e sina.
o pona taso e mi.

sina wile pona e mi la mi kama sama.
sina wile musi e mi la mi kama sama.
sina wile wawa e mi la mi kama sama.

mi jo e olin suli.
mi wile pana e musi kalama.
mi wile wawa e pilin mute.
sina o pali sama.

/////

Do you want to do me ill? I become likewise.
Do you want to fight with me? I become likewise.
Do you want to injure me? I become likewise.

I am not a fighter.
Injury is sickening to me.
I'm only wanting good for you,
So please be good to me.

Do you want to help me out? I become likewise.
Do you want to make me smile? I become likewise.
Do you want to give me strength? I become likewise.

I aim to have the greatest love.
I want to foster joy and laughter.
I wish to strengthen the hearts of all.
Why not follow after?
Yo who this on the track, black,
With another diamond plaque,
Imagine that,
Me spitting with Biggie N Shaq,
Back to back,
Like the Lakers and the Bulls, check the hairs of my wools,
Spools,
We growin, showing, you how to wreck a beat, smooth flowin,
Makin' tight ends loose ends, setting trends,
Stacks of bejamins, see ya bending ya mens,
Ya ******* aint killin, all yall do is talk the same spilling,
Im tryna get the black linen, pope style, pinned the golden child,
Came out the world,
And never smiled, i like to get wild,
Mystery mother nature,
Yeah i hate cha,
Descendants of the creator,
Along with Elijah to Enoch, wont see no death, so kick rocks,
I keeps it locked,
Like a combination, gangta station, stay up in the tahoes blazin,
Mad skunks,
And parliament funks, shaq alley up for the dunk,
Assist from Kobe, let me show thee,
Tv screen seventy inches across the scene,
Lookin' like IMAX, my money never maxed,
We stay poppin' Barefoots, and that's a fact,



Take trips to Don Italy, you fools aint  phasin' me,
With the Big whips to big chains,
Tattoos, only for ya skin to bruise,
Easier the desert eaze is here,
To please ya,
Never sleep twice, with the same skeezer,
RoboCop ****, attack the blunt like a NFL blitz,
Switch, off to another hit,
In the studio, smokin' phillies slow, with multiple hoes,
Clubs we go, from multi-million dollar shows,
New age expos, similar to a Soprano,
Keep my keys piano, eighty eight ways to please,
So dont knock these,
G-funk east coast tease,
To ya melodies I grease,
Lubricate ya ligaments once i squeeze,
Gats imagine that, me spittin' wack, never dat,
Its like an Isley's brother track,
Smooth sailin', aint no tellin,
I push more heat than air baloons, got ya fools consumed,
Into my style watch me bloom,
Makin' a stain ill still remain,
Number one in this game,
Y'all cant stop the rain the reign,

Since the death of biggie,
Seems like the industry,
Left with thee,
Replica of the 90s, rewind me,
Get behind me,
As we cruise into the new scenery,
Im old school as the munchies,
Slicker than Bootsy,
Collins yo yosef you wildin' pilin,
Up the flows i knows,
Hits like a snort of blow, in ya nose,
That's how it goes,
From head to head, toe to toe,
I get ya, dancin' on the floor,
Givin' ya more, raw with the buckin', until i hear yall shoutin' for war, leave no scars,
Bars for bars, who really want it,
Houston ****, we on it,
******* up is the clique, who gives a **** if you ain't feelin' it,
Im in it to win it, true independent,
Broke in the rap senate,
Change the scene, once i counted my green, mean as Gene,
None could come in between,
My cream, just like the Wu- Ninjas, makin' multiple figures,
Undercover hitters,
Holy ghost shakes, and not the jitters,
Knockin' on heavens door, many soul scalin' on the shore,
Im back on the earth, knowin' my worth, you ain't got the girth,
To success, i dont get distracted by a big *** in a dress yes,
I keeo bad ******* on deck check,
Wreck another one,
Then hire another one, flexes dont come close, when ya step to a Don,
Im the one, like Dub C yall wish yall could be me,
But im hear to trouble you, stumple you,
Get away clean, from any ****** scene, in the 525 BMW,
What?!!
Yo me and P, shared the same pain,
Only difference is a needle in the veins,
Tears after tears, wondering if ill braced these wonder years,
Satans laughin,
But i cant fall off, if im steadily holding on,
Prayers from my family, is said strong,
Wifey tearing, sons tearin, silence screams im hearin,
Is it god? or is it the angel of death?,
Ready to assist me my last breath,
Thought it was over,
Just another day in the life of a solja,
Rewrote the ballad, now all i can is eat is a salad,
Operation successful, but the temples still stressful,
Two weeks of pain, and surgery just added me, more insane,
To the grain, thousands of teeth smilin,
But my suicide thoughts is pilin,
Flashbacks of combat,
And my homies, eyes open in the back,
Picture that, closed casket cuz they face was to graphic,
Forensics didn't even need the plastic,
Saw the face of his kids, the same look i received from my kids,
Didn't think i was gonna make it,
Bodies shakin, waitin' for god to take it,
Got a knock at the door, standing on top of the cloudy floor,
Im airborne, but im planted,
Dearly departed couldnt demand it,
My work aint done, plus i gotta many daughters and many sons,
To make in this world,
Live life past materials, its much more than diamonds and pearls,
Fuzz Butthead Sep 19
Raids and sirens
Nobody safe or vibrant
Slaves of science, **** or violence
Graves are pilin’
Offer praise or silence under the crazy tyrant

— The End —