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The World

The world is cruel,
but for some people it's cool.
People are dying
because of lying.

Duwayne Frieslaar
I Don't Want You To Read My Poems And Remain The Same

I don't want you to read my poems and remain the same,
i want you to read my poems and get rabbies,
attacking every jack and jill smoking cannabis
i want you to read my poems and wonder if Charles Darwin's theory of evolution was true,

Francis Ngwenya
Sonnet Xxv

Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own:
I wavered through the streets, among
Nothing mattered or had a name:

Pablo Neruda
Looking Above

So I try to assemble my thoughts on a piece of paper
There are so many and so much
One can be discussed, and the rest maybe later .
Struggling in life to have job

Deoshri Chauhan
Hope 93'

How old I was ?
Only my mum has an answer
Hope 93
Farewell to poverty

Ola Olawale
Lost Ln My Loneliness

Loneliness, oh Loneliness,
There is one word I want to say
But who to listen is my problem.
People say I have nothing important to say

Borklo Solomon
A Poet Is Not A Killer,but A Soldier

A poet is not a killer
but a soldier or builder who builds social clubs,
communities and broken homes,
with his verbs and verses,

Francis Ngwenya
Is There, For Honest Poverty.

Tune - "For a' that, and a' that."


Robert Burns
The Voice

I dreamed a Voice, of one God-authorised,
Cried loudly throâ?? the world, â??Disarm! Disarm! â??
And there was consernation in the camps;
And men who strutted under braid and lace

Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Sonnet 040: 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.

William Shakespeare
Welcome Son

I welcome you my son on earth
More especially in this continent of Africa
In a village of which her people are only warm to foreigners
Feel free my son, I am here for you

Blessed-grant Rodi
Religio Laici

Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,
Is reason to the soul; and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky

John Dryden
Young Democracy

HARK! Young Democracy from sleep
Our careless sentries raps:
A backwash from the Futureâ??s deep
Our Evilâ??s foreland laps.

Bernard O'dowd
My Neighbors

To rest my fagged brain now and then,
When wearied of my proper labors,
I lay aside my lagging pen
And get to thinking on my neighbors;

Robert Service

I saw an old cottage of clay,
And only of mud was the floor;
It was all falling into decay,
And the snow drifted in at the door.

Jane Taylor
Corny Bill

His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,
His hat pushed from his brow,
His dress best fitted for the South --
I think I see him now;

Henry Lawson
The World Is Against Me

'The world is against me,' he said with a sigh.
'Somebody stops every scheme that I try.
The world has me down and it's keeping me there;
I don't get a chance. Oh, the world is unfair!

Edgar Albert Guest
The Dreamer

I am Dikachi Nwankwo.
I wrote this when I was 13.
For all those
who long for a better life

Dikachi Nwankwo
Worthy The Name Of Sir Knight


Sir Knight of the world's oldest order,
Sir Knight of the Army of God,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox
For A’ That And A’ That

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!

Robert Burns

Enlaced with gardened jewelry
My basking villas nest
Where sifted sunshine soothes the eye
And cosy hillocks rest.

Bernard O'dowd
Awr Dooad.

Her ladyship's getten a babby, -
An they're makkin a famous to do, -
They say, - Providence treated her shabby -
Shoo wor fairly entitled to two.

John Hartley
A Christmas Gift

Alack-A-Day for poverty!
What jewels my mind doth give to thee!

Carved agate stone porphyrogene,

Don Marquis
Her Letter

I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even YOU would admire,-
It cost a cool thousand in France;

Bret Harte
Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;

Thomas Gray
Nature’s Lesson

We traveled by a mountain's edge,
It was September calm and bright,
Nature had decked its rocky ledge
With flowers of varied hue and height.

Nannie R. Glass
A Dream Of Whitman Paraphrased, Recognized And Made More Vivid By Renoir

Twenty-eight naked young women bathed by the shore
Or near the bank of a woodland lake
Twenty-eight girls and all of them comely
Worthy of Mack Sennett's camera and Florenz Ziegfield's

Delmore Schwartz
The Poet

The riches of the poet are equal to his poetry
His power is his left hand
It is idle weak and precious
His poverty is his wealth, a wealth which may destroy him

Delmore Schwartz

I hate this grinding povertyâ??
To toil, and pinch, and borrow,
And be for ever haunted by
The spectre of to-morrow.

Henry Lawson
Tom Paine

An Englishman was Thomas Paine
Who bled for liberty;
But while his fight was far from vain
He died in poverty:

Robert Service

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends;
And fortune smiled deceitful on her birth:
For, in her helpless years deprived of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven,

James Thomson
Malcolm’s Katie: A Love Story: Part I

Max plac'd a ring on little Katie's hand,
A silver ring that he had beaten out
From that same sacred coin-first well-priz'd wage
For boyish labour, kept thro' many years.

Isabella Valancy Crawford
A Ballad

In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;
In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:
There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,
Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.

Charles Lamb
A Sunday Morning Tragedy

I bore a daughter flower-fair,
In Pydel Vale, alas for me;
I joyed to mother one so rare,
But dead and gone I now would be.

Thomas Hardy
The Sonnets Ciii - Alack! What Poverty My Muse Brings Forth

Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument, all bare, is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!

William Shakespeare
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.


Wallace Stevens
Thrasymedes And Eunoe

Who will away to Athens with me? Who
Loves choral songs and maidens crown'd with flowers,
Unenvious? mount the pinnace; hoist the sail.
I promise ye, as many as are here,

Walter Savage Landor
A Tale Of Two Cities

Where the sober-colored cultivator smiles
On his byles;
Where the cholera, the cyclone, and the crow
Come and go;

Rudyard Kipling
The Deserted Village

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:

Oliver Goldsmith
The Offer

'Tell me, would you rather be
Changed by a fairy to the fine
Young orphan heiress Geraldine,
Or still be Emily?

Charles Lamb
Upon Thebegger

He wants, he asks, he pleads his poverty,
They within doors do him an alms deny.
He doth repeat and aggravate his grief,
But they repulse him, give him no relief.

John Bunyan
The Farewell

_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,

Charles Churchill
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,

Archibald Lampman
Hymn 102

The Beatitudes.

Mt. 5:3-12.


Isaac Watts

It is a light, that the wind has extinguished.
It is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon.
It is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders.
It is a space, that they have white-limed with milk.

Georg Trakl
The Simple Line

The secrets of the mind convene splendidly,
Though the mind is meek.
To be aware inwardly
of brain and beauty

Laura (riding) Jackson
Aims At Happiness

HOW oft has sounded whip and wheel,
How oft is buckled spur to heel,
How many a steed in short relay
Stands harnessed on the king's highway,

Jane Taylor

It is full winter now: the trees are bare,
Save where the cattle huddle from the cold
Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear
The autumn's gaudy livery whose gold

Oscar Wilde
I Play At Riches—to Appease


I play at Riches-to appease
The Clamoring for Gold-

Emily Dickinson
Blind Old Milton

Place me once more, my daughter, where the sun
May shine upon my old and time-worn head,
For the last time, perchance. My race is run;
And soon amidst the ever-silent dead

William Edmondstoune Aytoun