The Genius Of The Crowd
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love
Sonnet Xxv
Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Objects:
Nothing mattered or had a name:
The world was made of air, which waited.
I knew rooms full of ashes,
Tunnels where the moon lived,
Rough warehouses that growled 'get lost',
Questions that insisted in the sand.
A Man's A Man For A' That
Is there for honesty 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 though on hamely fare we dine,
Laughter And Tears Ix
As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.
When the birds took shelter among the boughs, and the flowers folded their petals, and tremendous silence descended, I heard a rustle of feet though the grass. I took heed and saw a young couple approaching my arbor. The say under a tree where I could see them without being seen.
50 Cent
'I will kill you like a snake',
'I will roast you like a chicken',
'I will fry you like a plantain',
So roll, roll, roll your boat when,
You have a killer gun in your pocket.
I was born in the ghetto with,
The status of poverty without a fish in my hand;
I was taught in the ghettto with,
Much tears than hope;
Cape Breton
Out on the high "bird islands," Ciboux and Hertford,
the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand
with their backs to the mainland
in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff's brown grass-frayed edge,
while the few sheep pastured there go "Baaa, baaa."
(Sometimes, frightened by aeroplanes, they stampede
and fall over into the sea or onto the rocks.)
The silken water is weaving and weaving,
disappearing under the mist equally in all directions,
lifted and penetrated now and then
Children Of The Street
In their faces a colourless gaping of life's adversity:
the hopeless grief of a hellish existence;
Malnourished, starving, filth and olfactory horrors;
Their humiliating nothingness clothed in rags;
Usually barefooted with low self-esteem;
Begging, and rummaging through garbage for
thrown-away foods to assuage pangs of hunger;
Oftentimes feeling cold that comes from being sickly;
Sleeping or indulging in cheap cocktails of toxic
sedatives at the dark corners of the street:
Blot On Humanity
It is darkest hour in our history,
Dark nights shrouded with mystery,
Keeping under heels and making mockery,
Liberty torch shine but under label of slavery,
We may hide cruel face under facial,
Abuses hurl and utterances very racial,
Delicate phase but survival very crucial,
Efforts needed nor normal but very special,
People Next Door-4
I am your neighbour
When your house is
Under fire or in flood.
I am your neighbour
When your kid is sick,
Needs a bottle of blood.
I am your neighbour
Harlem Shadows
I hear the halting footsteps of a lass
In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall
Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass
To bend and barter at desire's call.
Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet
Go prowling through the night from street to street!
Through the long night until the silver break
Of day the little gray feet know no rest;
Through the lone night until the last snow-flake
Sonnet 40: Take All My Loves, My Love, Yea, Take Them All
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
A Night Of Storm
Oh city, whom grey stormy hands have sown,
With restless drift, scarce broken now of any,
Out of the dark thy windows dim and many
Gleam red across the storm. Sound is there none,
Save evermore the fierce wind's sweep and moan,
From whose grey hands the keen white snow is shaken
In desperate gusts, that fitfully lull and waken,
Dense as night's darkness round they towers of stone.
Darkling and strange art thou thus vexed and chidden;
The Planet On The Table
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.
Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.
His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
The Curse Of Poverty
Poverty
Poverty is a curse for human society
Poverty prevails there where the injustice is
Poverty exclaims there where the illiteracy is
Poverty is purely man made
So it has to be eradicated from its root
The society afflicted with poverty
Is reprehension of entire human society
Corruption is the source of poverty
Only a fearless society can be said
Ave Caesar
No bitterness: our ancestors did it.
They were only ignorant and hopeful, they wanted freedom but wealth too.
Their children will learn to hope for a Caesar.
Or rather- for we are not aquiline Romans but soft mixed colonists-
Some kindly Sicilian tyrant who'll keep
Poverty and Carthage off until the Romans arrive,
We are easy to manage, a gregarious people,
Full of sentiment, clever at mechanics, and we love our luxuries.
When Day Is Done
If the day is done,
if birds sing no more,
if the wind has flagged tired,
then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,
even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep
and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.
From the traveler,
whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage is ended,
whose garment is torn and dust-laden,
Song Of Love Xxiv
I am the lover's eyes, and the spirit's
Wine, and the heart's nourishment.
I am a rose. My heart opens at dawn and
The virgin kisses me and places me
Upon her breast.
I am the house of true fortune, and the
Origin of pleasure, and the beginning
Of peace and tranquility. I am the gentle
Freedom
I can't barter my freedom
Take away the riches with you
Don't display your dollars and pounds
To my countrymen who need freedom too
You can't cut my tongue short
It flexes swift and slip your hand
Winds of freedom would blow one day
Your vile attempts can't change the trend
Wax And Wane
Myth has it that the riches of the rich are good for all the people
And such a fable has got so many performances that it’s easy
To be swayed into thinking that it’s just the truth.
But when I see the eyes of the poor, aloof in their bare poverty,
And I compare their gazes with the personal greed and moral
Shamelessness of most of the rich, I feel disgust rise inside my soul
And I feel I share the closest brotherhood with the poorest of the poor.
Will I ever describe all this? Maybe I do, but you have to listen to me:
Family Comes Together
Family comes together
For always and forever
In sickness and in health
In poverty or in wealth
Family comes together
For always and forever
Without any reason
Anytime or any season
Family comes together
For always and forever